the sex—they crave incessantly for novelty;—and as vanity is their only real passion, if that be gratified they ask no more."

"And has not Elvira's vanity been gratified even to satiety? Have I not idolized, worshipped her? Was it not my power that made her what she is? And is this my reward? To be scorned, deserted, laughed at, and for what? A stranger!—a boy!—my prisoner!"

"Whom do you mean?" asked the friar.

"Prince Ferdinand," returned Edmund.

"Impossible!" cried Father Morris, starting with well-feigned astonishment. "Elvira cannot, surely, love Prince Ferdinand! And yet, now I recollect, I saw her talking to him, even now, with an appearance of deep interest, when I passed through her splendid chambers."

"Damnation!" exclaimed Lord Edmund vehemently, driven to distraction by this speech; for, strange to tell, though we may be certain of the reality of our own sufferings, they always seem to come with double poignancy when we hear them related by another.