same person.  He immediately gave notice to the Inquisition.  In the mean time, I was in the greatest consternation.  I felt that I should be discovered, and reflected upon my conduct.  I had lately abjured all deceit, and had each day gained a step in the path of virtue.  I acknowledged with bitterness, that I deserved all that threatened me, and that sooner or later, vice will meet with its reward.  Had I at first made known my situation to Donna Celia, she would have had interest enough (believing me to be her son), to have obtained a dispensation of my vows.  I then might have boldly faced the world—­but one act of duplicity required another to support it, and thus had I entangled myself in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at last.  But it was not for myself that I cared; it was for my wife whom I doted on—­for my mother (or supposed mother), to whom it would be the bitterness of death.  The thoughts of rendering others miserable as well as myself drove me to distraction—­and how to act I knew not.

After much reflection, I resolved as a last resource, to throw myself upon the generosity of my adversary; for although inimical to me, he bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier.  I desired to be informed the moment that he returned from Seville; and when the intelligence came, I immediately repaired to his house, and requested an audience.  I was admitted, when Don Alvarez, for that was his name, addressed me.

“You wish to speak with me, Don Pedro—­there are others at your house by this time, who wish to speak with you.”

I guessed that he meant the officers of the Inquisition, but pretending not to understand the remark, I answered him:  “Don Alvarez, the enmity that you have invariably shown towards me has, I am sure, proceeded from the affront, which you consider that your noble family has received, by your cousin having formed an alliance with one of unknown parentage.  I have long borne with your pointed insults, out of respect for her who gave me birth; I am now about to throw myself upon your generosity, and probably when I inform you, that I am the unhappy issue of the early amour of Donna Celia (which of course you have heard of), I may then claim your compassion, if not your friendship, from having at least some of the same noble blood in my veins.”

“I was not indeed aware of it,” replied Don Alvarez, with agitation; “I would to heaven you had confided in me before.”

“Perhaps it would have been better,” replied I, “but permit me to prove my assertions.”  I then stated my having been the friar Anselmo, the discovery of my birth by accident, and the steps which I had taken.  “I am aware,” continued I, “that I have been much to blame, but my love for Donna Clara made me regardless of consequences.  Your unfortunate enmity induced me, in an unguarded moment, to expose myself, and it will probably end in my destruction.”