This intelligence was fatal to my hopes. It required some efforts to
subdue my rising emotions. Compassion not only for Wallace, but for
Thetford, his father, his wife and his child, caused a passionate
effusion of tears. I was ashamed of this useless and childlike
sensibility; and attempted to apologize to my companion. The sympathy,
however, had proved contagious, and the stranger turned away his face to
hide his own tears.

"Nay," said he, in answer to my excuses, "there is no need to be ashamed
of thy emotion. Merely to have known this family, and to have witnessed
their deplorable fate, is sufficient to melt the most obdurate heart. I
suspect that thou wast united to some one of this family by ties of
tenderness like those which led the unfortunate _Maravegli_ hither."

This suggestion was attended, in relation to myself, with some degree of
obscurity; but my curiosity was somewhat excited by the name that he had
mentioned, I inquired into the character and situation of this person,
and particularly respecting his connection with this family.

"Maravegli," answered he, "was the lover of the eldest daughter, and
already betrothed to her. The whole family, consisting of helpless
females, had placed themselves under his peculiar guardianship. Mary
Walpole and her children enjoyed in him a husband and a father."

The name of Walpole, to which I was a stranger, suggested doubts which I
hastened to communicate. "I am in search," said I, "not of a female
friend, though not devoid of interest in the welfare of Thetford and his
family. My principal concern is for a youth, by name Wallace."