The Lady Hermione, with
the same calmness which always attended her speech and actions, thus
recounted her story to her young friend:
"My father," she said, "was a merchant, but he was of a city whose
merchants are princes. I am the daughter of a noble house in Genoa,
whose name stood as high in honour and in antiquity, as any inscribed
in the Golden Register of that famous aristocracy.
"My mother was a noble Scottish woman. She was descended--do not
start--and not remotely descended, of the house of Glenvarloch--no
wonder that I was easily led to take concern in the misfortunes of
this young lord. He is my near relation, and my mother, who was more
than sufficiently proud of her descent, early taught me to take an
interest in the name. My maternal grandfather, a cadet of that house
of Glenvarloch, had followed the fortunes of an unhappy fugitive,
Francis Earl of Bothwell, who, after showing his miseries in many a
foreign court, at length settled in Spain upon a miserable pension,
which he earned by conforming to the Catholic faith. Ralph Olifaunt,
my grandfather, separated from him in disgust, and settled at
Barcelona, where, by the friendship of the governor, his heresy, as it
was termed, was connived at. My father, in the course of his commerce,
resided more at Barcelona than in his native country, though at times
he visited Genoa.
"It was at Barcelona that he became acquainted with my mother, loved
her, and married her; they differed in faith, but they agreed in
affection.
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