He looked up.

The door had been opened without his perceiving it, and an old man was advancing with slow and trembling steps towards his silken couch.

It was the bereaved and broken-hearted Numerian.
'Where is she?
Is she found ?' asked the father, gazing anxiously round the room, as if he had expected to see his daughter there.
'My slaves still search for her,' said Vetranio, mournfully.
'Ah, woe--woe--woe! How I wronged her! How I wronged her!' cried the old man, turning to depart.
'Listen to me ere you go,' said Vetranio, gently detaining him.

'I have done you a great wrong, but I will yet atone for it by finding for you your child! While there were women who would have triumphed in my admiration, I should not have attempted to deprive you of your daughter! Remember when you recover her--and you shall recover her--that from the time when I first decoyed her into listening to my lute, to the night when your traitorous servant led me to her bed-chamber, she has been innocent in this ill-considered matter.

I alone have been guilty! She was scarcely awakened when you discovered her in my arms, and my entry into her chamber, was as little expected by her, as it was by you.