_Gasp._ 'Twas at nine years I left the hospital, And now have been for ten a wanderer.
_Inez._ (_aside_). The age exact. O Heav'n! let not these hopes For ever springing, be for ever wither'd! (_Aloud._) Youth, have you any mark, should you be sought, Might lend a clue to your discovery?
_Gasp._ I have; they who deserted me, if ever Their intention to reclaim my person, May safely challenge me among ten thousand. (_Baring his wrist._) 'Tis here--a ruby band upon my wrist.
[_Inez goes towards him, catches his hand, and gazes on the wrist intently without speaking._
What can this mean? oh, speak, dear lady, speak!
_Inez._ (_throwing herself into his arms_). My child, my child!
_Gasp._ I, I your child! almighty Heaven, I thank thee! My heart is bursting in its wild emotion, Till all be understood. Oh, speak again!
_Inez._ Thou art my son--he whom I've mourn'd so long, So long have sought. Features thou hast, my boy, Which in the memory of all save her, Who fondly loved, long, long have pass'd away.
_Inez._ One of most ancient name, Don Felipo.
_Gasp._ Pardon me, lady, if I seem more eager To know this fact, than render unto you My love and duty.--From the world's scorn I've suffer'd much; and my unbending pride Would rather that my birth remain'd in doubt, Than find a parentage which was obscure. Now all is perfect, and to you I tender (_Kneeling_) My truth and love, still in their infancy, And therefore may they seem to you but feeble. (_Rises._) Yet blame me not: this sudden change of state Hath left me so bewilder'd I scarce know Myself, or what I feel; like to the eyes Of one long plunged in gloom, on whom the sun, At length admitted, pours at once a flood Of glorious light--so are my senses dazzled.
_Inez._ And I am faint with gratitude and love. Come in with me. Then shall you learn The cruel cause that cast you out a foundling, And I, the bounteous, blessed providence, That led you to my arms. [_Exeunt._
_Sup._ Save thee, good lady! I have stolen an hour From holy prayer, for which may I be pardon'd, To weigh the merits of a mother's virtue Against the errors of an impious son; To put in counterpoise the deep disgrace, The insult offer'd to our brotherhood, With the atonement you would make to Heav'n.