And spreads the sparkles round, to warm the world.
Vera. Oh, heavens, she makes a merit of her crime!
Victoria, I would yet think better of thee,
And therefore dare I not enquire too far,
Willing to doubt the guilt I fear to find.
Depart, and answer not.— [Exit Vict.
For thee, whom I abhor to call my son, [To Alph.
And wish thou wert a stranger to my blood—
Xim. That was a happy hint, I must improve it. [Aside.
Vera. One way, and only one, remains to clear thee: