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(With an expression of unutterable anguish.) And hence become a robber and a murderer! (Strikes his breast and his forehead.) O fool, fool, fool!—the victim of infernal treachery!—and now a murderer and assassin! (Walks about in great agitation.)

Francis! May all——(suppressing rage) But I will curse no more—and I saw nothing—nothing suspected.—O fond indulgent dotard!

(Stops suddenly.) And that poor father in a dungeon! (Suppressing his anguish.) What cause have I for rage or for complaint? (With affected composure.) Go on, Sir.

I fainted at the news.—They must have thought me dead—for when I came to myself, I was on a bier, and shrouded as a corpse.—I beat upon the lid of the coffin—it was opened—'twas in the dead of night—my son Francis stood before me.—"What," said he, with a voice of horror, "Must