He drew her to his heart again, but she released herself from his
embrace, saying: "To-morrow, Ulrich; Zorrillo...."

"Zorrillo, always Zorrillo," he repeated, his blood boiling angrily.
"You are mine and, if you love me, you will leave him."

"I cannot, Ulrich, it will not do. He is kind, you will yet be friends."

"We, we? On the day of judgment, nay, not even then! Are you more
firmly bound to yon smooth fellow, than to my honest father? There
stands something in the darkness, it is good steel, and if needful will
cut the tie asunder."

"Ulrich, Ulrich !" wailed Flora, raising her hands beseechingly. "Not
that, not that; it must not be. He is kind and sensible, and loves me
fondly. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Ulrich! The mother has glided to her son at
night, as if she were following forbidden paths. Oh, this is indeed a
punishment. I know how heavily I have sinned, I deserve whatever may
befall me; but you, you must not make me more wretched, than I already
am. Your father, he ....if he were still alive, for your sake I would
crawl to him on my knees, and say: "Here I am, forgive me--but he is
dead. Pasquale, Zorrillo lives; do not think me a vain, deluded woman;
Zorrillo cannot bear to have me leave him...."

"And my father? He bore it. But do you know how? Shall I describe his
life to you?"

"No, no! Oh, child, how you torture me! I know how I sinned against
your father, the thought does not cease to torture me, for he truly loved
me, and I loved him, too, loved him tenderly. But I cannot keep quiet a