"THE MONK\n\nA ROMANCE\n\n\nby\n\nMATTHEW LEWIS\n\n\n\n\n  Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,\n  Nocturnos lemures, portentaque.\n                             Horat.\n\n  Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,\n  Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nIMITATION OF HORACE Ep. 20.--B. 1.\n\n    Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,\n  I see thee cast a wishful look,\n  Where reputations won and lost are\n  In famous row called Paternoster.\n  Incensed to find your precious olio\n  Buried in unexplored port-folio,\n  You scorn the prudent lock and key,\n  And pant well bound and gilt to see\n  Your Volume in the window set\n  Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.\n\n    Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn\n  Whence never Book can back return:\n  And when you find, condemned, despised,\n  Neglected, blamed, and criticised,\n  Abuse from All who read you fall,\n  (If haply you be read at all\n  Sorely will you your folly sigh at,\n  And wish for me, and home, and quiet.\n\n    Assuming now a conjuror's office, I\n  Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:--\n  Soon as your novelty is o'er,\n  And you are young and new no more,\n  In some dark dirty corner thrown,\n  Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,\n  Your leaves shall be the Book-worm's prey;\n  Or sent to Chandler-Shop away,\n  And doomed to suffer public scandal,\n  Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle!\n\n    But should you meet with approbation,\n  And some one find an inclination\n  To ask, by natural transition\n  Respecting me and my condition;\n  That I am one, the enquirer teach,\n  Nor very poor, nor very rich;\n  Of passions strong, of hasty nature,\n  Of graceless form and dwarfish stature;\n  By few approved, and few approving;\n  Extreme in hating and in loving;\n\n    Abhorring all whom I dislike,\n  Adoring who my fancy strike;\n  In forming judgements never long,\n  And for the most part judging wrong;\n  In friendship firm, but still believing\n  Others are treacherous and deceiving,\n  And thinking in the present aera\n  That Friendship is a pure chimaera:\n  More passionate no creature living,\n  Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving,\n  But yet for those who kindness show,\n  Ready through fire and smoke to go.\n\n    Again, should it be asked your page,\n  'Pray, what may be the author's age?'\n  Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear,\n  I scarce have seen my twentieth year,\n  Which passed, kind Reader, on my word,\n  While England's Throne held George the Third.\n\n    Now then your venturous course pursue:\n  Go, my delight! Dear Book, adieu!\n\n  Hague,\n  Oct. 28, 1794.                     M. G. L.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT\n\nThe first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the Santon\nBarsisa, related in The Guardian.--The Bleeding Nun is a tradition\nstill credited in many parts of Germany; and I have been told that the\nruins of the Castle of Lauenstein, which She is supposed to haunt, may\nyet be seen upon the borders of Thuringia.--The Water-King, from the\nthird to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment of an original Danish\nBallad--And Belerma and Durandarte is translated from some stanzas to\nbe found in a collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also the\npopular song of Gayferos and Melesindra, mentioned in Don Quixote.--I\nhave now made a full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which I am aware\nmyself; but I doubt not, many more may be found, of which I am at\npresent totally unconscious.\n\n\n\n\nVOLUME I\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n  ----Lord Angelo is precise;\n  Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses\n  That his blood flows, or that his appetite\n  Is more to bread than stone.\n                               Measure for Measure.\n\n\nScarcely had the Abbey Bell tolled for five minutes, and already was\nthe Church of the Capuchins thronged with Auditors.  Do not encourage\nthe idea that the Crowd was assembled either from motives of piety or\nthirst of information.  But very few were influenced by those reasons;\nand in a city where superstition reigns with such despotic sway as in\nMadrid, to seek for true devotion would be a fruitless attempt.  The\nAudience now assembled in the Capuchin Church was collected by various\ncauses, but all of them were foreign to the ostensible motive.  The\nWomen came to show themselves, the Men to see the Women:  Some were\nattracted by curiosity to hear an Orator so celebrated; Some came\nbecause they had no better means of employing their time till the play\nbegan; Some, from being assured that it would be impossible to find\nplaces in the Church; and one half of Madrid was brought thither by\nexpecting to meet the other half.  The only persons truly anxious to\nhear the Preacher were a few antiquated devotees, and half a dozen\nrival Orators, determined to find fault with and ridicule the\ndiscourse.  As to the remainder of the Audience, the Sermon might have\nbeen omitted altogether, certainly without their being disappointed,\nand very probably without their perceiving the omission.\n\nWhatever was the occasion, it is at least certain that the Capuchin\nChurch had never witnessed a more numerous assembly. Every corner was\nfilled, every seat was occupied.  The very Statues which ornamented the\nlong aisles were pressed into the service.  Boys suspended themselves\nupon the wings of Cherubims; St. Francis and St. Mark bore each a\nspectator on his shoulders; and St. Agatha found herself under the\nnecessity of carrying double.  The consequence was, that in spite of\nall their hurry and expedition, our two newcomers, on entering the\nChurch, looked round in vain for places.\n\nHowever, the old Woman continued to move forwards.  In vain were\nexclamations of displeasure vented against her from all sides: In vain\nwas She addressed with--'I assure you, Segnora, there are no places\nhere.'--'I beg, Segnora, that you will not crowd me so\nintolerably!'--'Segnora, you cannot pass this way.  Bless me! How can\npeople be so troublesome!'--The old Woman was obstinate, and on She\nwent.  By dint of perseverance and two brawny arms She made a passage\nthrough the Crowd, and managed to bustle herself into the very body of\nthe Church, at no great distance from the Pulpit.  Her companion had\nfollowed her with timidity and in silence, profiting by the exertions\nof her conductress.\n\n'Holy Virgin!' exclaimed the old Woman in a tone of disappointment,\nwhile She threw a glance of enquiry round her; 'Holy Virgin!  What\nheat!  What a Crowd! I wonder what can be the meaning of all this.  I\nbelieve we must return:  There is no such thing as a seat to be had,\nand nobody seems kind enough to accommodate us with theirs.'\n\nThis broad hint attracted the notice of two Cavaliers, who occupied\nstools on the right hand, and were leaning their backs against the\nseventh column from the Pulpit.  Both were young, and richly habited.\nHearing this appeal to their politeness pronounced in a female voice,\nthey interrupted their conversation to look at the speaker.  She had\nthrown up her veil in order to take a clearer look round the Cathedral.\nHer hair was red, and She squinted.  The Cavaliers turned round, and\nrenewed their conversation.\n\n'By all means,' replied the old Woman's companion; 'By all means,\nLeonella, let us return home immediately; The heat is excessive, and I\nam terrified at such a crowd.'\n\nThese words were pronounced in a tone of unexampled sweetness. The\nCavaliers again broke off their discourse, but for this time they were\nnot contented with looking up:  Both started involuntarily from their\nseats, and turned themselves towards the Speaker.\n\nThe voice came from a female, the delicacy and elegance of whose figure\ninspired the Youths with the most lively curiosity to view the face to\nwhich it belonged.  This satisfaction was denied them.  Her features\nwere hidden by a thick veil; But struggling through the crowd had\nderanged it sufficiently to discover a neck which for symmetry and\nbeauty might have vied with the Medicean Venus.  It was of the most\ndazzling whiteness, and received additional charms from being shaded by\nthe tresses of her long fair hair, which descended in ringlets to her\nwaist.  Her figure was rather below than above the middle size:  It was\nlight and airy as that of an Hamadryad.  Her bosom was carefully\nveiled. Her dress was white; it was fastened by a blue sash, and just\npermitted to peep out from under it a little foot of the most delicate\nproportions.  A chaplet of large grains hung upon her arm, and her face\nwas covered with a veil of thick black gauze. Such was the female, to\nwhom the youngest of the Cavaliers now offered his seat, while the\nother thought it necessary to pay the same attention to her companion.\n\nThe old Lady with many expressions of gratitude, but without much\ndifficulty, accepted the offer, and seated herself:  The young one\nfollowed her example, but made no other compliment than a simple and\ngraceful reverence.  Don Lorenzo (such was the Cavalier's name, whose\nseat She had accepted) placed himself near her; But first He whispered\na few words in his Friend's ear, who immediately took the hint, and\nendeavoured to draw off the old Woman's attention from her lovely\ncharge.\n\n'You are doubtless lately arrived at Madrid,' said Lorenzo to his fair\nNeighbour; 'It is impossible that such charms should have long remained\nunobserved; and had not this been your first public appearance, the\nenvy of the Women and adoration of the Men would have rendered you\nalready sufficiently remarkable.'\n\nHe paused, in expectation of an answer.  As his speech did not\nabsolutely require one, the Lady did not open her lips:  After a few\nmoments He resumed his discourse:\n\n'Am I wrong in supposing you to be a Stranger to Madrid?'\n\nThe Lady hesitated; and at last, in so low a voice as to be scarcely\nintelligible, She made shift to answer,--'No, Segnor.'\n\n'Do you intend making a stay of any length?'\n\n'Yes, Segnor.'\n\n'I should esteem myself fortunate, were it in my power to contribute to\nmaking your abode agreeable. I am well known at Madrid, and my Family\nhas some interest at Court.  If I can be of any service, you cannot\nhonour or oblige me more than by permitting me to be of use to\nyou.'--'Surely,' said He to himself, 'She cannot answer that by a\nmonosyllable; now She must say something to me.'\n\nLorenzo was deceived, for the Lady answered only by a bow.\n\nBy this time He had discovered that his Neighbour was not very\nconversible; But whether her silence proceeded from pride, discretion,\ntimidity, or idiotism, He was still unable to decide.\n\nAfter a pause of some minutes--'It is certainly from your being a\nStranger,' said He, 'and as yet unacquainted with our customs, that you\ncontinue to wear your veil. Permit me to remove it.'\n\nAt the same time He advanced his hand towards the Gauze:  The Lady\nraised hers to prevent him.\n\n'I never unveil in public, Segnor.'\n\n'And where is the harm, I pray you?' interrupted her Companion somewhat\nsharply; 'Do not you see that the other Ladies have all laid their\nveils aside, to do honour no doubt to the holy place in which we are?\nI have taken off mine already; and surely if I expose my features to\ngeneral observation, you have no cause to put yourself in such a\nwonderful alarm!  Blessed Maria! Here is a fuss and a bustle about a\nchit's face!  Come, come, Child! Uncover it; I warrant you that nobody\nwill run away with it from you--'\n\n'Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.'\n\n'Murcia, indeed!  Holy St. Barbara, what does that signify?  You are\nalways putting me in mind of that villainous Province.  If it is the\ncustom in Madrid, that is all that we ought to mind, and therefore I\ndesire you to take off your veil immediately.  Obey me this moment\nAntonia, for you know that I cannot bear contradiction--'\n\nHer niece was silent, but made no further opposition to Don Lorenzo's\nefforts, who, armed with the Aunt's sanction hastened to remove the\nGauze.  What a Seraph's head presented itself to his admiration!  Yet\nit was rather bewitching than beautiful; It was not so lovely from\nregularity of features as from sweetness and sensibility of\nCountenance.  The several parts of her face considered separately, many\nof them were far from handsome; but when examined together, the whole\nwas adorable.  Her skin though fair was not entirely without freckles;\nHer eyes were not very large, nor their lashes particularly long.  But\nthen her lips were of the most rosy freshness; Her fair and undulating\nhair, confined by a simple ribband, poured itself below her waist in a\nprofusion of ringlets; Her throat was full and beautiful in the\nextreme; Her hand and arm were formed with the most perfect symmetry;\nHer mild blue eyes seemed an heaven of sweetness, and the crystal in\nwhich they moved sparkled with all the brilliance of Diamonds:  She\nappeared to be scarcely fifteen; An arch smile, playing round her\nmouth, declared her to be possessed of liveliness, which excess of\ntimidity at present represt; She looked round her with a bashful\nglance; and whenever her eyes accidentally met Lorenzo's, She dropt\nthem hastily upon her Rosary; Her cheek was immediately suffused with\nblushes, and She began to tell her beads; though her manner evidently\nshowed that She knew not what She was about.\n\nLorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but the\nAunt thought it necessary to apologize for Antonia's mauvaise honte.\n\n''Tis a young Creature,' said She, 'who is totally ignorant of the\nworld.  She has been brought up in an old Castle in Murcia; with no\nother Society than her Mother's, who, God help her! has no more sense,\ngood Soul, than is necessary to carry her Soup to her mouth. Yet She is\nmy own Sister, both by Father and Mother.'\n\n'And has so little sense?' said Don Christoval with feigned\nastonishment; 'How very Extraordinary!'\n\n'Very true, Segnor; Is it not strange?  However, such is the fact; and\nyet only to see the luck of some people!  A young Nobleman, of the very\nfirst quality, took it into his head that Elvira had some pretensions\nto Beauty--As to pretensions, in truth, She had always enough of THEM;\nBut as to Beauty....! If I had only taken half the pains to set\nmyself off which She did....!  But this is neither here nor there.\nAs I was saying, Segnor, a young Nobleman fell in love with her, and\nmarried her unknown to his Father.  Their union remained a secret near\nthree years, But at last it came to the ears of the old Marquis, who,\nas you may well suppose, was not much pleased with the intelligence.\nAway He posted in all haste to Cordova, determined to seize Elvira, and\nsend her away to some place or other, where she would never be heard of\nmore.  Holy St. Paul! How He stormed on finding that She had escaped\nhim, had joined her Husband, and that they had embarked together for\nthe Indies. He swore at us all, as if the Evil Spirit had possessed\nhim; He threw my Father into prison, as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker\nas any in Cordova; and when He went away, He had the cruelty to take\nfrom us my Sister's little Boy, then scarcely two years old, and whom\nin the abruptness of her flight, She had been obliged to leave behind\nher.  I suppose, that the poor little Wretch met with bitter bad\ntreatment from him, for in a few months after, we received intelligence\nof his death.'\n\n'Why, this was a most terrible old Fellow, Segnora!'\n\n'Oh! shocking! and a Man so totally devoid of taste! Why, would you\nbelieve it, Segnor?  When I attempted to pacify him, He cursed me for a\nWitch, and wished that to punish the Count, my Sister might become as\nugly as myself!  Ugly indeed!  I like him for that.'\n\n'Ridiculous', cried Don Christoval; 'Doubtless the Count would have\nthought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange the one\nSister for the other.'\n\n'Oh!  Christ!  Segnor, you are really too polite.  However, I am\nheartily glad that the Conde was of a different way of thinking. A\nmighty pretty piece of business, to be sure, Elvira has made of it!\nAfter broiling and stewing in the Indies for thirteen long years, her\nHusband dies, and She returns to Spain, without an House to hide her\nhead, or money to procure her one!  This Antonia was then but an\nInfant, and her only remaining Child. She found that her Father-in-Law\nhad married again, that he was irreconcileable to the Conde, and that\nhis second Wife had produced him a Son, who is reported to be a very\nfine young Man. The old Marquis refused to see my Sister or her Child;\nBut sent her word that on condition of never hearing any more of her,\nHe would assign her a small pension, and She might live in an old\nCastle which He possessed in Murcia; This had been the favourite\nhabitation of his eldest Son; But since his flight from Spain, the old\nMarquis could not bear the place, but let it fall to ruin and\nconfusion--My Sister accepted the proposal; She retired to Murcia, and\nhas remained there till within the last Month.'\n\n'And what brings her now to Madrid?' enquired Don Lorenzo, whom\nadmiration of the young Antonia compelled to take a lively interest in\nthe talkative old Woman's narration.\n\n'Alas! Segnor, her Father-in-Law being lately dead, the Steward of his\nMurcian Estates has refused to pay her pension any longer.\n\nWith the design of supplicating his Son to renew it, She is now come to\nMadrid; But I doubt, that She might have saved herself the trouble! You\nyoung Noblemen have always enough to do with your money, and are not\nvery often disposed to throw it away upon old Women.  I advised my\nSister to send Antonia with her petition; But She would not hear of\nsuch a thing.  She is so obstinate!  Well!  She will find herself the\nworse for not following my counsels: the Girl has a good pretty face,\nand possibly might have done much.'\n\n'Ah! Segnora,' interrupted Don Christoval, counterfeiting a passionate\nair; 'If a pretty face will do the business, why has not your Sister\nrecourse to you?'\n\n'Oh! Jesus! my Lord, I swear you quite overpower me with your\ngallantry!  But I promise you that I am too well aware of the danger of\nsuch Expeditions to trust myself in a young Nobleman's power!  No, no;\nI have as yet preserved my reputation without blemish or reproach, and\nI always knew how to keep the Men at a proper distance.'\n\n'Of that, Segnora, I have not the least doubt.  But permit me to ask\nyou; Have you then any aversion to Matrimony?'\n\n'That is an home question.  I cannot but confess, that if an amiable\nCavalier was to present himself....'\n\nHere She intended to throw a tender and significant look upon Don\nChristoval; But, as She unluckily happened to squint most abominably,\nthe glance fell directly upon his Companion:  Lorenzo took the\ncompliment to himself, and answered it by a profound bow.\n\n'May I enquire,' said He, 'the name of the Marquis?'\n\n'The Marquis de las Cisternas.'\n\n'I know him intimately well.  He is not at present in Madrid, but is\nexpected here daily.  He is one of the best of Men; and if the lovely\nAntonia will permit me to be her Advocate with him, I doubt not my\nbeing able to make a favourable report of her cause.'\n\nAntonia raised her blue eyes, and silently thanked him for the offer by\na smile of inexpressible sweetness.  Leonella's satisfaction was much\nmore loud and audible: Indeed, as her Niece was generally silent in her\ncompany, She thought it incumbent upon her to talk enough for both:\nThis She managed without difficulty, for She very seldom found herself\ndeficient in words.\n\n'Oh! Segnor!' She cried; 'You will lay our whole family under the most\nsignal obligations!  I accept your offer with all possible gratitude,\nand return you a thousand thanks for the generosity of your proposal.\nAntonia, why do not you speak, Child?  While the Cavalier says all\nsorts of civil things to you, you sit like a Statue, and never utter a\nsyllable of thanks, either bad, good, or indifferent!'\n\n'My dear Aunt, I am very sensible that....'\n\n'Fye, Niece!  How often have I told you, that you never should\ninterrupt a Person who is speaking!?  When did you ever know me do such\na thing?  Are these your Murcian manners?  Mercy on me! I shall never\nbe able to make this Girl any thing like a Person of good breeding.\nBut pray, Segnor,' She continued, addressing herself to Don Christoval,\n'inform me, why such a Crowd is assembled today in this Cathedral?'\n\n'Can you possibly be ignorant, that Ambrosio, Abbot of this Monastery,\npronounces a Sermon in this Church every Thursday? All Madrid rings\nwith his praises.  As yet He has preached but thrice; But all who have\nheard him are so delighted with his eloquence, that it is as difficult\nto obtain a place at Church, as at the first representation of a new\nComedy.  His fame certainly must have reached your ears--'\n\n'Alas! Segnor, till yesterday I never had the good fortune to see\nMadrid; and at Cordova we are so little informed of what is passing in\nthe rest of the world, that the name of Ambrosio has never been\nmentioned in its precincts.'\n\n'You will find it in every one's mouth at Madrid.  He seems to have\nfascinated the Inhabitants; and not having attended his Sermons myself,\nI am astonished at the Enthusiasm which He has excited.  The adoration\npaid him both by Young and Old, by Man and Woman is unexampled.  The\nGrandees load him with presents; Their Wives refuse to have any other\nConfessor, and he is known through all the city by the name of the\n\"Man of Holiness\".'\n\n'Undoubtedly, Segnor, He is of noble origin--'\n\n'That point still remains undecided.  The late Superior of the\nCapuchins found him while yet an Infant at the Abbey door.  All\nattempts to discover who had left him there were vain, and the Child\nhimself could give no account of his Parents.  He was educated in the\nMonastery, where He has remained ever since.  He early showed a strong\ninclination for study and retirement, and as soon as He was of a proper\nage, He pronounced his vows.  No one has ever appeared to claim him, or\nclear up the mystery which conceals his birth; and the Monks, who find\ntheir account in the favour which is shewn to their establishment from\nrespect to him, have not hesitated to publish that He is a present to\nthem from the Virgin.  In truth the singular austerity of his life\ngives some countenance to the report.  He is now thirty years old,\nevery hour of which period has been passed in study, total seclusion\nfrom the world, and mortification of the flesh.  Till these last three\nweeks, when He was chosen superior of the Society to which He belongs,\nHe had never been on the outside of the Abbey walls:  Even now He never\nquits them except on Thursdays, when He delivers a discourse in this\nCathedral which all Madrid assembles to hear.  His knowledge is said to\nbe the most profound, his eloquence the most persuasive.  In the whole\ncourse of his life He has never been known to transgress a single rule\nof his order; The smallest stain is not to be discovered upon his\ncharacter; and He is reported to be so strict an observer of Chastity,\nthat He knows not in what consists the difference of Man and Woman.\nThe common People therefore esteem him to be a Saint.'\n\n'Does that make a Saint?' enquired Antonia; 'Bless me!  Then am I one?'\n\n'Holy St. Barbara!' exclaimed Leonella; 'What a question!  Fye, Child,\nFye!  These are not fit subjects for young Women to handle.  You should\nnot seem to remember that there is such a thing as a Man in the world,\nand you ought to imagine every body to be of the same sex with\nyourself.  I should like to see you give people to understand, that you\nknow that a Man has no breasts, and no hips, and no ...'.\n\nLuckily for Antonia's ignorance which her Aunt's lecture would soon\nhave dispelled, an universal murmur through the Church announced the\nPreacher's arrival. Donna Leonella rose from her seat to take a better\nview of him, and Antonia followed her example.\n\nHe was a Man of noble port and commanding presence.  His stature was\nlofty, and his features uncommonly handsome.  His Nose was aquiline,\nhis eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined\ntogether.  His complexion was of a deep but clear Brown; Study and\nwatching had entirely deprived his cheek of colour.  Tranquillity\nreigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content, expressed\nupon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquainted\nwith cares and crimes.  He bowed himself with humility to the audience:\nStill there was a certain severity in his look and manner that inspired\nuniversal awe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once\nfiery and penetrating.  Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and\nsurnamed, 'The Man of Holiness'.\n\nAntonia, while She gazed upon him eagerly, felt a pleasure fluttering\nin her bosom which till then had been unknown to her, and for which She\nin vain endeavoured to account.  She waited with impatience till the\nSermon should begin; and when at length the Friar spoke, the sound of\nhis voice seemed to penetrate into her very soul. Though no other of\nthe Spectators felt such violent sensations as did the young Antonia,\nyet every one listened with interest and emotion.  They who were\ninsensible to Religion's merits, were still enchanted with Ambrosio's\noratory. All found their attention irresistibly attracted while He\nspoke, and the most profound silence reigned through the crowded Aisles.\n\nEven Lorenzo could not resist the charm:  He forgot that Antonia was\nseated near him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided attention.\n\nIn language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on the\nbeauties of Religion.  He explained some abstruse parts of the sacred\nwritings in a style that carried with it universal conviction.  His\nvoice at once distinct and deep was fraught with all the terrors of the\nTempest, while He inveighed against the vices of humanity, and\ndescribed the punishments reserved for them in a future state.  Every\nHearer looked back upon his past offences, and trembled:  The Thunder\nseemed to roll, whose bolt was destined to crush him, and the abyss of\neternal destruction to open before his feet.  But when Ambrosio,\nchanging his theme, spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience,\nof the glorious prospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted\nwith reproach, and of the recompense which awaited it in the regions of\neverlasting glory, His Auditors felt their scattered spirits insensibly\nreturn.  They threw themselves with confidence upon the mercy of their\nJudge; They hung with delight upon the consoling words of the Preacher;\nand while his full voice swelled into melody, They were transported to\nthose happy regions which He painted to their imaginations in colours\nso brilliant and glowing.\n\nThe discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded, the\nAudience grieved that it had not lasted longer.  Though the Monk had\nceased to speak, enthusiastic silence still prevailed through the\nChurch:  At length the charm gradually dissolving, the general\nadmiration was expressed in audible terms.  As Ambrosio descended from\nthe Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round him, loaded him with blessings,\nthrew themselves at his feet, and kissed the hem of his Garment.  He\npassed on slowly with his hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, to the\ndoor opening into the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to\nreceive him.  He ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his\nFollowers, addressed to them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation.\nWhile He spoke, his Rosary, composed of large grains of amber, fell\nfrom his hand, and dropped among the surrounding multitude. It was\nseized eagerly, and immediately divided amidst the Spectators.  Whoever\nbecame possessor of a Bead, preserved it as a sacred relique; and had\nit been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed St. Francis himself, it could not\nhave been disputed with greater vivacity.  The Abbot, smiling at their\neagerness, pronounced his benediction, and quitted the Church, while\nhumility dwelt upon every feature.  Dwelt She also in his heart?\n\nAntonia's eyes followed him with anxiety.  As the Door closed after\nhim, it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to her\nhappiness.  A tear stole in silence down her cheek.\n\n'He is separated from the world!' said She to herself; 'Perhaps, I\nshall never see him more!'\n\nAs she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action.\n\n'Are you satisfied with our Orator?' said He; 'Or do you think that\nMadrid overrates his talents?'\n\nAntonia's heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that She\neagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him:  Besides, as She now\nno longer considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger, She was less\nembarrassed by her excessive timidity.\n\n'Oh!  He far exceeds all my expectations,' answered She; 'Till this\nmoment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence.  But when He spoke,\nhis voice inspired me with such interest, such esteem, I might almost\nsay such affection for him, that I am myself astonished at the\nacuteness of my feelings.'\n\nLorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions.\n\n'You are young and just entering into life,' said He; 'Your heart, new\nto the world and full of warmth and sensibility, receives its first\nimpressions with eagerness.  Artless yourself, you suspect not others\nof deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth\nand innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your\nconfidence and esteem.  What pity, that these gay visions must soon be\ndissipated!  What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of\nmankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures as against your Foes!'\n\n'Alas! Segnor,' replied Antonia; 'The misfortunes of my Parents have\nalready placed before me but too many sad examples of the perfidy of\nthe world!  Yet surely in the present instance the warmth of sympathy\ncannot have deceived me.'\n\n'In the present instance, I allow that it has not.  Ambrosio's\ncharacter is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed the\nwhole of his life within the walls of a Convent cannot have found the\nopportunity to be guilty, even were He possessed of the inclination.\nBut now, when, obliged by the duties of his situation, He must enter\noccasionally into the world, and be thrown into the way of temptation,\nit is now that it behoves him to show the brilliance of his virtue.\nThe trial is dangerous; He is just at that period of life when the\npassions are most vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; His established\nreputation will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim;\nNovelty will give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and\neven the Talents with which Nature has endowed him will contribute to\nhis ruin, by facilitating the means of obtaining his object.  Very few\nwould return victorious from a contest so severe.'\n\n'Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.'\n\n'Of that I have myself no doubt:  By all accounts He is an exception to\nmankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for a blot upon his\ncharacter.'\n\n'Segnor, you delight me by this assurance!  It encourages me to indulge\nmy prepossession in his favour; and you know not with what pain I\nshould have repressed the sentiment!  Ah! dearest Aunt, entreat my\nMother to choose him for our Confessor.'\n\n'I entreat her?' replied Leonella; 'I promise you that I shall do no\nsuch thing.  I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He has a\nlook of severity about him that made me tremble from head to foot:\nWere He my Confessor, I should never have the courage to avow one half\nof my peccadilloes, and then I should be in a rare condition!  I never\nsaw such a stern-looking Mortal, and hope that I never shall see such\nanother.  His description of the Devil, God bless us! almost terrified\nme out of my wits, and when He spoke about Sinners He seemed as if He\nwas ready to eat them.'\n\n'You are right, Segnora,' answered Don Christoval; 'Too great severity\nis said to be Ambrosio's only fault. Exempted himself from human\nfailings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of others; and\nthough strictly just and disinterested in his decisions, his government\nof the Monks has already shown some proofs of his inflexibility. But\nthe crowd is nearly dissipated: Will you permit us to attend you home?'\n\n'Oh! Christ! Segnor,' exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush; 'I would\nnot suffer such a thing for the Universe!  If I came home attended by\nso gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous that She would read\nme an hour's lecture, and I should never hear the last of it.  Besides,\nI rather wish you not to make your proposals just at present.'\n\n'My proposals?  I assure you, Segnora....'\n\n'Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all very\ntrue; But really I must desire a little respite.  It would not be quite\nso delicate in me to accept your hand at first sight.'\n\n'Accept my hand?  As I hope to live and breathe....'\n\n'Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall consider\nyour obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall hear from me\ntomorrow, and so farewell.  But pray, Cavaliers, may I not enquire your\nnames?'\n\n'My Friend's,' replied Lorenzo, 'is the Conde d'Ossorio, and mine\nLorenzo de Medina.'\n\n''Tis sufficient.  Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sister with\nyour obliging offer, and let you know the result with all expedition.\nWhere may I send to you?'\n\n'I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.'\n\n'You may depend upon hearing from me.  Farewell, Cavaliers. Segnor\nConde, let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour of your\npassion:  However, to prove to you that I am not displeased with you,\nand prevent your abandoning yourself to despair, receive this mark of\nmy affection, and sometimes bestow a thought upon the absent Leonella.'\n\nAs She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which her\nsupposed Admirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint so\nevident, that Lorenzo with difficulty repressed his inclination to\nlaugh.  Leonella then hastened to quit the Church; The lovely Antonia\nfollowed her in silence; but when She reached the Porch, She turned\ninvoluntarily, and cast back her eyes towards Lorenzo.  He bowed to\nher, as bidding her farewell; She returned the compliment, and hastily\nwithdrew.\n\n'So, Lorenzo!' said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone, 'You\nhave procured me an agreeable Intrigue!  To favour your designs upon\nAntonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches which mean nothing to\nthe Aunt, and at the end of an hour I find myself upon the brink of\nMatrimony!  How will you reward me for having suffered so grievously\nfor your sake?  What can repay me for having kissed the leathern paw of\nthat confounded old Witch? Diavolo!  She has left such a scent upon my\nlips that I shall smell of garlick for this month to come!  As I pass\nalong the Prado, I shall be taken for a walking Omelet, or some large\nOnion running to seed!'\n\n'I confess, my poor Count,' replied Lorenzo, 'that your service has\nbeen attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it be past\nall endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry on your amours\nstill further.'\n\n'From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made some\nimpression upon you.'\n\n'I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her.  Since my\nFather's death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to me his\nwishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his hints, and refused\nto understand them; But what I have seen this Evening....'\n\n'Well?  What have you seen this Evening?  Why surely, Don Lorenzo, You\ncannot be mad enough to think of making a Wife out of this\nGrand-daughter of \"as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker as any in\nCordova\"?'\n\n'You forget, that She is also the Grand-daughter of the late Marquis de\nlas Cisternas; But without disputing about birth and titles, I must\nassure you, that I never beheld a Woman so interesting as Antonia.'\n\n'Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?'\n\n'Why not, my dear Conde?  I shall have wealth enough for both of us,\nand you know that my Uncle thinks liberally upon the subject.\n\nFrom what I have seen of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain that he\nwill readily acknowledge Antonia for his Niece.  Her birth therefore\nwill be no objection to my offering her my hand. I should be a Villain\ncould I think of her on any other terms than marriage; and in truth She\nseems possessed of every quality requisite to make me happy in a Wife.\nYoung, lovely, gentle, sensible....'\n\n'Sensible?  Why, She said nothing but \"Yes,\" and \"No\".'\n\n'She did not say much more, I must confess--But then She always said\n\"Yes,\" or \"No,\" in the right place.'\n\n'Did She so?  Oh! your most obedient!  That is using a right Lover's\nargument, and I dare dispute no longer with so profound a Casuist.\nSuppose we adjourn to the Comedy?'\n\n'It is out of my power.  I only arrived last night at Madrid, and have\nnot yet had an opportunity of seeing my Sister; You know that her\nConvent is in this Street, and I was going thither when the Crowd which\nI saw thronging into this Church excited my curiosity to know what was\nthe matter.  I shall now pursue my first intention, and probably pass\nthe Evening with my Sister at the Parlour grate.'\n\n'Your Sister in a Convent, say you?  Oh! very true, I had forgotten.\nAnd how does Donna Agnes?  I am amazed, Don Lorenzo, how you could\npossibly think of immuring so charming a Girl within the walls of a\nCloister!'\n\n'I think of it, Don Christoval?  How can you suspect me of such\nbarbarity?  You are conscious that She took the veil by her own desire,\nand that particular circumstances made her wish for a seclusion from\nthe World.  I used every means in my power to induce her to change her\nresolution; The endeavour was fruitless, and I lost a Sister!'\n\n'The luckier fellow you; I think, Lorenzo, you were a considerable\ngainer by that loss:  If I remember right, Donna Agnes had a portion of\nten thousand pistoles, half of which reverted to your Lordship.  By St.\nJago! I wish that I had fifty Sisters in the same predicament. I should\nconsent to losing them every soul without much heart-burning--'\n\n'How, Conde?' said Lorenzo in an angry voice; 'Do you suppose me base\nenough to have influenced my Sister's retirement?  Do you suppose that\nthe despicable wish to make myself Master of her fortune could....'\n\n'Admirable!  Courage, Don Lorenzo!  Now the Man is all in a blaze.  God\ngrant that Antonia may soften that fiery temper, or we shall certainly\ncut each other's throat before the Month is over!  However, to prevent\nsuch a tragical Catastrophe for the present, I shall make a retreat,\nand leave you Master of the field.  Farewell, my Knight of Mount Aetna!\nModerate that inflammable disposition, and remember that whenever it is\nnecessary to make love to yonder Harridan, you may reckon upon my\nservices.'\n\nHe said, and darted out of the Cathedral.\n\n'How wild-brained!' said Lorenzo; 'With so excellent an heart, what\npity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!'\n\nThe night was now fast advancing.  The Lamps were not yet lighted.  The\nfaint beams of the rising Moon scarcely could pierce through the gothic\nobscurity of the Church.  Lorenzo found himself unable to quit the\nSpot.  The void left in his bosom by Antonia's absence, and his\nSister's sacrifice which Don Christoval had just recalled to his\nimagination, created that melancholy of mind which accorded but too\nwell with the religious gloom surrounding him.  He was still leaning\nagainst the seventh column from the Pulpit.  A soft and cooling air\nbreathed along the solitary Aisles:  The Moonbeams darting into the\nChurch through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and massy\npillars with a thousand various tints of light and colours:\n\nUniversal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the occasional\nclosing of Doors in the adjoining Abbey.\n\nThe calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to nourish\nLorenzo's disposition to melancholy. He threw himself upon a seat which\nstood near him, and abandoned himself to the delusions of his fancy.\nHe thought of his union with Antonia; He thought of the obstacles which\nmight oppose his wishes; and a thousand changing visions floated before\nhis fancy, sad 'tis true, but not unpleasing.  Sleep insensibly stole\nover him, and the tranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while\ncontinued to influence his slumbers.\n\nHe still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins; but it\nwas no longer dark and solitary.  Multitudes of silver Lamps shed\nsplendour from the vaulted Roof; Accompanied by the captivating chaunt\nof distant choristers, the Organ's melody swelled through the Church;\nThe Altar seemed decorated as for some distinguished feast; It was\nsurrounded by a brilliant Company; and near it stood Antonia arrayed in\nbridal white, and blushing with all the charms of Virgin Modesty.\n\nHalf hoping, half fearing, Lorenzo gazed upon the scene before him.\nSudden the door leading to the Abbey unclosed, and He saw, attended by\na long train of Monks, the Preacher advance to whom He had just\nlistened with so much admiration.  He drew near Antonia.\n\n'And where is the Bridegroom?' said the imaginary Friar.\n\nAntonia seemed to look round the Church with anxiety. Involuntarily the\nYouth advanced a few steps from his concealment.  She saw him; The\nblush of pleasure glowed upon her cheek; With a graceful motion of her\nhand She beckoned to him to advance.  He disobeyed not the command; He\nflew towards her, and threw himself at her feet.\n\nShe retreated for a moment; Then gazing upon him with unutterable\ndelight;--'Yes!' She exclaimed, 'My Bridegroom!  My destined\nBridegroom!' She said, and hastened to throw herself into his arms; But\nbefore He had time to receive her, an Unknown rushed between them.  His\nform was gigantic; His complexion was swarthy, His eyes fierce and\nterrible; his Mouth breathed out volumes of fire; and on his forehead\nwas written in legible characters--'Pride! Lust! Inhumanity!'\n\nAntonia shrieked.  The Monster clasped her in his arms, and springing\nwith her upon the Altar, tortured her with his odious caresses.  She\nendeavoured in vain to escape from his embrace. Lorenzo flew to her\nsuccour, but ere He had time to reach her, a loud burst of thunder was\nheard.  Instantly the Cathedral seemed crumbling into pieces; The Monks\nbetook themselves to flight, shrieking fearfully; The Lamps were\nextinguished, the Altar sank down, and in its place appeared an abyss\nvomiting forth clouds of flame.  Uttering a loud and terrible cry the\nMonster plunged into the Gulph, and in his fall attempted to drag\nAntonia with him. He strove in vain.  Animated by supernatural powers\nShe disengaged herself from his embrace; But her white Robe was left in\nhis possession.  Instantly a wing of brilliant splendour spread itself\nfrom either of Antonia's arms.  She darted upwards, and while ascending\ncried to Lorenzo,\n\n'Friend! we shall meet above!'\n\nAt the same moment the Roof of the Cathedral opened; Harmonious voices\npealed along the Vaults; and the glory into which Antonia was received\nwas composed of rays of such dazzling brightness, that Lorenzo was\nunable to sustain the gaze.  His sight failed, and He sank upon the\nground.\n\nWhen He woke, He found himself extended upon the pavement of the\nChurch:  It was Illuminated, and the chaunt of Hymns sounded from a\ndistance.  For a while Lorenzo could not persuade himself that what He\nhad just witnessed had been a dream, so strong an impression had it\nmade upon his fancy.  A little recollection convinced him of its\nfallacy:  The Lamps had been lighted during his sleep, and the music\nwhich he heard was occasioned by the Monks, who were celebrating their\nVespers in the Abbey Chapel.\n\nLorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister's\nConvent.  His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his dream, He\nalready drew near the Porch, when his attention was attracted by\nperceiving a Shadow moving upon the opposite wall. He looked curiously\nround, and soon descried a Man wrapped up in his Cloak, who seemed\ncarefully examining whether his actions were observed.  Very few people\nare exempt from the influence of curiosity.  The Unknown seemed anxious\nto conceal his business in the Cathedral, and it was this very\ncircumstance, which made Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about.\n\nOur Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the secrets of\nthis unknown Cavalier.\n\n'I will go,' said Lorenzo.  And Lorenzo stayed, where He was.\n\nThe shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from the\nStranger, who continued to advance with caution.  At length He drew a\nletter from beneath his cloak, and hastily placed it beneath a Colossal\nStatue of St. Francis.  Then retiring with precipitation, He concealed\nhimself in a part of the Church at a considerable distance from that in\nwhich the Image stood.\n\n'So!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'This is only some foolish love affair.\nI believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good in it.'\n\nIn truth till that moment it never came into his head that He could do\nany good in it; But He thought it necessary to make some little excuse\nto himself for having indulged his curiosity.  He now made a second\nattempt to retire from the Church:  For this time He gained the Porch\nwithout meeting with any impediment; But it was destined that He should\npay it another visit that night. As He descended the steps leading into\nthe Street, a Cavalier rushed against him with such violence, that Both\nwere nearly overturned by the concussion.  Lorenzo put his hand to his\nsword.\n\n'How now, Segnor?' said He; 'What mean you by this rudeness?'\n\n'Ha!  Is it you, Medina?' replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by his\nvoice now recognized for Don Christoval; 'You are the luckiest Fellow\nin the Universe, not to have left the Church before my return.  In, in!\nmy dear Lad!  They will be here immediately!'\n\n'Who will be here?'\n\n'The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens!  In, I say, and then\nyou shall know the whole History.'\n\nLorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed themselves\nbehind the Statue of St. Francis.\n\n'And now,' said our Hero, 'may I take the liberty of asking, what is\nthe meaning of all this haste and rapture?'\n\n'Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight!  The Prioress of St.\nClare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither.  You are to know,\nthat the pious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him for it!) will upon\nno account move out of his own precincts:  It being absolutely\nnecessary for every fashionable Convent to have him for its Confessor,\nthe Nuns are in consequence obliged to visit him at the Abbey; since\nwhen the Mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to\nthe Mountain.  Now the Prioress of St. Clare, the better to escape the\ngaze of such impure eyes as belong to yourself and your humble Servant,\nthinks proper to bring her holy flock to confession in the Dusk: She is\nto be admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door.  The\nPorteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular\nFriend of mine, has just assured me of their being here in a few\nmoments.  There is news for you, you Rogue!  We shall see some of the\nprettiest faces in Madrid!'\n\n'In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing.  The Nuns are always\nveiled.'\n\n'No!  No!  I know better.  On entering a place of worship, they ever\ntake off their veils from respect to the Saint to whom 'tis dedicated.\nBut Hark!  They are coming!  Silence, silence! Observe, and be\nconvinced.'\n\n'Good!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'I may possibly discover to whom the\nvows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.'\n\nScarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the Domina of St.\nClare appeared, followed by a long procession of Nuns.  Each upon\nentering the Church took off her veil.  The Prioress crossed her hands\nupon her bosom, and made a profound reverence as She passed the Statue\nof St. Francis, the Patron of this Cathedral. The Nuns followed her\nexample, and several moved onwards without having satisfied Lorenzo's\ncuriosity.  He almost began to despair of seeing the mystery cleared\nup, when in paying her respects to St. Francis, one of the Nuns\nhappened to drop her Rosary.  As She stooped to pick it up, the light\nflashed full upon her face.  At the same moment She dexterously removed\nthe letter from beneath the Image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened\nto resume her rank in the procession.\n\n'Ha!' said Christoval in a low voice; 'Here we have some little\nIntrigue, no doubt.'\n\n'Agnes, by heaven!' cried Lorenzo.\n\n'What, your Sister?  Diavolo!  Then somebody, I suppose, will have to\npay for our peeping.'\n\n'And shall pay for it without delay,' replied the incensed Brother.\n\nThe pious procession had now entered the Abbey; The Door was already\nclosed upon it.  The Unknown immediately quitted his concealment and\nhastened to leave the Church:  Ere He could effect his intention, He\ndescried Medina stationed in his passage.  The Stranger hastily\nretreated, and drew his Hat over his eyes.\n\n'Attempt not to fly me!' exclaimed Lorenzo; 'I will know who you are,\nand what were the contents of that Letter.'\n\n'Of that Letter?' repeated the Unknown.  'And by what title do you ask\nthe question?'\n\n'By a title of which I am now ashamed; But it becomes not you to\nquestion me.  Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or answer me\nwith your Sword.'\n\n'The latter method will be the shortest,' rejoined the Other, drawing\nhis Rapier; 'Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!'\n\nBurning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: The Antagonists had\nalready exchanged several passes before Christoval, who at that moment\nhad more sense than either of them, could throw himself between their\nweapons.\n\n'Hold!  Hold!  Medina!' He exclaimed; 'Remember the consequences of\nshedding blood on consecrated ground!'\n\nThe Stranger immediately dropped his Sword.\n\n'Medina?' He cried; 'Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have you quite\nforgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?'\n\nLorenzo's astonishment increased with every succeeding moment. Raymond\nadvanced towards him, but with a look of suspicion He drew back his\nhand, which the Other was preparing to take.\n\n'You here, Marquis?  What is the meaning of all this?  You engaged in a\nclandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose affections....'\n\n'Have ever been, and still are mine.  But this is no fit place for an\nexplanation.  Accompany me to my Hotel, and you shall know every thing.\nWho is that with you?'\n\n'One whom I believe you to have seen before,' replied Don Christoval,\n'though probably not at Church.'\n\n'The Conde d'Ossorio?'\n\n'Exactly so, Marquis.'\n\n'I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am sure\nthat I may depend upon your silence.'\n\n'Then your opinion of me is better than my own, and therefore I must\nbeg leave to decline your confidence. Do you go your own way, and I\nshall go mine.  Marquis, where are you to be found?'\n\n'As usual, at the Hotel de las Cisternas; But remember, that I am\nincognito, and that if you wish to see me, you must ask for Alphonso\nd'Alvarada.'\n\n'Good!  Good!  Farewell, Cavaliers!' said Don Christoval, and instantly\ndeparted.\n\n'You, Marquis,' said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; 'You, Alphonso\nd'Alvarada?'\n\n'Even so, Lorenzo:  But unless you have already heard my story from\nyour Sister, I have much to relate that will astonish you. Follow me,\ntherefore, to my Hotel without delay.'\n\nAt this moment the Porter of the Capuchins entered the Cathedral to\nlock up the doors for the night.  The two Noblemen instantly withdrew,\nand hastened with all speed to the Palace de las Cisternas.\n\n'Well, Antonia!' said the Aunt, as soon as She had quitted the Church;\n'What think you of our Gallants?  Don Lorenzo really seems a very\nobliging good sort of young Man:  He paid you some attention, and\nnobody knows what may come of it.  But as to Don Christoval, I protest\nto you, He is the very Phoenix of politeness.  So gallant! so\nwell-bred!  So sensible, and so pathetic!  Well!  If ever Man can\nprevail upon me to break my vow never to marry, it will be that Don\nChristoval.  You see, Niece, that every thing turns out exactly as I\ntold you:  The very moment that I produced myself in Madrid, I knew\nthat I should be surrounded by Admirers.  When I took off my veil, did\nyou see, Antonia, what an effect the action had upon the Conde?  And\nwhen I presented him my hand, did you observe the air of passion with\nwhich He kissed it?  If ever I witnessed real love, I then saw it\nimpressed upon Don Christoval's countenance!'\n\nNow Antonia had observed the air, with which Don Christoval had kissed\nthis same hand; But as She drew conclusions from it somewhat different\nfrom her Aunt's, She was wise enough to hold her tongue.  As this is\nthe only instance known of a Woman's ever having done so, it was judged\nworthy to be recorded here.\n\nThe old Lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same strain,\ntill they gained the Street in which was their Lodging. Here a Crowd\ncollected before their door permitted them not to approach it; and\nplacing themselves on the opposite side of the Street, they endeavoured\nto make out what had drawn all these people together.  After some\nminutes the Crowd formed itself into a Circle; And now Antonia\nperceived in the midst of it a Woman of extraordinary height, who\nwhirled herself repeatedly round and round, using all sorts of\nextravagant gestures.  Her dress was composed of shreds of\nvarious-coloured silks and Linens fantastically arranged, yet not\nentirely without taste.  Her head was covered with a kind of Turban,\nornamented with vine leaves and wild flowers.  She seemed much\nsun-burnt, and her complexion was of a deep olive:  Her eyes looked\nfiery and strange; and in her hand She bore a long black Rod, with\nwhich She at intervals traced a variety of singular figures upon the\nground, round about which She danced in all the eccentric attitudes of\nfolly and delirium.  Suddenly She broke off her dance, whirled herself\nround thrice with rapidity, and after a moment's pause She sang the\nfollowing Ballad.\n\n                THE GYPSY'S SONG\n\n  Come, cross my hand!  My art surpasses\n    All that did ever Mortal know;\n  Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses\n    Your future Husband's form can show:\n\n  For 'tis to me the power is given\n    Unclosed the book of Fate to see;\n  To read the fixed resolves of heaven,\n    And dive into futurity.\n\n  I guide the pale Moon's silver waggon;\n    The winds in magic bonds I hold;\n  I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon,\n    Who loves to watch o'er buried gold:\n\n  Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture\n    Their sabbath strange where Witches keep;\n  Fearless the Sorcerer's circle enter,\n    And woundless tread on snakes asleep.\n\n  Lo! Here are charms of mighty power!\n    This makes secure an Husband's truth\n  And this composed at midnight hour\n    Will force to love the coldest Youth:\n\n  If any Maid too much has granted,\n    Her loss this Philtre will repair;\n  This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,\n    And this will make a brown girl fair!\n\n  Then silent hear, while I discover\n    What I in Fortune's mirror view;\n  And each, when many a year is over,\n    Shall own the Gypsy's sayings true.\n\n\n'Dear Aunt!' said Antonia when the Stranger had finished, 'Is She not\nmad?'\n\n'Mad?  Not She, Child; She is only wicked.  She is a Gypsy, a sort of\nVagabond, whose sole occupation is to run about the country telling\nlyes, and pilfering from those who come by their money honestly.  Out\nupon such Vermin!  If I were King of Spain, every one of them should be\nburnt alive who was found in my dominions after the next three weeks.'\n\nThese words were pronounced so audibly that they reached the Gypsy's\nears.  She immediately pierced through the Crowd and made towards the\nLadies.  She saluted them thrice in the Eastern fashion, and then\naddressed herself to Antonia.\n\nTHE GYPSY\n\n 'Lady! gentle Lady!  Know,\n  I your future fate can show;\n  Give your hand, and do not fear;\n  Lady! gentle Lady! hear!'\n\n'Dearest Aunt!' said Antonia, 'Indulge me this once! Let me have my\nfortune told me!'\n\n'Nonsense, Child!  She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.'\n\n'No matter; Let me at least hear what She has to say. Do, my dear Aunt!\nOblige me, I beseech you!'\n\n'Well, well! Antonia, since you are so bent upon the thing, ... Here,\ngood Woman, you shall see the hands of both of us.  There is money for\nyou, and now let me hear my fortune.'\n\nAs She said this, She drew off her glove, and presented her hand; The\nGypsy looked at it for a moment, and then made this reply.\n\n\nTHE GYPSY\n\n  'Your fortune?  You are now so old,\n  Good Dame, that 'tis already told:\n  Yet for your money, in a trice\n  I will repay you in advice.\n  Astonished at your childish vanity,\n  Your Friends all tax you with insanity,\n  And grieve to see you use your art\n  To catch some youthful Lover's heart.\n  Believe me, Dame, when all is done,\n  Your age will still be fifty one;\n  And Men will rarely take an hint\n  Of love, from two grey eyes that squint.\n  Take then my counsels; Lay aside\n  Your paint and patches, lust and pride,\n  And on the Poor those sums bestow,\n  Which now are spent on useless show.\n  Think on your Maker, not a Suitor;\n  Think on your past faults, not on future;\n  And think Time's Scythe will quickly mow\n  The few red hairs, which deck your brow.\n\nThe audience rang with laughter during the Gypsy's address; and--'fifty\none,'--'squinting eyes,' 'red hair,'--'paint and patches,' &c. were\nbandied from mouth to mouth.  Leonella was almost choaked with passion,\nand loaded her malicious Adviser with the bitterest reproaches.  The\nswarthy Prophetess for some time listened to her with a contemptuous\nsmile: at length She made her a short answer, and then turned to\nAntonia.\n\nTHE GYPSY\n\n 'Peace, Lady!  What I said was true;\n  And now, my lovely Maid, to you;\n  Give me your hand, and let me see\n  Your future doom, and heaven's decree.'\n\nIn imitation of Leonella, Antonia drew off her glove, and presented her\nwhite hand to the Gypsy, who having gazed upon it for some time with a\nmingled expression of pity and astonishment, pronounced her Oracle in\nthe following words.\n\nTHE GYPSY\n\n 'Jesus! what a palm is there!\n  Chaste, and gentle, young and fair,\n  Perfect mind and form possessing,\n  You would be some good Man's blessing:\n  But Alas! This line discovers,\n  That destruction o'er you hovers;\n  Lustful Man and crafty Devil\n  Will combine to work your evil;\n  And from earth by sorrows driven,\n  Soon your Soul must speed to heaven.\n  Yet your sufferings to delay,\n  Well remember what I say.\n  When you One more virtuous see\n  Than belongs to Man to be,\n  One, whose self no crimes assailing,\n  Pities not his Neighbour's Failing,\n  Call the Gypsy's words to mind:\n  Though He seem so good and kind,\n  Fair Exteriors oft will hide\n  Hearts, that swell with lust and pride!\n  Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you!\n  Let not my prediction grieve you;\n  Rather with submission bending\n  Calmly wait distress impending,\n  And expect eternal bliss\n  In a better world than this.\n\nHaving said this, the Gypsy again whirled herself round thrice, and\nthen hastened out of the Street with frantic gesture.  The Crowd\nfollowed her; and Elvira's door being now unembarrassed Leonella\nentered the House out of honour with the Gypsy, with her Niece, and\nwith the People; In short with every body, but herself and her charming\nCavalier.  The Gypsy's predictions had also considerably affected\nAntonia; But the impression soon wore off, and in a few hours She had\nforgotten the adventure as totally as had it never taken place.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n  Forse se tu gustassi una sol volta\n  La millesima parte delle gioje,\n  Che gusta un cor amato riamando,\n  Diresti ripentita sospirando,\n  Perduto e tutto il tempo\n  Che in amar non si sponde.\n                       Tasso.\n\n  Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part\n  Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,\n  Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,\n  Lost is the time which is not past in love.\n\nThe monks having attended their Abbot to the door of his Cell, He\ndismissed them with an air of conscious superiority in which Humility's\nsemblance combated with the reality of pride.\n\nHe was no sooner alone, than He gave free loose to the indulgence of\nhis vanity.  When He remembered the Enthusiasm which his discourse had\nexcited, his heart swelled with rapture, and his imagination presented\nhim with splendid visions of aggrandizement.  He looked round him with\nexultation, and Pride told him loudly that He was superior to the rest\nof his fellow-Creatures.\n\n'Who,' thought He; 'Who but myself has passed the ordeal of Youth, yet\nsees no single stain upon his conscience?  Who else has subdued the\nviolence of strong passions and an impetuous temperament, and submitted\neven from the dawn of life to voluntary retirement?  I seek for such a\nMan in vain.  I see no one but myself possessed of such resolution.\nReligion cannot boast Ambrosio's equal!  How powerful an effect did my\ndiscourse produce upon its Auditors!  How they crowded round me!  How\nthey loaded me with benedictions, and pronounced me the sole\nuncorrupted Pillar of the Church!  What then now is left for me to do?\nNothing, but to watch as carefully over the conduct of my Brothers as I\nhave hitherto watched over my own.  Yet hold!  May I not be tempted\nfrom those paths which till now I have pursued without one moment's\nwandering?  Am I not a Man, whose nature is frail, and prone to error?\nI must now abandon the solitude of my retreat; The fairest and noblest\nDames of Madrid continually present themselves at the Abbey, and will\nuse no other Confessor.\n\nI must accustom my eyes to Objects of temptation, and expose myself to\nthe seduction of luxury and desire.  Should I meet in that world which\nI am constrained to enter some lovely Female, lovely ...  as you,\nMadona....!'\n\nAs He said this, He fixed his eyes upon a picture of the Virgin, which\nwas suspended opposite to him:  This for two years had been the Object\nof his increasing wonder and adoration.  He paused, and gazed upon it\nwith delight.\n\n'What Beauty in that countenance!'  He continued after a silence of\nsome minutes; 'How graceful is the turn of that head!  What sweetness,\nyet what majesty in her divine eyes!  How softly her cheek reclines\nupon her hand!  Can the Rose vie with the blush of that cheek?  Can the\nLily rival the whiteness of that hand? Oh! if such a Creature existed,\nand existed but for me! Were I permitted to twine round my fingers\nthose golden ringlets, and press with my lips the treasures of that\nsnowy bosom!  Gracious God, should I then resist the temptation?\nShould I not barter for a single embrace the reward of my sufferings\nfor thirty years?  Should I not abandon....  Fool that I am!\nWhither do I suffer my admiration of this picture to hurry me?  Away,\nimpure ideas!  Let me remember that Woman is for ever lost to me. Never\nwas Mortal formed so perfect as this picture. But even did such exist,\nthe trial might be too mighty for a common virtue, but Ambrosio's is\nproof against temptation.  Temptation, did I say?  To me it would be\nnone.  What charms me, when ideal and considered as a superior Being,\nwould disgust me, become Woman and tainted with all the failings of\nMortality.  It is not the Woman's beauty that fills me with such\nenthusiasm; It is the Painter's skill that I admire, it is the Divinity\nthat I adore! Are not the passions dead in my bosom?  Have I not freed\nmyself from the frailty of Mankind?  Fear not, Ambrosio!  Take\nconfidence in the strength of your virtue.  Enter boldly into a world\nto whose failings you are superior; Reflect that you are now exempted\nfrom Humanity's defects, and defy all the arts of the Spirits of\nDarkness.  They shall know you for what you are!'\n\nHere his Reverie was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door of\nhis Cell.  With difficulty did the Abbot awake from his delirium.  The\nknocking was repeated.\n\n'Who is there?' said Ambrosio at length.\n\n'It is only Rosario,' replied a gentle voice.\n\n'Enter!  Enter, my Son!'\n\nThe Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a small\nbasket in his hand.\n\nRosario was a young Novice belonging to the Monastery, who in three\nMonths intended to make his profession.  A sort of mystery enveloped\nthis Youth which rendered him at once an object of interest and\ncuriosity.  His hatred of society, his profound melancholy, his rigid\nobservation of the duties of his order, and his voluntary seclusion\nfrom the world at his age so unusual, attracted the notice of the whole\nfraternity.  He seemed fearful of being recognised, and no one had ever\nseen his face. His head was continually muffled up in his Cowl; Yet\nsuch of his features as accident discovered, appeared the most\nbeautiful and noble. Rosario was the only name by which He was known in\nthe Monastery.\n\nNo one knew from whence He came, and when questioned in the subject He\npreserved a profound silence.  A Stranger, whose rich habit and\nmagnificent equipage declared him to be of distinguished rank, had\nengaged the Monks to receive a Novice, and had deposited the necessary\nsums.  The next day He returned with Rosario, and from that time no\nmore had been heard of him.\n\nThe Youth had carefully avoided the company of the Monks:  He answered\ntheir civilities with sweetness, but reserve, and evidently showed that\nhis inclination led him to solitude.  To this general rule the Superior\nwas the only exception.  To him He looked up with a respect approaching\nidolatry:  He sought his company with the most attentive assiduity, and\neagerly seized every means to ingratiate himself in his favour.  In the\nAbbot's society his Heart seemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety\npervaded his whole manners and discourse.  Ambrosio on his side did not\nfeel less attracted towards the Youth; With him alone did He lay aside\nhis habitual severity.  When He spoke to him, He insensibly assumed a\ntone milder than was usual to him; and no voice sounded so sweet to him\nas did Rosario's.  