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"
Wretched
woman
!
"
exclaimed
Cedric
.
"
And
while
the
friends
of
thy
father
--
while
each
true
Saxon
heart
,
as
it
breathed
a
requiem
for
his
soul
,
and
those
of
his
valiant
sons
,
forgot
not
in
their
prayers
the
murdered
Ulrica
--
while
all
mourned
and
honoured
the
dead
,
thou
hast
lived
to
merit
our
hate
and
execration
--
lived
to
unite
thyself
with
the
vile
tyrant
who
murdered
thy
nearest
and
dearest
--
who
shed
the
blood
of
infancy
,
rather
than
a
male
of
the
noble
house
of
Torquil
Wolfganger
should
survive
--
with
him
hast
thou
lived
to
unite
thyself
,
and
in
the
hands
of
lawless
love
!
"
"
In
lawless
hands
,
indeed
,
but
not
in
those
of
love
!
"
answered
the
hag
;
"
love
will
sooner
visit
the
regions
of
eternal
doom
,
than
those
unhallowed
vaults
.
--
No
,
with
that
at
least
I
can
not
reproach
myself
--
hatred
to
Front-de-Boeuf
and
his
race
governed
my
soul
most
deeply
,
even
in
the
hour
of
his
guilty
endearments
.
"
"
You
hated
him
,
and
yet
you
lived
,
"
replied
Cedric
;
"
wretch
!
was
there
no
poniard
--
no
knife
--
no
bodkin
!
--
Well
was
it
for
thee
,
since
thou
didst
prize
such
an
existence
,
that
the
secrets
of
a
Norman
castle
are
like
those
of
the
grave
.
For
had
I
but
dreamed
of
the
daughter
of
Torquil
living
in
foul
communion
with
the
murderer
of
her
father
,
the
sword
of
a
true
Saxon
had
found
thee
out
even
in
the
arms
of
thy
paramour
!
"
"
Wouldst
thou
indeed
have
done
this
justice
to
the
name
of
Torquil
?
"
said
Ulrica
,
for
we
may
now
lay
aside
her
assumed
name
of
Urfried
;
"
thou
art
then
the
true
Saxon
report
speaks
thee
!
for
even
within
these
accursed
walls
,
where
,
as
thou
well
sayest
,
guilt
shrouds
itself
in
inscrutable
mystery
,
even
there
has
the
name
of
Cedric
been
sounded
--
and
I
,
wretched
and
degraded
,
have
rejoiced
to
think
that
there
yet
breathed
an
avenger
of
our
unhappy
nation
.
--
I
also
have
had
my
hours
of
vengeance
--
I
have
fomented
the
quarrels
of
our
foes
,
and
heated
drunken
revelry
into
murderous
broil
--
I
have
seen
their
blood
flow
--
I
have
heard
their
dying
groans
!
--
Look
on
me
,
Cedric
--
are
there
not
still
left
on
this
foul
and
faded
face
some
traces
of
the
features
of
Torquil
?
"
"
Ask
me
not
of
them
,
Ulrica
,
"
replied
Cedric
,
in
a
tone
of
grief
mixed
with
abhorrence
;
"
these
traces
form
such
a
resemblance
as
arises
from
the
graves
of
the
dead
,
when
a
fiend
has
animated
the
lifeless
corpse
.
"
"
Be
it
so
,
"
answered
Ulrica
;
"
yet
wore
these
fiendish
features
the
mask
of
a
spirit
of
light
when
they
were
able
to
set
at
variance
the
elder
Front-de-Boeuf
and
his
son
Reginald
!
The
darkness
of
hell
should
hide
what
followed
,
but
revenge
must
lift
the
veil
,
and
darkly
intimate
what
it
would
raise
the
dead
to
speak
aloud
.
Long
had
the
smouldering
fire
of
discord
glowed
between
the
tyrant
father
and
his
savage
son
--
long
had
I
nursed
,
in
secret
,
the
unnatural
hatred
--
it
blazed
forth
in
an
hour
of
drunken
wassail
,
and
at
his
own
board
fell
my
oppressor
by
the
hand
of
his
own
son
--
such
are
the
secrets
these
vaults
conceal
!
--
Rend
asunder
,
ye
accursed
arches
,
"
she
added
,
looking
up
towards
the
roof
,
"
and
bury
in
your
fall
all
who
are
conscious
of
the
hideous
mystery
!
"
"
And
thou
,
creature
of
guilt
and
misery
,
"
said
Cedric
,
"
what
became
thy
lot
on
the
death
of
thy
ravisher
?
"
"
Guess
it
,
but
ask
it
not
.
--
Here
--
here
I
dwelt
,
till
age
,
premature
age
,
has
stamped
its
ghastly
features
on
my
countenance
--
scorned
and
insulted
where
I
was
once
obeyed
,
and
compelled
to
bound
the
revenge
which
had
once
such
ample
scope
,
to
the
efforts
of
petty
malice
of
a
discontented
menial
,
or
the
vain
or
unheeded
curses
of
an
impotent
hag
--
condemned
to
hear
from
my
lonely
turret
the
sounds
of
revelry
in
which
I
once
partook
,
or
the
shrieks
and
groans
of
new
victims
of
oppression
.
"
