Like those hideous chasms which are dug deep in the land by the
impetuous sweep of a torrent, the course of violent passions leaves
vast and irreparable traces on the features and in the soul. So it
was with Lord Tinemouth.
"How legibly does vice or virtue," ejaculated Thaddeus, "write itself
on the human face! The earl's might once have been fine, but the
lineaments of selfishness and sin have degraded every part of him.
Mysterious Providence! Can he be my father--can it be his blood that
is now running in my veins? Can it be his blood that rises at this
moment with detestation against him?"
Before the sun set, Sobieski was aroused from these painful
soliloquies by still more painful feelings. He saw from his window a
hearse driving at full speed up the road that ascended to the Abbey,
and presently return at a slower pace, followed by a single black
coach.
"Inhuman men!" exclaimed he, while pursuing with his eyes the tips of
the sable plumes as the meagre cavalcade of mourners wound down the
hill; "could you not allow this poor corse a little rest? Must her
persecution be extended to the grave? Must her cold relics be
insulted, be hurried to the tomb without reverence--without decency?"
The filial heart that uttered this thought also of his own injured
mother, and shrunk with horror at this climax of the earl's
barbarity. Dr.
Pages:
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596