Айвенго

Chapter 27

           "Iwasnotborn,"shesaid,"father,thewretchthatthounowseestme.Iwasfree,washappy,washonoured,loved,andwasbeloved.Iamnowaslave,miserableanddegraded—thesportofmymasters’passionswhileIhadyetbeauty—theobjectoftheircontempt,scorn,andhatred,sinceithaspassedaway.Dostthouwonder,father,thatIshouldhatemankind,and,aboveall,theracethathaswroughtthischangeinme?Canthewrinkleddecrepithagbeforethee,whosewrathmustventitselfinimpotentcurses,forgetshewasoncethedaughterofthenobleThaneofTorquilstone,beforewhosefrownathousandvassalstrembled?"

           "ThouthedaughterofTorquilWolfganger!"saidCedric,recedingashespoke;"thou—thou—thedaughterofthatnobleSaxon,myfather’sfriendandcompanioninarms!"

           "Thyfather’sfriend!"echoedUrfried;"thenCedriccalledtheSaxonstandsbeforeme,forthenobleHerewardofRotherwoodhadbutoneson,whosenameiswellknownamonghiscountrymen.ButifthouartCedricofRotherwood,whythisreligiousdress?—hastthoutoodespairedofsavingthycountry,andsoughtrefugefromoppressionintheshadeoftheconvent?"

           "ItmattersnotwhoIam,"saidCedric;"proceed,unhappywoman,withthytaleofhorrorandguilt!—Guilttheremustbe—thereisguilteveninthylivingtotellit."

           "Thereis—thereis,"answeredthewretchedwoman,"deep,black,damningguilt,—guilt,thatlieslikealoadatmybreast—guilt,thatallthepenitentialfiresofhereaftercannotcleanse.

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