“Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of Torquil?” said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within these accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded⁠—and I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation.⁠—I also have had my hours of vengeance⁠—I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken revelry into murderous broil⁠—I have seen their blood flow⁠—I have heard their dying groans!⁠—Look on me, Cedric⁠—are there not still left on this foul and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil?”

“Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in a tone of grief mixed with abhorrence; “these traces form such a resemblance as arises from the graves of the dead, when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.”