He repayed the Youth's attentions by instructing him\nin various sciences; The Novice received his lessons with docility;\nAmbrosio was every day more charmed with the vivacity of his Genius,\nthe simplicity of his manners, and the rectitude of his heart:  In\nshort He loved him with all the affection of a Father.  He could not\nhelp sometimes indulging a desire secretly to see the face of his\nPupil; But his rule of self-denial extended even to curiosity, and\nprevented him from communicating his wishes to the Youth.\n\n'Pardon my intrusion, Father,' said Rosario, while He placed his basket\nupon the Table; 'I come to you a Suppliant.  Hearing that a dear Friend\nis dangerously ill, I entreat your prayers for his recovery.  If\nsupplications can prevail upon heaven to spare him, surely yours must\nbe efficacious.'\n\n'Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command.\n\nWhat is your Friend's name?'\n\n'Vincentio della Ronda.'\n\n''Tis sufficient.  I will not forget him in my prayers, and may our\nthrice-blessed St. Francis deign to listen to my intercession!--What\nhave you in your basket, Rosario?'\n\n'A few of those flowers, reverend Father, which I have observed to be\nmost acceptable to you.  Will you permit my arranging them in your\nchamber?'\n\n'Your attentions charm me, my Son.'\n\nWhile Rosario dispersed the contents of his Basket in small Vases\nplaced for that purpose in various parts of the room, the Abbot thus\ncontinued the conversation.\n\n'I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.'\n\n'Yet I was present, Father.  I am too grateful for your protection to\nlose an opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.'\n\n'Alas! Rosario, I have but little cause to triumph:  The Saint spoke by\nmy mouth; To him belongs all the merit. It seems then you were\ncontented with my discourse?'\n\n'Contented, say you?  Oh! you surpassed yourself!  Never did I hear\nsuch eloquence ...  save once!'\n\nHere the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh.\n\n'When was that once?' demanded the Abbot.\n\n'When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our late Superior.'\n\n'I remember it:  That is more than two years ago.  And were you\npresent?  I knew you not at that time, Rosario.'\n\n''Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I beheld that\nday!  What sufferings, what sorrows should I have escaped!'\n\n'Sufferings at your age, Rosario?'\n\n'Aye, Father; Sufferings, which if known to you, would equally raise\nyour anger and compassion!  Sufferings, which form at once the torment\nand pleasure of my existence!  Yet in this retreat my bosom would feel\ntranquil, were it not for the tortures of apprehension.  Oh God!  Oh\nGod! how cruel is a life of fear!--Father! I have given up all; I have\nabandoned the world and its delights for ever:  Nothing now remains,\nNothing now has charms for me, but your friendship, but your affection.\nIf I lose that, Father!  Oh! if I lose that, tremble at the effects of\nmy despair!'\n\n'You apprehend the loss of my friendship?  How has my conduct justified\nthis fear?  Know me better, Rosario, and think me worthy of your\nconfidence.  What are your sufferings?  Reveal them to me, and believe\nthat if 'tis in my power to relieve them....'\n\n'Ah! 'tis in no one's power but yours.  Yet I must not let you know\nthem.  You would hate me for my avowal!  You would drive me from your\npresence with scorn and ignominy!'\n\n'My Son, I conjure you!  I entreat you!'\n\n'For pity's sake, enquire no further!  I must not ... I dare not...\nHark!  The Bell rings for Vespers!  Father, your benediction, and I\nleave you!'\n\nAs He said this, He threw himself upon his knees and received the\nblessing which He demanded.  Then pressing the Abbot's hand to his\nlips, He started from the ground and hastily quitted the apartment.\nSoon after Ambrosio descended to Vespers (which were celebrated in a\nsmall chapel belonging to the Abbey), filled with surprise at the\nsingularity of the Youth's behaviour.\n\nVespers being over, the Monks retired to their respective Cells. The\nAbbot alone remained in the Chapel to receive the Nuns of St. Clare.\nHe had not been long seated in the confessional chair before the\nPrioress made her appearance.  Each of the Nuns was heard in her turn,\nwhile the Others waited with the Domina in the adjoining Vestry.\nAmbrosio listened to the confessions with attention, made many\nexhortations, enjoined penance proportioned to each offence, and for\nsome time every thing went on as usual: till at last one of the Nuns,\nconspicuous from the nobleness of her air and elegance of her figure,\ncarelessly permitted a letter to fall from her bosom.  She was\nretiring, unconscious of her loss.  Ambrosio supposed it to have been\nwritten by some one of her Relations, and picked it up intending to\nrestore it to her.\n\n'Stay, Daughter,' said He; 'You have let fall....'\n\nAt this moment, the paper being already open, his eye involuntarily\nread the first words.  He started back with surprise!  The Nun had\nturned round on hearing his voice:  She perceived her letter in his\nhand, and uttering a shriek of terror, flew hastily to regain it.\n\n'Hold!' said the Friar in a tone of severity; 'Daughter, I must read\nthis letter.'\n\n'Then I am lost!'  She exclaimed clasping her hands together wildly.\n\nAll colour instantly faded from her face; she trembled with agitation,\nand was obliged to fold her arms round a Pillar of the Chapel to save\nherself from sinking upon the floor.  In the meanwhile the Abbot read\nthe following lines.\n\n'All is ready for your escape, my dearest Agnes.  At twelve tomorrow\nnight I shall expect to find you at the Garden door:  I have obtained\nthe Key, and a few hours will suffice to place you in a secure asylum.\nLet no mistaken scruples induce you to reject the certain means of\npreserving yourself and the innocent Creature whom you nourish in your\nbosom.  Remember that you had promised to be mine, long ere you engaged\nyourself to the church; that your situation will soon be evident to the\nprying eyes of your Companions; and that flight is the only means of\navoiding the effects of their malevolent resentment.  Farewell, my\nAgnes! my dear and destined Wife!  Fail not to be at the Garden door at\ntwelve!'\n\nAs soon as He had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry upon\nthe imprudent Nun.\n\n'This letter must to the Prioress!' said He, and passed her.\n\nHis words sounded like thunder to her ears:  She awoke from her\ntorpidity only to be sensible of the dangers of her situation. She\nfollowed him hastily, and detained him by his garment.\n\n'Stay!  Oh! stay!' She cried in the accents of despair, while She threw\nherself at the Friar's feet, and bathed them with her tears.  'Father,\ncompassionate my youth!  Look with indulgence on a Woman's weakness,\nand deign to conceal my frailty!  The remainder of my life shall be\nemployed in expiating this single fault, and your lenity will bring\nback a soul to heaven!'\n\n'Amazing confidence!  What!  Shall St. Clare's Convent become the\nretreat of Prostitutes?  Shall I suffer the Church of Christ to cherish\nin its bosom debauchery and shame?  Unworthy Wretch! such lenity would\nmake me your accomplice.  Mercy would here be criminal.  You have\nabandoned yourself to a Seducer's lust; You have defiled the sacred\nhabit by your impurity; and still dare you think yourself deserving my\ncompassion?  Hence, nor detain me longer!  Where is the Lady Prioress?'\nHe added, raising his voice.\n\n'Hold! Father, Hold!  Hear me but for one moment! Tax me not with\nimpurity, nor think that I have erred from the warmth of temperament.\nLong before I took the veil, Raymond was Master of my heart:  He\ninspired me with the purest, the most irreproachable passion, and was\non the point of becoming my lawful husband.  An horrible adventure, and\nthe treachery of a Relation, separated us from each other:  I believed\nhim for ever lost to me, and threw myself into a Convent from motives\nof despair.  Accident again united us; I could not refuse myself the\nmelancholy pleasure of mingling my tears with his:  We met nightly in\nthe Gardens of St. Clare, and in an unguarded moment I violated my vows\nof Chastity.  I shall soon become a Mother: Reverend Ambrosio, take\ncompassion on me; take compassion on the innocent Being whose existence\nis attached to mine. If you discover my imprudence to the Domina, both\nof us are lost:  The punishment which the laws of St. Clare assign to\nUnfortunates like myself is most severe and cruel.  Worthy, worthy\nFather! Let not your own untainted conscience render you unfeeling\ntowards those less able to withstand temptation!  Let not mercy be the\nonly virtue of which your heart is unsusceptible!  Pity me, most\nreverend!  Restore my letter, nor doom me to inevitable destruction!'\n\n'Your boldness confounds me!  Shall I conceal your crime, I whom you\nhave deceived by your feigned confession?  No, Daughter, no! I will\nrender you a more essential service.  I will rescue you from perdition\nin spite of yourself; Penance and mortification shall expiate your\noffence, and Severity force you back to the paths of holiness.  What;\nHo!  Mother St. Agatha!'\n\n'Father!  By all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, I\nsupplicate, I entreat....'\n\n'Release me!  I will not hear you.  Where is the Domina?  Mother St.\nAgatha, where are you?'\n\nThe door of the Vestry opened, and the Prioress entered the Chapel,\nfollowed by her Nuns.\n\n'Cruel!  Cruel!' exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold.\n\nWild and desperate, She threw herself upon the ground, beating her\nbosom and rending her veil in all the delirium of despair. The Nuns\ngazed with astonishment upon the scene before them.  The Friar now\npresented the fatal paper to the Prioress, informed her of the manner\nin which he had found it, and added, that it was her business to\ndecide, what penance the delinquent merited.\n\nWhile She perused the letter, the Domina's countenance grew inflamed\nwith passion.  What!  Such a crime committed in her Convent, and made\nknown to Ambrosio, to the Idol of Madrid, to the Man whom She was most\nanxious to impress with the opinion of the strictness and regularity of\nher House!  Words were inadequate to express her fury.  She was silent,\nand darted upon the prostrate Nun looks of menace and malignity.\n\n'Away with her to the Convent!' said She at length to some of her\nAttendants.\n\nTwo of the oldest Nuns now approaching Agnes, raised her forcibly from\nthe ground, and prepared to conduct her from the Chapel.\n\n'What!' She exclaimed suddenly shaking off their hold with distracted\ngestures; 'Is all hope then lost?  Already do you drag me to\npunishment?  Where are you, Raymond?  Oh! save me! save me!'\n\nThen casting upon the Abbot a frantic look, 'Hear me!' She continued;\n'Man of an hard heart!  Hear me, Proud, Stern, and Cruel!  You could\nhave saved me; you could have restored me to happiness and virtue, but\nwould not!  You are the destroyer of my Soul; You are my Murderer, and\non you fall the curse of my death and my unborn Infant's!  Insolent in\nyour yet-unshaken virtue, you disdained the prayers of a Penitent; But\nGod will show mercy, though you show none.  And where is the merit of\nyour boasted virtue?  What temptations have you vanquished?  Coward!\nyou have fled from it, not opposed seduction.  But the day of Trial\nwill arrive!  Oh! then when you yield to impetuous passions! when you\nfeel that Man is weak, and born to err; When shuddering you look back\nupon your crimes, and solicit with terror the mercy of your God, Oh! in\nthat fearful moment think upon me!  Think upon your Cruelty!  Think\nupon Agnes, and despair of pardon!'\n\nAs She uttered these last words, her strength was exhausted, and She\nsank inanimate upon the bosom of a Nun who stood near her. She was\nimmediately conveyed from the Chapel, and her Companions followed her.\n\nAmbrosio had not listened to her reproaches without emotion.  A secret\npang at his heart made him feel, that He had treated this Unfortunate\nwith too great severity. He therefore detained the Prioress and\nventured to pronounce some words in favour of the Delinquent.\n\n'The violence of her despair,' said He, 'proves, that at least Vice is\nnot become familiar to her.  Perhaps by treating her with somewhat less\nrigour than is generally practised, and mitigating in some degree the\naccustomed penance....'\n\n'Mitigate it, Father?' interrupted the Lady Prioress; 'Not I, believe\nme.  The laws of our order are strict and severe; they have fallen into\ndisuse of late, But the crime of Agnes shows me the necessity of their\nrevival.  I go to signify my intention to the Convent, and Agnes shall\nbe the first to feel the rigour of those laws, which shall be obeyed to\nthe very letter.  Father, Farewell.'\n\nThus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel.\n\n'I have done my duty,' said Ambrosio to himself.\n\nStill did He not feel perfectly satisfied by this reflection.  To\ndissipate the unpleasant ideas which this scene had excited in him,\nupon quitting the Chapel He descended into the Abbey Garden.\n\nIn all Madrid there was no spot more beautiful or better regulated.  It\nwas laid out with the most exquisite taste. The choicest flowers\nadorned it in the height of luxuriance, and though artfully arranged,\nseemed only planted by the hand of Nature: Fountains, springing from\nbasons of white Marble, cooled the air with perpetual showers; and the\nWalls were entirely covered by Jessamine, vines, and Honeysuckles.  The\nhour now added to the beauty of the scene.  The full Moon, ranging\nthrough a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees a trembling\nlustre, and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam:  A\ngentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the\nAlleys; and the Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur from the\nshelter of an artificial wilderness.  Thither the Abbot bent his steps.\n\nIn the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed in\nimitation of an Hermitage.  The walls were constructed of roots of\ntrees, and the interstices filled up with Moss and Ivy. Seats of Turf\nwere placed on either side, and a natural Cascade fell from the Rock\nabove.  Buried in himself the Monk approached the spot.  The universal\ncalm had communicated itself to his bosom, and a voluptuous\ntranquillity spread languor through his soul.\n\nHe reached the Hermitage, and was entering to repose himself, when He\nstopped on perceiving it to be already occupied. Extended upon one of\nthe Banks lay a man in a melancholy posture.\n\nHis head was supported upon his arm, and He seemed lost in mediation.\nThe Monk drew nearer, and recognised Rosario:  He watched him in\nsilence, and entered not the Hermitage.  After some minutes the Youth\nraised his eyes, and fixed them mournfully upon the opposite Wall.\n\n'Yes!' said He with a deep and plaintive sigh; 'I feel all the\nhappiness of thy situation, all the misery of my own!  Happy were I,\ncould I think like Thee!  Could I look like Thee with disgust upon\nMankind, could bury myself for ever in some impenetrable solitude, and\nforget that the world holds Beings deserving to be loved!  Oh God!\nWhat a blessing would Misanthropy be to me!'\n\n'That is a singular thought, Rosario,' said the Abbot, entering the\nGrotto.\n\n'You here, reverend Father?' cried the Novice.\n\nAt the same time starting from his place in confusion, He drew his Cowl\nhastily over his face.  Ambrosio seated himself upon the Bank, and\nobliged the Youth to place himself by him.\n\n'You must not indulge this disposition to melancholy,' said He; 'What\ncan possibly have made you view in so desirable a light, Misanthropy,\nof all sentiments the most hateful?'\n\n'The perusal of these Verses, Father, which till now had escaped my\nobservation.  The Brightness of the Moonbeams permitted my reading\nthem; and Oh! how I envy the feelings of the Writer!'\n\nAs He said this, He pointed to a marble Tablet fixed against the\nopposite Wall:  On it were engraved the following lines.\n\n         INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE\n\n  Who-e'er Thou art these lines now reading,\n  Think not, though from the world receding\n  I joy my lonely days to lead in\n      This Desart drear,\n  That with remorse a conscience bleeding\n      Hath led me here.\n\n  No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs:\n  Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers;\n  For well I saw in Halls and Towers\n     That Lust and Pride,\n  The Arch-Fiend's dearest darkest Powers,\n     In state preside.\n\n  I saw Mankind with vice incrusted;\n  I saw that Honour's sword was rusted;\n  That few for aught but folly lusted;\n  That He was still deceiv'd, who trusted\n     In Love or Friend;\n  And hither came with Men disgusted\n     My life to end.\n\n  In this lone Cave, in garments lowly,\n  Alike a Foe to noisy folly,\n  And brow-bent gloomy melancholy\n     I wear away\n  My life, and in my office holy\n    Consume the day.\n\n  Content and comfort bless me more in\n  This Grot, than e'er I felt before in\n  A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring\n     To God on high,\n  Each night and morn with voice imploring\n     This wish I sigh.\n\n  'Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire,\n  Unknown each guilty worldly fire,\n  Remorseful throb, or loose desire;\n     And when I die,\n  Let me in this belief expire,\n     \"To God I fly\"!'\n\n  Stranger, if full of youth and riot\n  As yet no grief has marred thy quiet,\n  Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at\n     The Hermit's prayer:\n  But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at\n     Thy fault, or care;\n\n  If Thou hast known false Love's vexation,\n  Or hast been exil'd from thy Nation,\n  Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,\n         And makes thee pine,\n  Oh! how must Thou lament thy station,\n       And envy mine!\n\n'Were it possible' said the Friar, 'for Man to be so totally wrapped up\nin himself as to live in absolute seclusion from human nature, and\ncould yet feel the contented tranquillity which these lines express, I\nallow that the situation would be more desirable, than to live in a\nworld so pregnant with every vice and every folly.  But this never can\nbe the case.  This inscription was merely placed here for the ornament\nof the Grotto, and the sentiments and the Hermit are equally imaginary.\nMan was born for society.  However little He may be attached to the\nWorld, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by\nit.  Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, the Misanthrope\nflies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, and buries himself in\nthe Cavern of some gloomy Rock.  While Hate inflames his bosom,\npossibly He may feel contented with his situation:  But when his\npassions begin to cool; when Time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed\nthose wounds which He bore with him to his solitude, think you that\nContent becomes his Companion?  Ah! no, Rosario.  No longer sustained\nby the violence of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way\nof living, and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness.  He\nlooks round, and finds himself alone in the Universe:  The love of\nsociety revives in his bosom, and He pants to return to that world\nwhich He has abandoned.  Nature loses all her charms in his eyes:  No\none is near him to point out her beauties, or share in his admiration\nof her excellence and variety.  Propped upon the fragment of some Rock,\nHe gazes upon the tumbling waterfall with a vacant eye, He views\nwithout emotion the glory of the setting Sun.  Slowly He returns to his\nCell at Evening, for no one there is anxious for his arrival; He has no\ncomfort in his solitary unsavoury meal:  He throws himself upon his\ncouch of Moss despondent and dissatisfied, and wakes only to pass a day\nas joyless, as monotonous as the former.'\n\n'You amaze me, Father!  Suppose that circumstances condemned you to\nsolitude; Would not the duties of Religion and the consciousness of a\nlife well spent communicate to your heart that calm which....'\n\n'I should deceive myself, did I fancy that they could.  I am convinced\nof the contrary, and that all my fortitude would not prevent me from\nyielding to melancholy and disgust.  After consuming the day in study,\nif you knew my pleasure at meeting my Brethren in the Evening!  After\npassing many a long hour in solitude, if I could express to you the joy\nwhich I feel at once more beholding a fellow-Creature!  'Tis in this\nparticular that I place the principal merit of a Monastic Institution.\nIt secludes Man from the temptations of Vice; It procures that leisure\nnecessary for the proper service of the Supreme; It spares him the\nmortification of witnessing the crimes of the worldly, and yet permits\nhim to enjoy the blessings of society.  And do you, Rosario, do YOU\nenvy an Hermit's life?  Can you be thus blind to the happiness of your\nsituation?  Reflect upon it for a moment. This Abbey is become your\nAsylum:  Your regularity, your gentleness, your talents have rendered\nyou the object of universal esteem:  You are secluded from the world\nwhich you profess to hate; yet you remain in possession of the benefits\nof society, and that a society composed of the most estimable of\nMankind.'\n\n'Father!  Father! 'tis that which causes my Torment!  Happy had it been\nfor me, had my life been passed among the vicious and abandoned!  Had I\nnever heard pronounced the name of Virtue! 'Tis my unbounded adoration\nof religion; 'Tis my soul's exquisite sensibility of the beauty of fair\nand good, that loads me with shame! that hurries me to perdition!  Oh!\nthat I had never seen these Abbey walls!'\n\n'How, Rosario?  When we last conversed, you spoke in a different tone.\nIs my friendship then become of such little consequence? Had you never\nseen these Abbey walls, you never had seen me: Can that really be your\nwish?'\n\n'Had never seen you?' repeated the Novice, starting from the Bank, and\ngrasping the Friar's hand with a frantic air; 'You? You?  Would to God,\nthat lightning had blasted them, before you ever met my eyes!  Would to\nGod! that I were never to see you more, and could forget that I had\never seen you!'\n\nWith these words He flew hastily from the Grotto.  Ambrosio remained in\nhis former attitude, reflecting on the Youth's unaccountable behaviour.\nHe was inclined to suspect the derangement of his senses: yet the\ngeneral tenor of his conduct, the connexion of his ideas, and calmness\nof his demeanour till the moment of his quitting the Grotto, seemed to\ndiscountenance this conjecture.  After a few minutes Rosario returned.\nHe again seated himself upon the Bank:  He reclined his cheek upon one\nhand, and with the other wiped away the tears which trickled from his\neyes at intervals.\n\nThe Monk looked upon him with compassion, and forbore to interrupt his\nmeditations.  Both observed for some time a profound silence.  The\nNightingale had now taken her station upon an Orange Tree fronting the\nHermitage, and poured forth a strain the most melancholy and melodious.\nRosario raised his head, and listened to her with attention.\n\n'It was thus,' said He, with a deep-drawn sigh; 'It was thus, that\nduring the last month of her unhappy life, my Sister used to sit\nlistening to the Nightingale.  Poor Matilda!  She sleeps in the Grave,\nand her broken heart throbs no more with passion.'\n\n'You had a Sister?'\n\n'You say right, that I HAD; Alas!  I have one no longer.  She sunk\nbeneath the weight of her sorrows in the very spring of life.'\n\n'What were those sorrows?'\n\n'They will not excite YOUR pity:  YOU know not the power of those\nirresistible, those fatal sentiments, to which her Heart was a prey.\nFather, She loved unfortunately.  A passion for One endowed with every\nvirtue, for a Man, Oh! rather let me say, for a divinity, proved the\nbane of her existence.  His noble form, his spotless character, his\nvarious talents, his wisdom solid, wonderful, and glorious, might have\nwarmed the bosom of the most insensible.  My Sister saw him, and dared\nto love though She never dared to hope.'\n\n'If her love was so well bestowed, what forbad her to hope the\nobtaining of its object?'\n\n'Father, before He knew her, Julian had already plighted his vows to a\nBride most fair, most heavenly!  Yet still my Sister loved, and for the\nHusband's sake She doted upon the Wife.  One morning She found means to\nescape from our Father's House:  Arrayed in humble weeds She offered\nherself as a Domestic to the Consort of her Beloved, and was accepted.\nShe was now continually in his presence:  She strove to ingratiate\nherself into his favour:  She succeeded.  Her attentions attracted\nJulian's notice;  The virtuous are ever grateful, and He distinguished\nMatilda above the rest of her Companions.'\n\n'And did not your Parents seek for her?  Did they submit tamely to\ntheir loss, nor attempt to recover their wandering Daughter?'\n\n'Ere they could find her, She discovered herself.  Her love grew too\nviolent for concealment; Yet She wished not for Julian's person, She\nambitioned but a share of his heart.  In an unguarded moment She\nconfessed her affection.  What was the return? Doating upon his Wife,\nand believing that a look of pity bestowed upon another was a theft\nfrom what He owed to her, He drove Matilda from his presence.  He\nforbad her ever again appearing before him.  His severity broke her\nheart:  She returned to her Father's, and in a few Months after was\ncarried to her Grave.'\n\n'Unhappy Girl!  Surely her fate was too severe, and Julian was too\ncruel.'\n\n'Do you think so, Father?' cried the Novice with vivacity; 'Do you\nthink that He was cruel?'\n\n'Doubtless I do, and pity her most sincerely.'\n\n'You pity her?  You pity her?  Oh!  Father!  Father! Then pity me!'\n\nThe Friar started; when after a moment's pause Rosario added with a\nfaltering voice,--'for my sufferings are still greater.  My Sister had\na Friend, a real Friend, who pitied the acuteness of her feelings, nor\nreproached her with her inability to repress them.  I ...!  I have no\nFriend!  The whole wide world cannot furnish an heart that is willing\nto participate in the sorrows of mine!'\n\nAs He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly.  The Friar was affected.\nHe took Rosario's hand, and pressed it with tenderness.\n\n'You have no Friend, say you?  What then am I?  Why will you not\nconfide in me, and what can you fear?  My severity?  Have I ever used\nit with you?  The dignity of my habit?  Rosario, I lay aside the Monk,\nand bid you consider me as no other than your Friend, your Father.\nWell may I assume that title, for never did Parent watch over a Child\nmore fondly than I have watched over you. From the moment in which I\nfirst beheld you, I perceived sensations in my bosom till then unknown\nto me; I found a delight in your society which no one's else could\nafford; and when I witnessed the extent of your genius and information,\nI rejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son.  Then lay\naside your fears; Speak to me with openness:  Speak to me, Rosario, and\nsay that you will confide in me.  If my aid or my pity can alleviate\nyour distress....'\n\n'Yours can!  Yours only can!  Ah!  Father, how willingly would I unveil\nto you my heart!  How willingly would I declare the secret which bows\nme down with its weight! But Oh!  I fear!  I fear!'\n\n'What, my Son?'\n\n'That you should abhor me for my weakness; That the reward of my\nconfidence should be the loss of your esteem.'\n\n'How shall I reassure you?  Reflect upon the whole of my past conduct,\nupon the paternal tenderness which I have ever shown you.  Abhor you,\nRosario?  It is no longer in my power.  To give up your society would\nbe to deprive myself of the greatest pleasure of my life.  Then reveal\nto me what afflicts you, and believe me while I solemnly swear....'\n\n'Hold!' interrupted the Novice; 'Swear, that whatever be my secret, you\nwill not oblige me to quit the Monastery till my Noviciate shall\nexpire.'\n\n'I promise it faithfully, and as I keep my vows to you, may Christ keep\nhis to Mankind.  Now then explain this mystery, and rely upon my\nindulgence.'\n\n'I obey you.  Know then....  Oh! how I tremble to name the word!\nListen to me with pity, revered Ambrosio!  Call up every latent spark\nof human weakness that may teach you compassion for mine!  Father!'\ncontinued He throwing himself at the Friar's feet, and pressing his\nhand to his lips with eagerness, while agitation for a moment choaked\nhis voice; 'Father!' continued He in faltering accents, 'I am a Woman!'\n\nThe Abbot started at this unexpected avowal. Prostrate on the ground\nlay the feigned Rosario, as if waiting in silence the decision of his\nJudge.  Astonishment on the one part, apprehension on the other, for\nsome minutes chained them in the same attitudes, as had they been\ntouched by the Rod of some Magician.  At length recovering from his\nconfusion, the Monk quitted the Grotto, and sped with precipitation\ntowards the Abbey.  His action did not escape the Suppliant.  She\nsprang from the ground; She hastened to follow him, overtook him, threw\nherself in his passage, and embraced his knees.  Ambrosio strove in\nvain to disengage himself from her grasp.\n\n'Do not fly me!' She cried; 'Leave me not abandoned to the impulse of\ndespair!  Listen, while I excuse my imprudence; while I acknowledge my\nSister's story to be my own!  I am Matilda; You are her Beloved.'\n\nIf Ambrosio's surprise was great at her first avowal, upon hearing her\nsecond it exceeded all bounds.  Amazed, embarrassed, and irresolute He\nfound himself incapable of pronouncing a syllable, and remained in\nsilence gazing upon Matilda:  This gave her opportunity to continue her\nexplanation as follows.\n\n'Think not, Ambrosio, that I come to rob your Bride of your affections.\nNo, believe me:  Religion alone deserves you; and far is it from\nMatilda's wish to draw you from the paths of virtue.  What I feel for\nyou is love, not licentiousness; I sigh to be possessor of your heart,\nnot lust for the enjoyment of your person.  Deign to listen to my\nvindication:  A few moments will convince you that this holy retreat is\nnot polluted by my presence, and that you may grant me your compassion\nwithout trespassing against your vows.'--She seated herself:  Ambrosio,\nscarcely conscious of what He did, followed her example, and She\nproceeded in her discourse.\n\n'I spring from a distinguished family:  My Father was Chief of the\nnoble House of Villanegas.  He died while I was still an Infant, and\nleft me sole Heiress of his immense possessions. Young and wealthy, I\nwas sought in marriage by the noblest Youths of Madrid; But no one\nsucceeded in gaining my affections.  I had been brought up under the\ncare of an Uncle possessed of the most solid judgment and extensive\nerudition.  He took pleasure in communicating to me some portion of his\nknowledge.  Under his instructions my understanding acquired more\nstrength and justness than generally falls to the lot of my sex:  The\nability of my Preceptor being aided by natural curiosity, I not only\nmade a considerable progress in sciences universally studied, but in\nothers, revealed but to few, and lying under censure from the blindness\nof superstition.  But while my Guardian laboured to enlarge the sphere\nof my knowledge, He carefully inculcated every moral precept:  He\nrelieved me from the shackles of vulgar prejudice; He pointed out the\nbeauty of Religion; He taught me to look with adoration upon the pure\nand virtuous, and, woe is me! I have obeyed him but too well!\n\n'With such dispositions, Judge whether I could observe with any other\nsentiment than disgust the vice, dissipation, and ignorance, which\ndisgrace our Spanish Youth.  I rejected every offer with disdain.  My\nheart remained without a Master till chance conducted me to the\nCathedral of the Capuchins.  Oh! surely on that day my Guardian Angel\nslumbered neglectful of his charge!  Then was it that I first beheld\nyou:  You supplied the Superior's place, absent from illness.  You\ncannot but remember the lively enthusiasm which your discourse created.\nOh! how I drank your words!  How your eloquence seemed to steal me from\nmyself!  I scarcely dared to breathe, fearing to lose a syllable; and\nwhile you spoke, Methought a radiant glory beamed round your head, and\nyour countenance shone with the majesty of a God.  I retired from the\nChurch, glowing with admiration.  From that moment you became the idol\nof my heart, the never-changing object of my Meditations.  I enquired\nrespecting you.  The reports which were made me of your mode of life,\nof your knowledge, piety, and self-denial riveted the chains imposed on\nme by your eloquence. I was conscious that there was no longer a void\nin my heart; That I had found the Man whom I had sought till then in\nvain.  In expectation of hearing you again, every day I visited your\nCathedral:  You remained secluded within the Abbey walls, and I always\nwithdrew, wretched and disappointed.  The Night was more propitious to\nme, for then you stood before me in my dreams; You vowed to me eternal\nfriendship; You led me through the paths of virtue, and assisted me to\nsupport the vexations of life.  The Morning dispelled these pleasing\nvisions; I woke, and found myself separated from you by Barriers which\nappeared insurmountable.  Time seemed only to increase the strength of\nmy passion:  I grew melancholy and despondent; I fled from society, and\nmy health declined daily.  At length no longer able to exist in this\nstate of torture, I resolved to assume the disguise in which you see\nme.  My artifice was fortunate:  I was received into the Monastery, and\nsucceeded in gaining your esteem.\n\n'Now then I should have felt compleatly happy, had not my quiet been\ndisturbed by the fear of detection.  The pleasure which I received from\nyour society, was embittered by the idea that perhaps I should soon be\ndeprived of it: and my heart throbbed so rapturously at obtaining the\nmarks of your friendship, as to convince me that I never should survive\nits loss.  I resolved, therefore, not to leave the discovery of my sex\nto chance, to confess the whole to you, and throw myself entirely on\nyour mercy and indulgence.  Ah! Ambrosio, can I have been deceived?\nCan you be less generous than I thought you?  I will not suspect it.\nYou will not drive a Wretch to despair; I shall still be permitted to\nsee you, to converse with you, to adore you!  Your virtues shall be my\nexample through life; and when we expire, our bodies shall rest in the\nsame Grave.'\n\nShe ceased.  While She spoke, a thousand opposing sentiments combated\nin Ambrosio's bosom.  Surprise at the singularity of this adventure,\nConfusion at her abrupt declaration, Resentment at her boldness in\nentering the Monastery, and Consciousness of the austerity with which\nit behoved him to reply, such were the sentiments of which He was\naware; But there were others also which did not obtain his notice.  He\nperceived not, that his vanity was flattered by the praises bestowed\nupon his eloquence and virtue; that He felt a secret pleasure in\nreflecting that a young and seemingly lovely Woman had for his sake\nabandoned the world, and sacrificed every other passion to that which\nHe had inspired:  Still less did He perceive that his heart throbbed\nwith desire, while his hand was pressed gently by Matilda's ivory\nfingers.\n\nBy degrees He recovered from his confusion.  His ideas became less\nbewildered:  He was immediately sensible of the extreme impropriety,\nshould Matilda be permitted to remain in the Abbey after this avowal of\nher sex.  He assumed an air of severity, and drew away his hand.\n\n'How, Lady!' said He; 'Can you really hope for my permission to remain\namongst us?  Even were I to grant your request, what good could you\nderive from it?  Think you that I ever can reply to an affection,\nwhich...'\n\n'No, Father, No!  I expect not to inspire you with a love like mine.  I\nonly wish for the liberty to be near you, to pass some hours of the day\nin your society; to obtain your compassion, your friendship and esteem.\nSurely my request is not unreasonable.'\n\n'But reflect, Lady!  Reflect only for a moment on the impropriety of my\nharbouring a Woman in the Abbey; and that too a Woman, who confesses\nthat She loves me.  It must not be.  The risque of your being\ndiscovered is too great, and I will not expose myself to so dangerous a\ntemptation.'\n\n'Temptation, say you?  Forget that I am a Woman, and it no longer\nexists:  Consider me only as a Friend, as an Unfortunate, whose\nhappiness, whose life depends upon your protection.  Fear not lest I\nshould ever call to your remembrance that love the most impetuous, the\nmost unbounded, has induced me to disguise my sex; or that instigated\nby desires, offensive to YOUR vows and my own honour, I should\nendeavour to seduce you from the path of rectitude.  No, Ambrosio,\nlearn to know me better.  I love you for your virtues:  Lose them, and\nwith them you lose my affections.  I look upon you as a Saint; Prove to\nme that you are no more than Man, and I quit you with disgust.  Is it\nthen from me that you fear temptation?  From me, in whom the world's\ndazzling pleasures created no other sentiment than contempt? From me,\nwhose attachment is grounded on your exemption from human frailty?  Oh!\ndismiss such injurious apprehensions!  Think nobler of me, think nobler\nof yourself.  I am incapable of seducing you to error; and surely your\nVirtue is established on a basis too firm to be shaken by unwarranted\ndesires.  Ambrosio, dearest Ambrosio! drive me not from your presence;\nRemember your promise, and authorize my stay!'\n\n'Impossible, Matilda; YOUR interest commands me to refuse your prayer,\nsince I tremble for you, not for myself.  After vanquishing the\nimpetuous ebullitions of Youth; After passing thirty years in\nmortification and penance, I might safely permit your stay, nor fear\nyour inspiring me with warmer sentiments than pity.  But to yourself,\nremaining in the Abbey can produce none but fatal consequences.  You\nwill misconstrue my every word and action; You will seize every\ncircumstance with avidity, which encourages you to hope the return of\nyour affection; Insensibly your passions will gain a superiority over\nyour reason; and far from these being repressed by my presence, every\nmoment which we pass together, will only serve to irritate and excite\nthem. Believe me, unhappy Woman! you possess my sincere compassion.  I\nam convinced that you have hitherto acted upon the purest motives; But\nthough you are blind to the imprudence of your conduct, in me it would\nbe culpable not to open your eyes.  I feel that Duty obliges my\ntreating you with harshness:  I must reject your prayer, and remove\nevery shadow of hope which may aid to nourish sentiments so pernicious\nto your repose.  Matilda, you must from hence tomorrow.'\n\n'Tomorrow, Ambrosio?  Tomorrow?  Oh! surely you cannot mean it!\n\nYou cannot resolve on driving me to despair!  You cannot have the\ncruelty....'\n\n'You have heard my decision, and it must be obeyed. The Laws of our\nOrder forbid your stay:  It would be perjury to conceal that a Woman is\nwithin these Walls, and my vows will oblige me to declare your story to\nthe Community.  You must from hence!--I pity you, but can do no more!'\n\nHe pronounced these words in a faint and trembling voice:  Then rising\nfrom his seat, He would have hastened towards the Monastery.  Uttering\na loud shriek, Matilda followed, and detained him.\n\n'Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio!  Hear me yet speak one word!'\n\n'I dare not listen!  Release me!  You know my resolution!'\n\n'But one word!  But one last word, and I have done!'\n\n'Leave me!  Your entreaties are in vain!  You must from hence tomorrow!'\n\n'Go then, Barbarian!  But this resource is still left me.'\n\nAs She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard:  She rent open her\ngarment, and placed the weapon's point against her bosom.\n\n'Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!'\n\n'Hold!  Hold, Matilda!  What would you do?'\n\n'You are determined, so am I:  The Moment that you leave me, I plunge\nthis Steel in my heart.'\n\n'Holy St. Francis!  Matilda, have you your senses?  Do you know the\nconsequences of your action?  That Suicide is the greatest of crimes?\nThat you destroy your Soul?  That you lose your claim to salvation?\nThat you prepare for yourself everlasting torments?'\n\n'I care not! I care not!' She replied passionately; 'Either your hand\nguides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! Speak to me,\nAmbrosio!  Tell me that you will conceal my story, that I shall remain\nyour Friend and your Companion, or this poignard drinks my blood!'\n\nAs She uttered these last words, She lifted her arm, and made a motion\nas if to stab herself.  The Friar's eyes followed with dread the course\nof the dagger.  She had torn open her habit, and her bosom was half\nexposed. The weapon's point rested upon her left breast:  And Oh! that\nwas such a breast!  The Moonbeams darting full upon it enabled the Monk\nto observe its dazzling whiteness.  His eye dwelt with insatiable\navidity upon the beauteous Orb.  A sensation till then unknown filled\nhis heart with a mixture of anxiety and delight:  A raging fire shot\nthrough every limb; The blood boiled in his veins, and a thousand wild\nwishes bewildered his imagination.\n\n'Hold!' He cried in an hurried faultering voice; 'I can resist no\nlonger!  Stay, then, Enchantress; Stay for my destruction!'\n\nHe said, and rushing from the place, hastened towards the Monastery:\nHe regained his Cell and threw himself upon his Couch, distracted\nirresolute and confused.\n\nHe found it impossible for some time to arrange his ideas.  The scene\nin which He had been engaged had excited such a variety of sentiments\nin his bosom, that He was incapable of deciding which was predominant.\nHe was irresolute what conduct He ought to hold with the disturber of\nhis repose.  He was conscious that prudence, religion, and propriety\nnecessitated his obliging her to quit the Abbey:  But on the other hand\nsuch powerful reasons authorized her stay that He was but too much\ninclined to consent to her remaining.  He could not avoid being\nflattered by Matilda's declaration, and at reflecting that He had\nunconsciously vanquished an heart which had resisted the attacks of\nSpain's noblest Cavaliers:  The manner in which He had gained her\naffections was also the most satisfactory to his vanity: He remembered\nthe many happy hours which He had passed in Rosario's society, and\ndreaded that void in his heart which parting with him would occasion.\nBesides all this, He considered, that as Matilda was wealthy, her\nfavour might be of essential benefit to the Abbey.\n\n'And what do I risque,' said He to himself, 'by authorizing her stay?\nMay I not safely credit her assertions?  Will it not be easy for me to\nforget her sex, and still consider her as my Friend and my disciple?\nSurely her love is as pure as She describes.  Had it been the offspring\nof mere licentiousness, would She so long have concealed it in her own\nbosom?  Would She not have employed some means to procure its\ngratification?  She has done quite the contrary:  She strove to keep me\nin ignorance of her sex; and nothing but the fear of detection, and my\ninstances, would have compelled her to reveal the secret.  She has\nobserved the duties of religion not less strictly than myself.  She has\nmade no attempts to rouze my slumbering passions, nor has She ever\nconversed with me till this night on the subject of Love.  Had She been\ndesirous to gain my affections, not my esteem, She would not have\nconcealed from me her charms so carefully:  At this very moment I have\nnever seen her face:  Yet certainly that face must be lovely, and her\nperson beautiful, to judge by her ... by what I have seen.'\n\nAs this last idea passed through his imagination, a blush spread itself\nover his cheek.  Alarmed at the sentiments which He was indulging, He\nbetook himself to prayer; He started from his Couch, knelt before the\nbeautiful Madona, and entreated her assistance in stifling such\nculpable emotions.  He then returned to his Bed, and resigned himself\nto slumber.\n\nHe awoke, heated and unrefreshed.  During his sleep his inflamed\nimagination had presented him with none but the most voluptuous\nobjects.  Matilda stood before him in his dreams, and his eyes again\ndwelt upon her naked breast.  She repeated her protestations of eternal\nlove, threw her arms round his neck, and loaded him with kisses:  He\nreturned them; He clasped her passionately to his bosom, and ... the\nvision was dissolved. Sometimes his dreams presented the image of his\nfavourite Madona, and He fancied that He was kneeling before her:  As\nHe offered up his vows to her, the eyes of the Figure seemed to beam on\nhim with inexpressible sweetness.  He pressed his lips to hers, and\nfound them warm:  The animated form started from the Canvas, embraced\nhim affectionately, and his senses were unable to support delight so\nexquisite.  Such were the scenes, on which his thoughts were employed\nwhile sleeping:  His unsatisfied Desires placed before him the most\nlustful and provoking Images, and he rioted in joys till then unknown\nto him.\n\nHe started from his Couch, filled with confusion at the remembrance of\nhis dreams.  Scarcely was He less ashamed, when He reflected on his\nreasons of the former night which induced him to authorize Matilda's\nstay. The cloud was now dissipated which had obscured his judgment:  He\nshuddered when He beheld his arguments blazoned in their proper\ncolours, and found that He had been a slave to flattery, to avarice,\nand self-love.  If in one hour's conversation Matilda had produced a\nchange so remarkable in his sentiments, what had He not to dread from\nher remaining in the Abbey?  Become sensible of his danger, awakened\nfrom his dream of confidence, He resolved to insist on her departing\nwithout delay.  He began to feel that He was not proof against\ntemptation; and that however Matilda might restrain herself within the\nbounds of modesty, He was unable to contend with those passions, from\nwhich He falsely thought himself exempted.\n\n'Agnes!  Agnes!' He exclaimed, while reflecting on his embarrassments,\n'I already feel thy curse!'\n\nHe quitted his Cell, determined upon dismissing the feigned Rosario.\nHe appeared at Matins; But his thoughts were absent, and He paid them\nbut little attention.  His heart and brain were both of them filled\nwith worldly objects, and He prayed without devotion. The service over,\nHe descended into the Garden.  He bent his steps towards the same spot\nwhere, on the preceding night, He had made this embarrassing discovery.\nHe doubted not but that Matilda would seek him there:  He was not\ndeceived.  She soon entered the Hermitage, and approached the Monk with\na timid air.  After a few minutes during which both were silent, She\nappeared as if on the point of speaking; But the Abbot, who during this\ntime had been summoning up all his resolution, hastily interrupted her.\nThough still unconscious how extensive was its influence, He dreaded\nthe melodious seduction of her voice.\n\n'Seat yourself by my side, Matilda,' said He, assuming a look of\nfirmness, though carefully avoiding the least mixture of severity;\n'Listen to me patiently, and believe, that in what I shall say, I am\nnot more influenced by my own interest than by yours:  Believe, that I\nfeel for you the warmest friendship, the truest compassion, and that\nyou cannot feel more grieved than I do, when I declare to you that we\nmust never meet again.'\n\n'Ambrosio!' She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surprise and\nsorrow.\n\n'Be calm, my Friend!  My Rosario!  Still let me call you by that name\nso dear to me!  Our separation is unavoidable; I blush to own, how\nsensibly it affects me.-- But yet it must be so.  I feel myself\nincapable of treating you with indifference, and that very conviction\nobliges me to insist upon your departure.  Matilda, you must stay here\nno longer.'\n\n'Oh! where shall I now seek for probity?  Disgusted with a perfidious\nworld, in what happy region does Truth conceal herself?  Father, I\nhoped that She resided here; I thought that your bosom had been her\nfavourite shrine.  And you too prove false?  Oh God!  And you too can\nbetray me?'\n\n'Matilda!'\n\n'Yes, Father, Yes! 'Tis with justice that I reproach you.  Oh! where\nare your promises?  My Noviciate is not expired, and yet will you\ncompell me to quit the Monastery?  Can you have the heart to drive me\nfrom you?  And have I not received your solemn oath to the contrary?'\n\n'I will not compell you to quit the Monastery:  You have received my\nsolemn oath to the contrary.  But yet when I throw myself upon your\ngenerosity, when I declare to you the embarrassments in which your\npresence involves me, will you not release me from that oath?  Reflect\nupon the danger of a discovery, upon the opprobrium in which such an\nevent would plunge me: Reflect that my honour and reputation are at\nstake, and that my peace of mind depends on your compliance.  As yet my\nheart is free; I shall separate from you with regret, but not with\ndespair.  Stay here, and a few weeks will sacrifice my happiness on the\naltar of your charms.  You are but too interesting, too amiable!  I\nshould love you, I should doat on you!  My bosom would become the prey\nof desires which Honour and my profession forbid me to gratify.  If I\nresisted them, the impetuosity of my wishes unsatisfied would drive me\nto madness:  If I yielded to the temptation, I should sacrifice to one\nmoment of guilty pleasure my reputation in this world, my salvation in\nthe next.  To you then I fly for defence against myself.  Preserve me\nfrom losing the reward of thirty years of sufferings!  Preserve me from\nbecoming the Victim of Remorse!  YOUR heart has already felt the\nanguish of hopeless love; Oh! then if you really value me, spare mine\nthat anguish! Give me back my promise; Fly from these walls.  Go, and\nyou bear with you my warmest prayers for your happiness, my friendship,\nmy esteem and admiration:  Stay, and you become to me the source of\ndanger, of sufferings, of despair!  Answer me, Matilda; What is your\nresolve?'--She was silent--'Will you not speak, Matilda? Will you not\nname your choice?'\n\n'Cruel! Cruel!' She exclaimed, wringing her hands in agony; 'You know\ntoo well that you offer me no choice! You know too well that I can have\nno will but yours!'\n\n'I was not then deceived!  Matilda's generosity equals my expectations.'\n\n'Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a decree\nwhich cuts me to the very heart.  Take back your promise. I will quit\nthe Monastery this very day.  I have a Relation, Abbess of a Covent in\nEstramadura:  To her will I bend my steps, and shut myself from the\nworld for ever.  Yet tell me, Father, shall I bear your good wishes\nwith me to my solitude?  Will you sometimes abstract your attention\nfrom heavenly objects to bestow a thought upon me?'\n\n'Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for my\nrepose!'\n\n'Then I have nothing more to wish for, save that we may meet in heaven.\nFarewell, my Friend! my Ambrosio!-- And yet methinks, I would fain bear\nwith me some token of your regard!'\n\n'What shall I give you?'\n\n'Something.--Any thing.--One of those flowers will be sufficient.'\n(Here She pointed to a bush of Roses, planted at the door of the\nGrotto.)  'I will hide it in my bosom, and when I am dead, the Nuns\nshall find it withered upon my heart.'\n\nThe Friar was unable to reply:  With slow steps, and a soul heavy with\naffliction, He quitted the Hermitage.  He approached the Bush, and\nstooped to pluck one of the Roses.  Suddenly He uttered a piercing cry,\nstarted back hastily, and let the flower, which He already held, fall\nfrom his hand.  Matilda heard the shriek, and flew anxiously towards\nhim.\n\n'What is the matter?' She cried; 'Answer me, for God's sake! What has\nhappened?'\n\n'I have received my death!' He replied in a faint voice; 'Concealed\namong the Roses ...  A Serpent....'\n\nHere the pain of his wound became so exquisite, that Nature was unable\nto bear it:  His senses abandoned him, and He sank inanimate into\nMatilda's arms.\n\nHer distress was beyond the power of description.  She rent her hair,\nbeat her bosom, and not daring to quit Ambrosio, endeavoured by loud\ncries to summon the Monks to her assistance. She at length succeeded.\nAlarmed by her shrieks, Several of the Brothers hastened to the spot,\nand the Superior was conveyed back to the Abbey.  He was immediately\nput to bed, and the Monk who officiated as Surgeon to the Fraternity\nprepared to examine the wound.  By this time Ambrosio's hand had\nswelled to an extraordinary size; The remedies which had been\nadministered to him, 'tis true, restored him to life, but not to his\nsenses; He raved in all the horrors of delirium, foamed at the mouth,\nand four of the strongest Monks were scarcely able to hold him in his\nbed.\n\nFather Pablos, such was the Surgeon's name, hastened to examine the\nwounded hand.  The Monks surrounded the Bed, anxiously waiting for the\ndecision:  Among these the feigned Rosario appeared not the most\ninsensible to the Friar's calamity.  He gazed upon the Sufferer with\ninexpressible anguish; and the groans which every moment escaped from\nhis bosom sufficiently betrayed the violence of his affliction.\n\nFather Pablos probed the wound.  As He drew out his Lancet, its point\nwas tinged with a greenish hue.  He shook his head mournfully, and\nquitted the bedside.\n\n''Tis as I feared!' said He; 'There is no hope.'\n\n'No hope?' exclaimed the Monks with one voice; 'Say you, no hope?'\n\n'From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by a\nCientipedoro: The venom which you see upon my Lancet confirms my idea:\nHe cannot live three days.'\n\n'And can no possible remedy be found?' enquired Rosario.\n\n'Without extracting the poison, He cannot recover; and how to extract\nit is to me still a secret.  All that I can do is to apply such herbs\nto the wound as will relieve the anguish:  The Patient will be restored\nto his senses; But the venom will corrupt the whole mass of his blood,\nand in three days He will exist no longer.'\n\nExcessive was the universal grief at hearing this decision. Pablos, as\nHe had promised, dressed the wound, and then retired, followed by his\nCompanions:  Rosario alone remained in the Cell, the Abbot at his\nurgent entreaty having been committed to his care.  Ambrosio's strength\nworn out by the violence of his exertions, He had by this time fallen\ninto a profound sleep.  So totally was He overcome by weariness, that\nHe scarcely gave any signs of life; He was still in this situation,\nwhen the Monks returned to enquire whether any change had taken place.\nPablos loosened the bandage which concealed the wound, more from a\nprinciple of curiosity than from indulging the hope of discovering any\nfavourable symptoms.  What was his astonishment at finding, that the\ninflammation had totally subsided!  He probed the hand; His Lancet came\nout pure and unsullied; No traces of the venom were perceptible; and\nhad not the orifice still been visible, Pablos might have doubted that\nthere had ever been a wound.\n\nHe communicated this intelligence to his Brethren; their delight was\nonly equalled by their surprize.  From the latter sentiment, however,\nthey were soon released by explaining the circumstance according to\ntheir own ideas:  They were perfectly convinced that their Superior was\na Saint, and thought, that nothing could be more natural than for St.\nFrancis to have operated a miracle in his favour.  This opinion was\nadopted unanimously: They declared it so loudly, and vociferated,--'A\nmiracle! a miracle!'--with such fervour, that they soon interrupted\nAmbrosio's slumbers.\n\nThe Monks immediately crowded round his Bed, and expressed their\nsatisfaction at his wonderful recovery.  He was perfectly in his\nsenses, and free from every complaint except feeling weak and languid.\nPablos gave him a strengthening medicine, and advised his keeping his\nbed for the two succeeding days:  He then retired, having desired his\nPatient not to exhaust himself by conversation, but rather to endeavour\nat taking some repose.  The other Monks followed his example, and the\nAbbot and Rosario were left without Observers.\n\nFor some minutes Ambrosio regarded his Attendant with a look of mingled\npleasure and apprehension.  She was seated upon the side of the Bed,\nher head bending down, and as usual enveloped in the Cowl of her Habit.\n\n'And you are still here, Matilda?' said the Friar at length. 'Are you\nnot satisfied with having so nearly effected my destruction, that\nnothing but a miracle could have saved me from the Grave?  Ah! surely\nHeaven sent that Serpent to punish....'\n\nMatilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with an air\nof gaiety.\n\n'Hush! Father, Hush!  You must not talk!'\n\n'He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the subjects\non which I wish to speak.'\n\n'But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command.  I am\nappointed your Nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.'\n\n'You are in spirits, Matilda!'\n\n'Well may I be so:  I have just received a pleasure unexampled through\nmy whole life.'\n\n'What was that pleasure?'\n\n'What I must conceal from all, but most from you.'\n\n'But most from me?  Nay then, I entreat you, Matilda....'\n\n'Hush, Father!  Hush!  You must not talk.  But as you do not seem\ninclined to sleep, shall I endeavour to amuse you with my Harp?'\n\n'How?  I knew not that you understood Music.'\n\n'Oh! I am a sorry Performer!  Yet as silence is prescribed you for\neight and forty hours, I may possibly entertain you, when wearied of\nyour own reflections.  I go to fetch my Harp.'\n\nShe soon returned with it.\n\n'Now, Father; What shall I sing?  Will you hear the Ballad which treats\nof the gallant Durandarte, who died in the famous battle of\nRoncevalles?'\n\n'What you please, Matilda.'\n\n'Oh! call me not Matilda!  Call me Rosario, call me your Friend! Those\nare the names, which I love to hear from your lips.  Now listen!'\n\nShe then tuned her harp, and afterwards preluded for some moments with\nsuch exquisite taste as to prove her a perfect Mistress of the\nInstrument.  The air which She played was soft and plaintive:\n\nAmbrosio, while He listened, felt his uneasiness subside, and a\npleasing melancholy spread itself into his bosom.  Suddenly Matilda\nchanged the strain:  With an hand bold and rapid She struck a few loud\nmartial chords, and then chaunted the following Ballad to an air at\nonce simple and melodious.\n\n  DURANDARTE AND BELERMA\n\n  Sad and fearful is the story\n  Of the Roncevalles fight;\n  On those fatal plains of glory\n  Perished many a gallant Knight.\n\n  There fell Durandarte; Never\n  Verse a nobler Chieftain named:\n  He, before his lips for ever\n  Closed in silence thus exclaimed.\n\n  'Oh! Belerma!  Oh! my dear-one!\n  For my pain and pleasure born!\n  Seven long years I served thee, fair-one,\n  Seven long years my fee was scorn:\n\n  'And when now thy heart replying\n  To my wishes, burns like mine,\n  Cruel Fate my bliss denying\n  Bids me every hope resign.\n\n  'Ah! Though young I fall, believe me,\n  Death would never claim a sigh;\n  'Tis to lose thee, 'tis to leave thee,\n  Makes me think it hard to die!\n\n  'Oh! my Cousin Montesinos,\n  By that friendship firm and dear\n  Which from Youth has lived between us,\n  Now my last petition hear!\n\n  'When my Soul these limbs forsaking\n  Eager seeks a purer air,\n  From my breast the cold heart taking,\n  Give it to Belerma's care.\n\n  Say, I of my lands Possessor\n  Named her with my dying breath:\n  Say, my lips I op'd to bless her,\n  Ere they closed for aye in death:\n\n  'Twice a week too how sincerely\n  I adored her, Cousin, say;\n  Twice a week for one who dearly\n  Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray.\n\n  'Montesinos, now the hour\n  Marked by fate is near at hand:\n  Lo! my arm has lost its power!\n  Lo! I drop my trusty brand!\n\n  'Eyes, which forth beheld me going,\n  Homewards ne'er shall see me hie!\n  Cousin, stop those tears o'er-flowing,\n  Let me on thy bosom die!\n\n  'Thy kind hand my eyelids closing,\n  Yet one favour I implore:\n  Pray Thou for my Soul's reposing,\n  When my heart shall throb no more;\n\n  'So shall Jesus, still attending\n  Gracious to a Christian's vow,\n  Pleased accept my Ghost ascending,\n  And a seat in heaven allow.'\n\n  Thus spoke gallant Durandarte;\n  Soon his brave heart broke in twain.\n  Greatly joyed the Moorish party,\n  That the gallant Knight was slain.\n\n  Bitter weeping Montesinos\n  Took from him his helm and glaive;\n  Bitter weeping Montesinos\n  Dug his gallant Cousin's grave.\n\n  To perform his promise made, He\n  Cut the heart from out the breast,\n  That Belerma, wretched Lady!\n  Might receive the last bequest.\n\n  Sad was Montesinos' heart, He\n  Felt distress his bosom rend.\n  'Oh! my Cousin Durandarte,\n  Woe is me to view thy end!\n\n  'Sweet in manners, fair in favour,\n  Mild in temper, fierce in fight,\n  Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver,\n  Never shall behold the light!\n\n  'Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee!\n  How shall I thy loss survive!\n  Durandarte, He who slew thee,\n  Wherefore left He me alive!'\n\n\nWhile She sung, Ambrosio listened with delight: Never had He heard a\nvoice more harmonious; and He wondered how such heavenly sounds could\nbe produced by any but Angels.  But though He indulged the sense of\nhearing, a single look convinced him that He must not trust to that of\nsight.  The Songstress sat at a little distance from his Bed.  The\nattitude in which She bent over her harp, was easy and graceful:  Her\nCowl had fallen backwarder than usual:  Two coral lips were visible,\nripe, fresh, and melting, and a Chin in whose dimples seemed to lurk a\nthousand Cupids.  Her Habit's long sleeve would have swept along the\nChords of the Instrument:  To prevent this inconvenience She had drawn\nit above her elbow, and by this means an arm was discovered formed in\nthe most perfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose skin might have\ncontended with snow in whiteness.  Ambrosio dared to look on her but\nonce:  That glance sufficed to convince him, how dangerous was the\npresence of this seducing Object.  He closed his eyes, but strove in\nvain to banish her from his thoughts. There She still moved before him,\nadorned with all those charms which his heated imagination could\nsupply:  Every beauty which He had seen, appeared embellished, and\nthose still concealed Fancy represented to him in glowing colours.\nStill, however, his vows and the necessity of keeping to them were\npresent to his memory. He struggled with desire, and shuddered when He\nbeheld how deep was the precipice before him.\n\nMatilda ceased to sing.  Dreading the influence of her charms, Ambrosio\nremained with his eyes closed, and offered up his prayers to St.\nFrancis to assist him in this dangerous trial! Matilda believed that He\nwas sleeping.  She rose from her seat, approached the Bed softly, and\nfor some minutes gazed upon him attentively.\n\n'He sleeps!' said She at length in a low voice, but whose accents the\nAbbot distinguished perfectly; 'Now then I may gaze upon him without\noffence!  I may mix my breath with his; I may doat upon his features,\nand He cannot suspect me of impurity and deceit!--He fears my seducing\nhim to the violation of his vows! Oh! the Unjust!  Were it my wish to\nexcite desire, should I conceal my features from him so carefully?\nThose features, of which I daily hear him....'\n\nShe stopped, and was lost in her reflections.\n\n'It was but yesterday!' She continued; 'But a few short hours have\npast, since I was dear to him!  He esteemed me, and my heart was\nsatisfied!  Now!...  Oh! now how cruelly is my situation changed!  He\nlooks on me with suspicion!  He bids me leave him, leave him for ever!\nOh! You, my Saint! my Idol!  You, holding the next place to God in my\nbreast!  Yet two days, and my heart will be unveiled to you.--Could you\nknow my feelings, when I beheld your agony!  Could you know, how much\nyour sufferings have endeared you to me!  But the time will come, when\nyou will be convinced that my passion is pure and disinterested.  Then\nyou will pity me, and feel the whole weight of these sorrows!'\n\nAs She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She bent over\nAmbrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek.\n\n'Ah!  I have disturbed him!' cried Matilda, and retreated hastily.\n\nHer alarm was ungrounded.  None sleep so profoundly, as those who are\ndetermined not to wake.  The Friar was in this predicament: He still\nseemed buried in a repose, which every succeeding minute rendered him\nless capable of enjoying.  The burning tear had communicated its warmth\nto his heart.\n\n'What affection!  What purity!' said He internally; 'Ah!  since my\nbosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love?'\n\nMatilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from the\nBed.  Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes, and to cast them upon her\nfearfully.  Her face was turned from him.  She rested her head in a\nmelancholy posture upon her Harp, and gazed on the picture which hung\nopposite to the Bed.\n\n'Happy, happy Image!'  Thus did She address the beautiful Madona; ''Tis\nto you that He offers his prayers!  'Tis on you that He gazes with\nadmiration!  I thought you would have lightened my sorrows; You have\nonly served to increase their weight:  You have made me feel that had I\nknown him ere his vows were pronounced, Ambrosio and happiness might\nhave been mine.  With what pleasure He views this picture!  With what\nfervour He addresses his prayers to the insensible Image!  Ah! may not\nhis sentiments be inspired by some kind and secret Genius, Friend to my\naffection? May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him...\nBe silent, idle hopes!  Let me not encourage an idea which takes from\nthe brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue.  'Tis Religion, not Beauty which\nattracts his admiration; 'Tis not to the Woman, but the Divinity that\nHe kneels.  Would He but address to me the least tender expression\nwhich He pours forth to this Madona! Would He but say that were He not\nalready affianced to the Church, He would not have despised Matilda!\nOh!  let me nourish that fond idea!  Perhaps He may yet acknowledge\nthat He feels for me more than pity, and that affection like mine might\nwell have deserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye\non my deathbed!  He then need not fear to infringe his vows, and the\nconfession of his regard will soften the pangs of dying.  Would I were\nsure of this!  Oh!  how earnestly should I sigh for the moment of\ndissolution!'\n\nOf this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in which\nShe pronounced these last words pierced to his heart. Involuntarily He\nraised himself from his pillow.\n\n'Matilda!' He said in a troubled voice; 'Oh! my Matilda!'\n\nShe started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily.  The\nsuddenness of her movement made her Cowl fall back from her head; Her\nfeatures became visible to the Monk's enquiring eye.  What was his\namazement at beholding the exact resemblance of his admired Madona?