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 tence? Nor have I forgotten, Sir, said Theodore, that the charity of his daughter delivered me from his power. I can forget injuries, but never benefits. The injuries thou hast received from Manfred's race, said the Friar, are beyond what thou canst conceive.—Reply not, but view this holy image! Beneath this marble monument rest the ashes of the good Alfonso; a Prince adorned with every virtue: The father of his people! the delight of mankind! Kneel, head-strong boy, and list, while a father unfolds a tale of horror, that will expel every sentiment from thy soul, but sensations of sacred vengeance—Alfonso! much injured Prince! let thy unsatisfied shade sit awful on the troubled air, while these trembling lips—ha! who comes there?—The most wretched of women! said Hippolita, entering the choir. Good Father, art thou at leisure?—but why this kneeling youth? what means the horror imprinted on each countenance? why at this venerable tomb—alas! hast thou seen aught? We were pour-