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 murder of your child."—"Of Calantha!" he cried in agitation. "Of an infant, I tell you; of the heir of Delaval."

"Great God! have I lived to hear that wretches exist, barbarous, atrocious enough, thus to accuse you? Name them, that my arm may avenge you—name them, dearest Margaret; and, by heavens, I will stand your defender, and at once silence them." "Oh, more than this: they have produced an impostor—a child, brother—an Italian boy, whose likeness to your family I have often marked." "Zerbellini?" "The same." "Poor contrivance to vent their rage and malice! But did I not ever tell you, my dearest Margaret, that Gondimar, and that mysterious Viviani, whom you protected, bore an ill character. They were men unknown, without family, without principle, or honour." "Brother," said Lady Margaret, "give me your hand: swear to me that you know