\nThe same exquisite proportion of features, the same profusion of golden\nhair, the same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, and majesty of countenance\nadorned Matilda!  Uttering an exclamation of surprize, Ambrosio sank\nback upon his pillow, and doubted whether the Object before him was\nmortal or divine.\n\nMatilda seemed penetrated with confusion.  She remained motionless in\nher place, and supported herself upon her Instrument.  Her eyes were\nbent upon the earth, and her fair cheeks overspread with blushes.  On\nrecovering herself, her first action was to conceal her features.  She\nthen in an unsteady and troubled voice ventured to address these words\nto the Friar.\n\n'Accident has made you Master of a secret, which I never would have\nrevealed but on the Bed of death.  Yes, Ambrosio; In Matilda de\nVillanegas you see the original of your beloved Madona.  Soon after I\nconceived my unfortunate passion, I formed the project of conveying to\nyou my Picture:  Crowds of Admirers had persuaded me that I possessed\nsome beauty, and I was anxious to know what effect it would produce\nupon you.  I caused my Portrait to be drawn by Martin Galuppi, a\ncelebrated Venetian at that time resident in Madrid.  The resemblance\nwas striking:  I sent it to the Capuchin Abbey as if for sale, and the\nJew from whom you bought it was one of my Emissaries.  You purchased\nit.  Judge of my rapture, when informed that you had gazed upon it with\ndelight, or rather with adoration; that you had suspended it in your\nCell, and that you addressed your supplications to no other Saint.\nWill this discovery make me still more regarded as an object of\nsuspicion?  Rather should it convince you how pure is my affection, and\nengage you to suffer me in your society and esteem.  I heard you daily\nextol the praises of my Portrait:  I was an eyewitness of the\ntransports, which its beauty excited in you: Yet I forbore to use\nagainst your virtue those arms, with which yourself had furnished me.\nI concealed those features from your sight, which you loved\nunconsciously.  I strove not to excite desire by displaying my charms,\nor to make myself Mistress of your heart through the medium of your\nsenses.  To attract your notice by studiously attending to religious\nduties, to endear myself to you by convincing you that my mind was\nvirtuous and my attachment sincere, such was my only aim.  I succeeded;\nI became your companion and your Friend.  I concealed my sex from your\nknowledge; and had you not pressed me to reveal my secret, had I not\nbeen tormented by the fear of a discovery, never had you known me for\nany other than Rosario.  And still are you resolved to drive me from\nyou?  The few hours of life which yet remain for me, may I not pass\nthem in your presence?  Oh! speak, Ambrosio, and tell me that I may\nstay!'\n\nThis speech gave the Abbot an opportunity of recollecting himself.  He\nwas conscious that in the present disposition of his mind, avoiding her\nsociety was his only refuge from the power of this enchanting Woman.\n\n'You declaration has so much astonished me,' said He, 'that I am at\npresent incapable of answering you.  Do not insist upon a reply,\nMatilda; Leave me to myself; I have need to be alone.'\n\n'I obey you--But before I go, promise not to insist upon my quitting\nthe Abbey immediately.'\n\n'Matilda, reflect upon your situation; Reflect upon the consequences of\nyour stay.  Our separation is indispensable, and we must part.'\n\n'But not to-day, Father!  Oh! in pity not today!'\n\n'You press me too hard, but I cannot resist that tone of supplication.\nSince you insist upon it, I yield to your prayer: I consent to your\nremaining here a sufficient time to prepare in some measure the\nBrethren for your departure.  Stay yet two days; But on the third,' ...\n(He sighed involuntarily)--'Remember, that on the third we must part\nfor ever!'\n\nShe caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips.\n\n'On the third?' She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity; 'You are\nright, Father!  You are right!  On the third we must part for ever!'\n\nThere was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these words,\nwhich penetrated the Friar's soul with horror:  Again She kissed his\nhand, and then fled with rapidity from the chamber.\n\nAnxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest, yet conscious\nthat her stay was infringing the laws of his order, Ambrosio's bosom\nbecame the Theatre of a thousand contending passions.  At length his\nattachment to the feigned Rosario, aided by the natural warmth of his\ntemperament, seemed likely to obtain the victory: The success was\nassured, when that presumption which formed the groundwork of his\ncharacter came to Matilda's assistance.  The Monk reflected that to\nvanquish temptation was an infinitely greater merit than to avoid it:\nHe thought that He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunity given him\nof proving the firmness of his virtue.  St. Anthony had withstood all\nseductions to lust; Then why should not He?  Besides, St. Anthony was\ntempted by the Devil, who put every art into practice to excite his\npassions:  Whereas, Ambrosio's danger proceeded from a mere mortal\nWoman, fearful and modest, whose apprehensions of his yielding were not\nless violent than his own.\n\n'Yes,' said He; 'The Unfortunate shall stay; I have nothing to fear\nfrom her presence.  Even should my own prove too weak to resist the\ntemptation, I am secured from danger by the innocence of Matilda.'\n\nAmbrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice\nis ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.\n\nHe found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos\nvisited him again at night, He entreated permission to quit his chamber\non the day following. His request was granted.  Matilda appeared no\nmore that evening, except in company with the Monks when they came in a\nbody to enquire after the Abbot's health. She seemed fearful of\nconversing with him in private, and stayed but a few minutes in his\nroom.  The Friar slept well; But the dreams of the former night were\nrepeated, and his sensations of voluptuousness were yet more keen and\nexquisite.  The same lust-exciting visions floated before his eyes:\nMatilda, in all the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious,\nclasped him to her bosom, and lavished upon him the most ardent\ncaresses.  He returned them as eagerly, and already was on the point of\nsatisfying his desires, when the faithless form disappeared, and left\nhim to all the horrors of shame and disappointment.\n\nThe Morning dawned.  Fatigued, harassed, and exhausted by his provoking\ndreams, He was not disposed to quit his Bed.  He excused himself from\nappearing at Matins:  It was the first morning in his life that He had\never missed them.  He rose late. During the whole of the day He had no\nopportunity of speaking to Matilda without witnesses.  His Cell was\nthronged by the Monks, anxious to express their concern at his illness;\nAnd He was still occupied in receiving their compliments on his\nrecovery, when the Bell summoned them to the Refectory.\n\nAfter dinner the Monks separated, and dispersed themselves in various\nparts of the Garden, where the shade of trees or retirement of some\nGrotto presented the most agreeable means of enjoying the Siesta.  The\nAbbot bent his steps towards the Hermitage:  A glance of his eye\ninvited Matilda to accompany him.\n\nShe obeyed, and followed him thither in silence.  They entered the\nGrotto, and seated themselves.  Both seemed unwilling to begin the\nconversation, and to labour under the influence of mutual\nembarrassment.  At length the Abbot spoke:  He conversed only on\nindifferent topics, and Matilda answered him in the same tone.  She\nseemed anxious to make him forget that the Person who sat by him was\nany other than Rosario.  Neither of them dared, or indeed wished to\nmake an allusion, to the subject which was most at the hearts of both.\n\nMatilda's efforts to appear gay were evidently forced: Her spirits were\noppressed by the weight of anxiety, and when She spoke her voice was\nlow and feeble.  She seemed desirous of finishing a conversation which\nembarrassed her; and complaining that She was unwell, She requested\nAmbrosio's permission to return to the Abbey.  He accompanied her to\nthe door of her cell; and when arrived there, He stopped her to declare\nhis consent to her continuing the Partner of his solitude so long as\nshould be agreeable to herself.\n\nShe discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this intelligence,\nthough on the preceding day She had been so anxious to obtain the\npermission.\n\n'Alas! Father,' She said, waving her head mournfully; 'Your kindness\ncomes too late!  My doom is fixed.  We must separate for ever.  Yet\nbelieve, that I am grateful for your generosity, for your compassion of\nan Unfortunate who is but too little deserving of it!'\n\nShe put her handkerchief to her eyes.  Her Cowl was only half drawn\nover her face.  Ambrosio observed that She was pale, and her eyes sunk\nand heavy.\n\n'Good God!' He cried; 'You are very ill, Matilda! I shall send Father\nPablos to you instantly.'\n\n'No; Do not.  I am ill, 'tis true; But He cannot cure my malady.\nFarewell, Father!  Remember me in your prayers tomorrow, while I shall\nremember you in heaven!'\n\nShe entered her cell, and closed the door.\n\nThe Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a moment, and\nwaited his report impatiently.  But Father Pablos soon returned, and\ndeclared that his errand had been fruitless. Rosario refused to admit\nhim, and had positively rejected his offers of assistance.  The\nuneasiness which this account gave Ambrosio was not trifling:  Yet He\ndetermined that Matilda should have her own way for that night:  But\nthat if her situation did not mend by the morning, he would insist upon\nher taking the advice of Father Pablos.\n\nHe did not find himself inclined to sleep.  He opened his casement, and\ngazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the small stream whose\nwaters bathed the walls of the Monastery.  The coolness of the night\nbreeze and tranquillity of the hour inspired the Friar's mind with\nsadness.  He thought upon Matilda's beauty and affection; Upon the\npleasures which He might have shared with her, had He not been\nrestrained by monastic fetters.  He reflected, that unsustained by hope\nher love for him could not long exist; That doubtless She would succeed\nin extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of One\nmore fortunate.  He shuddered at the void which her absence would leave\nin his bosom.  He looked with disgust on the monotony of a Convent, and\nbreathed a sigh towards that world from which He was for ever\nseparated.  Such were the reflections which a loud knocking at his door\ninterrupted.  The Bell of the Church had already struck Two.  The Abbot\nhastened to enquire the cause of this disturbance.  He opened the door\nof his Cell, and a Lay-Brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry\nand confusion.\n\n'Hasten, reverend Father!' said He; 'Hasten to the young Rosario.\n\nHe earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.'\n\n'Gracious God!  Where is Father Pablos?  Why is He not with him? Oh! I\nfear! I fear!'\n\n'Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing.  He says that\nHe suspects the Youth to be poisoned.'\n\n'Poisoned?  Oh!  The Unfortunate!  It is then as I suspected! But let\nme not lose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save her!'\n\nHe said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice.  Several Monks were\nalready in the chamber.  Father Pablos was one of them, and held a\nmedicine in his hand which He was endeavouring to persuade Rosario to\nswallow.  The Others were employed in admiring the Patient's divine\ncountenance, which They now saw for the first time.  She looked\nlovelier than ever.  She was no longer pale or languid; A bright glow\nhad spread itself over her cheeks; her eyes sparkled with a serene\ndelight, and her countenance was expressive of confidence and\nresignation.\n\n'Oh! torment me no more!' was She saying to Pablos, when the terrified\nAbbot rushed hastily into the Cell; 'My disease is far beyond the reach\nof your skill, and I wish not to be cured of it'--Then perceiving\nAmbrosio,-- 'Ah! 'tis He!' She cried; 'I see him once again, before we\npart for ever!  Leave me, my Brethren; Much have I to tell this holy\nMan in private.'\n\nThe Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained\ntogether.\n\n'What have you done, imprudent Woman!' exclaimed the Latter, as soon as\nthey were left alone; 'Tell me; Are my suspicions just? Am I indeed to\nlose you?  Has your own hand been the instrument of your destruction?'\n\nShe smiled, and grasped his hand.\n\n'In what have I been imprudent, Father?  I have sacrificed a pebble,\nand saved a diamond:  My death preserves a life valuable to the world,\nand more dear to me than my own.  Yes, Father; I am poisoned; But know\nthat the poison once circulated in your veins.'\n\n'Matilda!'\n\n'What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the bed of\ndeath:  That moment is now arrived. You cannot have forgotten the day\nalready, when your life was endangered by the bite of a Cientipedoro.\nThe Physician gave you over, declaring himself ignorant how to extract\nthe venom:  I knew but of one means, and hesitated not a moment to\nemploy it.  I was left alone with you:  You slept; I loosened the\nbandage from your hand; I kissed the wound, and drew out the poison\nwith my lips.  The effect has been more sudden than I expected.  I feel\ndeath at my heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.'\n\n'Almighty God!' exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless upon the\nBed.\n\nAfter a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and gazed upon\nMatilda with all the wildness of despair.\n\n'And you have sacrificed yourself for me!  You die, and die to preserve\nAmbrosio!  And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda?  And is there indeed\nno hope?  Speak to me, Oh!  speak to me!  Tell me, that you have still\nthe means of life!'\n\n'Be comforted, my only Friend!  Yes, I have still the means of life in\nmy power:  But 'tis a means which I dare not employ.  It is dangerous!\nIt is dreadful!  Life would be purchased at too dear a rate, ...\nunless it were permitted me to live for you.'\n\n'Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!'-- (He caught her\nhand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)--'Remember our late\nconversations; I now consent to every thing:  Remember in what lively\ncolours you described the union of souls; Be it ours to realize those\nideas.  Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world's\nprejudices, and only consider each other as Brother and Friend.  Live\nthen, Matilda!  Oh! live for me!'\n\n'Ambrosio, it must not be.  When I thought thus, I deceived both you\nand myself.  Either I must die at present, or expire by the lingering\ntorments of unsatisfied desire.  Oh! since we last conversed together,\na dreadful veil has been rent from before my eyes.  I love you no\nlonger with the devotion which is paid to a Saint:  I prize you no more\nfor the virtues of your soul; I lust for the enjoyment of your person.\nThe Woman reigns in my bosom, and I am become a prey to the wildest of\npassions.  Away with friendship! 'tis a cold unfeeling word.  My bosom\nburns with love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return.\nTremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers.  If I live,\nyour truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in sufferings,\nall that you value is irretrievably lost.  I shall no longer be able to\ncombat my passions, shall seize every opportunity to excite your\ndesires, and labour to effect your dishonour and my own.  No, no,\nAmbrosio; I must not live!  I am convinced with every moment, that I\nhave but one alternative; I feel with every heart-throb, that I must\nenjoy you, or die.'\n\n'Amazement!--Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?'\n\nHe made a movement as if to quit his seat.  She uttered a loud shriek,\nand raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms round the Friar\nto detain him.\n\n'Oh! do not leave me!  Listen to my errors with compassion!  In a few\nhours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from this\ndisgraceful passion.'\n\n'Wretched Woman, what can I say to you!  I cannot ... I must not ...\nBut live, Matilda!  Oh! live!'\n\n'You do not reflect on what you ask.  What?  Live to plunge myself in\ninfamy?  To become the Agent of Hell?  To work the destruction both of\nyou and of Myself? Feel this heart, Father!'\n\nShe took his hand:  Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew\nit not, and felt her heart throb under it.\n\n'Feel this heart, Father!  It is yet the seat of honour, truth, and\nchastity:  If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest\ncrimes.  Oh! let me then die today!  Let me die, while I yet deserve\nthe tears of the virtuous!  Thus will expire!'--(She reclined her head\nupon his shoulder; Her golden Hair poured itself over his Chest.)--\n'Folded in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my\neyes for ever, and your lips receive my dying breath.  And will you not\nsometimes think of me?  Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my\nTomb? Oh!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  That kiss is my assurance!'\n\nThe hour was night.  All was silence around.  The faint beams of a\nsolitary Lamp darted upon Matilda's figure, and shed through the\nchamber a dim mysterious light.  No prying eye, or curious ear was near\nthe Lovers: Nothing was heard but Matilda's melodious accents.\nAmbrosio was in the full vigour of Manhood. He saw before him a young\nand beautiful Woman, the preserver of his life, the Adorer of his\nperson, and whom affection for him had reduced to the brink of the\nGrave.  He sat upon her Bed; His hand rested upon her bosom; Her head\nreclined voluptuously upon his breast.  Who then can wonder, if He\nyielded to the temptation?  Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to\nthose which sought them:  His kisses vied with Matilda's in warmth and\npassion.  He clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his vows,\nhis sanctity, and his fame:  He remembered nothing but the pleasure and\nopportunity.\n\n'Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!' sighed Matilda.\n\n'Thine, ever thine!' murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n  ----These are the Villains\n  Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.\n  --------Some of them are Gentlemen\n  Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth\n  Thrust from the company of awful Men.\n         Two Gentlemen of Verona.\n\nThe Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence.  The Former\nemployed himself in calling every circumstance to his mind, which\nrelated might give Lorenzo's the most favourable idea of his connexion\nwith Agnes.  The Latter, justly alarmed for the honour of his family,\nfelt embarrassed by the presence of the Marquis: The adventure which He\nhad just witnessed forbad his treating him as a Friend; and Antonia's\ninterests being entrusted to his mediation, He saw the impolicy of\ntreating him as a Foe. He concluded from these reflections, that\nprofound silence would be the wisest plan, and waited with impatience\nfor Don Raymond's explanation.\n\nThey arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas.  The Marquis immediately\nconducted him to his apartment, and began to express his satisfaction\nat finding him at Madrid.  Lorenzo interrupted him.\n\n'Excuse me, my Lord,' said He with a distant air, 'if I reply somewhat\ncoldly to your expressions of regard.  A Sister's honour is involved in\nthis affair:  Till that is established, and the purport of your\ncorrespondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot consider you as my\nFriend.  I am anxious to hear the meaning of your conduct, and hope\nthat you will not delay the promised explanation.'\n\n'First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and\nindulgence.'\n\n'I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this moment I\npossessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself.  I will also confess,\nthat your having it in your power to oblige me in a business which I\nhave much at heart, makes me very anxious to find you still deserving\nmy esteem.'\n\n'Lorenzo, you transport me!  No greater pleasure can be given me, than\nan opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.'\n\n'Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour, and\nthere is no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be obliged.'\n\n'Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of\nAlphonso d'Alvarada?'\n\n'Never.  Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal,\ncircumstances have prevented us from being much together.  While yet a\nChild She was consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had married a\nGerman Nobleman.  At his Castle She remained till two years since, when\nShe returned to Spain, determined upon secluding herself from the\nworld.'\n\n'Good God!  Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove not to\nmake her change it?'\n\n'Marquis, you wrong me.  The intelligence, which I received at Naples,\nshocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid for the\nexpress purpose of preventing the sacrifice.  The moment that I\narrived, I flew to the Convent of St. Clare, in which Agnes had chosen\nto perform her Noviciate.  I requested to see my Sister.  Conceive my\nsurprise when She sent me a refusal; She declared positively, that\napprehending my influence over her mind, She would not trust herself in\nmy society till the day before that on which She was to receive the\nVeil.  I supplicated the Nuns; I insisted upon seeing Agnes, and\nhesitated not to avow my suspicions that her being kept from me was\nagainst her own inclinations. To free herself from the imputation of\nviolence, the Prioress brought me a few lines written in my Sister's\nwell-known hand, repeating the message already delivered.  All future\nattempts to obtain a moment's conversation with her were as fruitless\nas the first.  She was inflexible, and I was not permitted to see her\ntill the day preceding that on which She entered the Cloister never to\nquit it more.  This interview took place in the presence of our\nprincipal Relations.  It was for the first time since her childhood\nthat I saw her, and the scene was most affecting.  She threw herself\nupon my bosom, kissed me, and wept bitterly.  By every possible\nargument, by tears, by prayers, by kneeling, I strove to make her\nabandon her intention.  I represented to her all the hardships of a\nreligious life; I painted to her imagination all the pleasures which\nShe was going to quit, and besought her to disclose to me, what\noccasioned her disgust to the world.  At this last question She turned\npale, and her tears flowed yet faster.  She entreated me not to press\nher on that subject; That it sufficed me to know that her resolution\nwas taken, and that a Convent was the only place where She could now\nhope for tranquillity.  She persevered in her design, and made her\nprofession.  I visited her frequently at the Grate, and every moment\nthat I passed with her, made me feel more affliction at her loss.  I\nwas shortly after obliged to quit Madrid; I returned but yesterday\nevening, and since then have not had time to call at St. Clare's\nConvent.'\n\n'Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonso\nd'Alvarada?'\n\n'Pardon me: my Aunt wrote me word that an Adventurer so called had\nfound means to get introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg; That He\nhad insinuated himself into my Sister's good graces, and that She had\neven consented to elope with him.  However, before the plan could be\nexecuted, the Cavalier discovered that the estates which He believed\nAgnes to possess in Hispaniola, in reality belonged to me.  This\nintelligence made him change his intention; He disappeared on the day\nthat the elopement was to have taken place, and Agnes, in despair at\nhis perfidy and meanness, had resolved upon seclusion in a Convent.\nShe added, that as this adventurer had given himself out to be a Friend\nof mine, She wished to know whether I had any knowledge of him.  I\nreplied in the negative.  I had then very little idea, that Alphonso\nd'Alvarada and the Marquis de las Cisternas were one and the same\nperson:  The description given me of the first by no means tallied with\nwhat I knew of the latter.'\n\n'In this I easily recognize Donna Rodolpha's perfidious character.\nEvery word of this account is stamped with marks of her malice, of her\nfalsehood, of her talents for misrepresenting those whom She wishes to\ninjure.  Forgive me, Medina, for speaking so freely of your Relation.\nThe mischief which She has done me authorises my resentment, and when\nyou have heard my story, you will be convinced that my expressions have\nnot been too severe.'\n\nHe then began his narrative in the following manner.\n\nHISTORY OF DON RAYMOND, MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS\n\nLong experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous is your\nnature:  I waited not for your declaration of ignorance respecting your\nSister's adventures to suppose that they had been purposely concealed\nfrom you.  Had they reached your knowledge, from what misfortunes\nshould both Agnes and myself have escaped!  Fate had ordained it\notherwise!  You were on your Travels when I first became acquainted\nwith your Sister; and as our Enemies took care to conceal from her your\ndirection, it was impossible for her to implore by letter your\nprotection and advice.\n\nOn leaving Salamanca, at which University as I have since heard, you\nremained a year after I quitted it, I immediately set out upon my\nTravels.  My Father supplied me liberally with money; But He insisted\nupon my concealing my rank, and presenting myself as no more than a\nprivate Gentleman.  This command was issued by the counsels of his\nFriend, the Duke of Villa Hermosa, a Nobleman for whose abilities and\nknowledge of the world I have ever entertained the most profound\nveneration.\n\n'Believe me,' said He, 'my dear Raymond, you will hereafter feel the\nbenefits of this temporary degradation.  'Tis true, that as the Conde\nde las Cisternas you would have been received with open arms; and your\nyouthful vanity might have felt gratified by the attentions showered\nupon you from all sides.  At present, much will depend upon yourself:\nYou have excellent recommendations, but it must be your own business to\nmake them of use to you.  You must lay yourself out to please; You must\nlabour to gain the approbation of those, to whom you are presented:\nThey who would have courted the friendship of the Conde de las\nCisternas will have no interest in finding out the merits, or bearing\npatiently with the faults, of Alphonso d'Alvarada.  Consequently, when\nyou find yourself really liked, you may safely ascribe it to your good\nqualities, not your rank, and the distinction shown you will be\ninfinitely more flattering.  Besides, your exalted birth would not\npermit your mixing with the lower classes of society, which will now be\nin your power, and from which, in my opinion, you will derive\nconsiderable benefit.  Do not confine yourself to the Illustrious of\nthose Countries through which you pass.  Examine the manners and\ncustoms of the multitude: Enter into the Cottages; and by observing how\nthe Vassals of Foreigners are treated, learn to diminish the burthens\nand augment the comforts of your own.  According to my ideas, of those\nadvantages which a Youth destined to the possession of power and wealth\nmay reap from travel, He should not consider as the least essential,\nthe opportunity of mixing with the classes below him, and becoming an\neyewitness of the sufferings of the People.'\n\nForgive me, Lorenzo, if I seem tedious in my narration. The close\nconnexion which now exists between us, makes me anxious that you should\nknow every particular respecting me; and in my fear of omitting the\nleast circumstance which may induce you to think favourably of your\nSister and myself, I may possibly relate many which you may think\nuninteresting.\n\nI followed the Duke's advice; I was soon convinced of its wisdom.\n\nI quitted Spain, calling myself by the assumed title of Don Alphonso\nd'Alvarada, and attended by a single Domestic of approved fidelity.\nParis was my first station.  For some time I was enchanted with it, as\nindeed must be every Man who is young, rich, and fond of pleasure.  Yet\namong all its gaieties, I felt that something was wanting to my heart.\nI grew sick of dissipation: I discovered, that the People among whom I\nlived, and whose exterior was so polished and seducing, were at bottom\nfrivolous, unfeeling and insincere.  I turned from the Inhabitants of\nParis with disgust, and quitted that Theatre of Luxury without heaving\none sigh of regret.\n\nI now bent my course towards Germany, intending to visit most of the\nprincipal courts:  Prior to this expedition, I meant to make some\nlittle stay at Strasbourg.  On quitting my Chaise at Luneville to take\nsome refreshment, I observed a splendid Equipage, attended by four\nDomestics in rich liveries, waiting at the door of the Silver Lion.\nSoon after as I looked out of the window, I saw a Lady of noble\npresence, followed by two female Attendants, step into the Carriage,\nwhich drove off immediately.\n\nI enquired of the Host, who the Lady was, that had just departed.\n\n'A German Baroness, Monsieur, of great rank and fortune.  She has been\nupon a visit to the Duchess of Longueville, as her Servants informed\nme; She is going to Strasbourg, where She will find her Husband, and\nthen both return to their Castle in Germany.'\n\nI resumed my journey, intending to reach Strasbourg that night. My\nhopes, however were frustrated by the breaking down of my Chaise.  The\naccident happened in the middle of a thick Forest, and I was not a\nlittle embarrassed as to the means of proceeding.\n\nIt was the depth of winter:  The night was already closing round us;\nand Strasbourg, which was the nearest Town, was still distant from us\nseveral leagues.  It seemed to me that my only alternative to passing\nthe night in the Forest, was to take my Servant's Horse and ride on to\nStrasbourg, an undertaking at that season very far from agreeable.\nHowever, seeing no other resource, I was obliged to make up my mind to\nit.  Accordingly I communicated my design to the Postillion, telling\nhim that I would send People to assist him as soon as I reached\nStrasbourg. I had not much confidence in his honesty; But Stephano\nbeing well-armed, and the Driver to all appearance considerably\nadvanced in years, I believed I ran no danger of losing my Baggage.\n\nLuckily, as I then thought, an opportunity presented itself of passing\nthe night more agreeably than I expected.  On mentioning my design of\nproceeding by myself to Strasbourg, the Postillion shook his head in\ndisapprobation.\n\n'It is a long way,' said He; 'You will find it a difficult matter to\narrive there without a Guide.  Besides, Monsieur seems unaccustomed to\nthe season's severity, and 'tis possible that unable to sustain the\nexcessive cold....'\n\n'What use is there to present me with all these objections?' said I,\nimpatiently interrupting him; 'I have no other resource:  I run still\ngreater risque of perishing with cold by passing the night in the\nForest.'\n\n'Passing the night in the Forest?' He replied; 'Oh! by St. Denis! We\nare not in quite so bad a plight as that comes to yet.  If I am not\nmistaken, we are scarcely five minutes walk from the Cottage of my old\nFriend, Baptiste.  He is a Wood-cutter, and a very honest Fellow. I\ndoubt not but He will shelter you for the night with pleasure.  In the\nmeantime I can take the saddle-Horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be back\nwith proper people to mend your Carriage by break of day.'\n\n'And in the name of God,' said I, 'How could you leave me so long in\nsuspense?  Why did you not tell me of this Cottage sooner? What\nexcessive stupidity!'\n\n'I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept....'\n\n'Absurd! Come, come!  Say no more, but conduct us without delay to the\nWood-man's Cottage.'\n\nHe obeyed, and we moved onwards:  The Horses contrived with some\ndifficulty to drag the shattered vehicle after us.  My Servant was\nbecome almost speechless, and I began to feel the effects of the cold\nmyself, before we reached the wished-for Cottage.  It was a small but\nneat Building:  As we drew near it, I rejoiced at observing through the\nwindow the blaze of a comfortable fire. Our Conductor knocked at the\ndoor:  It was some time before any one answered; The People within\nseemed in doubt whether we should be admitted.\n\n'Come!  Come, Friend Baptiste!' cried the Driver with impatience; 'What\nare you about?  Are you asleep?  Or will you refuse a night's lodging\nto a Gentleman, whose Chaise has just broken down in the Forest?'\n\n'Ah! is it you, honest Claude?' replied a Man's voice from within;\n'Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.'\n\nSoon after the bolts were drawn back.  The door was unclosed, and a Man\npresented himself to us with a Lamp in his hand.  He gave the Guide an\nhearty reception, and then addressed himself to me.\n\n'Walk in, Monsieur; Walk in, and welcome!  Excuse me for not admitting\nyou at first:  But there are so many Rogues about this place, that\nsaving your presence, I suspected you to be one.'\n\nThus saying, He ushered me into the room, where I had observed the\nfire:  I was immediately placed in an Easy Chair, which stood close to\nthe Hearth.  A Female, whom I supposed to be the Wife of my Host, rose\nfrom her seat upon my entrance, and received me with a slight and\ndistant reverence.  She made no answer to my compliment, but\nimmediately re-seating herself, continued the work on which She had\nbeen employed.  Her Husband's manners were as friendly as hers were\nharsh and repulsive.\n\n'I wish, I could lodge you more conveniently, Monsieur,' said He; 'But\nwe cannot boast of much spare room in this hovel.  However, a chamber\nfor yourself, and another for your Servant, I think, we can make shift\nto supply.  You must content yourself with sorry fare; But to what we\nhave, believe me, you are heartily welcome.' ----Then turning to his\nwife--'Why, how you sit there, Marguerite, with as much tranquillity as\nif you had nothing better to do!  Stir about, Dame!  Stir about! Get\nsome supper; Look out some sheets; Here, here; throw some logs upon the\nfire, for the Gentleman seems perished with cold.'\n\nThe Wife threw her work hastily upon the Table, and proceeded to\nexecute his commands with every mark of unwillingness.  Her countenance\nhad displeased me on the first moment of my examining it.  Yet upon the\nwhole her features were handsome unquestionably; But her skin was\nsallow, and her person thin and meagre; A louring gloom over-spread her\ncountenance; and it bore such visible marks of rancour and ill-will, as\ncould not escape being noticed by the most inattentive Observer.  Her\nevery look and action expressed discontent and impatience, and the\nanswers which She gave Baptiste, when He reproached her good-humouredly\nfor her dissatisfied air, were tart, short, and cutting.  In tine, I\nconceived at first sight equal disgust for her, and prepossession in\nfavour of her Husband, whose appearance was calculated to inspire\nesteem and confidence.  His countenance was open, sincere, and\nfriendly; his manners had all the Peasant's honesty unaccompanied by\nhis rudeness; His cheeks were broad, full, and ruddy; and in the\nsolidity of his person He seemed to offer an ample apology for the\nleanness of his Wife's.  From the wrinkles on his brow I judged him to\nbe turned of sixty; But He bore his years well, and seemed still hearty\nand strong: The Wife could not be more than thirty, but in spirits and\nvivacity She was infinitely older than the Husband.\n\nHowever, in spite of her unwillingness, Marguerite began to prepare the\nsupper, while the Wood-man conversed gaily on different subjects.  The\nPostillion, who had been furnished with a bottle of spirits, was now\nready to set out for Strasbourg, and enquired, whether I had any\nfurther commands.\n\n'For Strasbourg?' interrupted Baptiste; 'You are not going thither\ntonight?'\n\n'I beg your pardon:  If I do not fetch Workmen to mend the Chaise, How\nis Monsieur to proceed tomorrow?'\n\n'That is true, as you say; I had forgotten the Chaise.  Well, but\nClaude; You may at least eat your supper here?  That can make you lose\nvery little time, and Monsieur looks too kind-hearted to send you out\nwith an empty stomach on such a bitter cold night as this is.'\n\nTo this I readily assented, telling the Postillion that my reaching\nStrasbourg the next day an hour or two later would be perfectly\nimmaterial.  He thanked me, and then leaving the Cottage with Stephano,\nput up his Horses in the Wood-man's Stable.  Baptiste followed them to\nthe door, and looked out with anxiety.\n\n''Tis a sharp biting wind!' said He; 'I wonder, what detains my Boys so\nlong!  Monsieur, I shall show you two of the finest Lads, that ever\nstept in shoe of leather. The eldest is three and twenty, the second a\nyear younger:  Their Equals for sense, courage, and activity, are not\nto be found within fifty miles of Strasbourg.  Would They were back\nagain!  I begin to feel uneasy about them.'\n\nMarguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth.\n\n'And are you equally anxious for the return of your Sons?' said I to\nher.\n\n'Not I!' She replied peevishly; 'They are no children of mine.'\n\n'Come!  Come, Marguerite!' said the Husband; 'Do not be out of humour\nwith the Gentleman for asking a simple question.  Had you not looked so\ncross, He would never have thought you old enough to have a Son of\nthree and twenty:  But you see how many years ill-temper adds to\nyou!--Excuse my Wife's rudeness, Monsieur.  A little thing puts her\nout, and She is somewhat displeased at your not thinking her to be\nunder thirty.  That is the truth, is it not, Marguerite?  You know,\nMonsieur, that Age is always a ticklish subject with a Woman.  Come!\ncome!  Marguerite, clear up a little.  If you have not Sons as old, you\nwill some twenty years hence, and I hope, that we shall live to see\nthem just such Lads as Jacques and Robert.'\n\nMarguerite clasped her hands together passionately.\n\n'God forbid!' said She; 'God forbid! If I thought it, I would strangle\nthem with my own hands!'\n\nShe quitted the room hastily, and went up stairs.\n\nI could not help expressing to the Wood-man how much I pitied him for\nbeing chained for life to a Partner of such ill-humour.\n\n'Ah!  Lord!  Monsieur, Every one has his share of grievances, and\nMarguerite has fallen to mine.  Besides, after all She is only cross,\nand not malicious.  The worst is, that her affection for two children\nby a former Husband makes her play the Step-mother with my two Sons.\nShe cannot bear the sight of them, and by her good-will they would\nnever set a foot within my door.  But on this point I always stand\nfirm, and never will consent to abandon the poor Lads to the world's\nmercy, as She has often solicited me to do.  In every thing else I let\nher have her own way; and truly She manages a family rarely, that I\nmust say for her.'\n\nWe were conversing in this manner, when our discourse was interrupted\nby a loud halloo, which rang through the Forest.\n\n'My Sons, I hope!' exclaimed the Wood-man, and ran to open the door.\n\nThe halloo was repeated:  We now distinguished the trampling of Horses,\nand soon after a Carriage, attended by several Cavaliers stopped at the\nCottage door.  One of the Horsemen enquired how far they were still\nfrom Strasbourg.  As He addressed himself to me, I answered in the\nnumber of miles which Claude had told me; Upon which a volley of curses\nwas vented against the Drivers for having lost their way.  The Persons\nin the Coach were now informed of the distance of Strasbourg, and also\nthat the Horses were so fatigued as to be incapable of proceeding\nfurther.  A Lady, who appeared to be the principal, expressed much\nchagrin at this intelligence; But as there was no remedy, one of the\nAttendants asked the Wood-man, whether He could furnish them with\nlodging for the night.\n\nHe seemed much embarrassed, and replied in the negative; Adding that a\nSpanish Gentleman and his Servant were already in possession of the\nonly spare apartments in his House.  On hearing this, the gallantry of\nmy nation would not permit me to retain those accommodations, of which\na Female was in want.  I instantly signified to the Wood-man, that I\ntransferred my right to the Lady; He made some objections; But I\noverruled them, and hastening to the Carriage, opened the door, and\nassisted the Lady to descend.  I immediately recognized her for the\nsame person whom I had seen at the Inn at Luneville.  I took an\nopportunity of asking one of her Attendants, what was her name?\n\n'The Baroness Lindenberg,' was the answer.\n\nI could not but remark how different a reception our Host had given\nthese newcomers and myself.  His reluctance to admit them was visibly\nexpressed on his countenance, and He prevailed on himself with\ndifficulty to tell the Lady that She was welcome. I conducted her into\nthe House, and placed her in the armed-chair, which I had just quitted.\nShe thanked me very graciously; and made a thousand apologies for\nputting me to an inconvenience.  Suddenly the Wood-man's countenance\ncleared up.\n\n'At last I have arranged it!' said He, interrupting her excuses; 'I can\nlodge you and your suite, Madam, and you will not be under the\nnecessity of making this Gentleman suffer for his politeness.\n\nWe have two spare chambers, one for the Lady, the other, Monsieur, for\nyou:  My Wife shall give up hers to the two Waiting-women; As for the\nMen-servants, they must content themselves with passing the night in a\nlarge Barn, which stands at a few yards distance from the House.  There\nthey shall have a blazing fire, and as good a supper as we can make\nshift to give them.'\n\nAfter several expressions of gratitude on the Lady's part, and\nopposition on mine to Marguerite's giving up her bed, this arrangement\nwas agreed to.  As the Room was small, the Baroness immediately\ndismissed her Male Domestics:  Baptiste was on the point of conducting\nthem to the Barn which He had mentioned when two young Men appeared at\nthe door of the Cottage.\n\n'Hell and Furies!' exclaimed the first starting back; 'Robert, the\nHouse is filled with Strangers!'\n\n'Ha!  There are my Sons!' cried our Host.  'Why, Jacques! Robert!\nwhither are you running, Boys?  There is room enough still for you.'\n\nUpon this assurance the Youths returned.  The Father presented them to\nthe Baroness and myself:  After which He withdrew with our Domestics,\nwhile at the request of the two Waiting-women, Marguerite conducted\nthem to the room designed for their Mistress.\n\nThe two new-comers were tall, stout, well-made young Men,\nhard-featured, and very much sun-burnt.  They paid their compliments to\nus in few words, and acknowledged Claude, who now entered the room, as\nan old acquaintance.  They then threw aside their cloaks in which they\nwere wrapped up, took off a leathern belt to which a large Cutlass was\nsuspended, and each drawing a brace of pistols from his girdle laid\nthem upon a shelf.\n\n'You travel well-armed,' said I.\n\n'True, Monsieur;' replied Robert.  'We left Strasbourg late this\nEvening, and 'tis necessary to take precautions at passing through this\nForest after dark.  It does not bear a good repute, I promise you.'\n\n'How?' said the Baroness; 'Are there Robbers hereabout?'\n\n'So it is said, Madame; For my own part, I have travelled through the\nwood at all hours, and never met with one of them.'\n\nHere Marguerite returned.  Her Stepsons drew her to the other end of\nthe room, and whispered her for some minutes.  By the looks which they\ncast towards us at intervals, I conjectured them to be enquiring our\nbusiness in the Cottage.\n\nIn the meanwhile the Baroness expressed her apprehensions, that her\nHusband would be suffering much anxiety upon her account. She had\nintended to send on one of her Servants to inform the Baron of her\ndelay; But the account which the young Men gave of the Forest rendered\nthis plan impracticable.  Claude relieved her from her embarrassment.\nHe informed her that He was under the necessity of reaching Strasbourg\nthat night, and that would She trust him with a letter, She might\ndepend upon its being safely delivered.\n\n'And how comes it,' said I, 'that you are under no apprehension of\nmeeting these Robbers?'\n\n'Alas! Monsieur, a poor Man with a large family must not lose certain\nprofit because 'tis attended with a little danger, and perhaps my Lord\nthe Baron may give me a trifle for my pains. Besides, I have nothing to\nlose except my life, and that will not be worth the Robbers taking.'\n\nI thought his arguments bad, and advised his waiting till the Morning;\nBut as the Baroness did not second me, I was obliged to give up the\npoint.  The Baroness Lindenberg, as I found afterwards, had long been\naccustomed to sacrifice the interests of others to her own, and her\nwish to send Claude to Strasbourg blinded her to the danger of the\nundertaking.  Accordingly, it was resolved that He should set out\nwithout delay.  The Baroness wrote her letter to her Husband, and I\nsent a few lines to my Banker, apprising him that I should not be at\nStrasbourg till the next day.  Claude took our letters, and left the\nCottage.\n\nThe Lady declared herself much fatigued by her journey:  Besides having\ncome from some distance, the Drivers had contrived to lose their way in\nthe Forest.  She now addressed herself to Marguerite, desiring to be\nshown to her chamber, and permitted to take half an hour's repose.  One\nof the Waiting-women was immediately summoned; She appeared with a\nlight, and the Baroness followed her up stairs.  The cloth was\nspreading in the chamber where I was, and Marguerite soon gave me to\nunderstand that I was in her way.  Her hints were too broad to be\neasily mistaken; I therefore desired one of the young Men to conduct me\nto the chamber where I was to sleep, and where I could remain till\nsupper was ready.\n\n'Which chamber is it, Mother?' said Robert.\n\n'The One with green hangings,' She replied; 'I have just been at the\ntrouble of getting it ready, and have put fresh sheets upon the Bed; If\nthe Gentleman chooses to lollop and lounge upon it, He may make it\nagain himself for me.'\n\n'You are out of humour, Mother, but that is no novelty.  Have the\ngoodness to follow me, Monsieur.'\n\nHe opened the door, and advanced towards a narrow staircase.\n\n'You have got no light!' said Marguerite; 'Is it your own neck or the\nGentleman's that you have a mind to break?'\n\nShe crossed by me, and put a candle into Robert's hand, having received\nwhich, He began to ascend the staircase.  Jacques was employed in\nlaying the cloth, and his back was turned towards me.\n\nMarguerite seized the moment, when we were unobserved.  She caught my\nhand, and pressed it strongly.\n\n'Look at the Sheets!' said She as She passed me, and immediately\nresumed her former occupation.\n\nStartled by the abruptness of her action, I remained as if petrified.\nRobert's voice, desiring me to follow him, recalled me to myself.  I\nascended the staircase.  My conductor ushered me into a chamber, where\nan excellent wood-fire was blazing upon the hearth.  He placed the\nlight upon the Table, enquired whether I had any further commands, and\non my replying in the negative, He left me to myself.  You may be\ncertain that the moment when I found myself alone was that on which I\ncomplied with Marguerite's injunction.  I took the candle, hastily\napproached the Bed, and turned down the Coverture.  What was my\nastonishment, my horror, at finding the sheets crimsoned with blood!\n\nAt that moment a thousand confused ideas passed before my imagination.\nThe Robbers who infested the Wood, Marguerite's exclamation respecting\nher Children, the arms and appearance of the two young Men, and the\nvarious Anecdotes which I had heard related, respecting the secret\ncorrespondence which frequently exists between Banditti and\nPostillions, all these circumstances flashed upon my mind, and inspired\nme with doubt and apprehension.  I ruminated on the most probable means\nof ascertaining the truth of my conjectures.  Suddenly I was aware of\nSomeone below pacing hastily backwards and forwards.  Every thing now\nappeared to me an object of suspicion.  With precaution I drew near the\nwindow, which, as the room had been long shut up, was left open in\nspite of the cold.  I ventured to look out.  The beams of the Moon\npermitted me to distinguish a Man, whom I had no difficulty to\nrecognize for my Host.  I watched his movements.\n\nHe walked swiftly, then stopped, and seemed to listen:  He stamped upon\nthe ground, and beat his stomach with his arms as if to guard himself\nfrom the inclemency of the season.  At the least noise, if a voice was\nheard in the lower part of the House, if a Bat flitted past him, or the\nwind rattled amidst the leafless boughs, He started, and looked round\nwith anxiety.\n\n'Plague take him!' said He at length with impatience; 'What can He be\nabout!'\n\nHe spoke in a low voice; but as He was just below my window, I had no\ndifficulty to distinguish his words.\n\nI now heard the steps of one approaching.  Baptiste went towards the\nsound; He joined a man, whom his low stature and the Horn suspended\nfrom his neck, declared to be no other than my faithful Claude, whom I\nhad supposed to be already on his way to Strasbourg.  Expecting their\ndiscourse to throw some light upon my situation, I hastened to put\nmyself in a condition to hear it with safety.  For this purpose I\nextinguished the candle, which stood upon a table near the Bed:  The\nflame of the fire was not strong enough to betray me, and I immediately\nresumed my place at the window.\n\nThe objects of my curiosity had stationed themselves directly under it.\nI suppose that during my momentary absence the Wood-man had been\nblaming Claude for tardiness, since when I returned to the window, the\nlatter was endeavouring to excuse his fault.\n\n'However,' added He, 'my diligence at present shall make up for my past\ndelay.'\n\n'On that condition,' answered Baptiste, 'I shall readily forgive you.\nBut in truth as you share equally with us in our prizes, your own\ninterest will make you use all possible diligence. 'Twould be a shame\nto let such a noble booty escape us!  You say, that this Spaniard is\nrich?'\n\n'His Servant boasted at the Inn, that the effects in his Chaise were\nworth above two thousand Pistoles.'\n\nOh! how I cursed Stephano's imprudent vanity!\n\n'And I have been told,' continued the Postillion, 'that this Baroness\ncarries about her a casket of jewels of immense value.'\n\n'May be so, but I had rather She had stayed away.  The Spaniard was a\nsecure prey.  The Boys and myself could easily have mastered him and\nhis Servant, and then the two thousand Pistoles would have been shared\nbetween us four.  Now we must let in the Band for a share, and perhaps\nthe whole Covey may escape us. Should our Friends have betaken\nthemselves to their different posts before you reach the Cavern, all\nwill be lost.  The Lady's Attendants are too numerous for us to\noverpower them:  Unless our Associates arrive in time, we must needs\nlet these Travellers set out tomorrow without damage or hurt.'\n\n''Tis plaguy unlucky that my Comrades who drove the Coach should be\nthose unacquainted with our Confederacy!  But never fear, Friend\nBaptiste.  An hour will bring me to the Cavern; It is now but ten\no'clock, and by twelve you may expect the arrival of the Band.  By the\nbye, take care of your Wife:  You know how strong is her repugnance to\nour mode of life, and She may find means to give information to the\nLady's Servants of our design.'\n\n'Oh! I am secure of her silence; She is too much afraid of me, and fond\nof her children, to dare to betray my secret.  Besides, Jacques and\nRobert keep a strict eye over her, and She is not permitted to set a\nfoot out of the Cottage.  The Servants are safely lodged in the Barn; I\nshall endeavour to keep all quiet till the arrival of our Friends.\nWere I assured of your finding them, the Strangers should be dispatched\nthis instant; But as it is possible for you to miss the Banditti, I am\nfearful of being summoned to produce them by their Domestics in the\nMorning.'\n\n'And suppose either of the Travellers should discover your design?'\n\n'Then we must poignard those in our power, and take our chance about\nmastering the rest.  However, to avoid running such a risque, hasten to\nthe Cavern:  The Banditti never leave it before eleven, and if you use\ndiligence, you may reach it in time to stop them.'\n\n'Tell Robert that I have taken his Horse:  My own has broken his\nbridle, and escaped into the Wood.  What is the watch-word?'\n\n'The reward of Courage.'\n\n''Tis sufficient.  I hasten to the Cavern.'\n\n'And I to rejoin my Guests, lest my absence should create suspicion.\nFarewell, and be diligent.'\n\nThese worthy Associates now separated:  The One bent his course towards\nthe Stable, while the Other returned to the House.\n\nYou may judge, what must have been my feelings during this\nconversation, of which I lost not a single syllable.  I dared not trust\nmyself to my reflections, nor did any means present itself to escape\nthe dangers which threatened me.  Resistance, I knew to be vain; I was\nunarmed, and a single Man against Three:  However, I resolved at least\nto sell my life as dearly as I could. Dreading lest Baptiste should\nperceive my absence, and suspect me to have overheard the message with\nwhich Claude was dispatched, I hastily relighted my candle and quitted\nthe chamber.  On descending, I found the Table spread for six Persons.\nThe Baroness sat by the fireside: Marguerite was employed in dressing a\nsallad, and her Step-sons were whispering together at the further end\nof the room.  Baptiste having the round of the Garden to make, ere He\ncould reach the Cottage door, was not yet arrived.  I seated myself\nquietly opposite to the Baroness.\n\nA glance upon Marguerite told her that her hint had not been thrown\naway upon me.  How different did She now appear to me! What before\nseemed gloom and sullenness, I now found to be disgust at her\nAssociates, and compassion for my danger.  I looked up to her as to my\nonly resource; Yet knowing her to be watched by her Husband with a\nsuspicious eye, I could place but little reliance on the exertions of\nher good-will.\n\nIn spite of all my endeavours to conceal it, my agitation was but too\nvisibly expressed upon my countenance. I was pale, and both my words\nand actions were disordered and embarrassed.  The young Men observed\nthis, and enquired the cause.  I attributed it to excess of fatigue,\nand the violent effect produced on me by the severity of the season.\nWhether they believed me or not, I will not pretend to say:  They at\nleast ceased to embarrass me with their questions.  I strove to divert\nmy attention from the perils which surrounded me, by conversing on\ndifferent subjects with the Baroness.  I talked of Germany, declaring\nmy intention of visiting it immediately:  God knows, that I little\nthought at that moment of ever seeing it!  She replied to me with great\nease and politeness, professed that the pleasure of making my\nacquaintance amply compensated for the delay in her journey, and gave\nme a pressing invitation to make some stay at the Castle of Lindenberg.\nAs She spoke thus, the Youths exchanged a malicious smile, which\ndeclared that She would be fortunate if She ever reached that Castle\nherself.  This action did not escape me; But I concealed the emotion\nwhich it excited in my breast.  I continued to converse with the Lady;\nBut my discourse was so frequently incoherent, that as She has since\ninformed me, She began to doubt whether I was in my right senses.  The\nfact was, that while my conversation turned upon one subject, my\nthoughts were entirely occupied by another.  I meditated upon the means\nof quitting the Cottage, finding my way to the Barn, and giving the\nDomestics information of our Host's designs.  I was soon convinced, how\nimpracticable was the attempt.  Jacques and Robert watched my every\nmovement with an attentive eye, and I was obliged to abandon the idea.\nAll my hopes now rested upon Claude's not finding the Banditti:  In\nthat case, according to what I had overheard, we should be permitted to\ndepart unhurt.\n\nI shuddered involuntarily as Baptiste entered the room.  He made many\napologies for his long absence, but 'He had been detained by affairs\nimpossible to be delayed.'  He then entreated permission for his family\nto sup at the same table with us, without which, respect would not\nauthorize his taking such a liberty.  Oh! how in my heart I cursed the\nHypocrite!  How I loathed his presence, who was on the point of\ndepriving me of an existence, at that time infinitely dear!  I had\nevery reason to be satisfied with life; I had youth, wealth, rank, and\neducation; and the fairest prospects presented themselves before me.  I\nsaw those prospects on the point of closing in the most horrible\nmanner:  Yet was I obliged to dissimulate, and to receive with a\nsemblance of gratitude the false civilities of him who held the dagger\nto my bosom.\n\nThe permission which our Host demanded, was easily obtained.  We seated\nourselves at the Table.  The Baroness and myself occupied one side:\nThe Sons were opposite to us with their backs to the door.  Baptiste\ntook his seat by the Baroness at the upper end, and the place next to\nhim was left for his Wife.  She soon entered the room, and placed\nbefore us a plain but comfortable Peasant's repast.  Our Host thought\nit necessary to apologize for the poorness of the supper:  'He had not\nbeen apprized of our coming; He could only offer us such fare as had\nbeen intended for his own family:'\n\n'But,' added He, 'should any accident detain my noble Guests longer\nthan they at present intend, I hope to give them a better treatment.'\n\nThe Villain! I well knew the accident to which He alluded; I shuddered\nat the treatment which He taught us to expect!\n\nMy Companion in danger seemed entirely to have got rid of her chagrin\nat being delayed.  She laughed, and conversed with the family with\ninfinite gaiety.  I strove but in vain to follow her example.  My\nspirits were evidently forced, and the constraint which I put upon\nmyself escaped not Baptiste's observation.\n\n'Come, come, Monsieur, cheer up!' said He; 'You seem not quite\nrecovered from your fatigue.  To raise your spirits, what say you to a\nglass of excellent old wine which was left me by my Father? God rest\nhis soul, He is in a better world!  I seldom produce this wine; But as\nI am not honoured with such Guests every day, this is an occasion which\ndeserves a Bottle.'\n\nHe then gave his Wife a Key, and instructed her where to find the wine\nof which He spoke.  She seemed by no means pleased with the commission;\nShe took the Key with an embarrassed air, and hesitated to quit the\nTable.\n\n'Did you hear me?' said Baptiste in an angry tone.\n\nMarguerite darted upon him a look of mingled anger and fear, and left\nthe chamber.  His eyes followed her suspiciously, till She had closed\nthe door.\n\nShe soon returned with a bottle sealed with yellow wax.  She placed it\nupon the table, and gave the Key back to her Husband. I suspected that\nthis liquor was not presented to us without design, and I watched\nMarguerite's movements with inquietude. She was employed in rinsing\nsome small horn Goblets.  As She placed them before Baptiste, She saw\nthat my eye was fixed upon her; and at the moment when She thought\nherself unobserved by the Banditti, She motioned to me with her head\nnot to taste the liquor, She then resumed her place.\n\nIn the mean while our Host had drawn the Cork, and filling two of the\nGoblets, offered them to the Lady and myself.  She at first made some\nobjections, but the instances of Baptiste were so urgent, that She was\nobliged to comply.  Fearing to excite suspicion, I hesitated not to\ntake the Goblet presented to me. By its smell and colour I guessed it\nto be Champagne; But some grains of powder floating upon the top\nconvinced me that it was not unadulterated.  However, I dared not to\nexpress my repugnance to drinking it; I lifted it to my lips, and\nseemed to be swallowing it:  Suddenly starting from my chair, I made\nthe best of my way towards a Vase of water at some distance, in which\nMarguerite had been rinsing the Goblets.  I pretended to spit out the\nwine with disgust, and took an opportunity unperceived of emptying the\nliquor into the Vase.\n\nThe Banditti seemed alarmed at my action.  Jacques half rose from his\nchair, put his hand into his bosom, and I discovered the haft of a\ndagger.  I returned to my seat with tranquillity, and affected not to\nhave observed their confusion.\n\n'You have not suited my taste, honest Friend,' said I, addressing\nmyself to Baptiste.  'I never can drink Champagne without its producing\na violent illness.  I swallowed a few mouthfuls ere I was aware of its\nquality, and fear that I shall suffer for my imprudence.'\n\nBaptiste and Jacques exchanged looks of distrust.\n\n'Perhaps,' said Robert, 'the smell may be disagreeable to you.'\n\nHe quitted his chair, and removed the Goblet.  I observed, that He\nexamined, whether it was nearly empty.\n\n'He must have drank sufficient,' said He to his Brother in a low voice,\nwhile He reseated himself.\n\nMarguerite looked apprehensive, that I had tasted the liquor:  A glance\nfrom my eye reassured her.\n\nI waited with anxiety for the effects which the Beverage would produce\nupon the Lady.  I doubted not but the grains which I had observed were\npoisonous, and lamented that it had been impossible for me to warn her\nof the danger.  But a few minutes had elapsed before I perceived her\neyes grow heavy; Her head sank upon her shoulder, and She fell into a\ndeep sleep.  I affected not to attend to this circumstance, and\ncontinued my conversation with Baptiste, with all the outward gaiety in\nmy power to assume.  But He no longer answered me without constraint.\nHe eyed me with distrust and astonishment, and I saw that the Banditti\nwere frequently whispering among themselves. My situation became every\nmoment more painful; I sustained the character of confidence with a\nworse grace than ever.  Equally afraid of the arrival of their\nAccomplices and of their suspecting my knowledge of their designs, I\nknew not how to dissipate the distrust which the Banditti evidently\nentertained for me.  In this new dilemma the friendly Marguerite again\nassisted me.  She passed behind the Chairs of her Stepsons, stopped for\na moment opposite to me, closed her eyes, and reclined her head upon\nher shoulder.  This hint immediately dispelled my incertitude.  It told\nme, that I ought to imitate the Baroness, and pretend that the liquor\nhad taken its full effect upon me.  I did so, and in a few minutes\nseemed perfectly overcome with slumber.\n\n'So!' cried Baptiste, as I fell back in my chair; 'At last He sleeps!\nI began to think that He had scented our design, and that we should\nhave been forced to dispatch him at all events.'\n\n'And why not dispatch him at all events?' enquired the ferocious\nJacques.  'Why leave him the possibility of betraying our secret?\nMarguerite, give me one of my Pistols:  A single touch of the trigger\nwill finish him at once.'\n\n'And supposing,' rejoined the Father, 'Supposing that our Friends\nshould not arrive tonight, a pretty figure we should make when the\nServants enquire for him in the Morning!  No, no, Jacques; We must wait\nfor our Associates.  If they join us, we are strong enough to dispatch\nthe Domestics as well as their Masters, and the booty is our own; If\nClaude does not find the Troop, we must take patience, and suffer the\nprey to slip through our fingers. Ah! Boys, Boys, had you arrived but\nfive minutes sooner, the Spaniard would have been done for, and two\nthousand Pistoles our own.  But you are always out of the way when you\nare most wanted.\n\nYou are the most unlucky Rogues!'\n\n'Well, well, Father!' answered Jacques; 'Had you been of my mind, all\nwould have been over by this time. You, Robert, Claude, and myself, why\nthe Strangers were but double the number, and I warrant you we might\nhave mastered them.  However, Claude is gone; 'Tis too late to think of\nit now.  We must wait patiently for the arrival of the Gang; and if the\nTravellers escape us tonight, we must take care to waylay them\ntomorrow.'\n\n'True!  True!' said Baptiste; 'Marguerite, have you given the\nsleeping-draught to the Waiting-women?'\n\nShe replied in the affirmative.\n\n'All then is safe.  Come, come, Boys; Whatever falls out, we have no\nreason to complain of this adventure. We run no danger, may gain much,\nand can lose nothing.'\n\nAt this moment I heard a trampling of Horses.  Oh! how dreadful was the\nsound to my ears.  A cold sweat flowed down my forehead, and I felt all\nthe terrors of impending death.  I was by no means reassured by hearing\nthe compassionate Marguerite exclaim in the accents of despair,\n\n'Almighty God! They are lost!'\n\nLuckily the Wood-man and his Sons were too much occupied by the arrival\nof their Associates to attend to me, or the violence of my agitation\nwould have convinced them that my sleep was feigned.\n\n'Open!  Open!' exclaimed several voices on the outside of the Cottage.\n\n'Yes!  Yes!' cried Baptiste joyfully; 'They are our Friends sure\nenough!  Now then our booty is certain.  Away! Lads, Away!  Lead them\nto the Barn; You know what is to be done there.'\n\nRobert hastened to open the door of the Cottage.\n\n'But first,' said Jacques, taking up his arms; 'first let me dispatch\nthese Sleepers.'\n\n'No, no, no!' replied his Father; 'Go you to the Barn, where your\npresence is wanted.  Leave me to take care of these and the Women\nabove.'\n\nJacques obeyed, and followed his Brother.  They seemed to converse with\nthe New-Comers for a few minutes:  After which I heard the Robbers\ndismount, and as I conjectured, bend their course towards the Barn.\n\n'So! That is wisely done!' muttered Baptiste; 'They have quitted their\nHorses, that They may fall upon the Strangers by surprise. Good! Good!\nand now to business.'\n\nI heard him approach a small Cupboard which was fixed up in a distant\npart of the room, and unlock it.  At this moment I felt myself shaken\ngently.\n\n'Now! Now!' whispered Marguerite.\n\nI opened my eyes.  Baptiste stood with his back towards me.  No one\nelse was in the room save Marguerite and the sleeping Lady. The Villain\nhad taken a dagger from the Cupboard and seemed examining whether it\nwas sufficiently sharp.  I had neglected to furnish myself with arms;\nBut I perceived this to be my only chance of escaping, and resolved not\nto lose the opportunity.  I sprang from my seat, darted suddenly upon\nBaptiste, and clasping my hands round his throat, pressed it so\nforcibly as to prevent his uttering a single cry.  You may remember\nthat I was remarkable at Salamanca for the power of my arm:  It now\nrendered me an essential service.  Surprised, terrified, and\nbreathless, the Villain was by no means an equal Antagonist.  