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 That heart is noble and generous, whatever its errors; and no letters could ever make me think ill of my sister."

Lady Margaret trembled exceedingly. "They wish to ruin me," she cried—"to tear me from your affection—to make you think me black—to accuse me, not of weakness, brother, but of crimes."—"Were they to bring such evidences, that the very eye itself could see their testimony, I would disbelieve my senses, before I could mistrust you. Look then calm and happy, my sister. We have all of us faults; the best of us is no miracle of worth; and the gallantries of one, as fair, as young, as early exposed to temptation as you were, deserve no such severity. Come, take the detested packet, and throw it into the flames."—"It is of no gallantry that I am accused; no weakness, Altamonte; it is of murder!" The duke started. "Aye, brother, of the murder of an infant." He smiled. "Smile too, when I say further—of the