Cornelia said no more; but submitted with an awful awaiting of the conclusion.
By the Duke's orders, Lorenzo sealed the first packet, and returned it into his hand. No one saw how he directed it. The second packet was then sealed, and superscribed, and both put into a cover. This was also sealed, and when directed by the Duke's hand, he put it into that of Cornelia. She glanced upon the superscription.
"To my benefactress. But not to be opened until I am dead."
She read it, and for the first time in his sight, her eyes gushed out with tears. The burning hand, which then gratefully pressed her's as he relinquished the packet, would be cold and motionless, when she should break that seal! Human nature, pity, admiration! all struck at once upon her heart, and she trembled, almost to sinking.
The Duke observed her emotion, and made a sign to Lorenzo to withdraw. Both his hands now clasped her's, as with his dying eyes he gazed on her.
"Lady," said he, "when you open that packet, you will know that he who you now honour with your pity, was a being to be condemned; but, he trusts, to be pardoned also! I am a man, and I erred; but I am a Christian, and have contrition. When you know me, remember me with one of those tears, and my conscious soul will disdain the world's persisted obloquy!"
Cornelia wept the more at these words; but she strove to speak; and to gently extricate her hand from a grasp, which already seemed the convulsive pressures of death.
"You will tell de Montemar," cried he in great emotion; and in that moment, of what he thought mortal fainting, forgetting his caution:—"You will tell him——" he paused, and struggled for a few seconds—then gasping—relinquished the hand he held, and fell back upon his pillow.
Cornelia saw and heard no more; she fainted, and sunk upon the floor.
When she recovered, she found herself in another room, and supported by her uncle of Lindisfarne.