I threw\nhim upon the ground; I grasped him still tighter; and while I fixed him\nwithout motion upon the floor, Marguerite, wresting the dagger from his\nhand, plunged it repeatedly in his heart till He expired.\n\nNo sooner was this horrible but necessary act perpetrated than\nMarguerite called on me to follow her.\n\n'Flight is our only refuge!' said She; 'Quick! Quick! Away!'\n\nI hesitated not to obey her: but unwilling to leave the Baroness a\nvictim to the vengeance of the Robbers, I raised her in my arms still\nsleeping, and hastened after Marguerite.  The Horses of the Banditti\nwere fastened near the door:  My Conductress sprang upon one of them.\nI followed her example, placed the Baroness before me, and spurred on\nmy Horse.  Our only hope was to reach Strasbourg, which was much nearer\nthan the perfidious Claude had assured me.  Marguerite was well\nacquainted with the road, and galloped on before me.  We were obliged\nto pass by the Barn, where the Robbers were slaughtering our Domestics.\nThe door was open:  We distinguished the shrieks of the dying and\nimprecations of the Murderers!  What I felt at that moment language is\nunable to describe!\n\nJacques heard the trampling of our Horses as we rushed by the Barn.  He\nflew to the Door with a burning Torch in his hand, and easily\nrecognised the Fugitives.\n\n'Betrayed! Betrayed!' He shouted to his Companions.\n\nInstantly they left their bloody work, and hastened to regain their\nHorses.  We heard no more.  I buried my spurs in the sides of my\nCourser, and Marguerite goaded on hers with the poignard, which had\nalready rendered us such good service.  We flew like lightning, and\ngained the open plains.  Already was Strasbourg's Steeple in sight,\nwhen we heard the Robbers pursuing us. Marguerite looked back, and\ndistinguished our followers descending a small Hill at no great\ndistance.  It was in vain that we urged on our Horses; The noise\napproached nearer with every moment.\n\n'We are lost!' She exclaimed; 'The Villains gain upon us!'\n\n'On! On!' replied I; 'I hear the trampling of Horses coming from the\nTown.'\n\nWe redoubled our exertions, and were soon aware of a numerous band of\nCavaliers, who came towards us at full speed.  They were on the point\nof passing us.\n\n'Stay!  Stay!' shrieked Marguerite; 'Save us!  For God's sake, save us!'\n\nThe Foremost, who seemed to act as Guide, immediately reined in his\nSteed.\n\n''Tis She! 'Tis She!' exclaimed He, springing upon the ground; 'Stop,\nmy Lord, stop! They are safe! 'Tis my Mother!'\n\nAt the same moment Marguerite threw herself from her Horse, clasped him\nin her arms, and covered him with Kisses.  The other Cavaliers stopped\nat the exclamation.\n\n'The Baroness Lindenberg?' cried another of the Strangers eagerly;\n'Where is She?  Is She not with you?'\n\nHe stopped on beholding her lying senseless in my arms.  Hastily He\ncaught her from me.  The profound sleep in which She was plunged made\nhim at first tremble for her life; but the beating of her heart soon\nreassured him.\n\n'God be thanked!' said He; 'She has escaped unhurt.'\n\nI interrupted his joy by pointing out the Brigands, who continued to\napproach.  No sooner had I mentioned them than the greatest part of the\nCompany, which appeared to be chiefly composed of soldiers, hastened\nforward to meet them.  The Villains stayed not to receive their attack:\nPerceiving their danger they turned the heads of their Horses, and fled\ninto the wood, whither they were followed by our Preservers.  In the\nmean while the Stranger, whom I guessed to be the Baron Lindenberg,\nafter thanking me for my care of his Lady, proposed our returning with\nall speed to the Town.  The Baroness, on whom the effects of the opiate\nhad not ceased to operate, was placed before him; Marguerite and her\nSon remounted their Horses; the Baron's Domestics followed, and we soon\narrived at the Inn, where He had taken his apartments.\n\nThis was at the Austrian Eagle, where my Banker, whom before my\nquitting Paris I had apprised of my intention to visit Strasbourg, had\nprepared Lodgings for me.  I rejoiced at this circumstance.  It gave me\nan opportunity of cultivating the Baron's acquaintance, which I foresaw\nwould be of use to me in Germany.  Immediately upon our arrival the\nLady was conveyed to bed; A Physician was sent for, who prescribed a\nmedicine likely to counteract the effects of the sleepy potion, and\nafter it had been poured down her throat, She was committed to the care\nof the Hostess.  The Baron then addressed himself to me, and entreated\nme to recount the particulars of this adventure.  I complied with his\nrequest instantaneously; for in pain respecting Stephano's fate, whom I\nhad been compelled to abandon to the cruelty of the Banditti, I found\nit impossible for me to repose, till I had some news of him.  I\nreceived but too soon the intelligence, that my trusty Servant had\nperished.  The Soldiers who had pursued the Brigands returned while I\nwas employed in relating my adventure to the Baron. By their account I\nfound that the Robbers had been overtaken:  Guilt and true courage are\nincompatible; They had thrown themselves at the feet of their Pursuers,\nhad surrendered themselves without striking a blow, had discovered\ntheir secret retreat, made known their signals by which the rest of the\nGang might be seized, and in short had betrayed ever mark of cowardice\nand baseness.  By this means the whole of the Band, consisting of near\nsixty persons, had been made Prisoners, bound, and conducted to\nStrasbourg.  Some of the Soldiers hastened to the Cottage, One of the\nBanditti serving them as Guide.  Their first visit was to the fatal\nBarn, where they were fortunate enough to find two of the Baron's\nServants still alive, though desperately wounded. The rest had expired\nbeneath the swords of the Robbers, and of these my unhappy Stephano was\none.\n\nAlarmed at our escape, the Robbers in their haste to overtake us, had\nneglected to visit the Cottage.  In consequence, the Soldiers found the\ntwo Waiting-women unhurt, and buried in the same death-like slumber\nwhich had overpowered their Mistress. There was nobody else found in\nthe Cottage, except a child not above four years old, which the\nSoldiers brought away with them. We were busying ourselves with\nconjectures respecting the birth of this little unfortunate, when\nMarguerite rushed into the room with the Baby in her arms.  She fell at\nthe feet of the Officer who was making us this report, and blessed him\na thousand times for the preservation of her Child.\n\nWhen the first burst of maternal tenderness was over, I besought her to\ndeclare, by what means She had been united to a Man whose principles\nseemed so totally discordant with her own.  She bent her eyes\ndownwards, and wiped a few tears from her cheek.\n\n'Gentlemen,' said She after a silence of some minutes, 'I would request\na favour of you:  You have a right to know on whom you confer an\nobligation.  I will not therefore stifle a confession which covers me\nwith shame; But permit me to comprise it in as few words as possible.\n\n'I was born in Strasbourg of respectable Parents; Their names I must at\npresent conceal:  My Father still lives, and deserves not to be\ninvolved in my infamy; If you grant my request, you shall be informed\nof my family name.  A Villain made himself Master of my affections, and\nto follow him I quitted my Father's House. Yet though my passions\noverpowered my virtue, I sank not into that degeneracy of vice, but too\ncommonly the lot of Women who make the first false step.  I loved my\nSeducer; dearly loved him! I was true to his Bed; this Baby, and the\nYouth who warned you, my Lord Baron, of your Lady's danger, are the\npledges of our affection.  Even at this moment I lament his loss,\nthough 'tis to him that I owe all the miseries of my existence.\n\n'He was of noble birth, but He had squandered away his paternal\ninheritance.  His Relations considered him as a disgrace to their name,\nand utterly discarded him.  His excesses drew upon him the indignation\nof the Police.  He was obliged to fly from Strasbourg, and saw no other\nresource from beggary than an union with the Banditti who infested the\nneighbouring Forest, and whose Troop was chiefly composed of Young Men\nof family in the same predicament with himself.  I was determined not\nto forsake him.  I followed him to the Cavern of the Brigands, and\nshared with him the misery inseparable from a life of pillage.  But\nthough I was aware that our existence was supported by plunder, I knew\nnot all the horrible circumstances attached to my Lover's profession.\nThese He concealed from me with the utmost care; He was conscious that\nmy sentiments were not sufficiently depraved to look without horror\nupon assassination:  He supposed, and with justice, that I should fly\nwith detestation from the embraces of a Murderer.  Eight years of\npossession had not abated his love for me; and He cautiously removed\nfrom my knowledge every circumstance, which might lead me to suspect\nthe crimes in which He but too often participated. He succeeded\nperfectly:  It was not till after my Seducer's death, that I discovered\nhis hands to have been stained with the blood of innocence.\n\n'One fatal night He was brought back to the Cavern covered with wounds:\nHe received them in attacking an English Traveller, whom his Companions\nimmediately sacrificed to their resentment.  He had only time to\nentreat my pardon for all the sorrows which He had caused me:  He\npressed my hand to his lips, and expired.  My grief was inexpressible.\nAs soon as its violence abated, I resolved to return to Strasbourg, to\nthrow myself with my two Children at my Father's feet, and implore his\nforgiveness, though I little hoped to obtain it.  What was my\nconsternation when informed that no one entrusted with the secret of\ntheir retreat was ever permitted to quit the troop of the Banditti;\nThat I must give up all hopes of ever rejoining society, and consent\ninstantly to accepting one of their Band for my Husband!  My prayers\nand remonstrances were vain.  They cast lots to decide to whose\npossession I should fall; I became the property of the infamous\nBaptiste.  A Robber, who had once been a Monk, pronounced over us a\nburlesque rather than a religious Ceremony: I and my Children were\ndelivered into the hands of my new Husband, and He conveyed us\nimmediately to his home.\n\n'He assured me that He had long entertained for me the most ardent\nregard; But that Friendship for my deceased Lover had obliged him to\nstifle his desires.  He endeavoured to reconcile me to my fate, and for\nsome time treated me with respect and gentleness:  At length finding\nthat my aversion rather increased than diminished, He obtained those\nfavours by violence, which I persisted to refuse him.  No resource\nremained for me but to bear my sorrows with patience; I was conscious\nthat I deserved them but too well.  Flight was forbidden: My Children\nwere in the power of Baptiste, and He had sworn that if I attempted to\nescape, their lives should pay for it.  I had had too many\nopportunities of witnessing the barbarity of his nature to doubt his\nfulfilling his oath to the very letter.  Sad experience had convinced\nme of the horrors of my situation:  My first Lover had carefully\nconcealed them from me; Baptiste rather rejoiced in opening my eyes to\nthe cruelties of his profession, and strove to familiarise me with\nblood and slaughter.\n\n'My nature was licentious and warm, but not cruel: My conduct had been\nimprudent, but my heart was not unprincipled.  Judge then what I must\nhave felt at being a continual witness of crimes the most horrible and\nrevolting!  Judge how I must have grieved at being united to a Man who\nreceived the unsuspecting Guest with an air of openness and\nhospitality, at the very moment that He meditated his destruction.\nChagrin and discontent preyed upon my constitution:  The few charms\nbestowed on me by nature withered away, and the dejection of my\ncountenance denoted the sufferings of my heart.  I was tempted a\nthousand times to put an end to my existence; But the remembrance of my\nChildren held my hand.  I trembled to leave my dear Boys in my Tyrant's\npower, and trembled yet more for their virtue than their lives.  The\nSecond was still too young to benefit by my instructions; But in the\nheart of my Eldest I laboured unceasingly to plant those principles,\nwhich might enable him to avoid the crimes of his Parents.  He listened\nto me with docility, or rather with eagerness.  Even at his early age,\nHe showed that He was not calculated for the society of Villains; and\nthe only comfort which I enjoyed among my sorrows, was to witness the\ndawning virtues of my Theodore.\n\n'Such was my situation, when the perfidy of Don Alphonso's postillion\nconducted him to the Cottage.  His youth, air, and manners interested\nme most forcibly in his behalf.  The absence of my Husband's Sons gave\nme an opportunity which I had long wished to find, and I resolved to\nrisque every thing to preserve the Stranger.  The vigilance of Baptiste\nprevented me from warning Don Alphonso of his danger:  I knew that my\nbetraying the secret would be immediately punished with death; and\nhowever embittered was my life by calamities, I wanted courage to\nsacrifice it for the sake of preserving that of another Person. My only\nhope rested upon procuring succour from Strasbourg:  At this I resolved\nto try; and should an opportunity offer of warning Don Alphonso of his\ndanger unobserved, I was determined to seize it with avidity.  By\nBaptiste's orders I went upstairs to make the Stranger's Bed:  I spread\nupon it Sheets in which a Traveller had been murdered but a few nights\nbefore, and which still were stained with blood.  I hoped that these\nmarks would not escape the vigilance of our Guest, and that He would\ncollect from them the designs of my perfidious Husband.  Neither was\nthis the only step which I took to preserve the Stranger.  Theodore was\nconfined to his bed by illness.  I stole into his room unobserved by my\nTyrant, communicated to him my project, and He entered into it with\neagerness.  He rose in spite of his malady, and dressed himself with\nall speed.  I fastened one of the Sheets round his arms, and lowered\nhim from the Window.  He flew to the Stable, took Claude's Horse, and\nhastened to Strasbourg.  Had He been accosted by the Banditti, He was\nto have declared himself sent upon a message by Baptiste, but\nfortunately He reached the Town without meeting any obstacle.\nImmediately upon his arrival at Strasbourg, He entreated assistance\nfrom the Magistrature: His Story passed from mouth to mouth, and at\nlength came to the knowledge of my Lord the Baron.  Anxious for the\nsafety of his Lady, whom He knew would be upon the road that Evening,\nit struck him that She might have fallen into the power of the Robbers.\nHe accompanied Theodore who guided the Soldiers towards the Cottage,\nand arrived just in time to save us from falling once more into the\nhands of our Enemies.'\n\nHere I interrupted Marguerite to enquire why the sleepy potion had been\npresented to me.  She said that Baptiste supposed me to have arms about\nme, and wished to incapacitate me from making resistance:  It was a\nprecaution which He always took, since as the Travellers had no hopes\nof escaping, Despair would have incited them to sell their lives dearly.\n\nThe Baron then desired Marguerite to inform him, what were her present\nplans.  I joined him in declaring my readiness to show my gratitude to\nher for the preservation of my life.\n\n'Disgusted with a world,' She replied, 'in which I have met with\nnothing but misfortunes, my only wish is to retire into a Convent.  But\nfirst I must provide for my Children.  I find that my Mother is no\nmore, probably driven to an untimely grave by my desertion!  My Father\nis still living; He is not an hard Man; Perhaps, Gentlemen, in spite of\nmy ingratitude and imprudence, your intercessions may induce him to\nforgive me, and to take charge of his unfortunate Grand-sons.  If you\nobtain this boon for me, you will repay my services a thousand-fold!'\n\nBoth the Baron and myself assured Marguerite, that we would spare no\npains to obtain her pardon: and that even should her Father be\ninflexible, She need be under no apprehensions respecting the fate of\nher Children.  I engaged myself to provide for Theodore, and the Baron\npromised to take the youngest under his protection.\n\nThe grateful Mother thanked us with tears for what She called\ngenerosity, but which in fact was no more than a proper sense of our\nobligations to her.  She then left the room to put her little Boy to\nbed, whom fatigue and sleep had compleatly overpowered.\n\nThe Baroness, on recovering and being informed from what dangers I had\nrescued her, set no bounds to the expressions of her gratitude.  She\nwas joined so warmly by her Husband in pressing me to accompany them to\ntheir Castle in Bavaria, that I found it impossible to resist their\nentreaties.  During a week which we passed at Strasbourg, the interests\nof Marguerite were not forgotten: In our application to her Father we\nsucceeded as amply as we could wish.  The good old Man had lost his\nWife:  He had no Children but this unfortunate Daughter, of whom He had\nreceived no news for almost fourteen years.  He was surrounded by\ndistant Relations, who waited with impatience for his decease in order\nto get possession of his money.  When therefore Marguerite appeared\nagain so unexpectedly, He considered her as a gift from heaven: He\nreceived her and her Children with open arms, and insisted upon their\nestablishing themselves in his House without delay. The disappointed\nCousins were obliged to give place.  The old Man would not hear of his\nDaughter's retiring into a Convent: He said that She was too necessary\nto his happiness, and She was easily persuaded to relinquish her\ndesign.  But no persuasions could induce Theodore to give up the plan\nwhich I had at first marked out for him.  He had attached himself to me\nmost sincerely during my stay at Strasbourg; and when I was on the\npoint of leaving it, He besought me with tears to take him into my\nservice: He set forth all his little talents in the most favourable\ncolours, and tried to convince me that I should find him of infinite\nuse to me upon the road.  I was unwilling to charge myself with a Lad\nbut scarcely turned of thirteen, whom I knew could only be a burthen to\nme:  However, I could not resist the entreaties of this affectionate\nYouth, who in fact possessed a thousand estimable qualities.  With some\ndifficulty He persuaded his relations to let him follow me, and that\npermission once obtained, He was dubbed with the title of my Page.\nHaving passed a week at Strasbourg, Theodore and myself set out for\nBavaria in company with the Baron and his Lady.  These Latter as well\nas myself had forced Marguerite to accept several presents of value,\nboth for herself, and her youngest Son:  On leaving her, I promised his\nMother faithfully that I would restore Theodore to her within the year.\n\nI have related this adventure at length, Lorenzo, that you might\nunderstand the means by which 'The Adventurer, Alphonso d'Alvarada got\nintroduced into the Castle of Lindenberg.'  Judge from this specimen\nhow much faith should be given to your Aunt's assertions!\n\n\n\nVOLUME II\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n  Avaunt! and quit my sight!  Let the Earth hide thee!\n  Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!\n  Thou hast no speculation in those eyes\n  Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!\n  Unreal mockery hence!\n                        Macbeth.\n\nContinuation of the History of Don Raymond.\n\nMy journey was uncommonly agreeable:  I found the Baron a Man of some\nsense, but little knowledge of the world.  He had past a great part of\nhis life without stirring beyond the precincts of his own domains, and\nconsequently his manners were far from being the most polished:  But He\nwas hearty, good-humoured, and friendly.  His attention to me was all\nthat I could wish, and I had every reason to be satisfied with his\nbehaviour. His ruling passion was Hunting, which He had brought himself\nto consider as a serious occupation; and when talking over some\nremarkable chace, He treated the subject with as much gravity as it had\nbeen a Battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending.  I\nhappened to be a tolerable Sportsman:  Soon after my arrival at\nLindenberg I gave some proofs of my dexterity.  The Baron immediately\nmarked me down for a Man of Genius, and vowed to me an eternal\nfriendship.\n\nThat friendship was become to me by no means indifferent.  At the\nCastle of Lindenberg I beheld for the first time your Sister, the\nlovely Agnes.  For me whose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved at\nthe void, to see her and to love her were the same.  I found in Agnes\nall that was requisite to secure my affection.  She was then scarcely\nsixteen; Her person light and elegant was already formed; She possessed\nseveral talents in perfection, particularly those of Music and drawing:\nHer character was gay, open, and good-humoured; and the graceful\nsimplicity of her dress and manners formed an advantageous contrast to\nthe art and studied Coquetry of the Parisian Dames, whom I had just\nquitted.  From the moment that I beheld her, I felt the most lively\ninterest in her fate.  I made many enquiries respecting her of the\nBaroness.\n\n'She is my Niece,' replied that Lady; 'You are still ignorant, Don\nAlphonso, that I am your Countrywoman.  I am Sister to the Duke of\nMedina Celi:  Agnes is the Daughter of my second Brother, Don Gaston:\nShe has been destined to the Convent from her cradle, and will soon\nmake her profession at Madrid.'\n\n(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of surprise.\n\n'Intended for the Convent from her cradle?' said He; 'By heaven, this\nis the first word that I ever heard of such a design!'\n\n'I believe it, my dear Lorenzo,' answered Don Raymond; 'But you must\nlisten to me with patience.  You will not be less surprised, when I\nrelate some particulars of your family still unknown to you, and which\nI have learnt from the mouth of Agnes herself.'\n\nHe then resumed his narrative as follows.)\n\nYou cannot but be aware that your Parents were unfortunately Slaves to\nthe grossest superstition:  When this foible was called into play,\ntheir every other sentiment, their every other passion yielded to its\nirresistible strength.  While She was big with Agnes, your Mother was\nseized by a dangerous illness, and given over by her Physicians.  In\nthis situation, Donna Inesilla vowed, that if She recovered from her\nmalady, the Child then living in her bosom if a Girl should be\ndedicated to St. Clare, if a Boy to St. Benedict.  Her prayers were\nheard; She got rid of her complaint; Agnes entered the world alive, and\nwas immediately destined to the service of St. Clare.\n\nDon Gaston readily chimed in with his Lady's wishes: But knowing the\nsentiments of the Duke, his Brother, respecting a Monastic life, it was\ndetermined that your Sister's destination should be carefully concealed\nfrom him.  The better to guard the secret, it was resolved that Agnes\nshould accompany her Aunt, Donna Rodolpha into Germany, whither that\nLady was on the point of following her new-married Husband, Baron\nLindenberg.  On her arrival at that Estate, the young Agnes was put\ninto a Convent, situated but a few miles from the Castle.  The Nuns to\nwhom her education was confided performed their charge with exactitude:\nThey made her a perfect Mistress of many talents, and strove to infuse\ninto her mind a taste for the retirement and tranquil pleasures of a\nConvent.  But a secret instinct made the young Recluse sensible that\nShe was not born for solitude:  In all the freedom of youth and gaiety,\nShe scrupled not to treat as ridiculous many ceremonies which the Nuns\nregarded with awe; and She was never more happy than when her lively\nimagination inspired her with some scheme to plague the stiff Lady\nAbbess, or the ugly ill-tempered old Porteress.  She looked with\ndisgust upon the prospect before her:  However no alternative was\noffered to her, and She submitted to the decree of her Parents, though\nnot without secret repining.\n\nThat repugnance She had not art enough to conceal long:  Don Gaston was\ninformed of it.  Alarmed, Lorenzo, lest your affection for her should\noppose itself to his projects, and lest you should positively object to\nyour Sister's misery, He resolved to keep the whole affair from YOUR\nknowledge as well as the Duke's, till the sacrifice should be\nconsummated.  The season of her taking the veil was fixed for the time\nwhen you should be upon your travels:  In the meanwhile no hint was\ndropped of Donna Inesilla's fatal vow.  Your Sister was never permitted\nto know your direction.  All your letters were read before She received\nthem, and those parts effaced, which were likely to nourish her\ninclination for the world:  Her answers were dictated either by her\nAunt, or by Dame Cunegonda, her Governess.  These particulars I learnt\npartly from Agnes, partly from the Baroness herself.\n\nI immediately determined upon rescuing this lovely Girl from a fate so\ncontrary to her inclinations, and ill-suited to her merit.  I\nendeavoured to ingratiate myself into her favour:  I boasted of my\nfriendship and intimacy with you.  She listened to me with avidity; She\nseemed to devour my words while I spoke in your praise, and her eyes\nthanked me for my affection to her Brother.  My constant and unremitted\nattention at length gained me her heart, and with difficulty I obliged\nher to confess that She loved me.  When however, I proposed her\nquitting the Castle of Lindenberg, She rejected the idea in positive\nterms.\n\n'Be generous, Alphonso,' She said; 'You possess my heart, but use not\nthe gift ignobly.  Employ not your ascendancy over me in persuading me\nto take a step, at which I should hereafter have to blush.  I am young\nand deserted:  My Brother, my only Friend, is separated from me, and my\nother Relations act with me as my Enemies.  Take pity on my unprotected\nsituation.  Instead of seducing me to an action which would cover me\nwith shame, strive rather to gain the affections of those who govern\nme.  The Baron esteems you.  My Aunt, to others ever harsh proud and\ncontemptuous, remembers that you rescued her from the hands of\nMurderers, and wears with you alone the appearance of kindness and\nbenignity.  Try then your influence over my Guardians.  If they consent\nto our union my hand is yours:  From your account of my Brother, I\ncannot doubt your obtaining his approbation:  And when they find the\nimpossibility of executing their design, I trust that my Parents will\nexcuse my disobedience, and expiate by some other sacrifice my Mother's\nfatal vow.'\n\nFrom the first moment that I beheld Agnes, I had endeavoured to\nconciliate the favour of her Relations.  Authorised by the confession\nof her regard, I redoubled my exertions.  My principal Battery was\ndirected against the Baroness; It was easy to discover that her word\nwas law in the Castle:  Her Husband paid her the most absolute\nsubmission, and considered her as a superior Being.  She was about\nforty:  In her youth She had been a Beauty; But her charms had been\nupon that large scale which can but ill sustain the shock of years:\nHowever She still possessed some remains of them.  Her understanding\nwas strong and excellent when not obscured by prejudice, which\nunluckily was but seldom the case.  Her passions were violent:  She\nspared no pains to gratify them, and pursued with unremitting vengeance\nthose who opposed themselves to her wishes.  The warmest of Friends,\nthe most inveterate of Enemies, such was the Baroness Lindenberg.\n\nI laboured incessantly to please her:  Unluckily I succeeded but too\nwell.  She seemed gratified by my attention, and treated me with a\ndistinction accorded by her to no one else.  One of my daily\noccupations was reading to her for several hours:  Those hours I should\nmuch rather have past with Agnes; But as I was conscious that\ncomplaisance for her Aunt would advance our union, I submitted with a\ngood grace to the penance imposed upon me.  Donna Rodolpha's Library\nwas principally composed of old Spanish Romances:  These were her\nfavourite studies, and once a day one of these unmerciful Volumes was\nput regularly into my hands.  I read the wearisome adventures of\n'Perceforest,' 'Tirante the White,' 'Palmerin of England,' and 'the\nKnight of the Sun,' till the Book was on the point of falling from my\nhands through Ennui.  However, the increasing pleasure which the\nBaroness seemed to take in my society, encouraged me to persevere; and\nlatterly She showed for me a partiality so marked, that Agnes advised\nme to seize the first opportunity of declaring our mutual passion to\nher Aunt.\n\nOne Evening, I was alone with Donna Rodolpha in her own apartment.  As\nour readings generally treated of love, Agnes was never permitted to\nassist at them.  I was just congratulating myself on having finished\n'The Loves of Tristan and the Queen Iseult----'\n\n'Ah!  The Unfortunates!' cried the Baroness; 'How say you, Segnor?  Do\nyou think it possible for Man to feel an attachment so disinterested\nand sincere?'\n\n'I cannot doubt it,' replied I; 'My own heart furnishes me with the\ncertainty.  Ah! Donna Rodolpha, might I but hope for your approbation\nof my love!  Might I but confess the name of my Mistress without\nincurring your resentment!'\n\nShe interrupted me.\n\n'Suppose, I were to spare you that confession?  Suppose I were to\nacknowledge that the object of your desires is not unknown to me?\nSuppose I were to say that She returns your affection, and laments not\nless sincerely than yourself the unhappy vows which separate her from\nyou?'\n\n'Ah! Donna Rodolpha!' I exclaimed, throwing myself upon my knees before\nher, and pressing her hand to my lips, 'You have discovered my secret!\nWhat is your decision?  Must I despair, or may I reckon upon your\nfavour?'\n\nShe withdrew not the hand which I held; But She turned from me, and\ncovered her face with the other.\n\n'How can I refuse it you?' She replied; 'Ah! Don Alphonso, I have long\nperceived to whom your attentions were directed, but till now I\nperceived not the impression which they made upon my heart.\n\nAt length I can no longer hide my weakness either from myself or from\nyou.  I yield to the violence of my passion, and own that I adore you!\nFor three long months I stifled my desires; But grown stronger by\nresistance, I submit to their impetuosity.  Pride, fear, and honour,\nrespect for myself, and my engagements to the Baron, all are\nvanquished.  I sacrifice them to my love for you, and it still seems to\nme that I pay too mean a price for your possession.'\n\nShe paused for an answer.--Judge, my Lorenzo, what must have been my\nconfusion at this discovery.  I at once saw all the magnitude of this\nobstacle, which I had raised myself to my happiness.  The Baroness had\nplaced those attentions to her own account, which I had merely paid her\nfor the sake of Agnes:  And the strength of her expressions, the looks\nwhich accompanied them, and my knowledge of her revengeful disposition\nmade me tremble for myself and my Beloved.  I was silent for some\nminutes.  I knew not how to reply to her declaration:  I could only\nresolve to clear up the mistake without delay, and for the present to\nconceal from her knowledge the name of my Mistress.  No sooner had She\navowed her passion than the transports which before were evident in my\nfeatures gave place to consternation and constraint.  I dropped her\nhand, and rose from my knees.  The change in my countenance did not\nescape her observation.\n\n'What means this silence?' said She in a trembling voice; 'Where is\nthat joy which you led me to expect?'\n\n'Forgive me, Segnora,' I answered, 'if what necessity forces from me\nshould seem harsh and ungrateful:  To encourage you in an error, which,\nhowever it may flatter myself, must prove to you the source of\ndisappointment, would make me appear criminal in every eye.  Honour\nobliges me to inform you that you have mistaken for the solicitude of\nLove what was only the attention of Friendship.  The latter sentiment\nis that which I wished to excite in your bosom:  To entertain a warmer,\nrespect for you forbids me, and gratitude for the Baron's generous\ntreatment. Perhaps these reasons would not be sufficient to shield me\nfrom your attractions, were it not that my affections are already\nbestowed upon another.  You have charms, Segnora, which might captivate\nthe most insensible; No heart unoccupied could resist them.  Happy is\nit for me that mine is no longer in my possession; or I should have to\nreproach myself for ever with having violated the Laws of Hospitality.\nRecollect yourself, noble Lady; Recollect what is owed by you to\nhonour, by me to the Baron, and replace by esteem and friendship those\nsentiments which I never can return.'\n\nThe Baroness turned pale at this unexpected and positive declaration:\nShe doubted whether She slept or woke.  At length recovering from her\nsurprise, consternation gave place to rage, and the blood rushed back\ninto her cheeks with violence.\n\n'Villain!' She cried; 'Monster of deceit!  Thus is the avowal of my\nlove received?  Is it thus that....  But no, no!  It cannot, it\nshall not be!  Alphonso, behold me at your feet!  Be witness of my\ndespair!  Look with pity on a Woman who loves you with sincere\naffection!  She who possesses your heart, how has She merited such a\ntreasure?  What sacrifice has She made to you?\n\nWhat raises her above Rodolpha?'\n\nI endeavoured to lift her from her Knees.\n\n'For God's sake, Segnora, restrain these transports: They disgrace\nyourself and me.  Your exclamations may be heard, and your secret\ndivulged to your Attendants.  I see that my presence only irritates\nyou: permit me to retire.'\n\nI prepared to quit the apartment:  The Baroness caught me suddenly by\nthe arm.\n\n'And who is this happy Rival?' said She in a menacing tone; 'I will\nknow her name, and WHEN I know it.... ! She is someone in my power;\nYou entreated my favour, my protection!  Let me but find her, let me\nbut know who dares to rob me of your heart, and She shall suffer every\ntorment which jealousy and disappointment can inflict!  Who is She?\nAnswer me this moment.  Hope not to conceal her from my vengeance!\nSpies shall be set over you; every step, every look shall be watched;\nYour eyes will discover my Rival; I shall know her, and when She is\nfound, tremble, Alphonso for her and for yourself!'\n\nAs She uttered these last words her fury mounted to such a pitch as to\nstop her powers of respiration.  She panted, groaned, and at length\nfainted away.  As She was falling I caught her in my arms, and placed\nher upon a Sopha.  Then hastening to the door, I summoned her Women to\nher assistance; I committed her to their care, and seized the\nopportunity of escaping.\n\nAgitated and confused beyond expression I bent my steps towards the\nGarden.  The benignity with which the Baroness had listened to me at\nfirst raised my hopes to the highest pitch:  I imagined her to have\nperceived my attachment for her Niece, and to approve of it.  Extreme\nwas my disappointment at understanding the true purport of her\ndiscourse.  I knew not what course to take: The superstition of the\nParents of Agnes, aided by her Aunt's unfortunate passion, seemed to\noppose such obstacles to our union as were almost insurmountable.\n\nAs I past by a low parlour, whose windows looked into the Garden,\nthrough the door which stood half open I observed Agnes seated at a\nTable.  She was occupied in drawing, and several unfinished sketches\nwere scattered round her.  I entered, still undetermined whether I\nshould acquaint her with the declaration of the Baroness.\n\n'Oh! is it only you?' said She, raising her head; 'You are no Stranger,\nand I shall continue my occupation without ceremony. Take a Chair, and\nseat yourself by me.'\n\nI obeyed, and placed myself near the Table.  Unconscious what I was\ndoing, and totally occupied by the scene which had just passed, I took\nup some of the drawings, and cast my eye over them.  One of the\nsubjects struck me from its singularity.  It represented the great Hall\nof the Castle of Lindenberg.  A door conducting to a narrow staircase\nstood half open.  In the foreground appeared a Groupe of figures,\nplaced in the most grotesque attitudes; Terror was expressed upon every\ncountenance.\n\nHere was One upon his knees with his eyes cast up to heaven, and\npraying most devoutly; There Another was creeping away upon all fours.\nSome hid their faces in their cloaks or the laps of their Companions;\nSome had concealed themselves beneath a Table, on which the remnants of\na feast were visible; While Others with gaping mouths and eyes\nwide-stretched pointed to a Figure, supposed to have created this\ndisturbance.  It represented a Female of more than human stature,\nclothed in the habit of some religious order.  Her face was veiled; On\nher arm hung a chaplet of beads; Her dress was in several places\nstained with the blood which trickled from a wound upon her bosom. In\none hand She held a Lamp, in the other a large Knife, and She seemed\nadvancing towards the iron gates of the Hall.\n\n'What does this mean, Agnes?' said I; 'Is this some invention of your\nown?'\n\nShe cast her eye upon the drawing.\n\n'Oh! no,' She replied; ''Tis the invention of much wiser heads than\nmine.  But can you possibly have lived at Lindenberg for three whole\nMonths without hearing of the Bleeding Nun?'\n\n'You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me.  Pray, who may\nthe Lady be?'\n\n'That is more than I can pretend to tell you.  All my knowledge of her\nHistory comes from an old tradition in this family, which has been\nhanded down from Father to Son, and is firmly credited throughout the\nBaron's domains.  Nay, the Baron believes it himself; and as for my\nAunt who has a natural turn for the marvellous, She would sooner doubt\nthe veracity of the Bible, than of the Bleeding Nun.  Shall I tell you\nthis History?'\n\nI answered that She would oblige me much by relating it:  She resumed\nher drawing, and then proceeded as follows in a tone of burlesqued\ngravity.\n\n'It is surprising that in all the Chronicles of past times, this\nremarkable Personage is never once mentioned.  Fain would I recount to\nyou her life; But unluckily till after her death She was never known to\nhave existed.  Then first did She think it necessary to make some noise\nin the world, and with that intention She made bold to seize upon the\nCastle of Lindenberg. Having a good taste, She took up her abode in the\nbest room of the House:  and once established there, She began to amuse\nherself by knocking about the tables and chairs in the middle of the\nnight.  Perhaps She was a bad Sleeper, but this I have never been able\nto ascertain.  According to the tradition, this entertainment commenced\nabout a Century ago.  It was accompanied with shrieking, howling,\ngroaning, swearing, and many other agreeable noises of the same kind.\nBut though one particular room was more especially honoured with her\nvisits, She did not entirely confine herself to it.  She occasionally\nventured into the old Galleries, paced up and down the spacious Halls,\nor sometimes stopping at the doors of the Chambers, She wept and wailed\nthere to the universal terror of the Inhabitants.  In these nocturnal\nexcursions She was seen by different People, who all describe her\nappearance as you behold it here, traced by the hand of her unworthy\nHistorian.'\n\nThe singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention.\n\n'Did She never speak to those who met her?' said I.\n\n'Not She.  The specimens indeed, which She gave nightly of her talents\nfor conversation, were by no means inviting.  Sometimes the Castle rung\nwith oaths and execrations:  A Moment after She repeated her\nPaternoster: Now She howled out the most horrible blasphemies, and then\nchaunted De Profundis, as orderly as if still in the Choir.  In short\nShe seemed a mighty capricious Being:  But whether She prayed or\ncursed, whether She was impious or devout, She always contrived to\nterrify her Auditors out of their senses.  The Castle became scarcely\nhabitable; and its Lord was so frightened by these midnight Revels,\nthat one fine morning He was found dead in his bed.  This success\nseemed to please the Nun mightily, for now She made more noise than\never.  But the next Baron proved too cunning for her.  He made his\nappearance with a celebrated Exorciser in his hand, who feared not to\nshut himself up for a night in the haunted Chamber.  There it seems\nthat He had an hard battle with the Ghost, before She would promise to\nbe quiet.  She was obstinate, but He was more so, and at length She\nconsented to let the Inhabitants of the Castle take a good night's\nrest.  For some time after no news was heard of her.  But at the end of\nfive years the Exorciser died, and then the Nun ventured to peep abroad\nagain.  However, She was now grown much more tractable and\nwell-behaved.  She walked about in silence, and never made her\nappearance above once in five years. This custom, if you will believe\nthe Baron, She still continues. He is fully persuaded, that on the\nfifth of May of every fifth year, as soon as the Clock strikes One, the\nDoor of the haunted Chamber opens.  (Observe, that this room has been\nshut up for near a Century.)  Then out walks the Ghostly Nun with her\nLamp and dagger:  She descends the staircase of the Eastern Tower; and\ncrosses the great Hall!  On that night the Porter always leaves the\nGates of the Castle open, out of respect to the Apparition:  Not that\nthis is thought by any means necessary, since She could easily whip\nthrough the Keyhole if She chose it; But merely out of politeness, and\nto prevent her from making her exit in a way so derogatory to the\ndignity of her Ghost-ship.'\n\n'And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?'\n\n'To Heaven, I hope; But if She does, the place certainly is not to her\ntaste, for She always returns after an hour's absence. The Lady then\nretires to her chamber, and is quiet for another five years.'\n\n'And you believe this, Agnes?'\n\n'How can you ask such a question?  No, no, Alphonso! I have too much\nreason to lament superstition's influence to be its Victim myself.\nHowever I must not avow my incredulity to the Baroness: She entertains\nnot a doubt of the truth of this History.  As to Dame Cunegonda, my\nGoverness, She protests that fifteen years ago She saw the Spectre with\nher own eyes.  She related to me one evening how She and several other\nDomestics had been terrified while at Supper by the appearance of the\nBleeding Nun, as the Ghost is called in the Castle:  'Tis from her\naccount that I drew this sketch, and you may be certain that Cunegonda\nwas not omitted.  There She is!  I shall never forget what a passion\nShe was in, and how ugly She looked while She scolded me for having\nmade her picture so like herself!'\n\nHere She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an attitude\nof terror.\n\nIn spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help smiling\nat the playful imagination of Agnes:  She had perfectly preserved Dame\nCunegonda's resemblance, but had so much exaggerated every fault, and\nrendered every feature so irresistibly laughable, that I could easily\nconceive the Duenna's anger.\n\n'The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessed\nsuch talents for the ridiculous.'\n\n'Stay a moment,' She replied; 'I will show you a figure still more\nridiculous than Dame Cunegonda's.  If it pleases you, you may dispose\nof it as seems best to yourself.'\n\nShe rose, and went to a Cabinet at some little distance. Unlocking a\ndrawer, She took out a small case, which She opened, and presented to\nme.\n\n'Do you know the resemblance?' said She smiling.\n\nIt was her own.\n\nTransported at the gift, I pressed the portrait to my lips with\npassion:  I threw myself at her feet, and declared my gratitude in the\nwarmest and most affectionate terms.  She listened to me with\ncomplaisance, and assured me that She shared my sentiments: When\nsuddenly She uttered a loud shriek, disengaged the hand which I held,\nand flew from the room by a door which opened to the Garden.  Amazed at\nthis abrupt departure, I rose hastily from my knees.  I beheld with\nconfusion the Baroness standing near me glowing with jealousy, and\nalmost choaked with rage.  On recovering from her swoon, She had\ntortured her imagination to discover her concealed Rival.  No one\nappeared to deserve her suspicions more than Agnes.  She immediately\nhastened to find her Niece, tax her with encouraging my addresses, and\nassure herself whether her conjectures were well-grounded.\nUnfortunately She had already seen enough to need no other\nconfirmation.  She arrived at the door of the room at the precise\nmoment, when Agnes gave me her Portrait.  She heard me profess an\neverlasting attachment to her Rival, and saw me kneeling at her feet.\nShe advanced to separate us; We were too much occupied by each other to\nperceive her approach, and were not aware of it, till Agnes beheld her\nstanding by my side.\n\nRage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for some\ntime kept us both silent.  The Lady recovered herself first.\n\n'My suspicions then were just,' said She; 'The Coquetry of my Niece has\ntriumphed, and 'tis to her that I am sacrificed.  In one respect\nhowever I am fortunate:  I shall not be the only one who laments a\ndisappointed passion.  You too shall know, what it is to love without\nhope!  I daily expect orders for restoring Agnes to her Parents.\nImmediately upon her arrival in Spain, She will take the veil, and\nplace an insuperable barrier to your union.  You may spare your\nsupplications.' She continued, perceiving me on the point of speaking;\n'My resolution is fixed and immoveable.  Your Mistress shall remain a\nclose Prisoner in her chamber till She exchanges this Castle for the\nCloister. Solitude will perhaps recall her to a sense of her duty:  But\nto prevent your opposing that wished event, I must inform you, Don\nAlphonso, that your presence here is no longer agreeable either to the\nBaron or Myself.  It was not to talk nonsense to my Niece that your\nRelations sent you to Germany:  Your business was to travel, and I\nshould be sorry to impede any longer so excellent a design.  Farewell,\nSegnor; Remember, that tomorrow morning we meet for the last time.'\n\nHaving said this, She darted upon me a look of pride, contempt, and\nmalice, and quitted the apartment.  I also retired to mine, and\nconsumed the night in planning the means of rescuing Agnes from the\npower of her tyrannical Aunt.\n\nAfter the positive declaration of its Mistress, it was impossible for\nme to make a longer stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. Accordingly I the\nnext day announced my immediate departure.  The Baron declared that it\ngave him sincere pain; and He expressed himself in my favour so warmly,\nthat I endeavoured to win him over to my interest.  Scarcely had I\nmentioned the name of Agnes when He stopped me short, and said, that it\nwas totally out of his power to interfere in the business.  I saw that\nit was in vain to argue; The Baroness governed her Husband with\ndespotic sway, and I easily perceived that She had prejudiced him\nagainst the match.  Agnes did not appear:  I entreated permission to\ntake leave of her, but my prayer was rejected.  I was obliged to depart\nwithout seeing her.\n\nAt quitting him the Baron shook my hand affectionately, and assured me\nthat as soon as his Niece was gone, I might consider his House as my\nown.\n\n'Farewell, Don Alphonso!' said the Baroness, and stretched out her hand\nto me.\n\nI took it, and offered to carry it to my lips.  She prevented me.\n\nHer Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing.\n\n'Take care of yourself,' She continued; 'My love is become hatred, and\nmy wounded pride shall not be unatoned.  Go where you will, my\nvengeance shall follow you!'\n\nShe accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me tremble.\nI answered not, but hastened to quit the Castle.\n\nAs my Chaise drove out of the Court, I looked up to the windows of your\nSister's chamber.  Nobody was to be seen there:  I threw myself back\ndespondent in my Carriage.  I was attended by no other servants than a\nFrenchman whom I had hired at Strasbourg in Stephano's room, and my\nlittle Page whom I before mentioned to you.  The fidelity,\nintelligence, and good temper of Theodore had already made him dear to\nme; But He now prepared to lay an obligation on me, which made me look\nupon him as a Guardian Genius.  Scarcely had we proceeded half a mile\nfrom the Castle, when He rode up to the Chaise-door.\n\n'Take courage, Segnor!' said He in Spanish, which He had already learnt\nto speak with fluency and correctness. 'While you were with the Baron,\nI watched the moment when Dame Cunegonda was below stairs, and mounted\ninto the chamber over that of Donna Agnes.  I sang as loud as I could a\nlittle German air well-known to her, hoping that She would recollect my\nvoice.  I was not disappointed, for I soon heard her window open.  I\nhastened to let down a string with which I had provided myself:  Upon\nhearing the casement closed again, I drew up the string, and fastened\nto it I found this scrap of paper.'\n\nHe then presented me with a small note addressed to me.  I opened it\nwith impatience:  It contained the following words written in pencil:\n\nConceal yourself for the next fortnight in some neighbouring Village.\nMy Aunt will believe you to have quitted Lindenberg, and I shall be\nrestored to liberty.  I will be in the West Pavilion at twelve on the\nnight of the thirtieth.  Fail not to be there, and we shall have an\nopportunity of concerting our future plans.  Adieu.\nAgnes.\n\nAt perusing these lines my transports exceeded all bounds; Neither did\nI set any to the expressions of gratitude which I heaped upon Theodore.\nIn fact his address and attention merited my warmest praise.  You will\nreadily believe that I had not entrusted him with my passion for Agnes;\nBut the arch Youth had too much discernment not to discover my secret,\nand too much discretion not to conceal his knowledge of it.  He\nobserved in silence what was going on, nor strove to make himself an\nAgent in the business till my interests required his interference.  I\nequally admired his judgment, his penetration, his address, and his\nfidelity.  This was not the first occasion in which I had found him of\ninfinite use, and I was every day more convinced of his quickness and\ncapacity.  During my short stay at Strasbourg, He had applied himself\ndiligently to learning the rudiments of Spanish:  He continued to study\nit, and with so much success that He spoke it with the same facility as\nhis native language.  He past the greatest part of his time in reading;\nHe had acquired much information for his Age; and united the advantages\nof a lively countenance and prepossessing figure to an excellent\nunderstanding and the very best of hearts.  He is now fifteen; He is\nstill in my service, and when you see him, I am sure that He will\nplease you.  But excuse this digression:  I return to the subject which\nI quitted.\n\nI obeyed the instructions of Agnes.  I proceeded to Munich. There I\nleft my Chaise under the care of Lucas, my French Servant, and then\nreturned on Horseback to a small Village about four miles distant from\nthe Castle of Lindenberg.  Upon arriving there a story was related to\nthe Host at whose Inn I descended, which prevented his wondering at my\nmaking so long a stay in his House. The old Man fortunately was\ncredulous and incurious: He believed all I said, and sought to know no\nmore than what I thought proper to tell him.  Nobody was with me but\nTheodore; Both were disguised, and as we kept ourselves close, we were\nnot suspected to be other than what we seemed.  In this manner the\nfortnight passed away.  During that time I had the pleasing conviction\nthat Agnes was once more at liberty.  She past through the Village with\nDame Cunegonda:  She seemed in health and spirits, and talked to her\nCompanion without any appearance of constraint.\n\n'Who are those Ladies?' said I to my Host, as the Carriage past.\n\n'Baron Lindenberg's Niece with her Governess,' He replied; 'She goes\nregularly every Friday to the Convent of St. Catharine, in which She\nwas brought up, and which is situated about a mile from hence.'\n\nYou may be certain that I waited with impatience for the ensuing\nFriday.  I again beheld my lovely Mistress.  She cast her eyes upon me,\nas She passed the Inn-door.  A blush which overspread her cheek told me\nthat in spite of my disguise I had been recognised.  I bowed\nprofoundly.  She returned the compliment by a slight inclination of the\nhead as if made to one inferior, and looked another way till the\nCarriage was out of sight.\n\nThe long-expected, long-wished for night arrived.  It was calm, and the\nMoon was at the full.  As soon as the Clock struck eleven I hastened to\nmy appointment, determined not to be too late. Theodore had provided a\nLadder; I ascended the Garden wall without difficulty; The Page\nfollowed me, and drew the Ladder after us. I posted myself in the West\nPavilion, and waited impatiently for the approach of Agnes.  Every\nbreeze that whispered, every leaf that fell, I believed to be her\nfootstep, and hastened to meet her.  Thus was I obliged to pass a full\nhour, every minute of which appeared to me an age.  The Castle Bell at\nlength tolled twelve, and scarcely could I believe the night to be no\nfurther advanced.  Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and I heard the\nlight foot of my Mistress approaching the Pavilion with precaution.  I\nflew to receive her, and conducted her to a seat.  I threw myself at\nher feet, and was expressing my joy at seeing her, when She thus\ninterrupted me.\n\n'We have no time to lose, Alphonso:  The moments are precious, for\nthough no more a Prisoner, Cunegonda watches my every step. An express\nis arrived from my Father; I must depart immediately for Madrid, and\n'tis with difficulty that I have obtained a week's delay.  The\nsuperstition of my Parents, supported by the representations of my\ncruel Aunt, leaves me no hope of softening them to compassion.  In this\ndilemma I have resolved to commit myself to your honour:  God grant\nthat you may never give me cause to repent my resolution!  Flight is my\nonly resource from the horrors of a Convent, and my imprudence must be\nexcused by the urgency of the danger.  Now listen to the plan by which\nI hope to effect my escape.\n\n'We are now at the thirtieth of April.  On the fifth day from this the\nVisionary Nun is expected to appear.  In my last visit to the Convent I\nprovided myself with a dress proper for the character:  A Friend, whom\nI have left there and to whom I made no scruple to confide my secret,\nreadily consented to supply me with a religious habit.  Provide a\ncarriage, and be with it at a little distance from the great Gate of\nthe Castle.  As soon as the Clock strikes 'one,' I shall quit my\nchamber, drest in the same apparel as the Ghost is supposed to wear.\nWhoever meets me will be too much terrified to oppose my escape.  I\nshall easily reach the door, and throw myself under your protection.\nThus far success is certain:  But Oh!  Alphonso, should you deceive me!\nShould you despise my imprudence and reward it with ingratitude, the\nWorld will not hold a Being more wretched than myself!  I feel all the\ndangers to which I shall be exposed.  I feel that I am giving you a\nright to treat me with levity:  But I rely upon your love, upon your\nhonour!  The step which I am on the point of taking, will incense my\nRelations against me:  Should you desert me, should you betray the\ntrust reposed in you, I shall have no friend to punish your insult, or\nsupport my cause.  On yourself alone rests all my hope, and if your own\nheart does not plead in my behalf, I am undone for ever!'\n\nThe tone in which She pronounced these words was so touching, that in\nspite of my joy at receiving her promise to follow me, I could not help\nbeing affected.  I also repined in secret at not having taken the\nprecaution to provide a Carriage at the Village, in which case I might\nhave carried off Agnes that very night. Such an attempt was now\nimpracticable:  Neither Carriage or Horses were to be procured nearer\nthan Munich, which was distant from Lindenberg two good days journey.\nI was therefore obliged to chime in with her plan, which in truth\nseemed well arranged: Her disguise would secure her from being stopped\nin quitting the Castle, and would enable her to step into the Carriage\nat the very Gate without difficulty or losing time.\n\nAgnes reclined her head mournfully upon my shoulder, and by the light\nof the Moon I saw tears flowing down her cheek.  I strove to dissipate\nher melancholy, and encouraged her to look forward to the prospect of\nhappiness.  I protested in the most solemn terms that her virtue and\ninnocence would be safe in my keeping, and that till the church had\nmade her my lawful Wife, her honour should be held by me as sacred as a\nSister's.  I told her that my first care should be to find you out,\nLorenzo, and reconcile you to our union; and I was continuing to speak\nin the same strain, when a noise without alarmed me.  Suddenly the door\nof the Pavilion was thrown open, and Cunegonda stood before us.  She\nhad heard Agnes steal out of her chamber, followed her into the Garden,\nand perceived her entering the Pavilion.  Favoured by the Trees which\nshaded it, and unperceived by Theodore who waited at a little distance,\nShe had approached in silence, and overheard our whole conversation.\n\n'Admirable!' cried Cunegonda in a voice shrill with passion, while\nAgnes uttered a loud shriek; 'By St. Barbara, young Lady, you have an\nexcellent invention!  You must personate the Bleeding Nun, truly?  What\nimpiety!  What incredulity!  Marry, I have a good mind to let you\npursue your plan:  When the real Ghost met you, I warrant, you would be\nin a pretty condition!  Don Alphonso, you ought to be ashamed of\nyourself for seducing a young ignorant Creature to leave her family and\nFriends: However, for this time at least I shall mar your wicked\ndesigns. The noble Lady shall be informed of the whole affair, and\nAgnes must defer playing the Spectre till a better opportunity.\nFarewell, Segnor-- Donna Agnes, let me have the honour of conducting\nyour Ghost-ship back to your apartment.'\n\nShe approached the Sopha on which her trembling Pupil was seated, took\nher by the hand, and prepared to lead her from the Pavilion.\n\nI detained her, and strove by entreaties, soothing, promises, and\nflattery to win her to my party:  But finding all that I could say of\nno avail, I abandoned the vain attempt.\n\n'Your obstinacy must be its own punishment,' said I; 'But one resource\nremains to save Agnes and myself, and I shall not hesitate to employ\nit.'\n\nTerrified at this menace, She again endeavoured to quit the Pavilion;\nBut I seized her by the wrist, and detained her forcibly.  At the same\nmoment Theodore, who had followed her into the room, closed the door,\nand prevented her escape.  I took the veil of Agnes:  I threw it round\nthe Duenna's head, who uttered such piercing shrieks that in spite of\nour distance from the Castle, I dreaded their being heard.  At length I\nsucceeded in gagging her so compleatly that She could not produce a\nsingle sound.  Theodore and myself with some difficulty next contrived\nto bind her hands and feet with our handkerchiefs; And I advised Agnes\nto regain her chamber with all diligence.  I promised that no harm\nshould happen to Cunegonda, bad her remember that on the fifth of May I\nshould be in waiting at the Great Gate of the Castle, and took of her\nan affectionate farewell.  Trembling and uneasy She had scarce power\nenough to signify her consent to my plans, and fled back to her\napartment in disorder and confusion.\n\nIn the meanwhile Theodore assisted me in carrying off my antiquated\nPrize.  She was hoisted over the wall, placed before me upon my Horse\nlike a Portmanteau, and I galloped away with her from the Castle of\nLindenberg.  The unlucky Duenna never had made a more disagreeable\njourney in her life:  She was jolted and shaken till She was become\nlittle more than an animated Mummy; not to mention her fright when we\nwaded through a small River through which it was necessary to pass in\norder to regain the Village.  Before we reached the Inn, I had already\ndetermined how to dispose of the troublesome Cunegonda.  We entered the\nStreet in which the Inn stood, and while the page knocked, I waited at\na little distance.  The Landlord opened the door with a Lamp in his\nhand.\n\n'Give me the light!' said Theodore; 'My Master is coming.'\n\nHe snatched the Lamp hastily, and purposely let it fall upon the\nground:  The Landlord returned to the Kitchen to re-light the Lamp,\nleaving the door open.  I profited by the obscurity, sprang from my\nHorse with Cunegonda in my arms, darted up stairs, reached my chamber\nunperceived, and unlocking the door of a spacious Closet, stowed her\nwithin it, and then turned the Key. The Landlord and Theodore soon\nafter appeared with lights:  The Former expressed himself a little\nsurprised at my returning so late, but asked no impertinent questions.\nHe soon quitted the room, and left me to exult in the success of my\nundertaking.\n\nI immediately paid a visit to my Prisoner.  I strove to persuade her\nsubmitting with patience to her temporary confinement.  My attempt was\nunsuccessful.  Unable to speak or move, She expressed her fury by her\nlooks, and except at meals I never dared to unbind her, or release her\nfrom the Gag.  At such times I stood over her with a drawn sword, and\nprotested, that if She uttered a single cry, I would plunge it in her\nbosom.  As soon as She had done eating, the Gag was replaced.  I was\nconscious that this proceeding was cruel, and could only be justified\nby the urgency of circumstances:  As to Theodore, He had no scruples\nupon the subject.  Cunegonda's captivity entertained him beyond\nmeasure. During his abode in the Castle, a continual warfare had been\ncarried on between him and the Duenna; and now that He found his Enemy\nso absolutely in his power, He triumphed without mercy.  He seemed to\nthink of nothing but how to find out new means of plaguing her:\nSometimes He affected to pity her misfortune, then laughed at, abused,\nand mimicked her; He played her a thousand tricks, each more provoking\nthan the other, and amused himself by telling her that her elopement\nmust have occasioned much surprise at the Baron's.  This was in fact\nthe case.  No one except Agnes could imagine what was become of Dame\nCunegonda: Every hole and corner was searched for her; The Ponds were\ndragged, and the Woods underwent a thorough examination.  Still no Dame\nCunegonda made her appearance.  Agnes kept the secret, and I kept the\nDuenna:  The Baroness, therefore, remained in total ignorance\nrespecting the old Woman's fate, but suspected her to have perished by\nsuicide.  Thus past away five days, during which I had prepared every\nthing necessary for my enterprise.  On quitting Agnes, I had made it my\nfirst business to dispatch a Peasant with a letter to Lucas at Munich,\nordering him to take care that a Coach and four should arrive about ten\no'clock on the fifth of May at the Village of Rosenwald.  He obeyed my\ninstructions punctually: The Equipage arrived at the time appointed.\nAs the period of her Lady's elopement drew nearer, Cunegonda's rage\nincreased.  I verily believe that spight and passion would have killed\nher, had I not luckily discovered her prepossession in favour of Cherry\nBrandy. With this favourite liquor She was plentifully supplied, and\nTheodore always remaining to guard her, the Gag was occasionally\nremoved.  The liquor seemed to have a wonderful effect in softening the\nacrimony of her nature; and her confinement not admitting of any other\namusement, She got drunk regularly once a day just by way of passing\nthe time.\n\nThe fifth of May arrived, a period by me never to be forgotten! Before\nthe Clock struck twelve, I betook myself to the scene of action.\nTheodore followed me on horseback.  I concealed the Carriage in a\nspacious Cavern of the Hill, on whose brow the Castle was situated:\nThis Cavern was of considerable depth, and among the peasants was known\nby the name of Lindenberg Hole.  The night was calm and beautiful:  The\nMoonbeams fell upon the antient Towers of the Castle, and shed upon\ntheir summits a silver light.  All was still around me:  Nothing was to\nbe heard except the night breeze sighing among the leaves, the distant\nbarking of Village Dogs, or the Owl who had established herself in a\nnook of the deserted Eastern Turret.  I heard her melancholy shriek,\nand looked upwards.  She sat upon the ride of a window, which I\nrecognized to be that of the haunted Room.  This brought to my\nremembrance the story of the Bleeding Nun, and I sighed while I\nreflected on the influence of superstition and weakness of human\nreason.  Suddenly I heard a faint chorus steal upon the silence of the\nnight.\n\n'What can occasion that noise, Theodore?'\n\n'A Stranger of distinction,' replied He, 'passed through the Village\ntoday in his way to the Castle:  He is reported to be the Father of\nDonna Agnes.  Doubtless, the Baron has given an entertainment to\ncelebrate his arrival.'\n\nThe Castle Bell announced the hour of midnight: This was the usual\nsignal for the family to retire to Bed.  Soon after I perceived lights\nin the Castle moving backwards and forwards in different directions.  I\nconjectured the company to be separating.  I could hear the heavy doors\ngrate as they opened with difficulty, and as they closed again the\nrotten Casements rattled in their frames.  The chamber of Agnes was on\nthe other side of the Castle.  I trembled lest She should have failed\nin obtaining the Key of the haunted Room:  Through this it was\nnecessary for her to pass in order to reach the narrow Staircase by\nwhich the Ghost was supposed to descend into the great Hall.  Agitated\nby this apprehension, I kept my eyes constantly fixed upon the window,\nwhere I hoped to perceive the friendly glare of a Lamp borne by Agnes.\nI now heard the massy Gates unbarred.  By the candle in his hand I\ndistinguished old Conrad, the Porter.  He set the Portal doors wide\nopen, and retired.  The lights in the Castle gradually disappeared, and\nat length the whole Building was wrapt in darkness.\n\nWhile I sat upon a broken ridge of the Hill, the stillness of the scene\ninspired me with melancholy ideas not altogether unpleasing.  The\nCastle which stood full in my sight, formed an object equally awful and\npicturesque. Its ponderous Walls tinged by the moon with solemn\nbrightness, its old and partly-ruined Towers lifting themselves into\nthe clouds and seeming to frown on the plains around them, its lofty\nbattlements oergrown with ivy, and folding Gates expanding in honour of\nthe Visionary Inhabitant, made me sensible of a sad and reverential\nhorror. Yet did not these sensations occupy me so fully, as to prevent\nme from witnessing with impatience the slow progress of time.  I\napproached the Castle, and ventured to walk round it.  A few rays of\nlight still glimmered in the chamber of Agnes.  I observed them with\njoy.  