"Unjust ones!" exclaimed Richard; "what mean you, signora?"
"That by me at least they are undeserved, Mr. Markham," returned the lovely girl.
"How undeserved? how unjust?" said Richard, eagerly catching at the first straw which presented itself upon the ocean that had wrecked all his hopes; "did you not say that no explanation was now necessary?"
"Nor was it ever," answered Isabella, whose voice was almost entirely subdued by her emotions; "for I never—never believed the accusations which you seek to explain away!"
"My God! do I hear aright? or am I again the sport of a delusive vision?" cried Richard; then, advancing towards Isabella, he took her hand, and said, "Signora, repeat what you ere now averred, that I may believe my own ears! You believe that I was the victim of villains, and not a vile—degraded—base criminal?"
"Such has been, and ever would have been my belief—even without a proof," replied Isabella.
"A proof!" ejaculated Markham: "what mean you?"
"The confession of one of the wretches who wronged you—the narrative of the man named Talbot!" answered the Italian, casting a glance of sympathy—of tender sympathy—upon her lover.
"And now, O God, I thank thee!" said Markham, his eyes filling with tears, and his heart a prey to feelings of an indescribable nature: "O God, I thank thee—how sincerely, devoutly I thank thee, thou well knowest, for thou canst read the secrets of my soul! And you, Isabella—dearest Isabella—Oh! can you forgive me, that I dared for a moment to suspect your generous soul—that I doubted your noble disposition?"
"Forgive you, Richard!" exclaimed the charming girl, smiling through her tears: "Oh! how can you ask me?"