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 me, I felt every wrong you suffered far more poignantly than you could yourself. My poor father too!—but all is over now, and I am doomed to bitter expiation of my sins—bitter indeed, for oh, how far beyond all other sufferings are the never-dying tortures of remorse. One thought alone haunted my mind,—one image alone floated before my senses. I could not die till I had obtained your pardon. Pardon me then, Elvira! See! thus humbly at thy feet I implore thy forgiveness; crouching in the dust, and bending my neck to be thy footstool!"

"Rise, I entreat you, rise!" said Elvira; "and be assured I forgive you—nay, that I pity you from my inmost soul."

"She pities me!" cried Edmund; "yet I can bear even this: even pity. And am I indeed fallen so low as to be pitied! Yes, yes, I am indeed to be pitied."

"I did not mean to wound your feelings," returned Elvira, "believe me, Edmund. Tell me, what is there I can do for you?"

"Nothing!" cried he wildly; "the world is nothing for me now. Pity that unhappy