I was still gazing upon them, when I perceived a figure draw near\nthe window, and the Curtain was carefully closed to conceal the Lamp\nwhich burned there.  Convinced by this observation that Agnes had not\nabandoned our plan, I returned with a light heart to my former station.\n\nThe half-hour struck!  The three-quarters struck!  My bosom beat high\nwith hope and expectation.  At length the wished-for sound was heard.\nThe Bell tolled 'One,' and the Mansion echoed with the noise loud and\nsolemn.  I looked up to the Casement of the haunted Chamber.  Scarcely\nhad five minutes elapsed, when the expected light appeared.  I was now\nclose to the Tower.  The window was not so far from the Ground but that\nI fancied I perceived a female figure with a Lamp in her hand moving\nslowly along the Apartment.  The light soon faded away, and all was\nagain dark and gloomy.\n\nOccasional gleams of brightness darted from the Staircase windows as\nthe lovely Ghost past by them.  I traced the light through the Hall:\nIt reached the Portal, and at length I beheld Agnes pass through the\nfolding gates.  She was habited exactly as She had described the\nSpectre.  A chaplet of Beads hung upon her arm; her head was enveloped\nin a long white veil; Her Nun's dress was stained with blood, and She\nhad taken care to provide herself with a Lamp and dagger.  She advanced\ntowards the spot where I stood.  I flew to meet her, and clasped her in\nmy arms.\n\n  'Agnes!' said I while I pressed her to my bosom,\n  Agnes!  Agnes!  Thou art mine!\n  Agnes! Agnes! I am thine!\n  In my veins while blood shall roll,\n  Thou art mine!\n  I am thine!\n  Thine my body! Thine my soul!\n\nTerrified and breathless She was unable to speak: She dropt her Lamp\nand dagger, and sank upon my bosom in silence.  I raised her in my\narms, and conveyed her to the Carriage.  Theodore remained behind in\norder to release Dame Cunegonda.  I also charged him with a letter to\nthe Baroness explaining the whole affair, and entreating her good\noffices in reconciling Don Gaston to my union with his Daughter.  I\ndiscovered to her my real name:  I proved to her that my birth and\nexpectations justified my pretending to her Niece, and assured her,\nthough it was out of my power to return her love, that I would strive\nunceasingly to obtain her esteem and friendship.\n\nI stepped into the Carriage, where Agnes was already seated. Theodore\nclosed the door, and the Postillions drove away.  At first I was\ndelighted with the rapidity of our progress; But as soon as we were in\nno danger of pursuit, I called to the Drivers, and bad them moderate\ntheir pace.  They strove in vain to obey me.  The Horses refused to\nanswer the rein, and continued to rush on with astonishing swiftness.\nThe Postillions redoubled their efforts to stop them, but by kicking\nand plunging the Beasts soon released themselves from this restraint.\nUttering a loud shriek, the Drivers were hurled upon the ground.\nImmediately thick clouds obscured the sky:  The winds howled around us,\nthe lightning flashed, and the Thunder roared tremendously.  Never did\nI behold so frightful a Tempest!  Terrified by the jar of contending\nelements, the Horses seemed every moment to increase their speed.\nNothing could interrupt their career; They dragged the Carriage through\nHedges and Ditches, dashed down the most dangerous precipices, and\nseemed to vye in swiftness with the rapidity of the winds.\n\nAll this while my Companion lay motionless in my arms.  Truly alarmed\nby the magnitude of the danger, I was in vain attempting to recall her\nto her senses; when a loud crash announced, that a stop was put to our\nprogress in the most disagreeable manner. The Carriage was shattered to\npieces.  In falling I struck my temple against a flint.  The pain of\nthe wound, the violence of the shock, and apprehension for the safety\nof Agnes combined to overpower me so compleatly, that my senses forsook\nme, and I lay without animation on the ground.\n\nI probably remained for some time in this situation, since when I\nopened my eyes, it was broad daylight.  Several Peasants were standing\nround me, and seemed disputing whether my recovery was possible.  I\nspoke German tolerably well.  As soon as I could utter an articulate\nsound, I enquired after Agnes.  What was my surprise and distress, when\nassured by the Peasants, that nobody had been seen answering the\ndescription which I gave of her! They told me that in going to their\ndaily labour they had been alarmed by observing the fragments of my\nCarriage, and by hearing the groans of an Horse, the only one of the\nfour which remained alive: The other Three lay dead by my side.  Nobody\nwas near me when they came up, and much time had been lost, before they\nsucceeded in recovering me.  Uneasy beyond expression respecting the\nfate of my Companion, I besought the Peasants to disperse themselves in\nsearch of her:  I described her dress, and promised immense rewards to\nwhoever brought me any intelligence.  As for myself, it was impossible\nfor me to join in the pursuit: I had broken two of my ribs in the fall:\nMy arm being dislocated hung useless by my side; and my left leg was\nshattered so terribly, that I never expected to recover its use.\n\nThe Peasants complied with my request:  All left me except Four, who\nmade a litter of boughs and prepared to convey me to the neighbouring\nTown.  I enquired its name.  It proved to be Ratisbon, and I could\nscarcely persuade myself that I had travelled to such a distance in a\nsingle night.  I told the Countrymen that at one o'clock that morning I\nhad past through the Village of Rosenwald.  They shook their heads\nwistfully, and made signs to each other that I must certainly be\ndelirious.  I was conveyed to a decent Inn and immediately put to bed.\nA Physician was sent for, who set my arm with success.  He then\nexamined my other hurts, and told me that I need be under no\napprehension of the consequences of any of them; But ordered me to keep\nmyself quiet, and be prepared for a tedious and painful cure.  I\nanswered him that if He hoped to keep me quiet, He must first endeavour\nto procure me some news of a Lady who had quitted Rosenwald in my\ncompany the night before, and had been with me at the moment when the\nCoach broke down.  He smiled, and only replied by advising me to make\nmyself easy, for that all proper care should be taken of me.  As He\nquitted me, the Hostess met him at the door of the room.\n\n'The Gentleman is not quite in his right senses;' I heard him say to\nher in a low voice; ''Tis the natural consequence of his fall, but that\nwill soon be over.'\n\nOne after another the Peasants returned to the Inn, and informed me\nthat no traces had been discovered of my unfortunate Mistress.\n\nUneasiness now became despair. I entreated them to renew their search\nin the most urgent terms, doubling the promises which I had already\nmade them.  My wild and frantic manner confirmed the bye-standers in\nthe idea of my being delirious.  No signs of the Lady having appeared,\nthey believed her to be a creature fabricated by my over-heated brain,\nand paid no attention to my entreaties.  However, the Hostess assured\nme that a fresh enquiry should be made, but I found afterwards that her\npromise was only given to quiet me.  No further steps were taken in the\nbusiness.\n\nThough my Baggage was left at Munich under the care of my French\nServant, having prepared myself for a long journey, my purse was amply\nfurnished:  Besides my equipage proved me to be of distinction, and in\nconsequence all possible attention was paid me at the Inn.  The day\npassed away:  Still no news arrived of Agnes.  The anxiety of fear now\ngave place to despondency.  I ceased to rave about her and was plunged\nin the depth of melancholy reflections.  Perceiving me to be silent and\ntranquil, my Attendants believed my delirium to have abated, and that\nmy malady had taken a favourable turn.  According to the Physician's\norder I swallowed a composing medicine; and as soon as the night shut\nin, my attendants withdrew and left me to repose.\n\nThat repose I wooed in vain.  The agitation of my bosom chased away\nsleep.  Restless in my mind, in spite of the fatigue of my body, I\ncontinued to toss about from side to side, till the Clock in a\nneighbouring Steeple struck 'One.'  As I listened to the mournful\nhollow sound, and heard it die away in the wind, I felt a sudden\nchillness spread itself over my body.  I shuddered without knowing\nwherefore; Cold dews poured down my forehead, and my hair stood\nbristling with alarm.  Suddenly I heard slow and heavy steps ascending\nthe staircase. By an involuntary movement I started up in my bed, and\ndrew back the curtain.  A single rush-light which glimmered upon the\nhearth shed a faint gleam through the apartment, which was hung with\ntapestry.  The door was thrown open with violence.  A figure entered,\nand drew near my Bed with solemn measured steps.  With trembling\napprehension I examined this midnight Visitor.  God Almighty!  It was\nthe Bleeding Nun!  It was my lost Companion!  Her face was still\nveiled, but She no longer held her Lamp and dagger.  She lifted up her\nveil slowly.  What a sight presented itself to my startled eyes!  I\nbeheld before me an animated Corse.  Her countenance was long and\nhaggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The paleness of death was\nspread over her features, and her eyeballs fixed stedfastly upon me\nwere lustreless and hollow.\n\nI gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. My\nblood was frozen in my veins.  I would have called for aid, but the\nsound expired ere it could pass my lips.  My nerves were bound up in\nimpotence, and I remained in the same attitude inanimate as a Statue.\n\nThe visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: There was\nsomething petrifying in her regard. At length in a low sepulchral voice\nShe pronounced the following words.\n\n      \"Raymond!  Raymond!  Thou art mine!\n       Raymond! Raymond!  I am thine!\n       In thy veins while blood shall roll,\n       I am thine!\n       Thou art mine!\n       Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!----\"\n\nBreathless with fear, I listened while She repeated my own expressions.\nThe Apparition seated herself opposite to me at the foot of the Bed,\nand was silent.  Her eyes were fixed earnestly upon mine:  They seemed\nendowed with the property of the Rattlesnake's, for I strove in vain to\nlook off her.  My eyes were fascinated, and I had not the power of\nwithdrawing them from the Spectre's.\n\nIn this attitude She remained for a whole long hour without speaking or\nmoving; nor was I able to do either.  At length the Clock struck two.\nThe Apparition rose from her seat, and approached the side of the bed.\nShe grasped with her icy fingers my hand which hung lifeless upon the\nCoverture, and pressing her cold lips to mine, again repeated,\n\n      \"Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!\n       Raymond! Raymond!\n       I am thine! &c.----\"\n\nShe then dropped my hand, quitted the chamber with slow steps, and the\nDoor closed after her.  Till that moment the faculties of my body had\nbeen all suspended; Those of my mind had alone been waking.  The charm\nnow ceased to operate:  The blood which had been frozen in my veins\nrushed back to my heart with violence: I uttered a deep groan, and sank\nlifeless upon my pillow.\n\nThe adjoining room was only separated from mine by a thin partition:\nIt was occupied by the Host and his Wife:  The Former was rouzed by my\ngroan, and immediately hastened to my chamber: The Hostess soon\nfollowed him.  With some difficulty they succeeded in restoring me to\nmy senses, and immediately sent for the Physician, who arrived in all\ndiligence.  He declared my fever to be very much increased, and that if\nI continued to suffer such violent agitation, He would not take upon\nhim to ensure my life.  Some medicines which He gave me in some degree\ntranquillized my spirits.  I fell into a sort of slumber towards\ndaybreak; But fearful dreams prevented me from deriving any benefit\nfrom my repose.  Agnes and the Bleeding Nun presented themselves by\nturns to my fancy, and combined to harass and torment me.  I awoke\nfatigued and unrefreshed.  My fever seemed rather augmented than\ndiminished; The agitation of my mind impeded my fractured bones from\nknitting:  I had frequent fainting fits, and during the whole day the\nPhysician judged it expedient not to quit me for two hours together.\n\nThe singularity of my adventure made me determine to conceal it from\nevery one, since I could not expect that a circumstance so strange\nshould gain credit.  I was very uneasy about Agnes.  I knew not what\nShe would think at not finding me at the rendezvous, and dreaded her\nentertaining suspicions of my fidelity.  However, I depended upon\nTheodore's discretion, and trusted that my letter to the Baroness would\nconvince her of the rectitude of my intentions.  These considerations\nsomewhat lightened my inquietude upon her account:  But the impression\nleft upon my mind by my nocturnal Visitor grew stronger with every\nsucceeding moment.  The night drew near; I dreaded its arrival.  Yet I\nstrove to persuade myself that the Ghost would appear no more, and at\nall events I desired that a Servant might sit up in my chamber.\n\nThe fatigue of my body from not having slept on the former night,\nco-operating with the strong opiates administered to me in profusion,\nat length procured me that repose of which I was so much in need.  I\nsank into a profound and tranquil slumber, and had already slept for\nsome hours, when the neighbouring Clock rouzed me by striking 'One'.\nIts sound brought with it to my memory all the horrors of the night\nbefore.  The same cold shivering seized me.  I started up in my bed,\nand perceived the Servant fast asleep in an armed-Chair near me.  I\ncalled him by his name:  He made no answer.  I shook him forcibly by\nthe arm, and strove in vain to wake him.  He was perfectly insensible\nto my efforts.  I now heard the heavy steps ascending the staircase;\nThe Door was thrown open, and again the Bleeding Nun stood before me.\nOnce more my limbs were chained in second infancy.  Once more I heard\nthose fatal words repeated,\n\n      \"Raymond! Raymond!  Thou art mine!\n       Raymond! Raymond!  I am thine! &c.----\"\n\nThe scene which had shocked me so sensibly on the former night, was\nagain presented.  The Spectre again pressed her lips to mine, again\ntouched me with her rotting fingers, and as on her first appearance,\nquitted the chamber as soon as the Clock told 'Two.'\n\nEven night was this repeated.  Far from growing accustomed to the\nGhost, every succeeding visit inspired me with greater horror. Her idea\npursued me continually, and I became the prey of habitual melancholy.\nThe constant agitation of my mind naturally retarded the\nre-establishment of my health.  Several months elapsed before I was\nable to quit my bed; and when at length I was moved to a Sopha, I was\nso faint, spiritless, and emaciated, that I could not cross the room\nwithout assistance.  The looks of my Attendants sufficiently denoted\nthe little hope, which they entertained of my recovery.  The profound\nsadness, which oppressed me without remission made the Physician\nconsider me to be an Hypochondriac.  The cause of my distress I\ncarefully concealed in my own bosom, for I knew that no one could give\nme relief:  The Ghost was not even visible to any eye but mine.  I had\nfrequently caused Attendants to sit up in my room:  But the moment that\nthe Clock struck 'One,' irresistible slumber seized them, nor left them\ntill the departure of the Ghost.\n\nYou may be surprized that during this time I made no enquiries after\nyour Sister.  Theodore, who with difficulty had discovered my abode,\nhad quieted my apprehensions for her safety:  At the same time He\nconvinced me that all attempts to release her from captivity must be\nfruitless till I should be in a condition to return to Spain.  The\nparticulars of her adventure which I shall now relate to you, were\npartly communicated to me by Theodore, and partly by Agnes herself.\n\nOn the fatal night when her elopement was to have taken place, accident\nhad not permitted her to quit her chamber at the appointed time.  At\nlength She ventured into the haunted room, descended the staircase\nleading into the Hall, found the Gates open as She expected, and left\nthe Castle unobserved.  What was her surprize at not finding me ready\nto receive her!  She examined the Cavern, ranged through every Alley of\nthe neighbouring wood, and passed two full hours in this fruitless\nenquiry. She could discover no traces either of me or of the Carriage.\nAlarmed and disappointed, her only resource was to return to the Castle\nbefore the Baroness missed her:  But here She found herself in a fresh\nembarrassment. The Bell had already tolled 'Two:' The Ghostly hour was\npast, and the careful Porter had locked the folding gates.  After much\nirresolution She ventured to knock softly.  Luckily for her, Conrad was\nstill awake:  He heard the noise and rose, murmuring at being called up\na second time.  No sooner had He opened one of the Doors, and beheld\nthe supposed Apparition waiting there for admittance, than He uttered a\nloud cry, and sank upon his knees.  Agnes profited by his terror.  She\nglided by him, flew to her own apartment, and having thrown off her\nSpectre's trappings, retired to bed endeavouring in vain to account for\nmy disappearing.\n\nIn the mean while Theodore having seen my Carriage drive off with the\nfalse Agnes, returned joyfully to the Village.  The next morning He\nreleased Cunegonda from her confinement, and accompanied her to the\nCastle.  There He found the Baron, his Lady, and Don Gaston, disputing\ntogether upon the Porter's relation.  All of them agreed in believing\nthe existence of Spectres:  But the Latter contended, that for a Ghost\nto knock for admittance was a proceeding till then unwitnessed, and\ntotally incompatible with the immaterial nature of a Spirit. They were\nstill discussing this subject when the Page appeared with Cunegonda and\ncleared up the mystery.  On hearing his deposition, it was agreed\nunanimously that the Agnes whom Theodore had seen step into my Carriage\nmust have been the Bleeding Nun, and that the Ghost who had terrified\nConrad was no other than Don Gaston's Daughter.\n\nThe first surprize which this discovery occasioned being over, the\nBaroness resolved to make it of use in persuading her Niece to take the\nveil.  Fearing lest so advantageous an establishment for his Daughter\nshould induce Don Gaston to renounce his resolution, She suppressed my\nletter, and continued to represent me as a needy unknown Adventurer.  A\nchildish vanity had led me to conceal my real name even from my\nMistress; I wished to be loved for myself, not for being the Son and\nHeir of the Marquis de las Cisternas.  The consequence was that my rank\nwas known to no one in the Castle except the Baroness, and She took\ngood care to confine the knowledge to her own breast.  Don Gaston\nhaving approved his Sister's design, Agnes was summoned to appear\nbefore them.  She was taxed with having meditated an elopement, obliged\nto make a full confession, and was amazed at the gentleness with which\nit was received:  But what was her affliction, when informed that the\nfailure of her project must be attributed to me!  Cunegonda, tutored by\nthe Baroness, told her that when I released her, I had desired her to\ninform her Lady that our connexion was at an end, that the whole affair\nwas occasioned by a false report, and that it by no means suited my\ncircumstances to marry a Woman without fortune or expectations.\n\nTo this account my sudden disappearing gave but too great an air of\nprobability.  Theodore, who could have contradicted the story, by Donna\nRodolpha's order was kept out of her sight:  What proved a still\ngreater confirmation of my being an Impostor, was the arrival of a\nletter from yourself declaring that you had no sort of acquaintance\nwith Alphonso d'Alvarada.  These seeming proofs of my perfidy, aided by\nthe artful insinuations of her Aunt, by Cunegonda's flattery, and her\nFather's threats and anger, entirely conquered your Sister's repugnance\nto a Convent. Incensed at my behaviour, and disgusted with the world in\ngeneral, She consented to receive the veil.  She past another Month at\nthe Castle of Lindenberg, during which my non-appearance confirmed her\nin her resolution, and then accompanied Don Gaston into Spain.\nTheodore was now set at liberty.  He hastened to Munich, where I had\npromised to let him hear from me; But finding from Lucas that I had\nnever arrived there, He pursued his search with indefatigable\nperseverance, and at length succeeded in rejoining me at Ratisbon.\n\nSo much was I altered, that scarcely could He recollect my features:\nThe distress visible upon his sufficiently testified how lively was the\ninterest which He felt for me.  The society of this amiable Boy, whom I\nhad always considered rather as a Companion than a Servant, was now my\nonly comfort.  His conversation was gay yet sensible, and his\nobservations shrewd and entertaining: He had picked up much more\nknowledge than is usual at his Age:  But what rendered him most\nagreeable to me, was his having a delightful voice, and some skill in\nMusic.  He had also acquired some taste in poetry, and even ventured\nsometimes to write verses himself.  He occasionally composed little\nBallads in Spanish, his compositions were but indifferent, I must\nconfess; yet they were pleasing to me from their novelty, and hearing\nhim sing them to his guitar was the only amusement, which I was capable\nof receiving.  Theodore perceived well enough that something preyed\nupon my mind; But as I concealed the cause of my grief even from him,\nRespect would not permit him to pry into my secrets.\n\nOne Evening I was lying upon my Sopha, plunged in reflections very far\nfrom agreeable:  Theodore amused himself by observing from the window a\nBattle between two Postillions, who were quarrelling in the Inn-yard.\n\n'Ha! Ha!' cried He suddenly; 'Yonder is the Great Mogul.'\n\n'Who?' said I.\n\n'Only a Man who made me a strange speech at Munich.'\n\n'What was the purport of it?'\n\n'Now you put me in mind of it, Segnor, it was a kind of message to you;\nbut truly it was not worth delivering.  I believe the Fellow to be mad,\nfor my part.  When I came to Munich in search of you, I found him\nliving at 'The King of the Romans,' and the Host gave me an odd account\nof him.  By his accent He is supposed to be a Foreigner, but of what\nCountry nobody can tell.  He seemed to have no acquaintance in the\nTown, spoke very seldom, and never was seen to smile.  He had neither\nServants or Baggage; But his Purse seemed well-furnished, and He did\nmuch good in the Town.  Some supposed him to be an Arabian Astrologer,\nOthers to be a Travelling Mountebank, and many declared that He was\nDoctor Faustus, whom the Devil had sent back to Germany.  The Landlord,\nhowever told me, that He had the best reasons to believe him to be the\nGreat Mogul incognito.'\n\n'But the strange speech, Theodore.'\n\n'True, I had almost forgotten the speech:  Indeed for that matter, it\nwould not have been a great loss if I had forgotten it altogether.  You\nare to know, Segnor, that while I was enquiring about you of the\nLandlord, this Stranger passed by.  He stopped, and looked at me\nearnestly. 'Youth!' said He in a solemn voice, 'He whom you seek, has\nfound that which He would fain lose.  My hand alone can dry up the\nblood:  Bid your Master wish for me when the Clock strikes, 'One.'\n\n'How?' cried I, starting from my Sopha.  (The words which Theodore had\nrepeated, seemed to imply the Stranger's knowledge of my secret) 'Fly\nto him, my Boy!  Entreat him to grant me one moment's conversation!'\n\nTheodore was surprised at the vivacity of my manner: However, He asked\nno questions, but hastened to obey me.  I waited his return\nimpatiently.  But a short space of time had elapsed when He again\nappeared and ushered the expected Guest into my chamber.  He was a Man\nof majestic presence:  His countenance was strongly marked, and his\neyes were large, black, and sparkling:  Yet there was a something in\nhis look which, the moment that I saw him, inspired me with a secret\nawe, not to say horror.  He was drest plainly, his hair was unpowdered,\nand a band of black velvet which encircled his forehead spread over his\nfeatures an additional gloom.  His countenance wore the marks of\nprofound melancholy; his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately,\nand solemn.\n\nHe saluted me with politeness; and having replied to the usual\ncompliments of introduction, He motioned to Theodore to quit the\nchamber.  The Page instantly withdrew.\n\n'I know your business,' said He, without giving me time to speak.\n\n'I have the power of releasing you from your nightly Visitor; But this\ncannot be done before Sunday.  On the hour when the Sabbath Morning\nbreaks, Spirits of darkness have least influence over Mortals.  After\nSaturday the Nun shall visit you no more.'\n\n'May I not enquire,' said I, 'by what means you are in possession of a\nsecret which I have carefully concealed from the knowledge of everyone?'\n\n'How can I be ignorant of your distress, when their cause at this\nmoment stands beside you?'\n\nI started.  The Stranger continued.\n\n'Though to you only visible for one hour in the twenty-four, neither\nday or night does She ever quit you; Nor will She ever quit you till\nyou have granted her request.'\n\n'And what is that request?'\n\n'That She must herself explain:  It lies not in my knowledge. Wait with\npatience for the night of Saturday: All shall be then cleared up.'\n\nI dared not press him further.  He soon after changed the conversation\nand talked of various matters.  He named People who had ceased to exist\nfor many Centuries, and yet with whom He appeared to have been\npersonally acquainted.  I could not mention a Country however distant\nwhich He had not visited, nor could I sufficiently admire the extent\nand variety of his information. I remarked to him that having\ntravelled, seen, and known so much, must have given him infinite\npleasure.  He shook his head mournfully.\n\n'No one,' He replied, 'is adequate to comprehending the misery of my\nlot!  Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement:  I am not permitted\nto pass more than a fortnight in the same place.  I have no Friend in\nthe world, and from the restlessness of my destiny I never can acquire\none.  Fain would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who\nenjoy the quiet of the Grave: But Death eludes me, and flies from my\nembrace.  In vain do I throw myself in the way of danger.  I plunge\ninto the Ocean; The Waves throw me back with abhorrence upon the shore:\nI rush into fire; The flames recoil at my approach:  I oppose myself to\nthe fury of Banditti; Their swords become blunted, and break against my\nbreast:  The hungry Tiger shudders at my approach, and the Alligator\nflies from a Monster more horrible than itself. God has set his seal\nupon me, and all his Creatures respect this fatal mark!'\n\nHe put his hand to the velvet, which was bound round his forehead.\nThere was in his eyes an expression of fury, despair, and malevolence,\nthat struck horror to my very soul.  An involuntary convulsion made me\nshudder.  The Stranger perceived it.\n\n'Such is the curse imposed on me,' he continued:  'I am doomed to\ninspire all who look on me with terror and detestation.  You already\nfeel the influence of the charm, and with every succeeding moment will\nfeel it more.  I will not add to your sufferings by my presence.\nFarewell till Saturday.  As soon as the Clock strikes twelve, expect me\nat your chamber door.'\n\nHaving said this He departed, leaving me in astonishment at the\nmysterious turn of his manner and conversation.\n\nHis assurances that I should soon be relieved from the Apparition's\nvisits produced a good effect upon my constitution. Theodore, whom I\nrather treated as an adopted Child than a Domestic, was surprized at\nhis return to observe the amendment in my looks.  He congratulated me\non this symptom of returning health, and declared himself delighted at\nmy having received so much benefit from my conference with the Great\nMogul.  Upon enquiry I found that the Stranger had already past eight\ndays in Ratisbon:  According to his own account, therefore, He was only\nto remain there six days longer.  Saturday was still at the distance of\nThree.  Oh! with what impatience did I expect its arrival!  In the\ninterim, the Bleeding Nun continued her nocturnal visits; But hoping\nsoon to be released from them altogether, the effects which they\nproduced on me became less violent than before.\n\nThe wished-for night arrived.  To avoid creating suspicion I retired to\nbed at my usual hour:  But as soon as my Attendants had left me, I\ndressed myself again, and prepared for the Stranger's reception.  He\nentered my room upon the turn of midnight.  A small Chest was in his\nhand, which He placed near the Stove.  He saluted me without speaking;\nI returned the compliment, observing an equal silence.  He then opened\nhis Chest.  The first thing which He produced was a small wooden\nCrucifix: He sank upon his knees, gazed upon it mournfully, and cast\nhis eyes towards heaven.  He seemed to be praying devoutly. At length\nHe bowed his head respectfully, kissed the Crucifix thrice, and quitted\nhis kneeling posture.  He next drew from the Chest a covered Goblet:\nWith the liquor which it contained, and which appeared to be blood, He\nsprinkled the floor, and then dipping in it one end of the Crucifix, He\ndescribed a circle in the middle of the room.  Round about this He\nplaced various reliques, sculls, thigh-bones &c; I observed, that He\ndisposed them all in the forms of Crosses.  Lastly He took out a large\nBible, and beckoned me to follow him into the Circle.  I obeyed.\n\n'Be cautious not to utter a syllable!' whispered the Stranger; 'Step\nnot out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not to look upon\nmy face!'\n\nHolding the Crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, He seemed to\nread with profound attention.  The Clock struck 'One'! As usual I heard\nthe Spectre's steps upon the Staircase:  But I was not seized with the\naccustomed shivering.  I waited her approach with confidence.  She\nentered the room, drew near the Circle, and stopped.  The Stranger\nmuttered some words, to me unintelligible.  Then raising his head from\nthe Book, and extending the Crucifix towards the Ghost, He pronounced\nin a voice distinct and solemn,\n\n'Beatrice!  Beatrice!  Beatrice!'\n\n'What wouldst Thou?' replied the Apparition in a hollow faltering tone.\n\n'What disturbs thy sleep?  Why dost thou afflict and torture this\nYouth?  How can rest be restored to thy unquiet Spirit?'\n\n'I dare not tell!--I must not tell!--Fain would I repose in my Grave,\nbut stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!'\n\n'Knowest Thou this blood?  Knowest Thou in whose veins it flowed?\n\nBeatrice! Beatrice! In his name I charge thee to answer me!'\n\n'I dare not disobey my taskers.'\n\n'Darest Thou disobey Me?'\n\nHe spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band from his\nforehead.  In spite of his injunctions to the contrary, Curiosity would\nnot suffer me to keep my eyes off his face:  I raised them, and beheld\na burning Cross impressed upon his brow. For the horror with which this\nobject inspired me I cannot account, but I never felt its equal!  My\nsenses left me for some moments; A mysterious dread overcame my\ncourage, and had not the Exorciser caught my hand, I should have fallen\nout of the Circle.\n\nWhen I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning Cross had\nproduced an effect no less violent upon the Spectre.  Her countenance\nexpressed reverence, and horror, and her visionary limbs were shaken by\nfear.\n\n'Yes!' She said at length; 'I tremble at that mark!--respect it!--I\nobey you!  Know then, that my bones lie still unburied: They rot in the\nobscurity of Lindenberg Hole.  None but this Youth has the right of\nconsigning them to the Grave.  His own lips have made over to me his\nbody and his soul:  Never will I give back his promise, never shall He\nknow a night devoid of terror, unless He engages to collect my\nmouldering bones, and deposit them in the family vault of his\nAndalusian Castle.  Then let thirty Masses be said for the repose of my\nSpirit, and I trouble this world no more.  Now let me depart!  Those\nflames are scorching!'\n\nHe let the hand drop slowly which held the Crucifix, and which till\nthen He had pointed towards her.  The apparition bowed her head, and\nher form melted into air.  The Exorciser led me out of the Circle.  He\nreplaced the Bible &c.  in the Chest, and then addressed himself to me,\nwho stood near him speechless from astonishment.\n\n'Don Raymond, you have heard the conditions on which repose is promised\nyou.  Be it your business to fulfil them to the letter. For me nothing\nmore remains than to clear up the darkness still spread over the\nSpectre's History, and inform you that when living, Beatrice bore the\nname of las Cisternas.  She was the great Aunt of your Grandfather:  In\nquality of your relation, her ashes demand respect from you, though the\nenormity of her crimes must excite your abhorrence.  The nature of\nthose crimes no one is more capable of explaining to you than myself:\nI was personally acquainted with the holy Man who proscribed her\nnocturnal riots in the Castle of Lindenberg, and I hold this narrative\nfrom his own lips.\n\n'Beatrice de las Cisternas took the veil at an early age, not by her\nown choice, but at the express command of her Parents.  She was then\ntoo young to regret the pleasures of which her profession deprived her:\nBut no sooner did her warm and voluptuous character begin to be\ndeveloped than She abandoned herself freely to the impulse of her\npassions, and seized the first opportunity to procure their\ngratification.  This opportunity was at length presented, after many\nobstacles which only added new force to her desires.  She contrived to\nelope from the Convent, and fled to Germany with the Baron Lindenberg.\nShe lived at his Castle several months as his avowed Concubine:  All\nBavaria was scandalized by her impudent and abandoned conduct. Her\nfeasts vied in luxury with Cleopatra's, and Lindenberg became the\nTheatre of the most unbridled debauchery.  Not satisfied with\ndisplaying the incontinence of a Prostitute, She professed herself an\nAtheist:  She took every opportunity  to scoff at her monastic vows,\nand loaded with ridicule the most sacred ceremonies of Religion.\n\n'Possessed of a character so depraved, She did not long confine her\naffections to one object.  Soon after her arrival at the Castle, the\nBaron's younger Brother attracted her notice by his strong-marked\nfeatures, gigantic Stature, and Herculean limbs. She was not of an\nhumour to keep her inclinations long unknown; But She found in Otto von\nLindenberg her equal in depravity.  He returned her passion just\nsufficiently to increase it; and when He had worked it up to the\ndesired pitch, He fixed the price of his love at his Brother's murder.\nThe Wretch consented to this horrible agreement.  A night was pitched\nupon for perpetrating the deed.  Otto, who resided on a small Estate a\nfew miles distant from the Castle, promised that at One in the morning\nHe would be waiting for her at Lindenberg Hole; that He would bring\nwith him a party of chosen Friends, by whose aid He doubted not being\nable to make himself Master of the Castle; and that his next step\nshould be the uniting her hand to his.  It was this last promise, which\noverruled every scruple of Beatrice, since in spite of his affection\nfor her, the Baron had declared positively that He never would make her\nhis Wife.\n\n'The fatal night arrived.  The Baron slept in the arms of his\nperfidious Mistress, when the Castle-Bell struck 'One.' Immediately\nBeatrice drew a dagger from underneath the pillow, and plunged it in\nher Paramour's heart.  The Baron uttered a single dreadful groan, and\nexpired.  The Murderess quitted her bed hastily, took a Lamp in one\nhand, in the other the bloody dagger, and bent her course towards the\ncavern.  The Porter dared not to refuse opening the Gates to one more\ndreaded in the Castle than its Master.  Beatrice reached Lindenberg\nHole unopposed, where according to promise She found Otto waiting for\nher.  He received and listened to her narrative with transport: But ere\nShe had time to ask why He came unaccompanied, He convinced her that He\nwished for no witnesses to their interview. Anxious to conceal his\nshare in the murder, and to free himself from a Woman, whose violent\nand atrocious character made him tremble with reason for his own\nsafety, He had resolved on the destruction of his wretched Agent.\nRushing upon her suddenly, He wrested the dagger from her hand:  He\nplunged it still reeking with his Brother's blood in her bosom, and put\nan end to her existence by repeated blows.\n\n'Otto now succeeded to the Barony of Lindenberg.  The murder was\nattributed solely to the fugitive Nun, and no one suspected him to have\npersuaded her to the action.  But though his crime was unpunished by\nMan, God's justice permitted him not to enjoy in peace his\nblood-stained honours.  Her bones lying still unburied in the Cave, the\nrestless soul of Beatrice continued to inhabit the Castle.  Drest in\nher religious habit in memory of her vows broken to heaven, furnished\nwith the dagger which had drank the blood of her Paramour, and holding\nthe Lamp which had guided her flying steps, every night did She stand\nbefore the Bed of Otto. The most dreadful confusion reigned through the\nCastle; The vaulted chambers resounded with shrieks and groans; And the\nSpectre, as She ranged along the antique Galleries, uttered an\nincoherent mixture of prayers and blasphemies.  Otto was unable to\nwithstand the shock which He felt at this fearful Vision: Its horror\nincreased with every succeeding appearance:  His alarm at length became\nso insupportable that his heart burst, and one morning He was found in\nhis bed totally deprived of warmth and animation.  His death did not\nput an end to the nocturnal riots. The bones of Beatrice continued to\nlie unburied, and her Ghost continued to haunt the Castle.\n\n'The domains of Lindenberg now fell to a distant Relation.  But\nterrified by the accounts given him of the Bleeding Nun (So was the\nSpectre called by the multitude), the new Baron called to his\nassistance a celebrated Exorciser.  This holy Man succeeded in obliging\nher to temporary repose; But though She discovered to him her history,\nHe was not permitted to reveal it to others, or cause her skeleton to\nbe removed to hallowed ground.  That Office was reserved for you, and\ntill your coming, her Ghost was doomed to wander about the Castle and\nlament the crime which She had there committed.  However, the Exorciser\nobliged her to silence during his lifetime.  So long as He existed, the\nhaunted chamber was shut up, and the Spectre was invisible.  At his\ndeath which happened in five years after, She again appeared, but only\nonce on every fifth year, on the same day and at the same hour when She\nplunged her Knife in the heart of her sleeping Lover:  She then visited\nthe Cavern which held her mouldering skeleton, returned to the Castle\nas soon as the Clock struck 'Two,' and was seen no more till the next\nfive years had elapsed.\n\n'She was doomed to suffer during the space of a Century.  That period\nis past.  Nothing now remains but to consign to the Grave the ashes of\nBeatrice.  I have been the means of releasing you from your visionary\nTormentor; and amidst all the sorrows which oppress me, to think that I\nhave been of use to you, is some consolation.  Youth, farewell!  May\nthe Ghost of your Relation enjoy that rest in the Tomb, which the\nAlmighty's vengeance has denied to me for ever!'\n\nHere the Stranger prepared to quit the apartment.\n\n'Stay yet one moment!' said I; 'You have satisfied my curiosity with\nregard to the Spectre, but you leave me in prey to yet greater\nrespecting yourself.  Deign to inform me, to whom I am under such real\nobligations.  You mention circumstances long past, and persons long\ndead:  You were personally acquainted with the Exorciser, who by your\nown account has been deceased near a Century.  How am I to account for\nthis?  What means that burning Cross upon your forehead, and why did\nthe sight of it strike such horror to my soul?'\n\nOn these points He for some time refused to satisfy me.  At length\novercome by my entreaties, He consented to clear up the whole, on\ncondition that I would defer his explanation till the next day.  With\nthis request I was obliged to comply, and He left me.  In the Morning\nmy first care was to enquire after the mysterious Stranger.  Conceive\nmy disappointment when informed that He had already quitted Ratisbon.\nI dispatched messengers in pursuit of him but in vain.  No traces of\nthe Fugitive were discovered.  Since that moment I never have heard any\nmore of him, and 'tis most probable that I never shall.'\n\n(Lorenzo here interrupted his Friend's narrative.\n\n'How?' said He; 'You have never discovered who He was, or even formed a\nguess?'\n\n'Pardon me,' replied the Marquis; 'When I related this adventure to my\nUncle, the Cardinal-Duke, He told me that He had no doubt of this\nsingular Man's being the celebrated Character known universally by the\nname of 'the wandering Jew.'  His not being permitted to pass more than\nfourteen days on the same spot, the burning Cross impressed upon his\nforehead, the effect which it produced upon the Beholders, and many\nother circumstances give this supposition the colour of truth.  The\nCardinal is fully persuaded of it; and for my own part I am inclined to\nadopt the only solution which offers itself to this riddle.  I return\nto the narrative from which I have digressed.')\n\nFrom this period I recovered my health so rapidly as to astonish my\nPhysicians.  The Bleeding Nun appeared no more, and I was soon able to\nset out for Lindenberg.  The Baron received me with open arms.  I\nconfided to him the sequel of my adventure; and He was not a little\npleased to find that his Mansion would be no longer troubled with the\nPhantom's quiennial visits.  I was sorry to perceive that absence had\nnot weakened Donna Rodolpha's imprudent passion.  In a private\nconversation which I had with her during my short stay at the Castle,\nShe renewed her attempts to persuade me to return her affection.\nRegarding her as the primary cause of all my sufferings, I entertained\nfor her no other sentiment than disgust.  The Skeleton of Beatrice was\nfound in the place which She had mentioned.  This being all that I\nsought at Lindenberg, I hastened to quit the Baron's domains, equally\nanxious to perform the obsequies of the murdered Nun, and escape the\nimportunity of a Woman whom I detested.  I departed, followed by Donna\nRodolpha's menaces that my contempt should not be long unpunished.\n\nI now bent my course towards Spain with all diligence.  Lucas with my\nBaggage had joined me during my abode at Lindenberg.  I arrived in my\nnative Country without any accident, and immediately proceeded to my\nFather's Castle in Andalusia.  The remains of Beatrice were deposited\nin the family vault, all due ceremonies performed, and the number of\nMasses said which She had required.  Nothing now hindered me from\nemploying all my endeavours to discover the retreat of Agnes.  The\nBaroness had assured me that her Niece had already taken the veil:\nThis intelligence I suspected to have been forged by jealousy, and\nhoped to find my Mistress still at liberty to accept my hand.  I\nenquired after her family; I found that before her Daughter could reach\nMadrid, Donna Inesilla was no more:  You, my dear Lorenzo, were said to\nbe abroad, but where I could not discover:  Your Father was in a\ndistant Province on a visit to the Duke de Medina, and as to Agnes, no\none could or would inform me what was become of her.  Theodore,\naccording to promise, had returned to Strasbourg, where He found his\nGrandfather dead, and Marguerite in possession of his fortune.  All her\npersuasions to remain with her were fruitless:  He quitted her a second\ntime, and followed me to Madrid.  He exerted himself to the utmost in\nforwarding my search: But our united endeavours were unattended by\nsuccess. The retreat which concealed Agnes remained an impenetrable\nmystery, and I began to abandon all hopes of recovering her.\n\nAbout eight months ago I was returning to my Hotel in a melancholy\nhumour, having past the evening at the Play-House. The Night was dark,\nand I was unaccompanied.  Plunged in reflections which were far from\nbeing agreeable, I perceived not that three Men had followed me from\nthe Theatre; till, on turning into an unfrequented Street, they all\nattacked me at the same time with the utmost fury.  I sprang back a few\npaces, drew my sword, and threw my cloak over my left arm.  The\nobscurity of the night was in my favour.  For the most part the blows\nof the Assassins, being aimed at random, failed to touch me.  I at\nlength was fortunate enough to lay one of my Adversaries at my feet;\nBut before this I had already received so many wounds, and was so\nwarmly pressed, that my destruction would have been inevitable, had not\nthe clashing of swords called a Cavalier to my assistance.  He ran\ntowards me with his sword drawn:  Several Domestics followed him with\ntorches.  His arrival made the combat equal:  Yet would not the Bravoes\nabandon their design till the Servants were on the point of joining us.\nThey then fled away, and we lost them in the obscurity.\n\nThe Stranger now addressed himself to me with politeness, and enquired\nwhether I was wounded.  Faint with the loss of blood, I could scarcely\nthank him for his seasonable aid, and entreat him to let some of his\nServants convey me to the Hotel de las Cisternas.  I no sooner\nmentioned the name than He profest himself an acquaintance of my\nFather's, and declared that He would not permit my being transported to\nsuch a distance before my wounds had been examined.  He added that his\nHouse was hard by, and begged me to accompany him thither.  His manner\nwas so earnest, that I could not reject his offer, and leaning upon his\narm, a few minutes brought me to the Porch of a magnificent Hotel.\n\nOn entering the House, an old grey-headed Domestic came to welcome my\nConductor:  He enquired when the Duke, his Master, meant to quit the\nCountry, and was answered that He would remain there yet some months.\nMy Deliverer then desired the family Surgeon to be summoned without\ndelay.  His orders were obeyed.  I was seated upon a Sopha in a noble\napartment; and my wounds being examined, they were declared to be very\nslight.  The Surgeon, however, advised me not to expose myself to the\nnight air; and the Stranger pressed me so earnestly to take a bed in\nhis House, that I consented to remain where I was for the present.\n\nBeing now left alone with my Deliverer, I took the opportunity of\nthanking him in more express terms, than I had done hitherto: But He\nbegged me to be silent upon the subject.\n\n'I esteem myself happy,' said He, 'in having had it in my power to\nrender you this little service; and I shall think myself eternally\nobliged to my Daughter for detaining me so late at the Convent of St.\nClare.  The high esteem in which I have ever held the Marquis de las\nCisternas, though accident has not permitted our being so intimate as I\ncould wish, makes me rejoice in the opportunity of making his Son's\nacquaintance.  I am certain that my Brother in whose House you now are,\nwill lament his not being at Madrid to receive you himself: But in the\nDuke's absence I am Master of the family, and may assure you in his\nname, that every thing in the Hotel de Medina is perfectly at your\ndisposal.'\n\nConceive my surprize, Lorenzo, at discovering in the person of my\nPreserver Don Gaston de Medina:  It was only to be equalled by my\nsecret satisfaction at the assurance that Agnes inhabited the Convent\nof St. Clare.  This latter sensation was not a little weakened, when in\nanswer to my seemingly indifferent questions He told me that his\nDaughter had really taken the veil.  I suffered not my grief at this\ncircumstance to take root in my mind:  I flattered myself with the idea\nthat my Uncle's credit at the Court of Rome would remove this obstacle,\nand that without difficulty I should obtain for my Mistress a\ndispensation from her vows.  Buoyed up with this hope I calmed the\nuneasiness of my bosom; and I redoubled my endeavours to appear\ngrateful for the attention and pleased with the society of Don Gaston.\n\nA Domestic now entered the room, and informed me that the Bravo whom I\nhad wounded discovered some signs of life.  I desired that He might be\ncarried to my Father's Hotel, and that as soon as He recovered his\nvoice, I would examine him respecting his reasons for attempting my\nlife.  I was answered that He was already able to speak, though with\ndifficulty:  Don Gaston's curiosity made him press me to interrogate\nthe Assassin in his presence, but this curiosity I was by no means\ninclined to gratify.  One reason was, that doubting from whence the\nblow came, I was unwilling to place before Don Gaston's eyes the guilt\nof a Sister:  Another was, that I feared to be recognized for Alphonso\nd'Alvarada, and precautions taken in consequence to keep me from the\nsight of Agnes.  To avow my passion for his Daughter, and endeavour to\nmake him enter into my schemes, what I knew of Don Gaston's character\nconvinced me would be an imprudent step: and considering it to be\nessential that He should know me for no other than the Conde de las\nCisternas, I was determined not to let him hear the Bravo's confession.\nI insinuated to him, that as I suspected a Lady to be concerned in the\nBusiness, whose name might accidentally escape from the Assassin, it\nwas necessary for me to examine the Man in private.  Don Gaston's\ndelicacy would not permit his urging the point any longer, and in\nconsequence the Bravo was conveyed to my Hotel.\n\nThe next Morning I took leave of my Host, who was to return to the Duke\non the same day.  My wounds had been so trifling that, except being\nobliged to wear my arm in a sling for a short time, I felt no\ninconvenience from the night's adventure.  The Surgeon who examined the\nBravo's wound declared it to be mortal:  He had just time to confess\nthat He had been instigated to murder me by the revengeful Donna\nRodolpha, and expired in a few minutes after.\n\nAll my thoughts were now bent upon getting to the speech of my lovely\nNun.  Theodore set himself to work, and for this time with better\nsuccess.  He attacked the Gardener of St. Clare so forcibly with bribes\nand promises that the Old Man was entirely gained over to my interests;\nand it was settled that I should be introduced into the Convent in the\ncharacter of his Assistant. The plan was put into execution without\ndelay.  Disguised in a common habit, and a black patch covering one of\nmy eyes, I was presented to the Lady Prioress, who condescended to\napprove of the Gardener's choice.  I immediately entered upon my\nemployment. Botany having been a favourite study with me, I was by no\nmeans at a loss in my new station.  For some days I continued to work\nin the Convent Garden without meeting the Object of my disguise: On the\nfourth Morning I was more successful.  I heard the voice of Agnes, and\nwas speeding towards the sound, when the sight of the Domina stopped\nme.  I drew back with caution, and concealed myself behind a thick\nclump of Trees.\n\nThe Prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a Bench at no\ngreat distance.  I heard her in an angry tone blame her Companion's\ncontinual melancholy: She told her that to weep the loss of any Lover\nin her situation was a crime; But that to weep the loss of a faithless\none was folly and absurdity in the extreme.  Agnes replied in so low a\nvoice that I could not distinguish her words, but I perceived that She\nused terms of gentleness and submission.  The conversation was\ninterrupted by the arrival of a young Pensioner who informed the Domina\nthat She was waited for in the Parlour.  The old Lady rose, kissed the\ncheek of Agnes, and retired.  The newcomer remained.  Agnes spoke much\nto her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, but her Auditor\nseemed highly delighted, and interested by the conversation.  The Nun\nshowed her several letters; the Other perused them with evident\npleasure, obtained permission to copy them, and withdrew for that\npurpose to my great satisfaction.\n\nNo sooner was She out of sight, than I quitted my concealment. Fearing\nto alarm my lovely Mistress, I drew near her gently, intending to\ndiscover myself by degrees.  But who for a moment can deceive the eyes\nof love?  She raised her head at my approach, and recognised me in\nspite of my disguise at a single glance.  She rose hastily from her\nseat with an exclamation of surprize, and attempted to retire; But I\nfollowed her, detained her, and entreated to be heard.  Persuaded of my\nfalsehood She refused to listen to me, and ordered me positively to\nquit the Garden.  It was now my turn to refuse.  I protested that\nhowever dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till\nShe had heard my justification.  I assured her that She had been\ndeceived by the artifices of her Relations; that I could convince her\nbeyond the power of doubt that my passion had been pure and\ndisinterested; and I asked her what should induce me to seek her in the\nConvent, were I influenced by the selfish motives which my Enemies had\nascribed to me.\n\nMy prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till She had\npromised to listen to me, united to her fears lest the Nuns should see\nme with her, to her natural curiosity, and to the affection which She\nstill felt for me in spite of my supposed desertion, at length\nprevailed. She told me that to grant my request at that moment was\nimpossible; But She engaged to be in the same spot at eleven that\nnight, and to converse with me for the last time.  Having obtained this\npromise I released her hand, and She fled back with rapidity towards\nthe Convent.\n\nI communicated my success to my Ally, the old Gardener:  He pointed out\nan hiding place where I might shelter myself till night without fear of\na discovery.  Thither I betook myself at the hour when I ought to have\nretired with my supposed Master, and waited impatiently for the\nappointed time.  The chillness of the night was in my favour, since it\nkept the other Nuns confined to their Cells.  Agnes alone was\ninsensible of the inclemency of the Air, and before eleven joined me at\nthe spot which had witnessed our former interview.  Secure from\ninterruption, I related to her the true cause of my disappearing on the\nfatal fifth of May.  She was evidently much affected by my narrative:\nWhen it was concluded, She confessed the injustice of her suspicions,\nand blamed herself for having taken the veil through despair at my\ningratitude.\n\n'But now it is too late to repine!' She added; 'The die is thrown:  I\nhave pronounced my vows, and dedicated myself to the service of heaven.\nI am sensible, how ill I am calculated for a Convent.  My disgust at a\nmonastic life increases daily:  Ennui and discontent are my constant\nCompanions; and I will not conceal from you that the passion which I\nformerly felt for one so near being my Husband is not yet extinguished\nin my bosom.  But we must part!  Insuperable Barriers divide us from\neach other, and on this side the Grave we must never meet again!'\n\nI now exerted myself to prove that our union was not so impossible as\nShe seemed to think it.  I vaunted to her the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma's\ninfluence at the Court of Rome:  I assured her that I should easily\nobtain a dispensation from her vows; and I doubted not but Don Gaston\nwould coincide with my views, when informed of my real name and long\nattachment.  Agnes replied that since I encouraged such an hope, I\ncould know but little of her Father.  Liberal and kind in every other\nrespect, Superstition formed the only stain upon his character.  Upon\nthis head He was inflexible; He sacrificed his dearest interests to his\nscruples, and would consider it an insult to suppose him capable of\nauthorising his daughter to break her vows to heaven.\n\n'But suppose,' said I interrupting her; 'Suppose that He should\ndisapprove of our union; Let him remain ignorant of my proceedings,\ntill I have rescued you from the prison in which you are now confined.\nOnce my Wife, you are free from his authority:  I need from him no\npecuniary assistance; and when He sees his resentment to be unavailing,\nHe will doubtless restore you to his favour.  But let the worst happen;\nShould Don Gaston be irreconcileable, my Relations will vie with each\nother in making you forget his loss: and you will find in my Father a\nsubstitute for the Parent of whom I shall deprive you.'\n\n'Don Raymond,' replied Agnes in a firm and resolute voice, 'I love my\nFather:  He has treated me harshly in this one instance; but I have\nreceived from him in every other so many proofs of love that his\naffection is become necessary to my existence. Were I to quit the\nConvent, He never would forgive me; nor can I think that on his\ndeathbed He would leave me his curse, without shuddering at the very\nidea.  Besides, I am conscious myself, that my vows are binding:\nWilfully did I contract my engagement with heaven; I cannot break it\nwithout a crime.  Then banish from your mind the idea of our being ever\nunited.  I am devoted to religion; and however I may grieve at our\nseparation, I would oppose obstacles myself, to what I feel would\nrender me guilty.'\n\nI strove to overrule these ill-grounded scruples:  We were still\ndisputing upon the subject, when the Convent Bell summoned the Nuns to\nMatins.  Agnes was obliged to attend them; But She left me not till I\nhad compelled her to promise that on the following night She would be\nat the same place at the same hour.  These meetings continued for\nseveral Weeks uninterrupted; and 'tis now, Lorenzo, that I must implore\nyour indulgence.  Reflect upon our situation, our youth, our long\nattachment: Weigh all the circumstances which attended our\nassignations, and you will confess the temptation to have been\nirresistible; you will even pardon me when I acknowledge, that in an\nunguarded moment, the honour of Agnes was sacrificed to my passion.'\n\n(Lorenzo's eyes sparkled with fury:  A deep crimson spread itself over\nhis face.  He started from his seat, and attempted to draw his sword.\nThe Marquis was aware of his movement, and caught his hand:  He pressed\nit affectionately.\n\n'My Friend! My Brother! Hear me to the conclusion!  Till then restrain\nyour passion, and be at least convinced, that if what I have related is\ncriminal, the blame must fall upon me, and not upon your Sister.'\n\nLorenzo suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Don Raymond's\nentreaties.  He resumed his place, and listened to the rest of the\nnarrative with a gloomy and impatient countenance.  The Marquis thus\ncontinued.)\n\n'Scarcely was the first burst of passion past when Agnes, recovering\nherself, started from my arms with horror.  She called me infamous\nSeducer, loaded me with the bitterest reproaches, and beat her bosom in\nall the wildness of delirium.  Ashamed of my imprudence, I with\ndifficulty found words to excuse myself.  I endeavoured to console her;\nI threw myself at her feet, and entreated her forgiveness.  She forced\nher hand from me, which I had taken, and would have prest to my lips.\n\n'Touch me not!' She cried with a violence which terrified me; 'Monster\nof perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in you!  I looked\nupon you as my Friend, my Protector:  I trusted myself in your hands\nwith confidence, and relying upon your honour, thought that mine ran no\nrisque.  And 'tis by you, whom I adored, that I am covered with infamy!\n'Tis by you that I have been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that\nI am reduced to a level with the basest of my sex!  Shame upon you,\nVillain, you shall never see me more!'\n\nShe started from the Bank on which She was seated.  I endeavoured to\ndetain her; But She disengaged herself from me with violence, and took\nrefuge in the Convent.\n\nI retired, filled with confusion and inquietude.  The next morning I\nfailed not as usual to appear in the Garden; but Agnes was no where to\nbe seen.  At night I waited for her at the place where we generally\nmet; I found no better success.  Several days and nights passed away in\nthe same manner.  At length I saw my offended Mistress cross the walk\non whose borders I was working: She was accompanied by the same young\nPensioner, on whose arm She seemed from weakness obliged to support\nherself.  She looked upon me for a moment, but instantly turned her\nhead away.  I waited her return; But She passed on to the Convent\nwithout paying any attention to me, or the penitent looks with which I\nimplored her forgiveness.\n\nAs soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with a\nsorrowful air.\n\n'Segnor,' said He, 'it grieves me to say, that I can be no longer of\nuse to you.  The Lady whom you used to meet has just assured me that if\nI admitted you again into the Garden, She would discover the whole\nbusiness to the Lady Prioress.  She bade me tell you also, that your\npresence was an insult, and that if you still possess the least respect\nfor her, you will never attempt to see her more.  Excuse me then for\ninforming you that I can favour your disguise no longer.  Should the\nPrioress be acquainted with my conduct, She might not be contented with\ndismissing me her service:  Out of revenge She might accuse me of\nhaving profaned the Convent, and cause me to be thrown into the Prisons\nof the Inquisition.'\n\nFruitless were my attempts to conquer his resolution.  He denied me all\nfuture entrance into the Garden, and Agnes persevered in neither\nletting me see or hear from her.  In about a fortnight after, a violent\nillness which had seized my Father obliged me to set out for Andalusia.\nI hastened thither, and as I imagined, found the Marquis at the point\nof death.  Though on its first appearance his complaint was declared\nmortal, He lingered out several Months; during which my attendance upon\nhim during his malady, and the occupation of settling his affairs after\nhis decease, permitted not my quitting Andalusia.  Within these four\ndays I returned to Madrid, and on arriving at my Hotel, I there found\nthis letter waiting for me.\n\n(Here the Marquis unlocked the drawer of a Cabinet: He took out a\nfolded paper, which He presented to his Auditor.  Lorenzo opened it,\nand recognised his Sister's hand.  The Contents were as follows.\n\nInto what an abyss of misery have you plunged me!  Raymond, you force\nme to become as criminal as yourself.  I had resolved never to see you\nmore; if possible, to forget you; If not, only to remember you with\nhate.  A Being for whom I already feel a Mother's tenderness, solicits\nme to pardon my Seducer, and apply to his love for the means of\npreservation.  Raymond, your child lives in my bosom.  I tremble at the\nvengeance of the Prioress; I tremble much for myself, yet more for the\ninnocent Creature whose existence depends upon mine.  Both of us are\nlost, should my situation be discovered.  Advise me then what steps to\ntake, but seek not to see me.  The Gardener, who undertakes to deliver\nthis, is dismissed, and we have nothing to hope from that quarter:  The\nMan engaged in his place is of incorruptible fidelity.  The best means\nof conveying to me your answer, is by concealing it under the great\nStatue of St. Francis, which stands in the Capuchin Cathedral.  Thither\nI go every Thursday to confession, and shall easily have an opportunity\nof securing your letter.  I hear that you are now absent from Madrid;\nNeed I entreat you to write the very moment of your return?  I will not\nthink it.  Ah! Raymond!  Mine is a cruel situation!  Deceived by my\nnearest Relations, compelled to embrace a profession the duties of\nwhich I am ill-calculated to perform, conscious of the sanctity of\nthose duties, and seduced into violating them by One whom I least\nsuspected of perfidy, I am now obliged by circumstances to chuse\nbetween death and perjury.  Woman's timidity, and maternal affection,\npermit me not to balance in the choice.  I feel all the guilt into\nwhich I plunge myself, when I yield to the plan which you before\nproposed to me.  My poor Father's death which has taken place since we\nmet, has removed one obstacle.  He sleeps in his grave, and I no longer\ndread his anger.  But from the anger of God, Oh! Raymond! who shall\nshield me?  Who can protect me against my conscience, against myself?\nI dare not dwell upon these thoughts; They will drive me mad.  I have\ntaken my resolution:  Procure a dispensation from my vows; I am ready\nto fly with you.  Write to me, my Husband!  Tell me, that absence has\nnot abated your love, tell me that you will rescue from death your\nunborn Child, and its unhappy Mother.  I live in all the agonies of\nterror:  Every eye which is fixed upon me seems to read my secret and\nmy shame.  And you are the cause of those agonies!  Oh! When my heart\nfirst loved you, how little did it suspect you of making it feel such\npangs!\n\n                                      Agnes.\n\nHaving perused the letter, Lorenzo restored it in silence.  The Marquis\nreplaced it in the Cabinet, and then proceeded.)\n\n'Excessive was my joy at reading this intelligence so\nearnestly-desired, so little expected.  My plan was soon arranged.\nWhen Don Gaston discovered to me his Daughter's retreat, I entertained\nno doubt of her readiness to quit the Convent:  I had, therefore,\nentrusted the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma with the whole affair, who\nimmediately busied himself in obtaining the necessary Bull.\nFortunately I had afterwards neglected to stop his proceedings.  Not\nlong since I received a letter from him, stating that He expected daily\nto receive the order from the Court of Rome.  Upon this I would\nwillingly have relyed:  But the Cardinal wrote me word, that I must\nfind some means of conveying Agnes out of the Convent, unknown to the\nPrioress.  He doubted not but this Latter would be much incensed by\nlosing a Person of such high rank from her society, and consider the\nrenunciation of Agnes as an insult to her House.  He represented her as\na Woman of a violent and revengeful character, capable of proceeding to\nthe greatest extremities.  It was therefore to be feared, lest by\nconfining Agnes in the Convent She should frustrate my hopes, and\nrender the Pope's mandate unavailing.  Influenced by this\nconsideration, I resolved to carry off my Mistress, and conceal her\ntill the arrival of the expected Bull in the Cardinal-Duke's Estate.\nHe approved of my design, and profest himself ready to give a shelter\nto the Fugitive.  I next caused the new Gardener of St. Clare to be\nseized privately, and confined in my Hotel.  By this means I became\nMaster of the Key to the Garden door, and I had now nothing more to do\nthan prepare Agnes for the elopement.  This was done by the letter,\nwhich you saw me deliver this Evening.  I told her in it, that I should\nbe ready to receive her at twelve tomorrow night, that I had secured\nthe Key of the Garden, and that She might depend upon a speedy release.