" Then turning to
the terrified girl,--"You ask, Clara de Haldimar, where
you are? In the tent of your mother's lover, I reply,--at
the side of him who once pressed her to his heart, even
as I now press you, and with a fondness that was only
equalled by her own. Come, dear Clara," and his voice
assumed a tone of tenderness that was even more revolting
than his natural ferocity, "let me woo you to the affection
she once possessed. It was a heart of fire in which her
image stood enshrined,--it is a heart of fire still, and
well worthy of her child."
"Never, never!" shrieked the agonised girl. "Kill me,
murder me, if you will; but oh! if you have pity, pollute
not my ear with the avowal of your detested love. But
again I repeat, it is false that my mother ever knew you.
She never could have loved so fierce, so vindictive a
being as yourself."
"Ha! do you doubt me still?" sternly demanded the savage.
Then drawing the shuddering girl still closer to his vast
chest,--"Come hither, Clara, while to convince you I
unfold the sad history of my life, and tell you more of
your parents than you have ever known.
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