\n\nYou have now, Lorenzo, heard the whole of my long narrative.  I have\nnothing to say in my excuse, save that my intentions towards your\nSister have been ever the most honourable:  That it has always been,\nand still is my design to make her my Wife:  And that I trust, when you\nconsider these circumstances, our youth, and our attachment, you will\nnot only forgive our momentary lapse from virtue, but will aid me in\nrepairing my faults to Agnes, and securing a lawful title to her person\nand her heart.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n  O You! whom Vanity's light bark conveys\n  On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise,\n  With what a shifting gale your course you ply,\n  For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!\n  Who pants for glory finds but short repose,\n  A breath revives him, and a breath o'er-throws.\n                                Pope.\n\nHere the Marquis concluded his adventures.  Lorenzo, before He could\ndetermine on his reply, past some moments in reflection. At length He\nbroke silence.\n\n'Raymond,' said He taking his hand, 'strict honour would oblige me to\nwash off in your blood the stain thrown upon my family; But the\ncircumstances of your case forbid me to consider you as an Enemy.  The\ntemptation was too great to be resisted.  'Tis the superstition of my\nRelations which has occasioned these misfortunes, and they are more the\nOffenders than yourself and Agnes.  What has past between you cannot be\nrecalled, but may yet be repaired by uniting you to my Sister.  You\nhave ever been, you still continue to be, my dearest and indeed my only\nFriend.  I feel for Agnes the truest affection, and there is no one on\nwhom I would bestow her more willingly than on yourself.  Pursue then\nyour design.  I will accompany you tomorrow night, and conduct her\nmyself to the House of the Cardinal.  My presence will be a sanction\nfor her conduct, and prevent her incurring blame by her flight from the\nConvent.'\n\nThe Marquis thanked him in terms by no means deficient in gratitude.\nLorenzo then informed him that He had nothing more to apprehend from\nDonna Rodolpha's enmity.  Five Months had already elapsed since, in an\nexcess of passion, She broke a blood-vessel and expired in the course\nof a few hours.  He then proceeded to mention the interests of Antonia.\nThe Marquis was much surprized at hearing of this new Relation: His\nFather had carried his hatred of Elvira to the Grave, and had never\ngiven the least hint that He knew what was become of his eldest Son's\nWidow.  Don Raymond assured his friend that He was not mistaken in\nsupposing him ready to acknowledge his Sister-in-law and her amiable\nDaughter.  The preparations for the elopement would not permit his\nvisiting them the next day; But in the meanwhile He desired Lorenzo to\nassure them of his friendship, and to supply Elvira upon his account\nwith any sums which She might want.  This the Youth promised to do, as\nsoon as her abode should be known to him:  He then took leave of his\nfuture Brother, and returned to the Palace de Medina.\n\nThe day was already on the point of breaking when the Marquis retired\nto his chamber.  Conscious that his narrative would take up some hours,\nand wishing to secure himself from interruption on returning to the\nHotel, He ordered his Attendants not to sit up for him.  Consequently,\nHe was somewhat surprised on entering his Antiroom, to find Theodore\nestablished there.  The Page sat near a Table with a pen in his hand,\nand was so totally occupied by his employment that He perceived not his\nLord's approach.  The Marquis stopped to observe him.  Theodore wrote a\nfew lines, then paused, and scratched out a part of the writing:  Then\nwrote again, smiled, and seemed highly pleased with what He had been\nabout.  At last He threw down his pen, sprang from his chair, and\nclapped his hands together joyfully.\n\n'There it is!' cried He aloud:  'Now they are charming!'\n\nHis transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, who\nsuspected the nature of his employment.\n\n'What is so charming, Theodore?'\n\nThe Youth started, and looked round.  He blushed, ran to the Table,\nseized the paper on which He had been writing, and concealed it in\nconfusion.\n\n'Oh! my Lord, I knew not that you were so near me.  Can I be of use to\nyou?  Lucas is already gone to bed.'\n\n'I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of your\nverses.'\n\n'My verses, my Lord?'\n\n'Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else could\nhave kept you awake till this time of the morning.  Where are they,\nTheodore?  I shall like to see your composition.'\n\nTheodore's cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to show\nhis poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it.\n\n'Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.'\n\n'Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming?\n\nCome, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same.  I promise\nthat you shall find in me an indulgent Critic.'\n\nThe Boy produced his paper with seeming reluctance; but the\nsatisfaction which sparkled in his dark expressive eyes betrayed the\nvanity of his little bosom.  The Marquis smiled while He observed the\nemotions of an heart as yet but little skilled in veiling its\nsentiments.  He seated himself upon a Sopha: Theodore, while Hope and\nfear contended on his anxious countenance, waited with inquietude for\nhis Master's decision, while the Marquis read the following lines.\n\n  LOVE AND AGE\n\n    The night was dark; The wind blew cold;\n  Anacreon, grown morose and old,\n  Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame:\n  Sudden the Cottage-door expands,\n  And lo! before him Cupid stands,\n  Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name.\n\n    'What is it Thou?' the startled Sire\n  In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire\n  With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek:\n  'Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage\n  Inflame my bosom?  Steeled by age,\n  Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak.\n\n    'What seek You in this desart drear?\n  No smiles or sports inhabit here;\n  Ne'er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet:\n  Eternal winter binds the plains;\n  Age in my house despotic reigns,\n  My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat.\n\n    'Begone, and seek the blooming bower,\n  Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power,\n  Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed;\n  On Damon's amorous breast repose;\n  Wanton--on Chloe's lip of rose,\n  Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.\n\n    'Be such thy haunts; These regions cold\n  Avoid!  Nor think grown wise and old\n  This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear:\n  Remembering that my fairest years\n  By Thee were marked with sighs and tears,\n  I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.\n\n    'I have not yet forgot the pains\n  I felt, while bound in Julia's chains;\n  The ardent flames with which my bosom burned;\n  The nights I passed deprived of rest;\n  The jealous pangs which racked my breast;\n  My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.\n\n    'Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more!\n  Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door!\n  No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay.\n  I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts,\n  Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts;\n  Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!'\n\n    'Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?'\n  Replied the offended God, and frowned;\n  (His frown was sweet as is the Virgin's smile!)\n  'Do You to Me these words address?\n  To Me, who do not love you less,\n  Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!\n\n    'If one proud Fair you chanced to find,\n  An hundred other Nymphs were kind,\n  Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone:\n  But such is Man!  His partial hand\n  Unnumbered favours writes on sand,\n  But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.\n\n    'Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave,\n  At noon where Lesbia loved to lave?\n  Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?\n  And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid,\n  Bad you with kisses hush the Maid?\n  What other was't than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say!\n\n    'Then You could call me--\"Gentle Boy!\n  \"My only bliss! my source of joy!\"--\n  Then You could prize me dearer than your soul!\n  Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;\n  And swear, not wine itself would please,\n  Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!\n\n    'Must those sweet days return no more?\n  Must I for aye your loss deplore,\n  Banished your heart, and from your favour driven?\n  Ah! no; My fears that smile denies;\n  That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes\n  Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven.\n\n   'Again beloved, esteemed, carest,\n  Cupid shall in thine arms be prest,\n  Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep:\n  My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;\n  My Hand pale Winter's rage disarm,\n  And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.'--\n\n    A feather now of golden hue\n  He smiling from his pinion drew;\n  This to the Poet's hand the Boy commits;\n  And straight before Anacreon's eyes\n  The fairest dreams of fancy rise,\n  And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits.\n\n    His bosom glows with amorous fire\n  Eager He grasps the magic lyre;\n  Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move:\n  The Feather plucked from Cupid's wing\n  Sweeps the too-long-neglected string,\n  While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love.\n\n    Soon as that name was heard, the Woods\n  Shook off their snows; The melting floods\n  Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away.\n  Once more the earth was deckt with flowers;\n  Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers;\n  High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day.\n\n    Attracted by the harmonious sound,\n  Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround,\n  And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold:\n  The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove;\n  Eager They run; They list, they love,\n  And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old.\n\n    Cupid, to nothing constant long,\n  Perched on the Harp attends the song,\n  Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes:\n  Now on the Poet's breast reposes,\n  Now twines his hoary locks with roses,\n  Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.\n\n    Then thus Anacreon--'I no more\n  At other shrine my vows will pour,\n  Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire:\n  From Phoebus or the blue-eyed Maid\n  Now shall my verse request no aid,\n  For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre.\n\n    'In lofty strain, of earlier days,\n  I spread the King's or Hero's praise,\n  And struck the martial Chords with epic fire:\n  But farewell, Hero! farewell, King!\n  Your deeds my lips no more shall sing,\n  For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre.\n\n\nThe Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement.\n\n'Your little poem pleases me much,' said He; 'However, you must not\ncount my opinion for anything.  I am no judge of verses, and for my own\npart, never composed more than six lines in my life: Those six produced\nso unlucky an effect that I am fully resolved never to compose another.\nBut I wander from my subject.  I was going to say that you cannot\nemploy your time worse than in making verses.  An Author, whether good\nor bad, or between both, is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to\nattack; For though All are not able to write books, all conceive\nthemselves able to judge them.  A bad composition carries with it its\nown punishment, contempt and ridicule.  A good one excites envy, and\nentails upon its Author a thousand mortifications.  He finds himself\nassailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man finds fault\nwith the plan, Another with the style, a Third with the precept, which\nit strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault\nwith the Book, employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author.  They\nmaliciously rake out from obscurity every little circumstance which may\nthrow ridicule upon his private character or conduct, and aim at\nwounding the Man, since They cannot hurt the Writer.  In short, to\nenter the lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to the\narrows of neglect, ridicule, envy, and disappointment.  Whether you\nwrite well or ill, be assured that you will not escape from blame;\nIndeed this circumstance contains a young Author's chief consolation:\nHe remembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had unjust and envious\nCritics, and He modestly conceives himself to be exactly in their\npredicament.  But I am conscious that all these sage observations are\nthrown away upon you.  Authorship is a mania to conquer which no\nreasons are sufficiently strong; and you might as easily persuade me\nnot to love, as I persuade you not to write.  However, if you cannot\nhelp being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm, take at least\nthe precaution of communicating your verses to none but those whose\npartiality for you secures their approbation.'\n\n'Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?' said Theodore\nwith an humble and dejected air.\n\n'You mistake my meaning.  As I said before, they have pleased me much;\nBut my regard for you makes me partial, and Others might judge them\nless favourably.  I must still remark that even my prejudice in your\nfavour does not blind me so much as to prevent my observing several\nfaults.  For instance, you make a terrible confusion of metaphors; You\nare too apt to make the strength of your lines consist more in the\nwords than sense; Some of the verses only seem introduced in order to\nrhyme with others; and most of the best ideas are borrowed from other\nPoets, though possibly you are unconscious of the theft yourself.\nThese faults may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But a\nshort Poem must be correct and perfect.'\n\n'All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only write\nfor pleasure.'\n\n'Your defects are the less excusable.  Their incorrectness may be\nforgiven in those who work for money, who are obliged to compleat a\ngiven task in a given time, and are paid according to the bulk, not\nvalue of their productions.  But in those whom no necessity forces to\nturn Author, who merely write for fame, and have full leisure to polish\ntheir compositions, faults are impardonable, and merit the sharpest\narrows of criticism.'\n\nThe Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and\nmelancholy, and this did not escape his Master's observation.\n\n'However' added He smiling, 'I think that these lines do you no\ndiscredit.  Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear seems to\nbe just.  The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me much\npleasure; and if it is not asking too great a favour, I shall be highly\nobliged to you for a Copy.'\n\nThe Youth's countenance immediately cleared up.  He perceived not the\nsmile, half approving, half ironical, which accompanied the request,\nand He promised the Copy with great readiness.  The Marquis withdrew to\nhis chamber, much amused by the instantaneous effect produced upon\nTheodore's vanity by the conclusion of his Criticism.  He threw himself\nupon his Couch; Sleep soon stole over him, and his dreams presented him\nwith the most flattering pictures of happiness with Agnes.\n\nOn reaching the Hotel de Medina, Lorenzo's first care was to enquire\nfor Letters.  He found several waiting for him; but that which He\nsought was not amongst them.  Leonella had found it impossible to write\nthat evening.  However, her impatience to secure Don Christoval's\nheart, on which She flattered herself with having made no slight\nimpression, permitted her not to pass another day without informing him\nwhere She was to be found.  On her return from the Capuchin Church, She\nhad related to her Sister with exultation how attentive an handsome\nCavalier had been to her; as also how his Companion had undertaken to\nplead Antonia's cause with the Marquis de las Cisternas.  Elvira\nreceived this intelligence with sensations very different from those\nwith which it was communicated.  She blamed her Sister's imprudence in\nconfiding her history to an absolute Stranger, and expressed her fears\nlest this inconsiderate step should prejudice the Marquis against her.\nThe greatest of her apprehensions She concealed in her own breast.  She\nhad observed with inquietude that at the mention of Lorenzo, a deep\nblush spread itself over her Daughter's cheek.  The timid Antonia dared\nnot to pronounce his name:  Without knowing wherefore, She felt\nembarrassed when He was made the subject of discourse, and endeavoured\nto change the conversation to Ambrosio.  Elvira perceived the emotions\nof this young bosom:  In consequence, She insisted upon Leonella's\nbreaking her promise to the Cavaliers. A sigh, which on hearing this\norder escaped from Antonia, confirmed the wary Mother in her resolution.\n\nThrough this resolution Leonella was determined to break:  She\nconceived it to be inspired by envy, and that her Sister dreaded her\nbeing elevated above her.  Without imparting her design to anyone, She\ntook an opportunity of dispatching the following note to Lorenzo; It\nwas delivered to him as soon as He woke.\n\n'Doubtless, Segnor Don Lorenzo, you have frequently accused me of\ningratitude and forgetfulness:  But on the word of a Virgin, it was out\nof my power to perform my promise yesterday.  I know not in what words\nto inform you how strange a reception my Sister gave your kind wish to\nvisit her.  She is an odd Woman, with many good points about her; But\nher jealousy of me frequently makes her conceive notions quite\nunaccountable.  On hearing that your Friend had paid some little\nattention to me, She immediately took the alarm:  She blamed my\nconduct, and has absolutely forbidden me to let you know our abode.  My\nstrong sense of gratitude for your kind offers of service, and ...\nShall I confess it? my desire to behold once more the too amiable Don\nChristoval, will not permit my obeying her injunctions.  I have\ntherefore stolen a moment to inform you, that we lodge in the Strada di\nSan Iago, four doors from the Palace d'Albornos, and nearly opposite to\nthe Barber's Miguel Coello.  Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since in\ncompliance with her Father-in-law's order, my Sister continues to be\ncalled by her maiden name.  At eight this evening you will be sure of\nfinding us:  But let not a word drop which may raise a suspicion of my\nhaving written this letter.  Should you see the Conde d'Ossorio, tell\nhim ...  I blush while I declare it ...\n\nTell him that his presence will be but too acceptable to the\nsympathetic                                         Leonella.\n\nThe latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes of\nher cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty.\n\nLorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in search of\nDon Christoval.  Not being able to find him in the course of the day,\nHe proceeded to Donna Elvira's alone, to Leonella's infinite\ndisappointment.  The Domestic by whom He sent up his name, having\nalready declared his Lady to be at home, She had no excuse for refusing\nhis visit:  Yet She consented to receive it with much reluctance.  That\nreluctance was increased by the changes which his approach produced in\nAntonia's countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the Youth\nhimself appeared.  The symmetry of his person, animation of his\nfeatures, and natural elegance of his manners and address, convinced\nElvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her Daughter.  She\nresolved to treat him with distant politeness, to decline his services\nwith gratitude for the tender of them, and to make him feel, without\noffence, that his future visits would be far from acceptable.\n\nOn his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining upon a\nSopha:  Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, in a\npastoral dress, held 'Montemayor's Diana.'  In spite of her being the\nMother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting to find in Elvira\nLeonella's true Sister, and the Daughter of 'as honest a painstaking\nShoe-maker, as any in Cordova.'  A single glance was sufficient to\nundeceive him.  He beheld a Woman whose features, though impaired by\ntime and sorrow, still bore the marks of distinguished beauty:  A\nserious dignity reigned upon her countenance, but was tempered by a\ngrace and sweetness which rendered her truly enchanting.  Lorenzo\nfancied that She must have resembled her Daughter in her youth, and\nreadily excused the imprudence of the late Conde de las Cisternas.  She\ndesired him to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the\nSopha.\n\nAntonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her work:\nHer cheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to conceal her\nemotion by leaning over her embroidery frame.  Her Aunt also chose to\nplay off her airs of modesty; She affected to blush and tremble, and\nwaited with her eyes cast down to receive, as She expected, the\ncompliments of Don Christoval.  Finding after some time that no sign of\nhis approach was given, She ventured to look round the room, and\nperceived with vexation that Medina was unaccompanied.  Impatience\nwould not permit her waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo,\nwho was delivering Raymond's message, She desired to know what was\nbecome of his Friend.\n\nHe, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good graces,\nstrove to console her under her disappointment by committing a little\nviolence upon truth.\n\n'Ah! Segnora,' He replied in a melancholy voice 'How grieved will He be\nat losing this opportunity of paying you his respects!  A Relation's\nillness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste:  But on his return, He\nwill doubtless seize the first moment with transport to throw himself\nat your feet!'\n\nAs He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira:  She punished his\nfalsehood sufficiently by darting at him a look expressive of\ndispleasure and reproach.  Neither did the deceit answer his intention.\nVexed and disappointed Leonella rose from her seat, and retired in\ndudgeon to her own apartment.\n\nLorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in Elvira's\nopinion.  He related his conversation with the Marquis respecting her:\nHe assured her that Raymond was prepared to acknowledge her for his\nBrother's Widow; and that till it was in his power to pay his\ncompliments to her in person, Lorenzo was commissioned to supply his\nplace.  This intelligence relieved Elvira from an heavy weight of\nuneasiness:  She had now found a Protector for the fatherless Antonia,\nfor whose future fortunes She had suffered the greatest apprehensions.\nShe was not sparing of her thanks to him who had interfered so\ngenerously in her behalf; But still She gave him no invitation to\nrepeat his visit.\n\nHowever, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to enquire\nafter her health occasionally, the polite earnestness of his manner,\ngratitude for his services, and respect for his Friend the Marquis,\nwould not admit of a refusal.  She consented reluctantly to receive\nhim:  He promised not to abuse her goodness, and quitted the House.\n\nAntonia was now left alone with her Mother:  A temporary silence\nensued.  Both wished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither knew\nhow to introduce it.  The one felt a bashfulness which sealed up her\nlips, and for which She could not account:  The other feared to find\nher apprehensions true, or to inspire her Daughter with notions to\nwhich She might be still a Stranger.  At length Elvira began the\nconversation.\n\n'That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him.\nWas He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?'\n\n'He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church:  He gave\nme his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.'\n\n'Indeed?  Why then have you never mentioned his name to me?  Your Aunt\nlanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted Ambrosio's\neloquence:  But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo's person and\naccomplishments.  Had not Leonella spoken of his readiness to undertake\nour cause, I should not have known him to be in existence.'\n\nShe paused.  Antonia coloured, but was silent.\n\n'Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do.  In my opinion his\nfigure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners engaging.\nStill He may have struck you differently:  You may think him\ndisagreeable, and ...'.\n\n'Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him so?  I\nshould be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his kindness\nyesterday, and very blind if his merits had escaped me. His figure is\nso graceful, so noble!  His manners so gentle, yet so manly!  I never\nyet saw so many accomplishments united in one person, and I doubt\nwhether Madrid can produce his equal.'\n\n'Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid?\n\nWhy was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you\npleasure?'\n\n'In truth, I know not:  You ask me a question which I cannot resolve\nmyself.  I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand times:  His\nname was constantly upon my lips, but when I would have pronounced it,\nI wanted courage to execute my design. However, if I did not speak of\nhim, it was not that I thought of him the less.'\n\n'That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage?  It was\nbecause, accustomed to confide to me your most secret thoughts, you\nknew not how to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge, that your heart\nnourished a sentiment which you were conscious I should disapprove.\nCome hither to me, my Child.'\n\nAntonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees by\nthe Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother's lap.\n\n'Fear not, my sweet Girl!  Consider me equally as your Friend and\nParent, and apprehend no reproof from me.  I have read the emotions of\nyour bosom; you are yet ill-skilled in concealing them, and they could\nnot escape my attentive eye.  This Lorenzo is dangerous to your repose;\nHe has already made an impression upon your heart.  'Tis true that I\nperceive easily that your affection is returned; But what can be the\nconsequences of this attachment?  You are poor and friendless, my\nAntonia; Lorenzo is the Heir of the Duke of Medina Celi.  Even should\nHimself mean honourably, his Uncle never will consent to your union;\nNor without that Uncle's consent, will I.  By sad experience I know\nwhat sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling to\nreceive her.  Then struggle with your affection:  Whatever pains it may\ncost you, strive to conquer it.  Your heart is tender and susceptible:\nIt has already received a strong impression; But when once convinced\nthat you should not encourage such sentiments, I trust, that you have\nsufficient fortitude to drive them from your bosom.'\n\nAntonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience.  Elvira then\ncontinued.\n\n'To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be needful to\nprohibit Lorenzo's visits.  The service which He has rendered me\npermits not my forbidding them positively; But unless I judge too\nfavourably of his character, He will discontinue them without taking\noffence, if I confess to him my reasons, and throw myself entirely on\nhis generosity.  The next time that I see him, I will honestly avow to\nhim the embarrassment which his presence occasions.  How say you, my\nChild?  Is not this measure necessary?'\n\nAntonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though not\nwithout regret.  Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and retired to\nbed.  Antonia followed her example, and vowed so frequently never more\nto think of Lorenzo, that till Sleep closed her eyes She thought of\nnothing else.\n\nWhile this was passing at Elvira's, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin the\nMarquis.  Every thing was ready for the second elopement of Agnes; and\nat twelve the two Friends with a Coach and four were at the Garden wall\nof the Convent.  Don Raymond drew out his Key, and unlocked the door.\nThey entered, and waited for some time in expectation of being joined\nby Agnes.  At length the Marquis grew impatient:  Beginning to fear\nthat his second attempt would succeed no better than the first, He\nproposed to reconnoitre the Convent.  The Friends advanced towards it.\nEvery thing was still and dark.  The Prioress was anxious to keep the\nstory a secret, fearing lest the crime of one of its members should\nbring disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition of\npowerful Relations should deprive her vengeance of its intended victim.\nShe took care therefore to give the Lover of Agnes no cause to suppose\nthat his design was discovered, and his Mistress on the point of\nsuffering the punishment of her fault. The same reason made her reject\nthe idea of arresting the unknown Seducer in the Garden; Such a\nproceeding would have created much disturbance, and the disgrace of her\nConvent would have been noised about Madrid.  She contented herself\nwith confining Agnes closely; As to the Lover, She left him at liberty\nto pursue his designs.  What She had expected was the result.  The\nMarquis and Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day:  They then\nretired without noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, and\nignorant of the cause of its ill-success.\n\nThe next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to see his\nSister.  The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a melancholy\ncountenance:  She informed him that for several days Agnes had appeared\nmuch agitated; That She had been prest by the Nuns in vain to reveal\nthe cause, and apply to their tenderness for advice and consolation;\nThat She had obstinately persisted in concealing the cause of her\ndistress; But that on Thursday Evening it had produced so violent an\neffect upon her constitution, that She had fallen ill, and was actually\nconfined to her bed.  Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of this\naccount: He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to come\nto the Grate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell.  The Prioress\ncrossed herself!  She was shocked at the very idea of a Man's profane\neye pervading the interior of her holy Mansion, and professed herself\nastonished that Lorenzo could think of such a thing.  She told him that\nhis request could not be granted; But that if He returned the next day,\nShe hoped that her beloved Daughter would then be sufficiently\nrecovered to join him at the Parlour grate.\n\nWith this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and\ntrembling for his Sister's safety.\n\nHe returned the next morning at an early hour.  'Agnes was worse; The\nPhysician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She was ordered\nto remain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for her to receive her\nBrother's visit.'  Lorenzo stormed at this answer, but there was no\nresource.  He raved, He entreated, He threatened:  No means were left\nuntried to obtain a sight of Agnes.  His endeavours were as fruitless\nas those of the day before, and He returned in despair to the Marquis.\nOn his side, the Latter had spared no pains to discover what had\noccasioned his plot to fail:  Don Christoval, to whom the affair was\nnow entrusted, endeavoured to worm out the secret from the Old\nPorteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed an acquaintance; But\nShe was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her no\nintelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo felt\nscarcely less inquietude.  Both were convinced that the purposed\nelopement must have been discovered:  They doubted not but the malady\nof Agnes was a pretence, But they knew not by what means to rescue her\nfrom the hands of the Prioress.\n\nRegularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly was He\ninformed that his Sister rather grew worse than better. Certain that\nher indisposition was feigned, these accounts did not alarm him:  But\nhis ignorance of her fate, and of the motives which induced the\nPrioress to keep her from him, excited the most serious uneasiness.  He\nwas still uncertain what steps He ought to take, when the Marquis\nreceived a letter from the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma.  It inclosed the\nPope's expected Bull, ordering that Agnes should be released from her\nvows, and restored to her Relations.  This essential paper decided at\nonce the proceedings of her Friends:  They resolved that Lorenzo should\ncarry it to the Domina without delay, and demand that his Sister should\nbe instantly given up to him.  Against this mandate illness could not\nbe pleaded:  It gave her Brother the power of removing her instantly to\nthe Palace de Medina, and He determined to use that power on the\nfollowing day.\n\nHis mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and his\nSpirits raised by the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He now had\ntime to give a few moments to love and to Antonia.  At the same hour as\non his former visit He repaired to Donna Elvira's:  She had given\norders for his admission.  As soon as He was announced, her Daughter\nretired with Leonella, and when He entered the chamber, He found the\nLady of the House alone.  She received him with less distance than\nbefore, and desired him to place himself near her upon the Sopha.  She\nthen without losing time opened her business, as had been agreed\nbetween herself and Antonia.\n\n'You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful how\nessential are the services which you have rendered me with the Marquis.\nI feel the weight of my obligations; Nothing under the Sun should\ninduce my taking the step to which I am now compelled but the interest\nof my Child, of my beloved Antonia.  My health is declining; God only\nknows how soon I may be summoned before his Throne.  My Daughter will\nbe left without Parents, and should She lose the protection of the\nCisternas family, without Friends.\n\nShe is young and artless, uninstructed in the world's perfidy, and with\ncharms sufficient to render her an object of seduction. Judge then, how\nI must tremble at the prospect before her! Judge how anxious I must be\nto keep her from their society who may excite the yet dormant passions\nof her bosom.  You are amiable, Don Lorenzo:  Antonia has a\nsusceptible, a loving heart, and is grateful for the favours conferred\nupon us by your interference with the Marquis.  Your presence makes me\ntremble: I fear lest it should inspire her with sentiments which may\nembitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her to cherish hopes\nin her situation unjustifiable and futile.  Pardon me when I avow my\nterrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse.  I cannot forbid you\nmy House, for gratitude restrains me; I can only throw myself upon your\ngenerosity, and entreat you to spare the feelings of an anxious, of a\ndoting Mother.  Believe me when I assure you that I lament the\nnecessity of rejecting your acquaintance; But there is no remedy, and\nAntonia's interest obliges me to beg you to forbear your visits.  By\ncomplying with my request, you will increase the esteem which I already\nfeel for you, and of which everything convinces me that you are truly\ndeserving.'\n\n'Your frankness charms me,' replied Lorenzo; 'You shall find that in\nyour favourable opinion of me you were not deceived.  Yet I hope that\nthe reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade you to withdraw a\nrequest which I cannot obey without infinite reluctance.  I love your\nDaughter, love her most sincerely:  I wish for no greater happiness\nthan to inspire her with the same sentiments, and receive her hand at\nthe Altar as her Husband. 'Tis true, I am not rich myself; My Father's\ndeath has left me but little in my own possession; But my expectations\njustify my pretending to the Conde de las Cisternas' Daughter.'\n\nHe was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him.\n\n'Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness of my\norigin.  You forget that I have now past fourteen years in Spain,\ndisavowed by my Husband's family, and existing upon a stipend barely\nsufficient for the support and education of my Daughter.  Nay, I have\neven been neglected by most of my own Relations, who out of envy affect\nto doubt the reality of my marriage.  My allowance being discontinued\nat my Father-in-law's death, I was reduced to the very brink of want.\nIn this situation I was found by my Sister, who amongst all her foibles\npossesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart.  She aided me with\nthe little fortune which my Father left her, persuaded me to visit\nMadrid, and has supported my Child and myself since our quitting\nMurcia.  Then consider not Antonia as descended from the Conde de la\nCisternas:  Consider her as a poor and unprotected Orphan, as the\nGrand-child of the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as the needy Pensioner of\nthat Tradesman's Daughter.  Reflect upon the difference between such a\nsituation, and that of the Nephew and Heir of the potent Duke of\nMedina.  I believe your intentions to be honourable; But as there are\nno hopes that your Uncle will approve of the union, I foresee that the\nconsequences of your attachment must be fatal to my Child's repose.'\n\n'Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke of\nMedina to resemble the generality of Men.  His sentiments are liberal\nand disinterested:  He loves me well; and I have no reason to dread his\nforbidding the marriage when He perceives that my happiness depends\nupon Antonia.  But supposing him to refuse his sanction, what have I\nstill to fear?  My Parents are no more; My little fortune is in my own\npossession: It will be sufficient to support Antonia, and I shall\nexchange for her hand Medina's Dukedom without one sigh of regret.'\n\n'You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain such\nideas.  But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses accompany\nan unequal alliance.  I married the Conde de las Cisternas in\nopposition to the will of his Relations; Many an heart-pang has\npunished me for the imprudent step.  Whereever we bent our course, a\nFather's execration pursued Gonzalvo.  Poverty overtook us, and no\nFriend was near to relieve our wants.  Still our mutual affection\nexisted, but alas! not without interruption.\n\nAccustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support the\ntransition to distress and indigence.  He looked back with repining to\nthe comforts which He once enjoyed.  He regretted the situation which\nfor my sake He had quitted; and in moments when Despair possessed his\nmind, has reproached me with having made him the Companion of want and\nwretchedness!  He has called me his bane!  The source of his sorrows,\nthe cause of his destruction! Ah God! He little knew how much keener\nwere my own heart's reproaches!  He was ignorant that I suffered\ntrebly, for myself, for my Children, and for him!  'Tis true that his\nanger seldom lasted long:  His sincere affection for me soon revived in\nhis heart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made me\nshed tortured me even more than his reproaches.  He would throw himself\non the ground, implore my forgiveness in the most frantic terms, and\nload himself with curses for being the Murderer of my repose.  Taught\nby experience that an union contracted against the inclinations of\nfamilies on either side must be unfortunate, I will save my Daughter\nfrom those miseries which I have suffered. Without your Uncle's\nconsent, while I live, She never shall be yours.  Undoubtedly He will\ndisapprove of the union; His power is immense, and Antonia shall not be\nexposed to his anger and persecution.'\n\n'His persecution?  How easily may that be avoided! Let the worst\nhappen, it is but quitting Spain.  My wealth may easily be realised;\nThe Indian Islands will offer us a secure retreat; I have an estate,\nthough not of value, in Hispaniola:  Thither will we fly, and I shall\nconsider it to be my native Country, if it gives me Antonia's\nundisturbed possession.'\n\n'Ah! Youth, this is a fond romantic vision.  Gonzalvo thought the same.\nHe fancied that He could leave Spain without regret; But the moment of\nparting undeceived him.  You know not yet what it is to quit your\nnative land; to quit it, never to behold it more!\n\nYou know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have passed\nyour infancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates! To be\nforgotten, utterly eternally forgotten, by the Companions of your\nYouth!  To see your dearest Friends, the fondest objects of your\naffection, perishing with diseases incidental to Indian atmospheres,\nand find yourself unable to procure for them necessary assistance!  I\nhave felt all this!  My Husband and two sweet Babes found their Graves\nin Cuba:  Nothing would have saved my young Antonia but my sudden\nreturn to Spain.  Ah! Don Lorenzo, could you conceive what I suffered\nduring my absence!  Could you know how sorely I regretted all that I\nleft behind, and how dear to me was the very name of Spain!  I envied\nthe winds which blew towards it:  And when the Spanish Sailor chaunted\nsome well-known air as He past my window, tears filled my eyes while I\nthought upon my native land.  Gonzalvo too ...  My Husband ...'.\n\nElvira paused.  Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face with her\nhandkerchief.  After a short silence She rose from the Sopha, and\nproceeded.\n\n'Excuse my quitting you for a few moments:  The remembrance of what I\nhave suffered has much agitated me, and I need to be alone.  Till I\nreturn peruse these lines.  After my Husband's death I found them among\nhis papers; Had I known sooner that He entertained such sentiments,\nGrief would have killed me.  He wrote these verses on his voyage to\nCuba, when his mind was clouded by sorrow, and He forgot that He had a\nWife and Children.\n\nWhat we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious:  Gonzalvo was\nquitting Spain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to his eyes\nthan all else which the World contained.  Read them, Don Lorenzo; They\nwill give you some idea of the feelings of a banished Man!'\n\nElvira put a paper into Lorenzo's hand, and retired from the chamber.\nThe Youth examined the contents, and found them to be as follows.\n\n  THE EXILE\n\n  Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever!\n  These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more;\n  A mournful presage tells my heart, that never\n  Gonzalvo's steps again shall press thy shore.\n\n  Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing\n  With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main,\n  I feel my bosom's boasted courage failing,\n  And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain.\n\n  I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven\n  Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear;\n  From yonder craggy point the gale of Even\n  Still wafts my native accents to mine ear:\n\n  Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing,\n  There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries;\n  Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing\n  Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes.\n\n  Ah! Happy Swain!  He waits the accustomed hour,\n  When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky;\n  Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower,\n  And shares the feast his native fields supply:\n\n  Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him\n  With honest welcome and with smile sincere;\n  No threatening woes of present joys bereave him,\n  No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear.\n\n  Ah! Happy Swain!  Such bliss to me denying,\n  Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view;\n  Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying,\n  Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.\n\n  No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty\n  Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats,\n  Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity,\n  Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes:\n\n  No more my arms a Parent's fond embraces,\n  No more my heart domestic calm, must know;\n  Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces,\n  To sultry skies, and distant climes I go.\n\n  Where Indian Suns engender new diseases,\n  Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way\n  To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases,\n  The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day:\n\n  But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver,\n  To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age,\n  My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever,\n  And brain delirious with the day-star's rage,\n\n  Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever\n  With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee;\n  To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever,\n  And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me!\n\n  Ah me!  How oft will Fancy's spells in slumber\n  Recall my native Country to my mind!\n  How oft regret will bid me sadly number\n  Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind!\n\n  Wild Murcia's Vales, and loved romantic bowers,\n  The River on whose banks a Child I played,\n  My Castle's antient Halls, its frowning Towers,\n  Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade,\n\n  Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre,\n  Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know,\n  Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul's Tormentor,\n  And turn each pleasure past to present woe.\n\n  But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires;\n  Night speeds apace her empire to restore:\n  Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires,\n  Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.\n\n  Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water's motion!\n  Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main!\n  So when to-morrow's light shall gild the Ocean,\n  Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.\n\n  Vain is the wish!  My last petition scorning,\n  Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell:\n  Far shall we be before the break of Morning;\n  Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell!\n\n\nLorenzo had scarcely time to read these lines, when Elvira returned to\nhim:  The giving a free course to her tears had relieved her, and her\nspirits had regained their usual composure.\n\n'I have nothing more to say, my Lord,' said She; 'You have heard my\napprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat your\nvisits.  I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your honour:  I\nam certain that you will not prove my opinion of you to have been too\nfavourable.'\n\n'But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you.  Should the Duke of\nMedina approve my love, would my addresses be unacceptable to yourself\nand the fair Antonia?'\n\n'I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo:  There being little probability\nof such an union taking place, I fear that it is desired but too\nardently by my Daughter.  You have made an impression upon her young\nheart, which gives me the most serious alarm:  To prevent that\nimpression from growing stronger, I am obliged to decline your\nacquaintance.  For me, you may be sure that I should rejoice at\nestablishing my Child so advantageously. Conscious that my\nconstitution, impaired by grief and illness, forbids me to expect a\nlong continuance in this world, I tremble at the thought of leaving her\nunder the protection of a perfect Stranger.  The Marquis de las\nCisternas is totally unknown to me:\n\nHe will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye of\ndispleasure, and deprive her of her only Friend.  Should the Duke, your\nUncle, give his consent, you need not doubt obtaining mine, and my\nDaughter's:  But without his, hope not for ours.  At all events, what\never steps you may take, what ever may be the Duke's decision, till you\nknow it let me beg your forbearing to strengthen by your presence\nAntonia's prepossession.  If the sanction of your Relations authorises\nyour addressing her as your Wife, my Doors fly open to you:  If that\nsanction is refused, be satisfied to possess my esteem and gratitude,\nbut remember, that we must meet no more.'\n\nLorenzo promised reluctantly to conform to this decree:  But He added\nthat He hoped soon to obtain that consent which would give him a claim\nto the renewal of their acquaintance.  He then explained to her why the\nMarquis had not called in person, and made no scruple of confiding to\nher his Sister's History.  He concluded by saying that He hoped to set\nAgnes at liberty the next day; and that as soon as Don Raymond's fears\nwere quieted upon this subject, He would lose no time in assuring Donna\nElvira of his friendship and protection.\n\nThe Lady shook her head.\n\n'I tremble for your Sister,' said She; 'I have heard many traits of the\nDomina of St. Clare's character, from a Friend who was educated in the\nsame Convent with her.  She reported her to be haughty, inflexible,\nsuperstitious, and revengeful.  I have since heard that She is\ninfatuated with the idea of rendering her Convent the most regular in\nMadrid, and never forgave those whose imprudence threw upon it the\nslightest stain.  Though naturally violent and severe, when her\ninterests require it, She well knows how to assume an appearance of\nbenignity.  She leaves no means untried to persuade young Women of rank\nto become Members of her Community:  She is implacable when once\nincensed, and has too much intrepidity to shrink at taking the most\nrigorous measures for punishing the Offender.  Doubtless, She will\nconsider your Sister's quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown upon\nit:  She will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of his\nHoliness, and I shudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the hands of\nthis dangerous Woman.'\n\nLorenzo now rose to take leave.  Elvira gave him her hand at parting,\nwhich He kissed respectfully; and telling her that He soon hoped for\nthe permission to salute that of Antonia, He returned to his Hotel.\nThe Lady was perfectly satisfied with the conversation which had past\nbetween them.  She looked forward with satisfaction to the prospect of\nhis becoming her Son-in-law; But Prudence bad her conceal from her\nDaughter's knowledge the flattering hopes which Herself now ventured to\nentertain.\n\nScarcely was it day, and already Lorenzo was at the Convent of St.\nClare, furnished with the necessary mandate.  The Nuns were at Matins.\nHe waited impatiently for the conclusion of the service, and at length\nthe Prioress appeared at the Parlour Grate.  Agnes was demanded.  The\nold Lady replied, with a melancholy air, that the dear Child's\nsituation grew hourly more dangerous; That the Physicians despaired of\nher life; But that they had declared the only chance for her recovery\nto consist in keeping her quiet, and not to permit those to approach\nher whose presence was likely to agitate her.  Not a word of all this\nwas believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited the expressions of\ngrief and affection for Agnes, with which this account was interlarded.\nTo end the business, He put the Pope's Bull into the hands of the\nDomina, and insisted that, ill or in health, his Sister should be\ndelivered to him without delay.\n\nThe Prioress received the paper with an air of humility: But no sooner\nhad her eye glanced over the contents, than her resentment baffled all\nthe efforts of Hypocrisy.  A deep crimson spread itself over her face,\nand She darted upon Lorenzo looks of rage and menace.\n\n'This order is positive,' said She in a voice of anger, which She in\nvain strove to disguise; 'Willingly would I obey it; But unfortunately\nit is out of my power.'\n\nLorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize.\n\n'I repeat it, Segnor; to obey this order is totally out of my power.\nFrom tenderness to a Brother's feelings, I would have communicated the\nsad event to you by degrees, and have prepared you to hear it with\nfortitude.  My measures are broken through: This order commands me to\ndeliver up to you the Sister Agnes without delay; I am therefore\nobliged to inform you without circumlocution, that on Friday last, She\nexpired.'\n\nLorenzo started back with horror, and turned pale.  A moment's\nrecollection convinced him that this assertion must be false, and it\nrestored him to himself.\n\n'You deceive me!' said He passionately; 'But five minutes past since\nyou assured me that though ill She was still alive. Produce her this\ninstant!  See her I must and will, and every attempt to keep her from\nme will be unavailing.'\n\n'You forget yourself, Segnor; You owe respect to my age as well as my\nprofession.  Your Sister is no more.  If I at first concealed her\ndeath, it was from dreading lest an event so unexpected should produce\non you too violent an effect.  In truth, I am but ill repaid for my\nattention.  And what interest, I pray you, should I have in detaining\nher?  To know her wish of quitting our society is a sufficient reason\nfor me to wish her absence, and think her a disgrace to the Sisterhood\nof St. Clare: But She has forfeited my affection in a manner yet more\nculpable.  Her crimes were great, and when you know the cause of her\ndeath, you will doubtless rejoice, Don Lorenzo, that such a Wretch is\nno longer in existence.  She was taken ill on Thursday last on\nreturning from confession in the Capuchin Chapel.  Her malady seemed\nattended with strange circumstances; But She persisted in concealing\nits cause:  Thanks to the Virgin, we were too ignorant to suspect it!\nJudge then what must have been our consternation, our horror, when She\nwas delivered the next day of a stillborn Child, whom She immediately\nfollowed to the Grave. How, Segnor?  Is it possible that your\ncountenance expresses no surprize, no indignation?  Is it possible that\nyour Sister's infamy was known to you, and that still She possessed\nyour affection?  In that case, you have no need of my compassion.  I\ncan say nothing more, except repeat my inability of obeying the orders\nof his Holiness.  Agnes is no more, and to convince you that what I say\nis true, I swear by our blessed Saviour, that three days have past\nsince She was buried.'\n\nHere She kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle.  She then\nrose from her chair, and quitted the Parlour.  As She withdrew, She\ncast upon Lorenzo a scornful smile.\n\n'Farewell, Segnor,' said She; 'I know no remedy for this accident:  I\nfear that even a second Bull from the Pope will not procure your\nSister's resurrection.'\n\nLorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction:  But Don Raymond's at\nthe news of this event amounted to Madness.  He would not be convinced\nthat Agnes was really dead, and continued to insist that the Walls of\nSt. Clare still confined her.  No arguments could make him abandon his\nhopes of regaining her: Every day some fresh scheme was invented for\nprocuring intelligence of her, and all of them were attended with the\nsame success.\n\nOn his part, Medina gave up the idea of ever seeing his Sister more:\nYet He believed that She had been taken off by unfair means.  Under\nthis persuasion, He encouraged Don Raymond's researches, determined,\nshould He discover the least warrant for his suspicions, to take a\nsevere vengeance upon the unfeeling Prioress.  The loss of his Sister\naffected him sincerely; Nor was it the least cause of his distress that\npropriety obliged him for some time to defer mentioning Antonia to the\nDuke.  In the meanwhile his emissaries constantly surrounded Elvira's\nDoor. He had intelligence of all the movements of his Mistress:  As She\nnever failed every Thursday to attend the Sermon in the Capuchin\nCathedral, He was secure of seeing her once a week, though in\ncompliance with his promise, He carefully shunned her observation.\nThus two long Months passed away.  Still no information was procured of\nAgnes:  All but the Marquis credited her death; and now Lorenzo\ndetermined to disclose his sentiments to his Uncle.  He had already\ndropt some hints of his intention to marry; They had been as favourably\nreceived as He could expect, and He harboured no doubt of the success\nof his application.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n  While in each other's arms entranced They lay,\n  They blessed the night, and curst the coming day.\n                                            Lee.\n\nThe burst of transport was past:  Ambrosio's lust was satisfied;\nPleasure fled, and Shame usurped her seat in his bosom.  Confused and\nterrified at his weakness, He drew himself from Matilda's arms.  His\nperjury presented itself before him:  He reflected on the scene which\nhad just been acted, and trembled at the consequences of a discovery.\nHe looked forward with horror; His heart was despondent, and became the\nabode of satiety and disgust.  He avoided the eyes of his Partner in\nfrailty; A melancholy silence prevailed, during which Both seemed\nbusied with disagreeable reflections.\n\nMatilda was the first to break it.  She took his hand gently, and\npressed it to her burning lips.\n\n'Ambrosio!'  She murmured in a soft and trembling voice.\n\nThe Abbot started at the sound.  He turned his eyes upon Matilda's:\nThey were filled with tears; Her cheeks were covered with blushes, and\nher supplicating looks seemed to solicit his compassion.\n\n'Dangerous Woman!' said He; 'Into what an abyss of misery have you\nplunged me!  Should your sex be discovered, my honour, nay my life,\nmust pay for the pleasure of a few moments.  Fool that I was, to trust\nmyself to your seductions!  What can now be done? How can my offence be\nexpiated?  What atonement can purchase the pardon of my crime?\nWretched Matilda, you have destroyed my quiet for ever!'\n\n'To me these reproaches, Ambrosio?  To me, who have sacrificed for you\nthe world's pleasures, the luxury of wealth, the delicacy of sex, my\nFriends, my fortune, and my fame?  What have you lost, which I\npreserved?  Have _I_ not shared in YOUR guilt?  Have YOU not shared in\nMY pleasure?  Guilt, did I say?  In what consists ours, unless in the\nopinion of an ill-judging World?  Let that World be ignorant of them,\nand our joys become divine and blameless!  Unnatural were your vows of\nCelibacy; Man was not created for such a state; And were Love a crime,\nGod never would have made it so sweet, so irresistible!  Then banish\nthose clouds from your brow, my Ambrosio!  Indulge in those pleasures\nfreely, without which life is a worthless gift:  Cease to reproach me\nwith having taught you what is bliss, and feel equal transports with\nthe Woman who adores you!'\n\nAs She spoke, her eyes were filled with a delicious languor.  Her bosom\npanted:  She twined her arms voluptuously round him, drew him towards\nher, and glewed her lips to his.  Ambrosio again raged with desire:\nThe die was thrown:  His vows were already broken; He had already\ncommitted the crime, and why should He refrain from enjoying its\nreward?  He clasped her to his breast with redoubled ardour.  No longer\nrepressed by the sense of shame, He gave a loose to his intemperate\nappetites.  While the fair Wanton put every invention of lust in\npractice, every refinement in the art of pleasure which might heighten\nthe bliss of her possession, and render her Lover's transports still\nmore exquisite, Ambrosio rioted in delights till then unknown to him:\nSwift fled the night, and the Morning blushed to behold him still\nclasped in the embraces of Matilda.\n\nIntoxicated with pleasure, the Monk rose from the Syren's luxurious\nCouch.  He no longer reflected with shame upon his incontinence, or\ndreaded the vengeance of offended heaven.  His only fear was lest Death\nshould rob him of enjoyments, for which his long Fast had only given a\nkeener edge to his appetite. Matilda was still under the influence of\npoison, and the voluptuous Monk trembled less for his Preserver's life\nthan his Concubine's.  Deprived of her, He would not easily find\nanother Mistress with whom He could indulge his passions so fully, and\nso safely.  He therefore pressed her with earnestness to use the means\nof preservation which She had declared to be in her possession.\n\n'Yes!' replied Matilda; 'Since you have made me feel that Life is\nvaluable, I will rescue mine at any rate.  No dangers shall appall me:\nI will look upon the consequences of my action boldly, nor shudder at\nthe horrors which they present.  I will think my sacrifice scarcely\nworthy to purchase your possession, and remember that a moment past in\nyour arms in this world o'er-pays an age of punishment in the next.\nBut before I take this step, Ambrosio, give me your solemn oath never\nto enquire by what means I shall preserve myself.'\n\nHe did so in a manner the most binding.\n\n'I thank you, my Beloved.  This precaution is necessary, for though you\nknow it not, you are under the command of vulgar prejudices:  The\nBusiness on which I must be employed this night, might startle you from\nits singularity, and lower me in your opinion.  Tell me; Are you\npossessed of the Key of the low door on the western side of the Garden?'\n\n'The Door which opens into the burying-ground common to us and the\nSisterhood of St. Clare?  I have not the Key, but can easily procure\nit.'\n\n'You have only this to do.  Admit me into the burying-ground at\nmidnight; Watch while I descend into the vaults of St. Clare, lest some\nprying eye should observe my actions; Leave me there alone for an hour,\nand that life is safe which I dedicate to your pleasures.  To prevent\ncreating suspicion, do not visit me during the day. Remember the Key,\nand that I expect you before twelve.  Hark!  I hear steps approaching!\nLeave me; I will pretend to sleep.'\n\nThe Friar obeyed, and left the Cell.  As He opened the door, Father\nPablos made his appearance.\n\n'I come,' said the Latter, 'to enquire after the health of my young\nPatient.'\n\n'Hush!' replied Ambrosio, laying his finger upon his lip; 'Speak\nsoftly; I am just come from him.  He has fallen into a profound\nslumber, which doubtless will be of service to him.  Do not disturb him\nat present, for He wishes to repose.'\n\nFather Pablos obeyed, and hearing the Bell ring, accompanied the Abbot\nto Matins.  Ambrosio felt embarrassed as He entered the Chapel.  Guilt\nwas new to him, and He fancied that every eye could read the\ntransactions of the night upon his countenance. He strove to pray; His\nbosom no longer glowed with devotion; His thoughts insensibly wandered\nto Matilda's secret charms.  But what He wanted in purity of heart, He\nsupplied by exterior sanctity.  The better to cloak his transgression,\nHe redoubled his pretensions to the semblance of virtue, and never\nappeared more devoted to Heaven as since He had broken through his\nengagements.  Thus did He unconsciously add Hypocrisy to perjury and\nincontinence; He had fallen into the latter errors from yielding to\nseduction almost irresistible; But he was now guilty of a voluntary\nfault by endeavouring to conceal those into which Another had betrayed\nhim.\n\nThe Matins concluded, Ambrosio retired to his Cell.  The pleasures\nwhich He had just tasted for the first time were still impressed upon\nhis mind.  His brain was bewildered, and presented a confused Chaos of\nremorse, voluptuousness, inquietude, and fear.  He looked back with\nregret to that peace of soul, that security of virtue, which till then\nhad been his portion.  He had indulged in excesses whose very idea but\nfour and twenty hours before He had recoiled at with horror.  He\nshuddered at reflecting that a trifling indiscretion on his part, or on\nMatilda's, would overturn that fabric of reputation which it had cost\nhim thirty years to erect, and render him the abhorrence of that People\nof whom He was then the Idol.  Conscience painted to him in glaring\ncolours his perjury and weakness; Apprehension magnified to him the\nhorrors of punishment, and He already fancied himself in the prisons of\nthe Inquisition.  To these tormenting ideas succeeded Matilda's beauty,\nand those delicious lessons which, once learnt, can never be forgotten.\nA single glance thrown upon these reconciled him with himself.  He\nconsidered the pleasures of the former night to have been purchased at\nan easy price by the sacrifice of innocence and honour.  Their very\nremembrance filled his soul with ecstacy; He cursed his foolish vanity,\nwhich had induced him to waste in obscurity the bloom of life, ignorant\nof the blessings of Love and Woman.  He determined at all events to\ncontinue his commerce with Matilda, and called every argument to his\naid which might confirm his resolution. He asked himself, provided his\nirregularity was unknown, in what would his fault consist, and what\nconsequences He had to apprehend?  By adhering strictly to every rule\nof his order save Chastity, He doubted not to retain the esteem of Men,\nand even the protection of heaven.  He trusted easily to be forgiven so\nslight and natural a deviation from his vows:  But He forgot that\nhaving pronounced those vows, Incontinence, in Laymen the most venial\nof errors, became in his person the most heinous of crimes.\n\nOnce decided upon his future conduct, his mind became more easy. He\nthrew himself upon his bed, and strove by sleeping to recruit his\nstrength exhausted by his nocturnal excesses.  He awoke refreshed, and\neager for a repetition of his pleasures.  Obedient to Matilda's order,\nHe visited not her Cell during the day. Father Pablos mentioned in the\nRefectory that Rosario had at length been prevailed upon to follow his\nprescription; But that the medicine had not produced the slightest\neffect, and that He believed no mortal skill could rescue him from the\nGrave.  With this opinion the Abbot agreed, and affected to lament the\nuntimely fate of a Youth, whose talents had appeared so promising.\n\nThe night arrived.  Ambrosio had taken care to procure from the Porter\nthe Key of the low door opening into the Cemetery. Furnished with this,\nwhen all was silent in the Monastery, He quitted his Cell, and hastened\nto Matilda's.  She had left her bed, and was drest before his arrival.\n\n'I have been expecting you with impatience,' said She; 'My life depends\nupon these moments.  Have you the Key?'\n\n'I have.'\n\n'Away then to the garden.  We have no time to lose. Follow me!'\n\nShe took a small covered Basket from the Table. Bearing this in one\nhand, and the Lamp, which was flaming upon the Hearth, in the other,\nShe hastened from the Cell.  Ambrosio followed her.  Both maintained a\nprofound silence.  She moved on with quick but cautious steps, passed\nthrough the Cloisters, and reached the Western side of the Garden.  Her\neyes flashed with a fire and wildness which impressed the Monk at once\nwith awe and horror. A determined desperate courage reigned upon her\nbrow.  She gave the Lamp to Ambrosio; Then taking from him the Key, She\nunlocked the low Door, and entered the Cemetery.  It was a vast and\nspacious Square planted with yew trees:  Half of it belonged to the\nAbbey; The other half was the property of the Sisterhood of St. Clare,\nand was protected by a roof of Stone.  The Division was marked by an\niron railing, the wicket of which was generally left unlocked.\n\nThither Matilda bent her course.  She opened the wicket and sought for\nthe door leading to the subterraneous Vaults, where reposed the\nmouldering Bodies of the Votaries of St. Clare.  The night was\nperfectly dark; Neither Moon or Stars were visible. Luckily there was\nnot a breath of Wind, and the Friar bore his Lamp in full security:  By\nthe assistance of its beams, the door of the Sepulchre was soon\ndiscovered.  It was sunk within the hollow of a wall, and almost\nconcealed by thick festoons of ivy hanging over it.  Three steps of\nrough-hewn Stone conducted to it, and Matilda was on the point of\ndescending them when She suddenly started back.\n\n'There are People in the Vaults!' She whispered to the Monk; 'Conceal\nyourself till they are past.\n\nShe took refuge behind a lofty and magnificent Tomb, erected in honour\nof the Convent's Foundress.  Ambrosio followed her example, carefully\nhiding his Lamp lest its beams should betray them.  But a few moments\nhad elapsed when the Door was pushed open leading to the subterraneous\nCaverns.  Rays of light proceeded up the Staircase:  They enabled the\nconcealed Spectators to observe two Females drest in religious habits,\nwho seemed engaged in earnest conversation.  The Abbot had no\ndifficulty to recognize the Prioress of St. Clare in the first, and one\nof the elder Nuns in her Companion.\n\n'Every thing is prepared,' said the Prioress; 'Her fate shall be\ndecided tomorrow.  All her tears and sighs will be unavailing. No!  In\nfive and twenty years that I have been Superior of this Convent, never\ndid I witness a transaction more infamous!'\n\n'You must expect much opposition to your will;' the Other replied in a\nmilder voice; 'Agnes has many Friends in the Convent, and in particular\nthe Mother St. Ursula will espouse her cause most warmly.  In truth,\nShe merits to have Friends; and I wish I could prevail upon you to\nconsider her youth, and her peculiar situation.  She seems sensible of\nher fault; The excess of her grief proves her penitence, and I am\nconvinced that her tears flow more from contrition than fear of\npunishment.  Reverend Mother, would you be persuaded to mitigate the\nseverity of your sentence, would you but deign to overlook this first\ntransgression, I offer myself as the pledge of her future conduct.'\n\n'Overlook it, say you?  Mother Camilla, you amaze me!  What? After\ndisgracing me in the presence of Madrid's Idol, of the very Man on whom\nI most wished to impress an idea of the strictness of my discipline?\nHow despicable must I have appeared to the reverend Abbot!  No, Mother,\nNo! I never can forgive the insult. I cannot better convince Ambrosio\nthat I abhor such crimes, than by punishing that of Agnes with all the\nrigour of which our severe laws admit.  Cease then your supplications;\nThey will all be unavailing.  My resolution is taken:  Tomorrow Agnes\nshall be made a terrible example of my justice and resentment.'\n\nThe Mother Camilla seemed not to give up the point, but by this time\nthe Nuns were out of hearing.  The Prioress unlocked the door which\ncommunicated with St. Clare's Chapel, and having entered with her\nCompanion, closed it again after them.\n\nMatilda now asked, who was this Agnes with whom the Prioress was thus\nincensed, and what connexion She could have with Ambrosio. He related\nher adventure; and He added, that since that time his ideas having\nundergone a thorough revolution, He now felt much compassion for the\nunfortunate Nun.\n\n'I design,' said He, 'to request an audience of the Domina tomorrow,\nand use every means of obtaining a mitigation of her sentence.'\n\n'Beware of what you do!' interrupted Matilda; 'Your sudden change of\nsentiment may naturally create surprize, and may give birth to\nsuspicions which it is most our interest to avoid.  Rather, redouble\nyour outward austerity, and thunder out menaces against the errors of\nothers, the better to conceal your own.  Abandon the Nun to her fate.\nYour interfering might be dangerous, and her imprudence merits to be\npunished:  She is unworthy to enjoy Love's pleasures, who has not wit\nenough to conceal them.  But in discussing this trifling subject I\nwaste moments which are precious.  The night flies apace, and much must\nbe done before morning.  The Nuns are retired; All is safe.  Give me\nthe Lamp, Ambrosio. I must descend alone into these Caverns:  Wait\nhere, and if any one approaches, warn me by your voice; But as you\nvalue your existence, presume not to follow me.  Your life would fall a\nvictim to your imprudent curiosity.'\n\nThus saying She advanced towards the Sepulchre, still holding her Lamp\nin one hand, and her little Basket in the other.  She touched the door:\nIt turned slowly upon its grating hinges, and a narrow winding\nstaircase of black marble presented itself to her eyes.  She descended\nit.  Ambrosio remained above, watching the faint beams of the Lamp as\nthey still proceeded up the stairs.  They disappeared, and He found\nhimself in total darkness.\n\nLeft to himself He could not reflect without surprize on the sudden\nchange in Matilda's character and sentiments.  But a few days had past\nsince She appeared the mildest and softest of her sex, devoted to his\nwill, and looking up to him as to a superior Being.  Now She assumed a\nsort of courage and manliness in her manners and discourse but\nill-calculated to please him.  She spoke no longer to insinuate, but\ncommand:  He found himself unable to cope with her in argument, and was\nunwillingly obliged to confess the superiority of her judgment.  Every\nmoment convinced him of the astonishing powers of her mind:  But what\nShe gained in the opinion of the Man, She lost with interest in the\naffection of the Lover.  He regretted Rosario, the fond, the gentle,\nand submissive:  He grieved that Matilda preferred the virtues of his\nsex to those of her own; and when He thought of her expressions\nrespecting the devoted Nun, He could not help blaming them as cruel and\nunfeminine.  Pity is a sentiment so natural, so appropriate to the\nfemale character, that it is scarcely a merit for a Woman to possess\nit, but to be without it is a grievous crime.  Ambrosio could not\neasily forgive his Mistress for being deficient in this amiable\nquality.  However, though he blamed her insensibility, He felt the\ntruth of her observations; and though He pitied sincerely the\nunfortunate Agnes, He resolved to drop the idea of interposing in her\nbehalf.\n\nNear an hour had elapsed, since Matilda descended into the Caverns;\nStill She returned not.  Ambrosio's curiosity was excited.  He drew\nnear the Staircase.  He listened.  All was silent, except that at\nintervals He caught the sound of Matilda's voice, as it wound along the\nsubterraneous passages, and was re-echoed by the Sepulchre's vaulted\nroofs.  She was at too great a distance for him to distinguish her\nwords, and ere they reached him they were deadened into a low murmur.\nHe longed to penetrate into this mystery.  He resolved to disobey her\ninjunctions and follow her into the Cavern.  He advanced to the\nStaircase; He had already descended some steps when his courage failed\nhim. He remembered Matilda's menaces if He infringed her orders, and\nhis bosom was filled with a secret unaccountable awe.  He returned up\nthe stairs, resumed his former station, and waited impatiently for the\nconclusion of this adventure.\n\nSuddenly He was sensible of a violent shock:  An earthquake rocked the\nground.  The Columns which supported the roof under which He stood were\nso strongly shaken, that every moment menaced him with its fall, and at\nthe same moment He heard a loud and tremendous burst of thunder.  It\nceased, and his eyes being fixed upon the Staircase, He saw a bright\ncolumn of light flash along the Caverns beneath.  It was seen but for\nan instant.  No sooner did it disappear, than all was once more quiet\nand obscure.  Profound Darkness again surrounded him, and the silence\nof night was only broken by the whirring Bat, as She flitted slowly by\nhim.\n\nWith every instant Ambrosio's amazement increased.  Another hour\nelapsed, after which the same light again appeared and was lost again\nas suddenly.  It was accompanied by a strain of sweet but solemn Music,\nwhich as it stole through the Vaults below, inspired the Monk with\nmingled delight and terror.  It had not long been hushed, when He heard\nMatilda's steps upon the Staircase.  She ascended from the Cavern; The\nmost lively joy animated her beautiful features.\n\n'Did you see any thing?' She asked.\n\n'Twice I saw a column of light flash up the Staircase.'\n\n'Nothing else?'\n\n'Nothing.'\n\n'The Morning is on the point of breaking.  Let us retire to the Abbey,\nlest daylight should betray us.'\n\nWith a light step She hastened from the burying-ground.  She regained\nher Cell, and the curious Abbot still accompanied her. She closed the\ndoor, and disembarrassed herself of her Lamp and Basket.\n\n'I have succeeded!' She cried, throwing herself upon his bosom:\n'Succeeded beyond my fondest hopes!  I shall live, Ambrosio, shall live\nfor you!  The step which I shuddered at taking proves to me a source of\njoys inexpressible!  Oh! that I dared communicate those joys to you!\nOh! that I were permitted to share with you my power, and raise you as\nhigh above the level of your sex, as one bold deed has exalted me above\nmine!'\n\n'And what prevents you, Matilda?' interrupted the Friar; 'Why is your\nbusiness in the Cavern made a secret?  Do you think me undeserving of\nyour confidence?  Matilda, I must doubt the truth of your affection,\nwhile you have joys in which I am forbidden to share.'\n\n'You reproach me with injustice.  I grieve sincerely that I am obliged\nto conceal from you my happiness.  But I am not to blame: The fault\nlies not in me, but in yourself, my Ambrosio!  You are still too much\nthe Monk.  Your mind is enslaved by the prejudices of Education; And\nSuperstition might make you shudder at the idea of that which\nexperience has taught me to prize and value.  At present you are unfit\nto be trusted with a secret of such importance:  But the strength of\nyour judgment; and the curiosity which I rejoice to see sparkling in\nyour eyes, makes me hope that you will one day deserve my confidence.\nTill that period arrives, restrain your impatience.  Remember that you\nhave given me your solemn oath never to enquire into this night's\nadventures.  I insist upon your keeping this oath: For though' She\nadded smiling, while She sealed his lips with a wanton kiss; 'Though I\nforgive your breaking your vows to heaven, I expect you to keep your\nvows to me.'\n\nThe Friar returned the embrace which had set his blood on fire. The\nluxurious and unbounded excesses of the former night were renewed, and\nthey separated not till the Bell rang for Matins.\n\nThe same pleasures were frequently repeated.  The Monks rejoiced in the\nfeigned Rosario's unexpected recovery, and none of them suspected his\nreal sex.  The Abbot possessed his Mistress in tranquillity, and\nperceiving his frailty unsuspected, abandoned himself to his passions\nin full security.  Shame and remorse no longer tormented him.  Frequent\nrepetitions made him familiar with sin, and his bosom became proof\nagainst the stings of Conscience.  In these sentiments He was\nencouraged by Matilda; But She soon was aware that She had satiated her\nLover by the unbounded freedom of her caresses.  Her charms becoming\naccustomed to him, they ceased to excite the same desires which at\nfirst they had inspired.  The delirium of passion being past, He had\nleisure to observe every trifling defect:  Where none were to be found,\nSatiety made him fancy them.  The Monk was glutted with the fullness of\npleasure:  A Week had scarcely elapsed before He was wearied of his\nParamour: His warm constitution still made him seek in her arms the\ngratification of his lust: But when the moment of passion was over, He\nquitted her with disgust, and his humour, naturally inconstant, made\nhim sigh impatiently for variety.\n\nPossession, which cloys Man, only increases the affection of Woman.\nMatilda with every succeeding day grew more attached to the Friar.\nSince He had obtained her favours, He was become dearer to her than\never, and She felt grateful to him for the pleasures in which they had\nequally been Sharers.  Unfortunately as her passion grew ardent,\nAmbrosio's grew cold; The very marks of her fondness excited his\ndisgust, and its excess served to extinguish the flame which already\nburned but feebly in his bosom.  Matilda could not but remark that her\nsociety seemed to him daily less agreeable:  He was inattentive while\nShe spoke: her musical talents, which She possessed in perfection, had\nlost the power of amusing him; Or if He deigned to praise them, his\ncompliments were evidently forced and cold.  He no longer gazed upon\nher with affection, or applauded her sentiments with a Lover's\npartiality.  This Matilda well perceived, and redoubled her efforts to\nrevive those sentiments which He once had felt. She could not but fail,\nsince He considered as importunities the pains which She took to please\nhim, and was disgusted by the very means which She used to recall the\nWanderer.  Still, however, their illicit Commerce continued:  But it\nwas clear that He was led to her arms, not by love, but the cravings of\nbrutal appetite.  His constitution made a Woman necessary to him, and\nMatilda was the only one with whom He could indulge his passions\nsafely:  In spite of her beauty, He gazed upon every other Female with\nmore desire; But fearing that his Hypocrisy should be made public, He\nconfined his inclinations to his own breast.\n\nIt was by no means his nature to be timid:  But his education had\nimpressed his mind with fear so strongly, that apprehension was now\nbecome part of his character. Had his Youth been passed in the world,\nHe would have shown himself possessed of many brilliant and manly\nqualities.  He was naturally enterprizing, firm, and fearless:  He had\na Warrior's heart, and He might have shone with splendour at the head\nof an Army.  There was no want of generosity in his nature:  The\nWretched never failed to find in him a compassionate Auditor: His\nabilities were quick and shining, and his judgment, vast, solid, and\ndecisive.  With such qualifications He would have been an ornament to\nhis Country: That He possessed them, He had given proofs in his\nearliest infancy, and his Parents had beheld his dawning virtues with\nthe fondest delight and admiration.  Unfortunately, while yet a Child\nHe was deprived of those Parents.  He fell into the power of a Relation\nwhose only wish about him was never to hear of him more; For that\npurpose He gave him in charge to his Friend, the former Superior of the\nCapuchins.  The Abbot, a very Monk, used all his endeavours to persuade\nthe Boy that happiness existed not without the walls of a Convent.  He\nsucceeded fully.  To deserve admittance into the order of St. Francis\nwas Ambrosio's highest ambition.  His Instructors carefully repressed\nthose virtues whose grandeur and disinterestedness were ill-suited to\nthe Cloister.  Instead of universal benevolence, He adopted a selfish\npartiality for his own particular establishment:  He was taught to\nconsider compassion for the errors of Others as a crime of the blackest\ndye:  The noble frankness of his temper was exchanged for servile\nhumility; and in order to break his natural spirit, the Monks terrified\nhis young mind by placing before him all the horrors with which\nSuperstition could furnish them:  They painted to him the torments of\nthe Damned in colours the most dark, terrible, and fantastic, and\nthreatened him at the slightest fault with eternal perdition.  No\nwonder that his imagination constantly dwelling upon these fearful\nobjects should have rendered his character timid and apprehensive.  Add\nto this, that his long absence from the great world, and total\nunacquaintance with the common dangers of life, made him form of them\nan idea far more dismal than the reality.  While the Monks were busied\nin rooting out his virtues and narrowing his sentiments, they allowed\nevery vice which had fallen to his share to arrive at full perfection.\nHe was suffered to be proud, vain, ambitious, and disdainful:  He was\njealous of his Equals, and despised all merit but his own:  He was\nimplacable when offended, and cruel in his revenge. Still in spite of\nthe pains taken to pervert them, his natural good qualities would\noccasionally break through the gloom cast over them so carefully:\n\nAt such times the contest for superiority between his real and acquired\ncharacter was striking and unaccountable to those unacquainted with his\noriginal disposition.  He pronounced the most severe sentences upon\nOffenders, which, the moment after, Compassion induced him to mitigate:\nHe undertook the most daring enterprizes, which the fear of their\nconsequences soon obliged him to abandon:  His inborn genius darted a\nbrilliant light upon subjects the most obscure; and almost\ninstantaneously his Superstition replunged them in darkness more\nprofound than that from which they had just been rescued.  His Brother\nMonks, regarding him as a Superior Being, remarked not this\ncontradiction in their Idol's conduct.  They were persuaded that what\nHe did must be right, and supposed him to have good reasons for\nchanging his resolutions.  The fact was, that the different sentiments\nwith which Education and Nature had inspired him were combating in his\nbosom:  It remained for his passions, which as yet no opportunity had\ncalled into play, to decide the victory.  Unfortunately his passions\nwere the very worst Judges, to whom He could possibly have applied.\nHis monastic seclusion had till now been in his favour, since it gave\nhim no room for discovering his bad qualities.  The superiority of his\ntalents raised him too far above his Companions to permit his being\njealous of them:  His exemplary piety, persuasive eloquence, and\npleasing manners had secured him universal Esteem, and consequently He\nhad no injuries to revenge:  His Ambition was justified by his\nacknowledged merit, and his pride considered as no more than proper\nconfidence.  He never saw, much less conversed with, the other sex:  He\nwas ignorant of the pleasures in Woman's power to bestow, and if He\nread in the course of his studies\n\n   'That Men were fond, He smiled, and wondered how!'\n\nFor a time, spare diet, frequent watching, and severe penance cooled\nand represt the natural warmth of his constitution:  But no sooner did\nopportunity present itself, no sooner did He catch a glimpse of joys to\nwhich He was still a Stranger, than Religion's barriers were too feeble\nto resist the overwhelming torrent of his desires.  All impediments\nyielded before the force of his temperament, warm, sanguine, and\nvoluptuous in the excess.\n\nAs yet his other passions lay dormant; But they only needed to be once\nawakened, to display themselves with violence as great and irresistible.\n\nHe continued to be the admiration of Madrid.  The Enthusiasm created by\nhis eloquence seemed rather to increase than diminish.\n\nEvery Thursday, which was the only day when He appeared in public, the\nCapuchin Cathedral was crowded with Auditors, and his discourse was\nalways received with the same approbation.  He was named Confessor to\nall the chief families in Madrid; and no one was counted fashionable\nwho was injoined penance by any other than Ambrosio.  In his resolution\nof never stirring out of his Convent, He still persisted. This\ncircumstance created a still greater opinion of his sanctity and\nself-denial.  Above all, the Women sang forth his praises loudly, less\ninfluenced by devotion than by his noble countenance, majestic air, and\nwell-turned, graceful figure.  The Abbey door was thronged with\nCarriages from morning to night; and the noblest and fairest Dames of\nMadrid confessed to the Abbot their secret peccadilloes.\n\nThe eyes of the luxurious Friar devoured their charms:  Had his\nPenitents consulted those Interpreters, He would have needed no other\nmeans of expressing his desires.  For his misfortune, they were so\nstrongly persuaded of his continence, that the possibility of his\nharbouring indecent thoughts never once entered their imaginations.\nThe climate's heat, 'tis well known, operates with no small influence\nupon the constitutions of the Spanish Ladies:  But the most abandoned\nwould have thought it an easier task to inspire with passion the marble\nStatue of St. Francis than the cold and rigid heart of the immaculate\nAmbrosio.\n\nOn his part, the Friar was little acquainted with the depravity of the\nworld; He suspected not that but few of his Penitents would have\nrejected his addresses.  Yet had He been better instructed on this\nhead, the danger attending such an attempt would have sealed up his\nlips in silence.  He knew that it would be difficult for a Woman to\nkeep a secret so strange and so important as his frailty; and He even\ntrembled lest Matilda should betray him.  Anxious to preserve a\nreputation which was infinitely dear to him, He saw all the risque of\ncommitting it to the power of some vain giddy Female; and as the\nBeauties of Madrid affected only his senses without touching his heart,\nHe forgot them as soon as they were out of his sight.  The danger of\ndiscovery, the fear of being repulsed, the loss of reputation, all\nthese considerations counselled him to stifle his desires: And though\nHe now felt for it the most perfect indifference, He was necessitated\nto confine himself to Matilda's person.\n\nOne morning, the confluence of Penitents was greater than usual. He was\ndetained in the Confessional Chair till a late hour.  At length the\ncrowd was dispatched, and He prepared to quit the Chapel, when two\nFemales entered and drew near him with humility.  They threw up their\nveils, and the youngest entreated him to listen to her for a few\nmoments.  The melody of her voice, of that voice to which no Man ever\nlistened without interest, immediately caught Ambrosio's attention.  He\nstopped.  The Petitioner seemed bowed down with affliction:  Her cheeks\nwere pale, her eyes dimmed with tears, and her hair fell in disorder\nover her face and bosom.  Still her countenance was so sweet, so\ninnocent, so heavenly, as might have charmed an heart less susceptible,\nthan that which panted in the Abbot's breast.  With more than usual\nsoftness of manner He desired her to proceed, and heard her speak as\nfollows with an emotion which increased every moment.\n\n'Reverend Father, you see an Unfortunate, threatened with the loss of\nher dearest, of almost her only Friend!  My Mother, my excellent Mother\nlies upon the bed of sickness.  A sudden and dreadful malady seized her\nlast night; and so rapid has been its progress, that the Physicians\ndespair of her life.  Human aid fails me; Nothing remains for me but to\nimplore the mercy of Heaven.  Father, all Madrid rings with the report\nof your piety and virtue.  Deign to remember my Mother in your prayers:\nPerhaps they may prevail on the Almighty to spare her; and should that\nbe the case, I engage myself every Thursday in the next three Months to\nilluminate the Shrine of St. Francis in his honour.'\n\n'So!' thought the Monk; 'Here we have a second Vincentio della Ronda.\nRosario's adventure began thus,' and He wished secretly that this might\nhave the same conclusion.\n\nHe acceded to the request.  The Petitioner returned him thanks with\nevery mark of gratitude, and then continued.\n\n'I have yet another favour to ask.  We are Strangers in Madrid; My\nMother needs a Confessor, and knows not to whom She should apply.  We\nunderstand that you never quit the Abbey, and Alas! my poor Mother is\nunable to come hither!  If you would have the goodness, reverend\nFather, to name a proper person, whose wise and pious consolations may\nsoften the agonies of my Parent's deathbed, you will confer an\neverlasting favour upon hearts not ungrateful.'\n\nWith this petition also the Monk complied.  Indeed, what petition would\nHe have refused, if urged in such enchanting accents?  The suppliant\nwas so interesting!  Her voice was so sweet, so harmonious!  Her very\ntears became her, and her affliction seemed to add new lustre to her\ncharms.  He promised to send to her a Confessor that same Evening, and\nbegged her to leave her address. The Companion presented him with a\nCard on which it was written, and then withdrew with the fair\nPetitioner, who pronounced before her departure a thousand benedictions\non the Abbot's goodness.  His eyes followed her out of the Chapel.  It\nwas not till She was out of sight that He examined the Card, on which\nHe read the following words.\n\n'Donna Elvira Dalfa, Strada di San Iago, four doors from the Palace\nd'Albornos.'\n\nThe Suppliant was no other than Antonia, and Leonella was her\nCompanion.  The Latter had not consented without difficulty to\naccompany her Niece to the Abbey:  Ambrosio had inspired her with such\nawe that She trembled at the very sight of him.  Her fears had\nconquered even her natural loquacity, and while in his presence She\nuttered not a single syllable.\n\nThe Monk retired to his Cell, whither He was pursued by Antonia's\nimage.  He felt a thousand new emotions springing in his bosom, and He\ntrembled to examine into the cause which gave them birth. They were\ntotally different from those inspired by Matilda, when She first\ndeclared her sex and her affection.  He felt not the provocation of\nlust; No voluptuous desires rioted in his bosom; Nor did a burning\nimagination picture to him the charms which Modesty had veiled from his\neyes.  On the contrary, what He now felt was a mingled sentiment of\ntenderness, admiration, and respect.  A soft and delicious melancholy\ninfused itself into his soul, and He would not have exchanged it for\nthe most lively transports of joy.  Society now disgusted him:  He\ndelighted in solitude, which permitted his indulging the visions of\nFancy: His thoughts were all gentle, sad, and soothing, and the whole\nwide world presented him with no other object than Antonia.\n\n'Happy Man!' He exclaimed in his romantic enthusiasm; 'Happy Man, who\nis destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl!  What delicacy in\nher features!  What elegance in her form!  How enchanting was the timid\ninnocence of her eyes, and how different from the wanton expression,\nthe wild luxurious fire which sparkles in Matilda's!  Oh! sweeter must\none kiss be snatched from the rosy lips of the First, than all the full\nand lustful favours bestowed so freely by the Second.  Matilda gluts me\nwith enjoyment even to loathing, forces me to her arms, apes the\nHarlot, and glories in her prostitution.  Disgusting!  Did She know the\ninexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistibly it enthralls the heart\nof Man, how firmly it chains him to the Throne of Beauty, She never\nwould have thrown it off.  What would be too dear a price for this\nlovely Girl's affections?  What would I refuse to sacrifice, could I be\nreleased from my vows, and permitted to declare my love in the sight of\nearth and heaven?  While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, with\nfriendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours\nroll away!  Gracious God!  To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine\nwith timid fondness!  To sit for days, for years listening to that\ngentle voice!  To acquire the right of obliging her, and hear the\nartless expressions of her gratitude!  To watch the emotions of her\nspotless heart!  To encourage each dawning virtue!  To share in her joy\nwhen happy, to kiss away her tears when distrest, and to see her fly to\nmy arms for comfort and support!  Yes; If there is perfect bliss on\nearth, 'tis his lot alone, who becomes that Angel's Husband.'\n\nWhile his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a disordered\nair.  His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head reclined upon his\nshoulder; A tear rolled down his cheek, while He reflected that the\nvision of happiness for him could never be realized.\n\n'She is lost to me!' He continued; 'By marriage She cannot be mine:\nAnd to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence reposed in me to\nwork her ruin....  Oh! it would be a crime, blacker than yet the\nworld ever witnessed!  Fear not, lovely Girl!  Your virtue runs no\nrisque from me.  Not for Indies would I make that gentle bosom know the\ntortures of remorse.'\n\nAgain He paced his chamber hastily.  Then stopping, his eye fell upon\nthe picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation\nfrom the wall:  He threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with\nhis foot.\n\n'The Prostitute!'\n\nUnfortunate Matilda! Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone She\nhad forfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for despising\nher was that She had loved him much too well.\n\nHe threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table.  He saw the\ncard with Elvira's address.  He took it up, and it brought to his\nrecollection his promise respecting a Confessor. He passed a few\nminutes in doubt:  But Antonia's Empire over him was already too much\ndecided to permit his making a long resistance to the idea which struck\nhim.  He resolved to be the Confessor himself.  He could leave the\nAbbey unobserved without difficulty:  By wrapping up his head in his\nCowl He hoped to pass through the Streets without being recognised: By\ntaking these precautions, and by recommending secrecy to Elvira's\nfamily, He doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He had broken\nhis vow never to see the outside of the Abbey walls.  Matilda was the\nonly person whose vigilance He dreaded:  But by informing her at the\nRefectory that during the whole of that day, Business would confine him\nto his Cell, He thought himself secure from her wakeful jealousy.\nAccordingly, at the hours when the Spaniards are generally taking their\nSiesta, He ventured to quit the Abbey by a private door, the Key of\nwhich was in his possession.  The Cowl of his habit was thrown over his\nface:  From the heat of the weather the Streets were almost totally\ndeserted: The Monk met with few people, found the Strada di San Iago,\nand arrived without accident at Donna Elvira's door.  He rang, was\nadmitted, and immediately ushered into an upper apartment.\n\nIt was here that He ran the greatest risque of a discovery.  Had\nLeonella been at home, She would have recognized him directly: Her\ncommunicative disposition would never have permitted her to rest till\nall Madrid was informed that Ambrosio had ventured out of the Abbey,\nand visited her Sister.  Fortune here stood the Monk's Friend.  On\nLeonella's return home, She found a letter instructing her that a\nCousin was just dead, who had left what little He possessed between\nHerself and Elvira.  To secure this bequest She was obliged to set out\nfor Cordova without losing a moment.  Amidst all her foibles her heart\nwas truly warm and affectionate, and She was unwilling to quit her\nSister in so dangerous a state.  But Elvira insisted upon her taking\nthe journey, conscious that in her Daughter's forlorn situation no\nincrease of fortune, however trifling, ought to be neglected.\nAccordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her Sister's\nillness, and giving some few sighs to the memory of the amiable but\ninconstant Don Christoval.  She was fully persuaded that at first She\nhad made a terrible breach in his heart:  But hearing nothing more of\nhim, She supposed that He had quitted the pursuit, disgusted by the\nlowness of her origin, and knowing upon other terms than marriage He\nhad nothing to hope from such a Dragon of Virtue as She professed\nherself; Or else, that being naturally capricious and changeable, the\nremembrance of her charms had been effaced from the Conde's heart by\nthose of some newer Beauty.  Whatever was the cause of her losing him,\nShe lamented it sorely.  She strove in vain, as She assured every body\nwho was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his image from her too\nsusceptible heart.  She affected the airs of a lovesick Virgin, and\ncarried them all to the most ridiculous excess.  She heaved lamentable\nsighs, walked with her arms folded, uttered long soliloquies, and her\ndiscourse generally turned upon some forsaken Maid who expired of a\nbroken heart!  Her fiery locks were always ornamented with a garland of\nwillow; Every evening She was seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet\nby Moonlight; and She declared herself a violent Admirer of murmuring\nStreams and Nightingales;\n\n      'Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,\n      'Places which pale Passion loves!'\n\nSuch was the state of Leonella's mind, when obliged to quit Madrid.\nElvira was out of patience at all these follies, and endeavoured at\npersuading her to act like a reasonable Woman. Her advice was thrown\naway: Leonella assured her at parting that nothing could make her\nforget the perfidious Don Christoval.  In this point She was\nfortunately mistaken.  An honest Youth of Cordova, Journeyman to an\nApothecary, found that her fortune would be sufficient to set him up in\na genteel Shop of his own: In consequence of this reflection He avowed\nhimself her Admirer. Leonella was not inflexible. The ardour of his\nsighs melted her heart, and She soon consented to make him the happiest\nof Mankind.  She wrote to inform her Sister of her marriage; But, for\nreasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never answered her\nletter.\n\nAmbrosio was conducted into the Antichamber to that where Elvira was\nreposing.  The Female Domestic who had admitted him left him alone\nwhile She announced his arrival to her Mistress. Antonia, who had been\nby her Mother's Bedside, immediately came to him.\n\n'Pardon me, Father,' said She, advancing towards him; when recognizing\nhis features, She stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy.  'Is it\npossible!' She continued;\n\n'Do not my eyes deceive me?  Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through his\nresolution, that He may soften the agonies of the best of Women?  What\npleasure will this visit give my Mother! Let me not delay for a moment\nthe comfort which your piety and wisdom will afford her.'\n\nThus saying, She opened the chamber door, presented to her Mother her\ndistinguished Visitor, and having placed an armed-chair by the side of\nthe Bed, withdrew into another department.\n\nElvira was highly gratified by this visit:  Her expectations had been\nraised high by general report, but She found them far exceeded.\nAmbrosio, endowed by nature with powers of pleasing, exerted them to\nthe utmost while conversing with Antonia's Mother.  With persuasive\neloquence He calmed every fear, and dissipated every scruple:  He bad\nher reflect on the infinite mercy of her Judge, despoiled Death of his\ndarts and terrors, and taught her to view without shrinking the abyss\nof eternity, on whose brink She then stood.  Elvira was absorbed in\nattention and delight:  While She listened to his exhortations,\nconfidence and comfort stole insensibly into her mind.  She unbosomed\nto him without hesitation her cares and apprehensions.  The latter\nrespecting a future life He had already quieted:  And He now removed\nthe former, which She felt for the concerns of this.  She trembled for\nAntonia.  She had none to whose care She could recommend her, save to\nthe Marquis de las Cisternas and her Sister Leonella.  The protection\nof the One was very uncertain; and as to the Other, though fond of her\nNiece, Leonella was so thoughtless and vain as to make her an improper\nperson to have the sole direction of a Girl so young and ignorant of\nthe World. The Friar no sooner learnt the cause of her alarms than He\nbegged her to make herself easy upon that head.  He doubted not being\nable to secure for Antonia a safe refuge in the House of one of his\nPenitents, the Marchioness of Villa-Franca:  This was a Lady of\nacknowledged virtue, remarkable for strict principles and extensive\ncharity.  Should accident deprive her of this resource, He engaged to\nprocure Antonia a reception in some respectable Convent:  That is to\nsay, in quality of boarder; for Elvira had declared herself no Friend\nto a monastic life, and the Monk was either candid or complaisant\nenough to allow that her disapprobation was not unfounded.\n\nThese proofs of the interest which He felt for her completely won\nElvira's heart.  In thanking him She exhausted every expression which\nGratitude could furnish, and protested that now She should resign\nherself with tranquillity to the Grave. Ambrosio rose to take leave:\nHe promised to return the next day at the same hour, but requested that\nhis visits might be kept secret.\n\n'I am unwilling' said He, 'that my breaking through a rule imposed by\nnecessity should be generally known.  Had I not resolved never to quit\nmy Convent, except upon circumstances as urgent as that which has\nconducted me to your door, I should be frequently summoned upon\ninsignificant occasions:  That time would be engrossed by the Curious,\nthe Unoccupied, and the fanciful, which I now pass at the Bedside of\nthe Sick, in comforting the expiring Penitent, and clearing the passage\nto Eternity from Thorns.'\n\nElvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising to\nconceal carefully the honour of his visits.  The Monk then gave her his\nbenediction, and retired from the chamber.\n\nIn the Antiroom He found Antonia:  He could not refuse himself the\npleasure of passing a few moments in her society.  He bad her take\ncomfort, for that her Mother seemed composed and tranquil, and He hoped\nthat She might yet do well.  He enquired who attended her, and engaged\nto send the Physician of his Convent to see her, one of the most\nskilful in Madrid.  He then launched out in Elvira's commendation,\npraised her purity and fortitude of mind, and declared that She had\ninspired him with the highest esteem and reverence.  Antonia's innocent\nheart swelled with gratitude:  Joy danced in her eyes, where a tear\nstill sparkled. The hopes which He gave her of her Mother's recovery,\nthe lively interest which He seemed to feel for her, and the flattering\nway in which She was mentioned by him, added to the report of his\njudgment and virtue, and to the impression made upon her by his\neloquence, confirmed the favourable opinion with which his first\nappearance had inspired Antonia.  She replied with diffidence, but\nwithout restraint:  She feared not to relate to him all her little\nsorrows, all her little fears and anxieties; and She thanked him for\nhis goodness with all the genuine warmth which favours kindle in a\nyoung and innocent heart.  Such alone know how to estimate benefits at\ntheir full value.  They who are conscious of Mankind's perfidy and\nselfishness, ever receive an obligation with apprehension and distrust:\nThey suspect that some secret motive must lurk behind it:  They express\ntheir thanks with restraint and caution, and fear to praise a kind\naction to its full extent, aware that some future day a return may be\nrequired.  Not so Antonia; She thought the world was composed only of\nthose who resembled her, and that vice existed, was to her still a\nsecret.  The Monk had been of service to her; He said that He wished\nher well; She was grateful for his kindness, and thought that no terms\nwere strong enough to be the vehicle of her thanks.  With what delight\ndid Ambrosio listen to the declaration of her artless gratitude!  The\nnatural grace of her manners, the unequalled sweetness of her voice,\nher modest vivacity, her unstudied elegance, her expressive\ncountenance, and intelligent eyes united to inspire him with pleasure\nand admiration, While the solidity and correctness of her remarks\nreceived additional beauty from the unaffected simplicity of the\nlanguage in which they were conveyed.\n\nAmbrosio was at length obliged to tear himself from this conversation\nwhich possessed for him but too many charms.  He repeated to Antonia\nhis wishes that his visits should not be made known, which desire She\npromised to observe.  He then quitted the House, while his Enchantress\nhastened to her Mother, ignorant of the mischief which her Beauty had\ncaused.  She was eager to know Elvira's opinion of the Man whom She had\npraised in such enthusiastic terms, and was delighted to find it\nequally favourable, if not even more so, than her own.\n\n'Even before He spoke,' said Elvira, 'I was prejudiced in his favour:\nThe fervour of his exhortations, dignity of his manner, and closeness\nof his reasoning, were very far from inducing me to alter my opinion.\nHis fine and full-toned voice struck me particularly; But surely,\nAntonia, I have heard it before.  It seemed perfectly familiar to my\near.  Either I must have known the Abbot in former times, or his voice\nbears a wonderful resemblance to that of some other, to whom I have\noften listened.\n\nThere were certain tones which touched my very heart, and made me feel\nsensations so singular, that I strive in vain to account for them.'\n\n'My dearest Mother, it produced the same effect upon me:  Yet certainly\nneither of us ever heard his voice till we came to Madrid.  I suspect\nthat what we attribute to his voice, really proceeds from his pleasant\nmanners, which forbid our considering him as a Stranger.  I know not\nwhy, but I feel more at my ease while conversing with him than I\nusually do with people who are unknown to me.  I feared not to repeat\nto him all my childish thoughts; and somehow I felt confident that He\nwould hear my folly with indulgence.  Oh! I was not deceived in him!\nHe listened to me with such an air of kindness and attention!  He\nanswered me with such gentleness, such condescension! He did not call\nme an Infant, and treat me with contempt, as our cross old Confessor at\nthe Castle used to do.  I verily believe that if I had lived in Murcia\na thousand years, I never should have liked that fat old Father\nDominic!'\n\n'I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners in the\nworld; But He was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.'\n\n'Ah!  my dear Mother, those qualities are so common!'\n\n'God grant, my Child, that Experience may not teach you to think them\nrare and precious:  I have found them but too much so!  But tell me,\nAntonia; Why is it impossible for me to have seen the Abbot before?'\n\n'Because since the moment when He entered the Abbey, He has never been\non the outside of its walls.  He told me just now, that from his\nignorance of the Streets, He had some difficulty to find the Strada di\nSan Iago, though so near the Abbey.'\n\n'All this is possible, and still I may have seen him BEFORE He entered\nthe Abbey:  In order to come out, it was rather necessary that He\nshould first go in.'\n\n'Holy Virgin!  As you say, that is very true.--Oh! But might He not\nhave been born in the Abbey?'\n\nElvira smiled.\n\n'Why, not very easily.'\n\n'Stay, Stay!  Now I recollect how it was.  He was put into the Abbey\nquite a Child; The common People say that He fell from heaven, and was\nsent as a present to the Capuchins by the Virgin.'\n\n'That was very kind of her.  And so He fell from heaven, Antonia?\n\nHe must have had a terrible tumble.'\n\n'Many do not credit this, and I fancy, my dear Mother, that I must\nnumber you among the Unbelievers.  Indeed, as our Landlady told my\nAunt, the general idea is that his Parents, being poor and unable to\nmaintain him, left him just born at the Abbey door. The late Superior\nfrom pure charity had him educated in the Convent, and He proved to be\na model of virtue, and piety, and learning, and I know not what else\nbesides:  In consequence, He was first received as a Brother of the\norder, and not long ago was chosen Abbot.  However, whether this\naccount or the other is the true one, at least all agree that when the\nMonks took him under their care, He could not speak:  Therefore, you\ncould not have heard his voice before He entered the Monastery, because\nat that time He had no voice at all.'\n\n'Upon my word, Antonia, you argue very closely!  Your conclusions are\ninfallible!  I did not suspect you of being so able a Logician.'\n\n'Ah! You are mocking me!  But so much the better. It delights me to see\nyou in spirits:  Besides you seem tranquil and easy, and I hope that\nyou will have no more convulsions.  Oh! I was sure the Abbot's visit\nwould do you good!'\n\n'It has indeed done me good, my Child.  He has quieted my mind upon\nsome points which agitated me, and I already feel the effects of his\nattention.  My eyes grow heavy, and I think I can sleep a little.  Draw\nthe curtains, my Antonia:  But if I should not wake before midnight, do\nnot sit up with me, I charge you.'\n\nAntonia promised to obey her, and having received her blessing drew the\ncurtains of the Bed.  She then seated herself in silence at her\nembroidery frame, and beguiled the hours with building Castles in the\nair.  Her spirits were enlivened by the evident change for the better\nin Elvira, and her fancy presented her with visions bright and\npleasing.  In these dreams Ambrosio made no despicable figure.  She\nthought of him with joy and gratitude; But for every idea which fell to\nthe Friar's share, at least two were unconsciously bestowed upon\nLorenzo.  Thus passed the time, till the Bell in the neighbouring\nSteeple of the Capuchin Cathedral announced the hour of midnight:\nAntonia remembered her Mother's injunctions, and obeyed them, though\nwith reluctance. She undrew the curtains with caution.  Elvira was\nenjoying a profound and quiet slumber; Her cheek glowed with health's\nreturning colours:  A smile declared that her dreams were pleasant, and\nas Antonia bent over her, She fancied that She heard her name\npronounced.  She kissed her Mother's forehead softly, and retired to\nher chamber.  There She knelt before a Statue of St. Rosolia, her\nPatroness; She recommended herself to the protection of heaven, and as\nhad been her custom from infancy, concluded her devotions by chaunting\nthe following Stanzas.\n\n  MIDNIGHT HYMN\n\n    Now all is hushed; The solemn chime\n  No longer swells the nightly gale:\n  Thy awful presence, Hour sublime,\n  With spotless heart once more I hail.\n\n    'Tis now the moment still and dread,\n  When Sorcerers use their baleful power;\n  When Graves give up their buried dead\n  To profit by the sanctioned hour:\n\n    From guilt and guilty thoughts secure,\n  To duty and devotion true,\n  With bosom light and conscience pure,\n  Repose, thy gentle aid I woo.\n\n    Good Angels, take my thanks, that still\n  The snares of vice I view with scorn;\n  Thanks, that to-night as free from ill\n  I sleep, as when I woke at morn.\n\n    Yet may not my unconscious breast\n  Harbour some guilt to me unknown?\n  Some wish impure, which unreprest\n  You blush to see, and I to own?\n\n    If such there be, in gentle dream\n  Instruct my feet to shun the snare;\n  Bid truth upon my errors beam,\n  And deign to make me still your care.\n\n    Chase from my peaceful bed away\n  The witching Spell, a foe to rest,\n  The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay,\n  The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest:\n\n    Let not the Tempter in mine ear\n  Pour lessons of unhallowed joy;\n  Let not the Night-mare, wandering near\n  My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy;\n\n    Let not some horrid dream affright\n  With strange fantastic forms mine eyes;\n  But rather bid some vision bright\n  Display the bliss of yonder skies.\n\n    Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven,\n  The worlds of light where Angels lie;\n  Shew me the lot to Mortals given,\n  Who guiltless live, who guiltless die.\n\n    Then show me how a seat to gain\n  Amidst those blissful realms of\n  Air;  Teach me to shun each guilty stain,\n  And guide me to the good and fair.\n\n    So every morn and night, my Voice\n  To heaven the grateful strain shall raise;\n  In You as Guardian Powers rejoice,\n  Good Angels, and exalt your praise:\n\n    So will I strive with zealous fire\n  Each vice to shun, each fault correct;\n  Will love the lessons you inspire,\n  And Prize the virtues you protect.\n\n    Then when at length by high command\n  My body seeks the Grave's repose,\n  When Death draws nigh with friendly hand\n  My failing Pilgrim eyes to close;\n\n    Pleased that my soul has 'scaped the wreck,\n  Sighless will I my life resign,\n  And yield to God my Spirit back,\n  As pure as when it first was mine.\n\n\nHaving finished her usual devotions, Antonia retired to bed. Sleep soon\nstole over her senses; and for several hours She enjoyed that calm\nrepose which innocence alone can know, and for which many a Monarch\nwith pleasure would exchange his Crown.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n      ----Ah! how dark\n  These long-extended realms and rueful wastes;\n  Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,\n  Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun\n  Was rolled together, or had tried its beams\n  Athwart the gloom profound!\n  The sickly Taper\n  By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,\n  Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,\n  Lets fall a supernumerary horror,\n  And only serves to make\n  Thy night more irksome!\n                         Blair.\n\nReturned undiscovered to the Abbey, Ambrosio's mind was filled with the\nmost pleasing images.  He was wilfully blind to the danger of exposing\nhimself to Antonia's charms:  He only remembered the pleasure which her\nsociety had afforded him, and rejoiced in the prospect of that pleasure\nbeing repeated.  He failed not to profit by Elvira's indisposition to\nobtain a sight of her Daughter every day.  At first He bounded his\nwishes to inspire Antonia with friendship:  But no sooner was He\nconvinced that She felt that sentiment in its fullest extent, than his\naim became more decided, and his attentions assumed a warmer colour.\nThe innocent familiarity with which She treated him, encouraged his\ndesires:  Grown used to her modesty, it no longer commanded the same\nrespect and awe:  He still admired it, but it only made him more\nanxious to deprive her of that quality which formed her principal\ncharm.  Warmth of passion, and natural penetration, of which latter\nunfortunately both for himself and Antonia He possessed an ample share,\nsupplied a knowledge of the arts of seduction.  He easily distinguished\nthe emotions which were favourable to his designs, and seized every\nmeans with avidity of infusing corruption into Antonia's bosom.  This\nHe found no easy matter.  Extreme simplicity prevented her from\nperceiving the aim to which the Monk's insinuations tended; But the\nexcellent morals which She owed to Elvira's care, the solidity and\ncorrectness of her understanding, and a strong sense of what was right\nimplanted in her heart by Nature, made her feel that his precepts must\nbe faulty. By a few simple words She frequently overthrew the whole\nbulk of his sophistical arguments, and made him conscious how weak they\nwere when opposed to Virtue and Truth.  On such occasion He took refuge\nin his eloquence; He overpowered her with a torrent of Philosophical\nparadoxes, to which, not understanding them, it was impossible for her\nto reply; And thus though He did not convince her that his reasoning\nwas just, He at least prevented her from discovering it to be false.\nHe perceived that her respect for his judgment augmented daily, and\ndoubted not with time to bring her to the point desired.\n\nHe was not unconscious that his attempts were highly criminal: He saw\nclearly the baseness of seducing the innocent Girl:  But his passion\nwas too violent to permit his abandoning his design. He resolved to\npursue it, let the consequences be what they might.  He depended upon\nfinding Antonia in some unguarded moment; And seeing no other Man\nadmitted into her society, nor hearing any mentioned either by her or\nby Elvira, He imagined that her young heart was still unoccupied. While\nHe waited for the opportunity of satisfying his unwarrantable lust,\nevery day increased his coldness for Matilda.  Not a little was this\noccasioned by the consciousness of his faults to her.  To hide them\nfrom her He was not sufficiently master of himself:  Yet He dreaded\nlest, in a transport of jealous rage, She should betray the secret on\nwhich his character and even his life depended. Matilda could not but\nremark his indifference:  He was conscious that She remarked it, and\nfearing her reproaches, shunned her studiously.  Yet when He could not\navoid her, her mildness might have convinced him that He had nothing to\ndread from her resentment.  She had resumed the character of the gentle\ninteresting Rosario: She taxed him not with ingratitude; But her eyes\nfilled with involuntary tears, and the soft melancholy of her\ncountenance and voice uttered complaints far more touching than words\ncould have conveyed.  Ambrosio was not unmoved by her sorrow; But\nunable to remove its cause, He forbore to show that it affected him.\nAs her conduct convinced him that He needed not fear her vengeance, He\ncontinued to neglect her, and avoided her company with care.  Matilda\nsaw that She in vain attempted to regain his affections:  Yet She\nstifled the impulse of resentment, and continued to treat her\ninconstant Lover with her former fondness and attention.\n\nBy degrees Elvira's constitution recovered itself.  She was no longer\ntroubled with convulsions, and Antonia ceased to tremble for her\nMother.  Ambrosio beheld this reestablishment with displeasure.  He saw\nthat Elvira's knowledge of the world would not be the Dupe of his\nsanctified demeanour, and that She would easily perceive his views upon\nher Daughter.  He resolved therefore, before She quitted her chamber,\nto try the extent of his influence over the innocent Antonia.\n\nOne evening, when He had found Elvira almost perfectly restored to\nhealth, He quitted her earlier than was his usual custom.  Not finding\nAntonia in the Antichamber, He ventured to follow her to her own.  It\nwas only separated from her Mother's by a Closet, in which Flora, the\nWaiting-Woman, generally slept.  Antonia sat upon a Sopha with her back\ntowards the door, and read attentively.  She heard not his approach,\ntill He had seated himself by her.  She started, and welcomed him with\na look of pleasure:  Then rising, She would have conducted him to the\nsitting-room; But Ambrosio taking her hand, obliged her by gentle\nviolence to resume her place.  She complied without difficulty: She\nknew not that there was more impropriety in conversing with him in one\nroom than another.  She thought herself equally secure of his\nprinciples and her own, and having replaced herself upon the Sopha, She\nbegan to prattle to him with her usual ease and vivacity.\n\nHe examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now placed\nupon the Table.  It was the Bible.\n\n'How!' said the Friar to himself; 'Antonia reads the Bible, and is\nstill so ignorant?'\n\nBut, upon a further inspection, He found that Elvira had made exactly\nthe same remark.  That prudent Mother, while She admired the beauties\nof the sacred writings, was convinced that, unrestricted, no reading\nmore improper could be permitted a young Woman.  Many of the narratives\ncan only tend to excite ideas the worst calculated for a female breast:\nEvery thing is called plainly and roundly by its name; and the annals\nof a Brothel would scarcely furnish a greater choice of indecent\nexpressions. Yet this is the Book which young Women are recommended to\nstudy; which is put into the hands of Children, able to comprehend\nlittle more than those passages of which they had better remain\nignorant; and which but too frequently inculcates the first rudiments\nof vice, and gives the first alarm to the still sleeping passions.  Of\nthis was Elvira so fully convinced, that She would have preferred\nputting into her Daughter's hands 'Amadis de Gaul,' or 'The Valiant\nChampion, Tirante the White;' and would sooner have authorised her\nstudying the lewd exploits of 'Don Galaor,' or the lascivious jokes of\nthe 'Damsel Plazer di mi vida.'  She had in consequence made two\nresolutions respecting the Bible.  The first was that Antonia should\nnot read it till She was of an age to feel its beauties, and profit by\nits morality:  The second, that it should be copied out with her own\nhand, and all improper passages either altered or omitted.  She had\nadhered to this determination, and such was the Bible which Antonia was\nreading:  It had been lately delivered to her, and She perused it with\nan avidity, with a delight that was inexpressible.  Ambrosio perceived\nhis mistake, and replaced the Book upon the Table.\n\nAntonia spoke of her Mother's health with all the enthusiastic joy of a\nyouthful heart.\n\n'I admire your filial affection,' said the Abbot; 'It proves the\nexcellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a treasure to\nhim whom Heaven has destined to possess your affections.  The Breast,\nso capable of fondness for a Parent, what will it feel for a Lover?\nNay, perhaps, what feels it for one even now?  Tell me, my lovely\nDaughter; Have you known what it is to love?  Answer me with sincerity:\nForget my habit, and consider me only as a Friend.'\n\n'What it is to love?' said She, repeating his question; 'Oh! yes,\nundoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.'\n\n'That is not what I mean.  The love of which I speak can be felt only\nfor one.  Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be your\nHusband?'\n\n'Oh! No, indeed!'\n\nThis was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: She knew\nnot the nature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never having seen him\nsince his first visit to Elvira, with every day his Image grew less\nfeebly impressed upon her bosom.  Besides, She thought of an Husband\nwith all a Virgin's terror, and negatived the Friar's demand without a\nmoment's hesitation.\n\n'And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia?  Do you feel no void in\nyour heart which you fain would have filled up?  Do you heave no sighs\nfor the absence of some one dear to you, but who that some one is, you\nknow not?  Perceive you not that what formerly could please, has charms\nfor you no longer?  That a thousand new wishes, new ideas, new\nsensations, have sprang in your bosom, only to be felt, never to be\ndescribed?  Or while you fill every other heart with passion, is it\npossible that your own remains insensible and cold?  It cannot be!\nThat melting eye, that blushing cheek, that enchanting voluptuous\nmelancholy which at times overspreads your features, all these marks\nbelye your words.  You love, Antonia, and in vain would hide it from\nme.'\n\n'Father, you amaze me!  What is this love of which you speak?  I\nneither know its nature, nor if I felt it, why I should conceal the\nsentiment.'\n\n'Have you seen no Man, Antonia, whom though never seen before, you\nseemed long to have sought?  Whose form, though a Stranger's, was\nfamiliar to your eyes?  The sound of whose voice soothed you, pleased\nyou, penetrated to your very soul?  In whose presence you rejoiced, for\nwhose absence you lamented?  With whom your heart seemed to expand, and\nin whose bosom with confidence unbounded you reposed the cares of your\nown?  Have you not felt all this, Antonia?'\n\n'Certainly I have:  The first time that I saw you, I felt it.'\n\nAmbrosio started.  Scarcely dared He credit his hearing.\n\n'Me, Antonia?' He cried, his eyes sparkling with delight and\nimpatience, while He seized her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his\nlips.  'Me, Antonia?  You felt these sentiments for me?'\n\n'Even with more strength than you have described.  The very moment that\nI beheld you, I felt so pleased, so interested!  I waited so eagerly to\ncatch the sound of your voice, and when I heard it, it seemed so sweet!\nIt spoke to me a language till then so unknown!  Methought, it told me\na thousand things which I wished to hear!  It seemed as if I had long\nknown you; as if I had a right to your friendship, your advice, and\nyour protection.\n\nI wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should restore\nyou to my sight.'\n\n'Antonia!  my charming Antonia!' exclaimed the Monk, and caught her to\nhis bosom; 'Can I believe my senses?  Repeat it to me, my sweet Girl!\nTell me again that you love me, that you love me truly and tenderly!'\n\n'Indeed, I do:  Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no one\nmore dear to me!'\n\nAt this frank avowal Ambrosio no longer possessed himself; Wild with\ndesire, He clasped the blushing Trembler in his arms.  He fastened his\nlips greedily upon hers, sucked in her pure delicious breath, violated\nwith his bold hand the treasures of her bosom, and wound around him her\nsoft and yielding limbs. Startled, alarmed, and confused at his action,\nsurprize at first deprived her of the power of resistance.  At length\nrecovering herself, She strove to escape from his embrace.\n\n'Father!  ....  Ambrosio!' She cried; 'Release me, for God's sake!'\n\nBut the licentious Monk heeded not her prayers:  He persisted in his\ndesign, and proceeded to take still greater liberties. Antonia prayed,\nwept, and struggled:  Terrified to the extreme, though at what She knew\nnot, She exerted all her strength to repulse the Friar, and was on the\npoint of shrieking for assistance when the chamber door was suddenly\nthrown open. Ambrosio had just sufficient presence of mind to be\nsensible of his danger.  Reluctantly He quitted his prey, and started\nhastily from the Couch.  Antonia uttered an exclamation of joy, flew\ntowards the door, and found herself clasped in the arms of her Mother.\n\nAlarmed at some of the Abbot's speeches, which Antonia had innocently\nrepeated, Elvira resolved to ascertain the truth of her suspicions.\nShe had known enough of Mankind not to be imposed upon by the Monk's\nreputed virtue.  She reflected on several circumstances, which though\ntrifling, on being put together seemed to authorize her fears.  His\nfrequent visits, which as far as She could see, were confined to her\nfamily; His evident emotion, whenever She spoke of Antonia; His being\nin the full prime and heat of Manhood; and above all, his pernicious\nphilosophy communicated to her by Antonia, and which accorded but ill\nwith his conversation in her presence, all these circumstances inspired\nher with doubts respecting the purity of Ambrosio's friendship.  In\nconsequence, She resolved, when He should next be alone with Antonia,\nto endeavour at surprizing him.  Her plan had succeeded.  'Tis true,\nthat when She entered the room, He had already abandoned his prey; But\nthe disorder of her Daughter's dress, and the shame and confusion\nstamped upon the Friar's countenance, sufficed to prove that her\nsuspicions were but too well-founded.  However, She was too prudent to\nmake those suspicions known.  She judged that to unmask the Imposter\nwould be no easy matter, the public being so much prejudiced in his\nfavour: and having but few Friends, She thought it dangerous to make\nherself so powerful an Enemy.  She affected therefore not to remark his\nagitation, seated herself tranquilly upon the Sopha, assigned some\ntrifling reason for having quitted her room unexpectedly, and conversed\non various subjects with seeming confidence and ease.\n\nReassured by her behaviour, the Monk began to recover himself. He\nstrove to answer Elvira without appearing embarrassed:  But He was\nstill too great a novice in dissimulation, and He felt that He must\nlook confused and awkward.  He soon broke off the conversation, and\nrose to depart.  What was his vexation, when on taking leave, Elvira\ntold him in polite terms, that being now perfectly reestablished, She\nthought it an injustice to deprive Others of his company, who might be\nmore in need of it!  She assured him of her eternal gratitude, for the\nbenefit which during her illness She had derived from his society and\nexhortations:  And She lamented that her domestic affairs, as well as\nthe multitude of business which his situation must of necessity impose\nupon him, would in future deprive her of the pleasure of his visits.\nThough delivered in the mildest language this hint was too plain to be\nmistaken.  Still, He was preparing to put in a remonstrance when an\nexpressive look from Elvira stopped him short.  He dared not press her\nto receive him, for her manner convinced him that He was discovered:\nHe submitted without reply, took an hasty leave, and retired to the\nAbbey, his heart filled with rage and shame, with bitterness and\ndisappointment.\n\nAntonia's mind felt relieved by his departure; Yet She could not help\nlamenting that She was never to see him more.  Elvira also felt a\nsecret sorrow; She had received too much pleasure from thinking him her\nFriend, not to regret the necessity of changing her opinion:  But her\nmind was too much accustomed to the fallacy of worldly friendships to\npermit her present disappointment to weigh upon it long.  She now\nendeavoured to make her Daughter aware of the risque which She had ran:\nBut She was obliged to treat the subject with caution, lest in removing\nthe bandage of ignorance, the veil of innocence should be rent away.\nShe therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to be upon her\nguard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits, never\nto receive them but in company.  With this injunction Antonia promised\nto comply.\n\nAmbrosio hastened to his Cell.  He closed the door after him, and threw\nhimself upon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the stings of\ndisappointment, the shame of detection, and the fear of being publicly\nunmasked, rendered his bosom a scene of the most horrible confusion.\nHe knew not what course to pursue.  Debarred the presence of Antonia,\nHe had no hopes of satisfying that passion which was now become a part\nof his existence.  He reflected that his secret was in a Woman's power:\nHe trembled with apprehension when He beheld the precipice before him,\nand with rage, when He thought that had it not been for Elvira, He\nshould now have possessed the object of his desires.  With the direct\nimprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore that, cost what\nit would, He still would possess Antonia. Starting from the Bed, He\npaced the chamber with disordered steps, howled with impotent fury,\ndashed himself violently against the walls, and indulged all the\ntransports of rage and madness.\n\nHe was still under the influence of this storm of passions when He\nheard a gentle knock at the door of his Cell.  Conscious that his voice\nmust have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to the Importuner:\nHe strove to compose himself, and to hide his agitation.  Having in\nsome degree succeeded, He drew back the bolt:  The door opened, and\nMatilda appeared.\n\nAt this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He could\nbetter have dispensed.  He had not sufficient command over himself to\nconceal his vexation. He started back, and frowned.\n\n'I am busy,' said He in a stern and hasty tone; 'Leave me!'\n\nMatilda heeded him not:  She again fastened the door, and then advanced\ntowards him with an air gentle and supplicating.\n\n'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not obey\nyou.  Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you with your\ningratitude.  I pardon you from my heart, and since your love can no\nlonger be mine, I request the next best gift, your confidence and\nfriendship.  We cannot force our inclinations; The little beauty which\nyou once saw in me has perished with its novelty, and if it can no\nlonger excite desire, mine is the fault, not yours.  But why persist in\nshunning me? Why such anxiety to fly my presence?  You have sorrows,\nbut will not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, but\nwill not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding your\npursuits.  'Tis of this which I complain, not of your indifference to\nmy person.  I have given up the claims of the Mistress, but nothing\nshall prevail on me to give up those of the Friend.'\n\nHer mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio's feelings.\n\n'Generous Matilda!' He replied, taking her hand, 'How far do you rise\nsuperior to the foibles of your sex!  Yes, I accept your offer.  I have\nneed of an adviser, and a Confident:  In you I find every needful\nquality united.  But to aid my pursuits .... Ah! Matilda, it lies\nnot in your power!'\n\n'It lies in no one's power but mine.  Ambrosio, your secret is none to\nme; Your every step, your every action has been observed by my\nattentive eye.  You love.'\n\n'Matilda!'\n\n'Why conceal it from me?  Fear not the little jealousy which taints the\ngenerality of Women:  My soul disdains so despicable a passion.  You\nlove, Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your flame.  I know\nevery circumstance respecting your passion:  Every conversation has\nbeen repeated to me.  I have been informed of your attempt to enjoy\nAntonia's person, your disappointment, and dismission from Elvira's\nHouse.  You now despair of possessing your Mistress; But I come to\nrevive your hopes, and point out the road to success.'\n\n'To success?  Oh! impossible!'\n\n'To them who dare nothing is impossible.  Rely upon me, and you may yet\nbe happy.  The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for your comfort and\ntranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my History, with which you\nare still unacquainted.  Listen, and do not interrupt me:  Should my\nconfession disgust you, remember that in making it my sole aim is to\nsatisfy your wishes, and restore that peace to your heart which at\npresent has abandoned it.  I formerly mentioned that my Guardian was a\nMan of uncommon knowledge:  He took pains to instil that knowledge into\nmy infant mind.  Among the various sciences which curiosity had induced\nhim to explore, He neglected not that which by most is esteemed\nimpious, and by many chimerical.  I speak of those arts which relate to\nthe world of Spirits.  His deep researches into causes and effects, his\nunwearied application to the study of natural philosophy, his profound\nand unlimited knowledge of the properties and virtues of every gem\nwhich enriches the deep, of every herb which the earth produces, at\nlength procured him the distinction which He had sought so long, so\nearnestly.  His curiosity was fully slaked, his ambition amply\ngratified.  He gave laws to the elements; He could reverse the order of\nnature; His eye read the mandates of futurity, and the infernal Spirits\nwere submissive to his commands.  Why shrink you from me?  I understand\nthat enquiring look.  Your suspicions are right, though your terrors\nare unfounded.  My Guardian concealed not from me his most precious\nacquisition.  Yet had I never seen YOU, I should never have exerted my\npower.  Like you I shuddered at the thoughts of Magic:  Like you I had\nformed a terrible idea of the consequences of raising a daemon.  To\npreserve that life which your love had taught me to prize, I had\nrecourse to means which I trembled at employing.  You remember that\nnight which I past in St. Clare's Sepulchre?  Then was it that,\nsurrounded by mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic rites\nwhich summoned to my aid a fallen Angel.  Judge what must have been my\njoy at discovering that my terrors were imaginary:  I saw the Daemon\nobedient to my orders, I saw him trembling at my frown, and found that,\ninstead of selling my soul to a Master, my courage had purchased for\nmyself a Slave.'\n\n'Rash Matilda!  What have you done?  You have doomed yourself to\nendless perdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternal\nhappiness!  If on witchcraft depends the fruition of my desires, I\nrenounce your aid most absolutely.  The consequences are too horrible:\nI doat upon Antonia, but am not so blinded by lust as to sacrifice for\nher enjoyment my existence both in this world and the next.'\n\n'Ridiculous prejudices!  Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being subjected\nto their dominion.  Where is the risque of accepting my offers?  What\nshould induce my persuading you to this step, except the wish of\nrestoring you to happiness and quiet.  If there is danger, it must fall\nupon me:  It is I who invoke the ministry of the Spirits; Mine\ntherefore will be the crime, and yours the profit.  But danger there is\nnone:  The Enemy of Mankind is my Slave, not my Sovereign.  Is there no\ndifference between giving and receiving laws, between serving and\ncommanding?  Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from you\nthese terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them for common\nMen, and dare to be happy!  Accompany me this night to St. Clare's\nSepulchre, witness my incantations, and Antonia is your own.'\n\n'To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will.  Cease then to\npersuade me, for I dare not employ Hell's agency.\n\n'You DARE not?  How have you deceived me!  That mind which I esteemed\nso great and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and grovelling, a\nslave to vulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman's.'\n\n'What?  Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose myself\nto the Seducer's arts?  Shall I renounce for ever my title to\nsalvation?  Shall my eyes seek a sight which I know will blast them?\nNo, no, Matilda; I will not ally myself with God's Enemy.'\n\n'Are you then God's Friend at present?  Have you not broken your\nengagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned yourself to\nthe impulse of your passions?  Are you not planning the destruction of\ninnocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He formed in the mould of\nAngels?  If not of Daemons, whose aid would you invoke to forward this\nlaudable design?  Will the Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to\nyour arms, and sanction with their ministry your illicit pleasures?\nAbsurd!  But I am not deceived, Ambrosio!  It is not virtue which makes\nyou reject my offer:  You WOULD accept it, but you dare not.  'Tis not\nthe crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respect\nfor God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance! Fain\nwould you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess yourself his\nFoe.  Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the courage either to\nbe a firm Friend or open Enemy!'\n\n'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: In this\nrespect I glory to confess myself a Coward.  Though my passions have\nmade me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my heart an innate love\nof virtue.  But it ill becomes you to tax me with my perjury:  You, who\nfirst seduced me to violate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleeping\nvices, made me feel the weight of Religion's chains, and bad me be\nconvinced that guilt had pleasures.  Yet though my principles have\nyielded to the force of temperament, I still have sufficient grace to\nshudder at Sorcery, and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!'\n\n'Unpardonable, say you?  Where then is your constant boast of the\nAlmighty's infinite mercy?  Has He of late set bounds to it? Receives\nHe no longer a Sinner with joy?  You injure him, Ambrosio; You will\nalways have time to repent, and He have goodness to forgive.  Afford\nhim a glorious opportunity to exert that goodness:  The greater your\ncrime, the greater his merit in pardoning.  Away then with these\nchildish scruples:  Be persuaded to your good, and follow me to the\nSepulchre.'\n\n'Oh! cease, Matilda!  That scoffing tone, that bold and impious\nlanguage, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's. Let us\ndrop a conversation which excites no other sentiments than horror and\ndisgust.  I will not follow you to the Sepulchre, or accept the\nservices of your infernal Agents.  Antonia shall be mine, but mine by\nhuman means.'\n\n'Then yours She will never be!  You are banished her presence; Her\nMother has opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now upon her\nguard against them.  Nay more, She loves another.  A Youth of\ndistinguished merit possesses her heart, and unless you interfere, a\nfew days will make her his Bride.  This intelligence was brought me by\nmy invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse on first perceiving your\nindifference.  They watched your every action, related to me all that\npast at Elvira's, and inspired me with the idea of favouring your\ndesigns.  Their reports have been my only comfort.  Though you shunned\nmy presence, all your proceedings were known to me:  Nay, I was\nconstantly with you in some degree, thanks to this precious gift!'\n\nWith these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of polished\nsteel, the borders of which were marked with various strange and\nunknown characters.\n\n'Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness, I was\nsustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman.  On pronouncing\ncertain words, the Person appears in it on whom the Observer's thoughts\nare bent: thus though _I_ was exiled from YOUR sight, you, Ambrosio,\nwere ever present to mine.'\n\nThe Friar's curiosity was excited strongly.\n\n'What you relate is incredible!  Matilda, are you not amusing yourself\nwith my credulity?'\n\n'Be your own eyes the Judge.'\n\nShe put the Mirror into his hand.  Curiosity induced him to take it,\nand Love, to wish that Antonia might appear.  Matilda pronounced the\nmagic words.  Immediately, a thick smoke rose from the characters\ntraced upon the borders, and spread itself over the surface.  It\ndispersed again gradually; A confused mixture of colours and images\npresented themselves to the Friar's eyes, which at length arranging\nthemselves in their proper places, He beheld in miniature Antonia's\nlovely form.\n\nThe scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment.  She was\nundressing to bathe herself.  The long tresses of her hair were already\nbound up.  The amorous Monk had full opportunity to observe the\nvoluptuous contours and admirable symmetry of her person.  She threw\noff her last garment, and advancing to the Bath prepared for her, She\nput her foot into the water.  It struck cold, and She drew it back\nagain.  Though unconscious of being observed, an inbred sense of\nmodesty induced her to veil her charms; and She stood hesitating upon\nthe brink, in the attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment a\ntame Linnet flew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, and\nnibbled them in wanton play.  The smiling Antonia strove in vain to\nshake off the Bird, and at length raised her hands to drive it from its\ndelightful harbour.  Ambrosio could bear no more:  His desires were\nworked up to phrenzy.\n\n'I yield!' He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground: 'Matilda, I\nfollow you!  Do with me what you will!'\n\nShe waited not to hear his consent repeated.  It was already midnight.\nShe flew to her Cell, and soon returned with her little basket and the\nKey of the Cemetery, which had remained in her possession since her\nfirst visit to the Vaults.  She gave the Monk no time for reflection.\n\n'Come!' She said, and took his hand; 'Follow me, and witness the\neffects of your resolve!'\n\nThis said, She drew him hastily along.  They passed into the\nBurying-ground unobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and found\nthemselves at the head of the subterraneous Staircase.  As yet the\nbeams of the full Moon had guided their steps, but that resource now\nfailed them.  Matilda had neglected to provide herself with a Lamp.\nStill holding Ambrosio's hand She descended the marble steps; But the\nprofound obscurity with which they were overspread obliged them to walk\nslow and cautiously.\n\n'You tremble!' said Matilda to her Companion; 'Fear not; The destined\nspot is near.'\n\nThey reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to proceed,\nfeeling their way along the Walls.  On turning a corner suddenly, they\ndescried faint gleams of light which seemed burning at a distance.\nThither they bent their steps:  The rays proceeded from a small\nsepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly before the Statue of St.\nClare.  It tinged with dim and cheerless beams the massy Columns which\nsupported the Roof, but was too feeble to dissipate the thick gloom in\nwhich the Vaults above were buried.\n\nMatilda took the Lamp.\n\n'Wait for me!' said She to the Friar; 'In a few moments I am here\nagain.'\n\nWith these words She hastened into one of the passages which branched\nin various directions from this spot, and formed a sort of Labyrinth.\nAmbrosio was now left alone: Darkness the most profound surrounded him,\nand encouraged the doubts which began to revive in his bosom.  He had\nbeen hurried away by the delirium of the moment:  The shame of\nbetraying his terrors, while in Matilda's presence, had induced him to\nrepress them; But now that he was abandoned to himself, they resumed\ntheir former ascendancy.  He trembled at the scene which He was soon to\nwitness.  He knew not how far the delusions of Magic might operate upon\nhis mind, and possibly might force him to some deed whose commission\nwould make the breach between himself and Heaven irreparable.  In this\nfearful dilemma, He would have implored God's assistance, but was\nconscious that He had forfeited all claim to such protection.  Gladly\nwould He have returned to the Abbey; But as He had past through\ninnumerable Caverns and winding passages, the attempt of regaining the\nStairs was hopeless.  His fate was determined:  No possibility of\nescape presented itself: He therefore combated his apprehensions, and\ncalled every argument to his succour, which might enable him to support\nthe trying scene with fortitude. He reflected that Antonia would be the\nreward of his daring:  He inflamed his imagination by enumerating her\ncharms.  He persuaded himself that (as Matilda had observed), He always\nshould have time sufficient for repentance, and that as He employed HER\nassistance, not that of the Daemons, the crime of Sorcery could not be\nlaid to his charge.  He had read much respecting witchcraft: He\nunderstood that unless a formal Act was signed renouncing his claim to\nsalvation, Satan would have no power over him.  He was fully determined\nnot to execute any such act, whatever threats might be used, or\nadvantages held out to him.\n\nSuch were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They were\ninterrupted by a low murmur which seemed at no great distance from him.\nHe was startled.  He listened.  Some minutes past in silence, after\nwhich the murmur was repeated.  It appeared to be the groaning of one\nin pain.  In any other situation, this circumstance would only have\nexcited his attention and curiosity:\n\nIn the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. His\nimagination totally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and Spirits, He\nfancied that some unquiet Ghost was wandering near him; or else that\nMatilda had fallen a Victim to her presumption, and was perishing under\nthe cruel fangs of the Daemons.  The noise seemed not to approach, but\ncontinued to be heard at intervals.  Sometimes it became more audible,\ndoubtless as the sufferings of the person who uttered the groans became\nmore acute and insupportable.  Ambrosio now and then thought that He\ncould distinguish accents; and once in particular He was almost\nconvinced that He heard a faint voice exclaim,\n\n'God!  Oh!  God!  No hope!  No succour!'\n\nYet deeper groans followed these words.  They died away gradually, and\nuniversal silence again prevailed.\n\n'What can this mean?' thought the bewildered Monk.\n\nAt that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost petrified\nhim with horror.  He started, and shuddered at himself.\n\n'Should it be possible!' He groaned involuntarily; 'Should it but be\npossible, Oh! what a Monster am I!'\n\nHe wished to resolve his doubts, and to repair his fault, if it were\nnot too late already:  But these generous and compassionate sentiments\nwere soon put to flight by the return of Matilda.  He forgot the\ngroaning Sufferer, and remembered nothing but the danger and\nembarrassment of his own situation.  The light of the returning Lamp\ngilded the walls, and in a few moments after Matilda stood beside him.\nShe had quitted her religious habit: She was now cloathed in a long\nsable Robe, on which was traced in gold embroidery a variety of unknown\ncharacters:  It was fastened by a girdle of precious stones, in which\nwas fixed a poignard. Her neck and arms were uncovered.  In her hand\nShe bore a golden wand.  Her hair was loose and flowed wildly upon her\nshoulders; Her eyes sparkled with terrific expression; and her whole\nDemeanour was calculated to inspire the beholder with awe and\nadmiration.\n\n'Follow me!' She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice; 'All is\nready!'\n\nHis limbs trembled, while He obeyed her.  She led him through various\nnarrow passages; and on every side as they past along, the beams of the\nLamp displayed none but the most revolting objects; Skulls, Bones,\nGraves, and Images whose eyes seemed to glare on them with horror and\nsurprize.  At length they reached a spacious Cavern, whose lofty roof\nthe eye sought in vain to discover.  A profound obscurity hovered\nthrough the void.  Damp vapours struck cold to the Friar's heart; and\nHe listened sadly to the blast while it howled along the lonely Vaults.\nHere Matilda stopped.  She turned to Ambrosio.  His cheeks and lips\nwere pale with apprehension.  By a glance of mingled scorn and anger\nShe reproved his pusillanimity, but She spoke not.  She placed the Lamp\nupon the ground, near the Basket.  She motioned that Ambrosio should be\nsilent, and began the mysterious rites. She drew a circle round him,\nanother round herself, and then taking a small Phial from the Basket,\npoured a few drops upon the ground before her.  She bent over the\nplace, muttered some indistinct sentences, and immediately a pale\nsulphurous flame arose from the ground.  It increased by degrees, and\nat length spread its waves over the whole surface, the circles alone\nexcepted in which stood Matilda and the Monk.  It then ascended the\nhuge Columns of unhewn stone, glided along the roof, and formed the\nCavern into an immense chamber totally covered with blue trembling\nfire.  It emitted no heat:  On the contrary, the extreme chillness of\nthe place seemed to augment with every moment.  Matilda continued her\nincantations:  At intervals She took various articles from the Basket,\nthe nature and name of most of which were unknown to the Friar:  But\namong the few which He distinguished, He particularly observed three\nhuman fingers, and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces.  She threw\nthem all into the flames which burned before her, and they were\ninstantly consumed.\n\nThe Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity.  Suddenly She uttered a\nloud and piercing shriek.  She appeared to be seized with an access of\ndelirium; She tore her hair, beat her bosom, used the most frantic\ngestures, and drawing the poignard from her girdle plunged it into her\nleft arm.  The blood gushed out plentifully, and as She stood on the\nbrink of the circle, She took care that it should fall on the outside.\nThe flames retired from the spot on which the blood was pouring.  A\nvolume of dark clouds rose slowly from the ensanguined earth, and\nascended gradually, till it reached the vault of the Cavern.  At the\nsame time a clap of thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully along\nthe subterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet of\nthe Enchantress.\n\nIt was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness.  The solemn\nsingularity of the charm had prepared him for something strange and\nhorrible.  He waited with fear for the Spirit's appearance, whose\ncoming was announced by thunder and earthquakes.  He looked wildly\nround him, expecting that some dreadful Apparition would meet his eyes,\nthe sight of which would drive him mad.  A cold shivering seized his\nbody, and He sank upon one knee, unable to support himself.\n\n'He comes!' exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent.\n\nAmbrosio started, and expected the Daemon with terror.  What was his\nsurprize, when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious\nMusic sounded in the air.  At the same time the cloud dispersed, and He\nbeheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy's pencil ever drew.  It was a\nYouth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and face\nwas unrivalled.  He was perfectly naked:  A bright Star sparkled upon\nhis forehead; Two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders;\nand his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires,\nwhich played round his head, formed themselves into a variety of\nfigures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of precious\nStones.  Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his arms and ankles,\nand in his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle.  His\nform shone with dazzling glory:  He was surrounded by clouds of\nrose-coloured light, and at the moment that He appeared, a refreshing\nair breathed perfumes through the Cavern.  Enchanted at a vision so\ncontrary to his expectations, Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit with\ndelight and wonder:  Yet however beautiful the Figure, He could not but\nremark a wildness in the Daemon's eyes, and a mysterious melancholy\nimpressed upon his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiring\nthe Spectators with secret awe.\n\nThe Music ceased.  Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit:  She spoke\nin a language unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered in the same.\nShe seemed to insist upon something which the Daemon was unwilling to\ngrant.  He frequently darted upon Ambrosio angry glances, and at such\ntimes the Friar's heart sank within him.  Matilda appeared to grow\nincensed.  She spoke in a loud and commanding tone, and her gestures\ndeclared that She was threatening him with her vengeance.  Her menaces\nhad the desired effect:  The Spirit sank upon his knee, and with a\nsubmissive air presented to her the branch of Myrtle.  No sooner had\nShe received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloud spread\nitself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and total\nobscurity reigned through the Cave.  The Abbot moved not from his\nplace:  His faculties were all bound up in pleasure, anxiety, and\nsurprize.  At length the darkness dispersing, He perceived Matilda\nstanding near him in her religious habit, with the Myrtle in her hand.\nNo traces of the incantation, and the Vaults were only illuminated by\nthe faint rays of the sepulchral Lamp.\n\n'I have succeeded,' said Matilda, 'though with more difficulty than I\nexpected.  Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was at first\nunwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance I was\nconstrained to have recourse to my strongest charms.  They have\nproduced the desired effect, but I have engaged never more to invoke\nhis agency in your favour.  Beware then, how you employ an opportunity\nwhich never will return.  My magic arts will now be of no use to you:\nIn future you can only hope for supernatural aid by invoking the\nDaemons yourself, and accepting the conditions of their service.  This\nyou will never do:  You want strength of mind to force them to\nobedience, and unless you pay their established price, they will not be\nyour voluntary Servants.  In this one instance they consent to obey\nyou: I offer you the means of enjoying your Mistress, and be careful\nnot to lose the opportunity.  Receive this constellated Myrtle:  While\nyou bear this in your hand, every door will fly open to you.  It will\nprocure you access tomorrow night to Antonia's chamber: Then breathe\nupon it thrice, pronounce her name, and place it upon her pillow.  A\ndeath-like slumber will immediately seize upon her, and deprive her of\nthe power of resisting your attempts.  Sleep will hold her till break\nof Morning.  In this state you may satisfy your desires without danger\nof being discovered; since when daylight shall dispel the effects of\nthe enchantment, Antonia will perceive her dishonour, but be ignorant\nof the Ravisher.  Be happy then, my Ambrosio, and let this service\nconvince you that my friendship is disinterested and pure.  The night\nmust be near expiring:  Let us return to the Abbey, lest our absence\nshould create surprize.'\n\nThe Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude.  His ideas were\ntoo much bewildered by the adventures of the night to permit his\nexpressing his thanks audibly, or indeed as yet to feel the whole value\nof her present.  Matilda took up her Lamp and Basket, and guided her\nCompanion from the mysterious Cavern. She restored the Lamp to its\nformer place, and continued her route in darkness, till She reached the\nfoot of the Staircase. The first beams of the rising Sun darting down\nit facilitated the ascent.  Matilda and the Abbot hastened out of the\nSepulchre, closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey's\nwestern Cloister.  No one met them, and they retired unobserved to\ntheir respective Cells.\n\nThe confusion of Ambrosio's mind now began to appease.  He rejoiced in\nthe fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtues\nof the Myrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in his power.\nImagination retraced to him those secret charms betrayed to him by the\nEnchanted Mirror, and He waited with impatience for the approach of\nmidnight.\n\n\n\n\nVOLUME III\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n  The crickets sing, and Man's o'er-laboured sense\n  Repairs itself by rest:  Our Tarquin thus\n  Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened\n  The chastity He wounded--Cytherea,\n  How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! Fresh Lily!\n  And whiter than the sheets!\n                      Cymbeline.\n\nAll the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: Agnes\nwas lost to him for ever.  Despair produced so violent an effect upon\nhis constitution, that the consequence was a long and severe illness.\nThis prevented him from visiting Elvira as He had intended; and She\nbeing ignorant of the cause of his neglect, it gave her no trifling\nuneasiness.  His Sister's death had prevented Lorenzo from\ncommunicating to his Uncle his designs respecting Antonia:  The\ninjunctions of her Mother forbad his presenting himself to her without\nthe Duke's consent; and as She heard no more of him or his proposals,\nElvira conjectured that He had either met with a better match, or had\nbeen commanded to give up all thoughts of her Daughter.  Every day made\nher more uneasy respecting Antonia's fate:  While She retained the\nAbbot's protection, She bore with fortitude the disappointment of her\nhopes with regard to Lorenzo and the Marquis.  That resource now failed\nher.  She was convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her Daughter's\nruin:  And when She reflected that her death would leave Antonia\nfriendless and unprotected in a world so base, so perfidious and\ndepraved, her heart swelled with the bitterness of apprehension.  At\nsuch times She would sit for hours gazing upon the lovely Girl; and\nseeming to listen to her innocent prattle, while in reality her\nthoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into which a moment would suffice to\nplunge her.  Then She would clasp her in her arms suddenly, lean her\nhead upon her Daughter's bosom, and bedew it with her tears.\n\nAn event was in preparation which, had She known it, would have\nrelieved her from her inquietude.  Lorenzo now waited only for a\nfavourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended marriage:\nHowever, a circumstance which occurred at this period, obliged him to\ndelay his explanation for a few days longer.\n\nDon Raymond's malady seemed to gain ground.  Lorenzo was constantly at\nhis bedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal.  Both\nthe cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the\nBrother of Agnes: yet Theodore's grief was scarcely less sincere.  That\namiable Boy quitted not his Master for a moment, and put every means in\npractice to console and alleviate his sufferings.  The Marquis had\nconceived so rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it was\nevident to all that He never could survive her loss:  Nothing could\nhave prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion of\nher being still alive, and in need of his assistance.  Though convinced\nof its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief which\nformed his only comfort.  He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions\nwere making respecting the fate of Agnes:  Stories were invented\nrecounting the various attempts made to get admittance into the\nConvent; and circumstances were related which, though they did not\npromise her absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his\nhopes alive.  The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess\nof passion when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts.\nStill He would not credit that the succeeding ones would have the same\nfate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.\n\nTheodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master's\nChimoeras.  He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering\nthe Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligence\nof Agnes.  To execute these schemes was the only inducement which could\nprevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing\nhis shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very little\npurpose: He regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without\nany intelligence to confirm his Master's hopes.  One day He took it\ninto his head to disguise himself as a Beggar.  He put a patch over his\nleft eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate of\nthe Convent.\n\n'If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,' thought He, 'and hears my\nvoice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let me\nknow that She is here.'\n\nWith this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled daily\nat the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns were\naccustomed to distribute at twelve o'clock.  All were provided with\njugs or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had no utensil of this\nkind, He begged leave to eat his portion at the Convent door.  This was\ngranted without difficulty:  His sweet voice, and in spite of his\npatched eye, his engaging countenance, won the heart of the good old\nPorteress, who, aided by a Lay-Sister, was busied in serving to each\nhis Mess. Theodore was bad to stay till the Others should depart, and\npromised that his request should then be granted.  The Youth desired no\nbetter, since it was not to eat Soup that He presented himself at the\nConvent.  He thanked the Porteress for her permission, retired from the\nDoor, and seating himself upon a large stone, amused himself in tuning\nhis Guitar while the Beggars were served.\n\nAs soon as the Crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the Gate, and\ndesired to come in.  He obeyed with infinite readiness, but affected\ngreat respect at passing the hallowed Threshold, and to be much daunted\nby the presence of the Reverend Ladies.  His feigned timidity flattered\nthe vanity of the Nuns, who endeavoured to reassure him.  The Porteress\ntook him into her awn little Parlour:  In the meanwhile, the Lay-Sister\nwent to the Kitchen, and soon returned with a double portion of Soup,\nof better quality than what was given to the Beggars.  His Hostess\nadded some fruits and confections from her own private store, and Both\nencouraged the Youth to dine heartily.  To all these attentions He\nreplied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance of blessings upon\nhis benefactresses.  While He ate, the Nuns admired the delicacy of his\nfeatures, the beauty of his hair, and the sweetness and grace which\naccompanied all his actions.  They lamented to each other in whispers,\nthat so charming a Youth should be exposed to the seductions of the\nWorld, and agreed, that He would be a worthy Pillar of the Catholic\nChurch.  They concluded their conference by resolving that Heaven would\nbe rendered a real service if they entreated the Prioress to intercede\nwith Ambrosio for the Beggar's admission into the order of Capuchins.\n\nThis being determined, the Porteress, who was a person of great\ninfluence in the Convent, posted away in all haste to the Domina's\nCell.  Here She made so flaming a narrative of Theodore's merits that\nthe old Lady grew curious to see him. Accordingly, the Porteress was\ncommissioned to convey him to the Parlour grate.  In the interim, the\nsupposed Beggar was sifting the Lay-Sister with respect to the fate of\nAgnes:  Her evidence only corroborated the Domina's assertions.  She\nsaid that Agnes had been taken ill on returning from confession, had\nnever quitted her bed from that moment, and that She had herself been\npresent at the Funeral.  She even attested having seen her dead body,\nand assisted with her own hands in adjusting it upon the Bier.  This\naccount discouraged Theodore:  Yet as He had pushed the adventure so\nfar, He resolved to witness its conclusion.\n\nThe Porteress now returned, and ordered him to follow her.  He obeyed,\nand was conducted into the Parlour, where the Lady Prioress was already\nposted at the Grate.  The Nuns surrounded her, who all flocked with\neagerness to a scene which promised some diversion.  Theodore saluted\nthem with profound respect, and his presence had the power to smooth\nfor a moment even the stern brow of the Superior.  She asked several\nquestions respecting his Parents, his religion, and what had reduced\nhim to a state of Beggary.  To these demands his answers were perfectly\nsatisfactory and perfectly false. He was then asked his opinion of a\nmonastic life:  He replied in terms of high estimation and respect for\nit.  Upon this, the Prioress told him that his obtaining an entrance\ninto a religious order was not impossible; that her recommendation\nwould not permit his poverty to be an obstacle, and that if She found\nhim deserving it, He might depend in future upon her protection.\nTheodore assured her that to merit her favour would be his highest\nambition; and having ordered him to return next day, when She would\ntalk with him further, the Domina quitted the Parlour.\n\nThe Nuns, whom respect for the Superior had till then kept silent, now\ncrowded all together to the Grate, and assailed the Youth with a\nmultitude of questions.  He had already examined each with attention:\nAlas! Agnes was not amongst them.  The Nuns heaped question upon\nquestion so thickly that it was scarcely possible for him to reply.\nOne asked where He was born, since his accent declared him to be a\nForeigner:  Another wanted to know, why He wore a patch upon his left\neye:  Sister Helena enquired whether He had not a Sister like him,\nbecause She should like such a Companion; and Sister Rachael was fully\npersuaded that the Brother would be the pleasanter Companion of the\nTwo. Theodore amused himself with retailing to the credulous Nuns for\ntruths all the strange stories which his imagination could invent.  He\nrelated to them his supposed adventures, and penetrated every Auditor\nwith astonishment, while He talked of Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, and\nIslands inhabited\n\n      'By Anthropophagi, and Men whose heads\n      Do grow beneath their shoulders,'\n\nWith many other circumstances to the full as remarkable. He said, that\nHe was born in Terra Incognita, was educated at an Hottentot\nUniversity, and had past two years among the Americans of Silesia.\n\n'For what regards the loss of my eye' said He, 'it was a just\npunishment upon me for disrespect to the Virgin, when I made my second\npilgrimage to Loretto.  I stood near the Altar in the miraculous\nChapel:  The Monks were proceeding to array the Statue in her best\napparel.  The Pilgrims were ordered to close their eyes during this\nceremony:  But though by nature extremely religious, curiosity was too\npowerful.  At the moment ..... I shall penetrate you with horror,\nreverend Ladies, when I reveal my crime! ....  At the moment that\nthe Monks were changing her shift, I ventured to open my left eye, and\ngave a little peep towards the Statue.  That look was my last!  The\nGlory which surrounded the Virgin was too great to be supported.  I\nhastily shut my sacrilegious eye, and never have been able to unclose\nit since!'\n\nAt the relation of this miracle the Nuns all crossed themselves, and\npromised to intercede with the blessed Virgin for the recovery of his\nsight.  They expressed their wonder at the extent of his travels, and\nat the strange adventures which He had met with at so early an age.\nThey now remarked his Guitar, and enquired whether he was an adept in\nMusic.  He replied with modesty that it was not for him to decide upon\nhis talents, but requested permission to appeal to them as Judges.\nThis was granted without difficulty.\n\n'But at least,' said the old Porteress, 'take care not to sing any\nthing profane.'\n\n'You may depend upon my discretion,' replied Theodore: 'You shall hear\nhow dangerous it is for young Women to abandon themselves to their\npassions, illustrated by the adventure of a Damsel who fell suddenly in\nlove with an unknown Knight.'\n\n'But is the adventure true?' enquired the Porteress.\n\n'Every word of it.  It happened in Denmark, and the Heroine was thought\nso beautiful that She was known by no other name but that of \"the\nlovely Maid\".'\n\n'In Denmark, say you?' mumbled an old Nun; 'Are not the People all\nBlacks in Denmark?'\n\n'By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green with\nflame-coloured hair and whiskers.'\n\n'Mother of God!  Pea-green?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'Oh! 'tis\nimpossible!'\n\n'Impossible?' said the Porteress with a look of contempt and\nexultation:  'Not at all:  When I was a young Woman, I remember seeing\nseveral of them myself.'\n\nTheodore now put his instrument in proper order.  He had read the story\nof a King of England whose prison was discovered by a Minstrel; and He\nhoped that the same scheme would enable him to discover Agnes, should\nShe be in the Convent.  He chose a Ballad which She had taught him\nherself in the Castle of Lindenberg: She might possibly catch the\nsound, and He hoped to hear her replying to some of the Stanzas.  His\nGuitar was now in tune, and He prepared to strike it.\n\n'But before I begin,' said He 'it is necessary to inform you, Ladies,\nthat this same Denmark is terribly infested by Sorcerers, Witches, and\nEvil Spirits.  Every element possesses its appropriate Daemons.  The\nWoods are haunted by a malignant power, called \"the Erl- or\nOak-King:\"  He it is who blights the Trees, spoils the Harvest, and\ncommands the Imps and Goblins:  He appears in the form of an old Man of\nmajestic figure, with a golden Crown and long white beard:  His\nprincipal amusement is to entice young Children from their Parents, and\nas soon as He gets them into his Cave, He tears them into a thousand\npieces--The Rivers are governed by another Fiend, called \"the\nWater-King:\" His province is to agitate the deep, occasion\nship-wrecks, and drag the drowning Sailors beneath the waves:  He wears\nthe appearance of a Warrior, and employs himself in luring young\nVirgins into his snare:  What He does with them, when He catches them\nin the water, Reverend Ladies, I leave for you to imagine--\"The\nFire-King\" seems to be a Man all formed of flames:  He raises the\nMeteors and wandering lights which beguile Travellers into ponds and\nmarshes, and He directs the lightning where it may do most\nmischief--The last of these elementary Daemons is called \"the\nCloud-King;\" His figure is that of a beautiful Youth, and He is\ndistinguished by two large sable Wings:  Though his outside is so\nenchanting, He is not a bit better disposed than the Others:  He is\ncontinually employed in raising Storms, tearing up Forests by the\nroots, and blowing Castles and Convents about the ears of their\nInhabitants.  The First has a Daughter, who is Queen of the Elves and\nFairies; The Second has a Mother, who is a powerful Enchantress:\nNeither of these Ladies are worth more than the Gentlemen:  I do not\nremember to have heard any family assigned to the two other Daemons,\nbut at present I have no business with any of them except the Fiend of\nthe Waters.  He is the Hero of my Ballad; but I thought it necessary\nbefore I began, to give you some account of his proceedings--'\n\nTheodore then played a short symphony; After which, stretching his\nvoice to its utmost extent to facilitate its reaching the ear of Agnes,\nHe sang the following Stanzas.\n\n  THE WATER-KING\n\n  A DANISH BALLAD\n\n  With gentle murmur flowed the Tide,\n  While by the fragrant flowery side\n  The lovely Maid with carols gay\n  To Mary's Church pursued her way.\n\n  The Water-Fiend's malignant eye\n  Along the Banks beheld her hie;\n  Straight to his Mother-witch He sped,\n  And thus in suppliant accents said:\n\n  'Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise,\n  How I may yonder Maid surprize:\n  Oh!  Mother!  Mother!  Now explain,\n  How I may yonder Maid obtain.'\n\n  The Witch She gave him armour white;\n  She formed him like a gallant Knight;\n  Of water clear next made her hand\n  A Steed, whose housings were of sand.\n\n  The Water-King then swift He went;\n  To Mary's Church his steps He bent:\n  He bound his Courser to the Door,\n  And paced the Church-yard three times four.\n\n  His Courser to the door bound He,\n  And paced the Church-yard four time three:\n  Then hastened up the Aisle, where all\n  The People flocked, both great and small.\n\n  The Priest said, as the Knight drew near,\n  'And wherefore comes the white Chief here?'\n  The lovely Maid She smiled aside;\n  'Oh! would I were the white Chief's Bride!'\n\n  He stept o'er Benches one and two;\n  'Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!'\n  He stept o'er Benches two and three;\n  'Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!'\n\n  Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid,\n  And while She gave her hand, She said,\n  'Betide me joy, betide me woe,\n  O'er Hill, o'er dale, with thee I go.'\n\n  The Priest their hands together joins:\n  They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines;\n  And little thinks the Maiden bright,\n  Her Partner is the Water-spright.\n\n  Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing,\n  'Your Partner is the Water-King!'\n  The Maid had fear and hate confest,\n  And cursed the hand which then She prest.\n\n  But nothing giving cause to think,\n  How near She strayed to danger's brink,\n  Still on She went, and hand in hand\n  The Lovers reached the yellow sand.\n\n  'Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear;\n  We needs must cross the streamlet here;\n  Ride boldly in; It is not deep;\n  The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.'\n\n  Thus spoke the Water-King.  The Maid\n  Her Traitor-Bride-groom's wish obeyed:\n  And soon She saw the Courser lave\n  Delighted in his parent wave.\n\n  'Stop!  Stop! my Love!  The waters blue\n  E'en now my shrinking foot bedew!'\n  'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!\n  We now have reached the deepest part.'\n\n  'Stop! Stop! my Love!  For now I see\n  The waters rise above my knee.'\n  'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!\n  We now have reached the deepest part.'\n\n  'Stop! Stop! for God's sake, stop! For Oh!\n  The waters o'er my bosom flow!'--\n  Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight\n  And Courser vanished from her sight.\n\n  She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high\n  The wild winds rising dull the cry;\n  The Fiend exults; The Billows dash,\n  And o'er their hapless Victim wash.\n\n  Three times while struggling with the stream,\n  The lovely Maid was heard to scream;\n  But when the Tempest's rage was o'er,\n  The lovely Maid was seen no more.\n\n  Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair,\n  To whom you give your love beware!\n  Believe not every handsome Knight,\n  And dance not with the Water-Spright!\n\n\nThe Youth ceased to sing.  The Nuns were delighted with the sweetness\nof his voice and masterly manner of touching the Instrument:  But\nhowever acceptable this applause would have been at any other time, at\npresent it was insipid to Theodore.  His artifice had not succeeded. He\npaused in vain between the Stanzas:  No voice replied to his, and He\nabandoned the hope of equalling Blondel.\n\nThe Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to assemble in\nthe Refectory.  They were obliged to quit the Grate; They thanked the\nYouth for the entertainment which his Music had afforded them, and\ncharged him to return the next day.  This He promised: The Nuns, to\ngive him the greater inclination to keep his word, told him that He\nmight always depend upon the Convent for his meals, and each of them\nmade him some little present. One gave him a box of sweetmeats;\nAnother, an Agnus Dei; Some brought reliques of Saints, waxen Images,\nand consecrated Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of those\nworks in which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificial\nflowers, lace, and needlework.  All these He was advised to sell, in\norder to put himself into better case; and He was assured that it would\nbe easy to dispose of them, since the Spaniards hold the performances\nof the Nuns in high estimation. Having received these gifts with\nseeming respect and gratitude, He remarked that, having no Basket, He\nknew not how to convey them away.  Several of the Nuns were hastening\nin search of one, when they were stopped by the return of an elderly\nWoman, whom Theodore had not till then observed:  Her mild countenance,\nand respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour.\n\n'Hah!' said the Porteress; 'Here comes the Mother St. Ursula with a\nBasket.'\n\nThe Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to Theodore:  It\nwas of willow, lined with blue satin, and upon the four sides were\npainted scenes from the legend of St. Genevieve.\n\n'Here is my gift,' said She, as She gave it into his hand; 'Good Youth,\ndespise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it has many\nhidden virtues.'\n\nShe accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not lost\nupon Theodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the Grate as\npossible.\n\n'Agnes!' She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. Theodore,\nhowever, caught the sound:  He concluded that some mystery was\nconcealed in the Basket, and his heart beat with impatience and joy.\nAt this moment the Domina returned.  Her air was gloomy and frowning,\nand She looked if possible more stern than ever.\n\n'Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.'\n\nThe Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted.\n\n'With me?' She replied in a faltering voice.\n\nThe Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired.  The Mother\nSt. Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell ringing a second\ntime, the Nuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore was left at liberty to\ncarry off his prize.  Delighted that at length He had obtained some\nintelligence for the Marquis, He flew rather than ran, till He reached\nthe Hotel de las Cisternas.  In a few minutes He stood by his Master's\nBed with the Basket in his hand.  Lorenzo was in the chamber,\nendeavouring to reconcile his Friend to a misfortune which He felt\nhimself but too severely. Theodore related his adventure, and the hopes\nwhich had been created by the Mother St. Ursula's gift.  The Marquis\nstarted from his pillow:  That fire which since the death of Agnes had\nbeen extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and his eyes sparkled with\nthe eagerness of expectation.  The emotions which Lorenzo's countenance\nbetrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited with inexpressible\nimpatience for the solution of this mystery. Raymond caught the basket\nfrom the hands of his Page:  He emptied the contents upon the bed, and\nexamined them with minute attention.  He hoped that a letter would be\nfound at the bottom; Nothing of the kind appeared.  The search was\nresumed, and still with no better success.  At length Don Raymond\nobserved that one corner of the blue satin lining was unripped; He tore\nit open hastily, and drew forth a small scrap of paper neither folded\nor sealed.  It was addressed to the Marquis de las Cisternas, and the\ncontents were as follows.\n\nHaving recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines. Procure\nan order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, and that of the\nDomina; But let it not be executed till Friday at midnight.  It is the\nFestival of St. Clare:  There will be a procession of Nuns by\ntorch-light, and I shall be among them. Beware not to let your\nintention be known:  Should a syllable be dropt to excite the Domina's\nsuspicions, you will never hear of me more.  Be cautious, if you prize\nthe memory of Agnes, and wish to punish her Assassins.  I have that to\ntell, will freeze your blood with horror.      St. Ursula.\n\nNo sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon his\npillow deprived of sense or motion.  The hope failed him which till now\nhad supported his existence; and these lines convinced him but too\npositively that Agnes was indeed no more. Lorenzo felt this\ncircumstance less forcibly, since it had always been his idea that his\nSister had perished by unfair means.  When He found by the Mother St.\nUrsula's letter how true were his suspicions, the confirmation excited\nno other sentiment in his bosom than a wish to punish the Murderers as\nthey deserved.  It was no easy task to recall the Marquis to himself.\nAs soon as He recovered his speech, He broke out into execrations\nagainst the Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them a\nsignal vengeance.  He continued to rave and torment himself with\nimpotent passion till his constitution, enfeebled by grief and illness,\ncould support itself no longer, and He relapsed into insensibility.\nHis melancholy situation sincerely affected Lorenzo, who would\nwillingly have remained in the apartment of his Friend; But other cares\nnow demanded his presence.  It was necessary to procure the order for\nseizing the Prioress of St. Clare.  For this purpose, having committed\nRaymond to the care of the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted the\nHotel de las Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of the\nCardinal-Duke.\n\nHis disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of State\nhad obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province.\n\nIt wanted but five to Friday:  Yet by travelling day and night, He\nhoped to return in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare.  In this He\nsucceeded.  He found the Cardinal-Duke; and represented to him the\nsupposed culpability of the Prioress, as also the violent effects which\nit had produced upon Don Raymond.  He could have used no argument so\nforcible as this last.  Of all his Nephews, the Marquis was the only\none to whom the Cardinal-Duke was sincerely attached:  He perfectly\ndoated upon him, and the Prioress could have committed no greater crime\nin his eyes than to have endangered the life of the Marquis.\nConsequently, He granted the order of arrest without difficulty:  He\nalso gave Lorenzo a letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition,\ndesiring him to see his mandate executed.  Furnished with these papers,\nMedina hastened back to Madrid, which He reached on the Friday a few\nhours before dark.  He found the Marquis somewhat easier, but so weak\nand exhausted that without great exertion He could neither speak or\nmore. Having past an hour by his Bedside, Lorenzo left him to\ncommunicate his design to his Uncle, as also to give Don Ramirez de\nMello the Cardinal's letter.  The First was petrified with horror when\nHe learnt the fate of his unhappy Niece:  He encouraged Lorenzo to\npunish her Assassins, and engaged to accompany him at night to St.\nClare's Convent.  Don Ramirez promised his firmest support, and\nselected a band of trusty Archers to prevent opposition on the part of\nthe Populace.\n\nBut while Lorenzo was anxious to unmask one religious Hypocrite, He was\nunconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. Aided by\nMatilda's infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon the innocent\nAntonia's ruin.  The moment destined to be so fatal to her arrived.\nShe had taken leave of her Mother for the night.\n\nAs She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself into\nher bosom.  She left her, and returned to her instantly, threw herself\ninto her maternal arms, and bathed her cheek with tears:  She felt\nuneasy at quitting her, and a secret presentiment assured her that\nnever must they meet again.  Elvira observed, and tried to laugh her\nout of this childish prejudice: She chid her mildly for encouraging\nsuch ungrounded sadness, and warned her how dangerous it was to\nencourage such ideas.\n\nTo all her remonstrances She received no other answer than,\n\n'Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!'\n\nElvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great obstacle\nto her perfect reestablishment, was still labouring under the effects\nof her late severe illness.  She was this Evening more than usually\nindisposed, and retired to bed before her accustomed hour.  Antonia\nwithdrew from her Mother's chamber with regret, and till the Door\nclosed, kept her eyes fixed upon her with melancholy expression.  She\nretired to her own apartment; Her heart was filled with bitterness:  It\nseemed to her that all her prospects were blasted, and the world\ncontained nothing for which it was worth existing.  She sank into a\nChair, reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with a\nvacant stare, while the most gloomy images floated before her fancy.\nShe was still in this state of insensibility when She was disturbed by\nhearing a strain of soft Music breathed beneath her window.  She rose,\ndrew near the Casement, and opened it to hear it more distinctly.\nHaving thrown her veil over her face, She ventured to look out.  By the\nlight of the Moon She perceived several Men below with Guitars and\nLutes in their hands; and at a little distance from them stood Another\nwrapped in his cloak, whose stature and appearance bore a strong\nresemblance to Lorenzo's.  She was not deceived in this conjecture.  It\nwas indeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to present\nhimself to Antonia without his Uncle's consent, endeavoured by\noccasional Serenades, to convince his Mistress that his attachment\nstill existed.  His stratagem had not the desired effect.  Antonia was\nfar from supposing that this nightly music was intended as a compliment\nto her: She was too modest to think herself worthy such attentions; and\nconcluding them to be addressed to some neighbouring Lady, She grieved\nto find that they were offered by Lorenzo.\n\nThe air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded with\nthe state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with pleasure.  After a\nsymphony of some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, and\nAntonia distinguished the following words.\n\n  SERENADE\n\n      Chorus\n\n  Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre!\n  'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest:\n  Describe the pangs of fond desire,\n  Which rend a faithful Lover's breast.\n\n      Song\n\n  In every heart to find a Slave,\n  In every Soul to fix his reign,\n  In bonds to lead the wise and brave,\n  And make the Captives kiss his chain,\n  Such is the power of Love, and Oh!\n  I grieve so well Love's power to know.\n\n  In sighs to pass the live-long day,\n  To taste a short and broken sleep,\n  For one dear Object far away,\n  All others scorned, to watch and weep,\n  Such are the pains of Love, and Oh!\n  I grieve so well Love's pains to know!\n\n  To read consent in virgin eyes,\n  To press the lip ne'er prest till then\n  To hear the sigh of transport rise,\n  And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again,\n  Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh!\n  When shall my heart thy pleasures know?\n\n      Chorus\n\n  Now hush, my Lyre!  My voice be still!\n  Sleep, gentle Maid!  May fond desire\n  With amorous thoughts thy visions fill,\n  Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre.\n\n\nThe Music ceased:  The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailed\nthrough the Street.  Antonia quitted the window with regret:  She as\nusual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her\naccustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and\nhis presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude.\n\nIt was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend his\nsteps towards Antonia's dwelling.  It has been already mentioned that\nthe Abbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago.  He\nreached the House unobserved.  Here He stopped, and hesitated for a\nmoment.  He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of\na discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira's\nsuspecting him to be her Daughter's Ravisher:  On the other hand it was\nsuggested that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of his\nguilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to\nhave been committed without Antonia's knowing when, where, or by whom;\nand finally, He believed that his fame was too firmly established to be\nshaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown Women.  This\nlatter argument was perfectly false:  He knew not how uncertain is the\nair of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to make him today\nthe detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol.  The result\nof the Monk's deliberations was that He should proceed in his\nenterprize.  He ascended the steps leading to the House.  No sooner did\nHe touch the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and\npresented him with a free passage.  He entered, and the door closed\nafter him of its own accord.\n\nGuided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow and\ncautious steps.  He looked round him every moment with apprehension and\nanxiety.  He saw a Spy in every shadow, and heard a voice in every\nmurmur of the night breeze.  Consciousness of the guilty business on\nwhich He was employed appalled his heart, and rendered it more timid\nthan a Woman's.  Yet still He proceeded.  He reached the door of\nAntonia's chamber. He stopped, and listened.  All was hushed within.\nThe total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired to\nrest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch.  The door was fastened, and\nresisted his efforts:  But no sooner was it touched by the Talisman,\nthan the Bolt flew back. The Ravisher stept on, and found himself in\nthe chamber, where slept the innocent Girl, unconscious how dangerous a\nVisitor was drawing near her Couch. The door closed after him, and the\nBolt shot again into its fastening.\n\nAmbrosio advanced with precaution.  He took care that not a board\nshould creak under his foot, and held in his breath as He approached\nthe Bed.  His first attention was to perform the magic ceremony, as\nMatilda had charged him:  He breathed thrice upon the silver Myrtle,\npronounced over it Antonia's name, and laid it upon her pillow.  The\neffects which it had already produced permitted not his doubting its\nsuccess in prolonging the slumbers of his devoted Mistress.  No sooner\nwas the enchantment performed than He considered her to be absolutely\nin his power, and his eyes flamed with lust and impatience.  He now\nventured to cast a glance upon the sleeping Beauty.  A single Lamp,\nburning before the Statue of St. Rosolia, shed a faint light through\nthe room, and permitted him to examine all the charms of the lovely\nObject before him.  The heat of the weather had obliged her to throw\noff part of the Bed-cloathes:  Those which still covered her,\nAmbrosio's insolent hand hastened to remove.  She lay with her cheek\nreclining upon one ivory arm; The Other rested on the side of the Bed\nwith graceful indolence.  A few tresses of her hair had escaped from\nbeneath the Muslin which confined the rest, and fell carelessly over\nher bosom, as it heaved with slow and regular suspiration.  The warm\nair had spread her cheek with higher colour than usual.  A smile\ninexpressibly sweet played round her ripe and coral lips, from which\nevery now and then escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronounced\nsentence.  An air of enchanting innocence and candour pervaded her\nwhole form; and there was a sort of modesty in her very nakedness which\nadded fresh stings to the desires of the lustful Monk.\n\nHe remained for some moments devouring those charms with his eyes which\nsoon were to be subjected to his ill-regulated passions.  Her mouth\nhalf-opened seemed to solicit a kiss:  He bent over her; he joined his\nlips to hers, and drew in the fragrance of her breath with rapture.\nThis momentary pleasure increased his longing for still greater.  His\ndesires were raised to that frantic height by which Brutes are\nagitated.  He resolved not to delay for one instant longer the\naccomplishment of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tear off those\ngarments which impeded the gratification of his lust.\n\n'Gracious God!' exclaimed a voice behind him; 'Am I not deceived?\n\nIs not this an illusion?'\n\nTerror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as they\nstruck Ambrosio's hearing.  He started, and turned towards it.  Elvira\nstood at the door of the chamber, and regarded the Monk with looks of\nsurprize and detestation.\n\nA frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of a\nprecipice.  She saw her trembling on the brink:  Every moment seemed to\nthreaten her fall, and She heard her exclaim with shrieks, 'Save me,\nMother! Save me!--Yet a moment, and it will be too late!'  Elvira woke\nin terror.  The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind,\nto permit her resting till assured of her Daughter's safety.  She\nhastily started from her Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passing\nthrough the Closet in which slept the Waiting-woman, She reached\nAntonia's chamber just in time to rescue her from the grasp of the\nRavisher.\n\nHis shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues both\nElvira and the Monk:  They remained gazing upon each other in silence.\nThe Lady was the first to recover herself.\n\n'It is no dream!'  She cried; 'It is really Ambrosio, who stands before\nme!  It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I find at this\nlate hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! Monster of Hypocrisy!  I\nalready suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity to\nhuman frailty.  Silence would now be criminal:  The whole City shall be\ninformed of your incontinence.  I will unmask you, Villain, and\nconvince the Church what a Viper She cherishes in her bosom.'\n\nPale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her.\n\nHe would fain have extenuated his offence, but could find no apology\nfor his conduct:  He could produce nothing but broken sentences, and\nexcuses which contradicted each other.  Elvira was too justly incensed\nto grant the pardon which He requested.  She protested that She would\nraise the neighbourhood, and make him an example to all future\nHypocrites.  Then hastening to the Bed, She called to Antonia to wake;\nand finding that her voice had no effect, She took her arm, and raised\nher forcibly from the pillow.  The charm operated too powerfully.\nAntonia remained insensible, and on being released by her Mother, sank\nback upon the pillow.\n\n'This slumber cannot be natural!' cried the amazed Elvira, whose\nindignation increased with every moment. 'Some mystery is concealed in\nit; But tremble, Hypocrite; all your villainy shall soon be unravelled!\nHelp! Help!' She exclaimed aloud; 'Within there!  Flora! Flora!'\n\n'Hear me for one moment, Lady!' cried the Monk, restored to himself by\nthe urgency of the danger; 'By all that is sacred and holy, I swear\nthat your Daughter's honour is still unviolated. Forgive my\ntransgression!  Spare me the shame of a discovery, and permit me to\nregain the Abbey undisturbed.  Grant me this request in mercy!  I\npromise not only that Antonia shall be secure from me in future, but\nthat the rest of my life shall prove .....'\n\nElvira interrupted him abruptly.\n\n'Antonia secure from you?  _I_ will secure her!  You shall betray no\nlonger the confidence of Parents!  Your iniquity shall be unveiled to\nthe public eye:  All Madrid shall shudder at your perfidy, your\nhypocrisy and incontinence.  What Ho! there! Flora! Flora, I say!'\n\nWhile She spoke thus, the remembrance of Agnes struck upon his mind.\nThus had She sued to him for mercy, and thus had He refused her prayer!\nIt was now his turn to suffer, and He could not but acknowledge that\nhis punishment was just.  In the meanwhile Elvira continued to call\nFlora to her assistance; but her voice was so choaked with passion that\nthe Servant, who was buried in profound slumber, was insensible to all\nher cries: Elvira dared not go towards the Closet in which Flora slept,\nlest the Monk should take that opportunity to escape.  Such indeed was\nhis intention:  He trusted that could He reach the Abbey unobserved by\nany other than Elvira, her single testimony would not suffice to ruin a\nreputation so well established as his was in Madrid.  With this idea He\ngathered up such garments as He had already thrown off, and hastened\ntowards the Door.  Elvira was aware of his design; She followed him,\nand ere He could draw back the bolt, seized him by the arm, and\ndetained him.\n\n'Attempt not to fly!' said She; 'You quit not this room without\nWitnesses of your guilt.'\n\nAmbrosio struggled in vain to disengage himself.  Elvira quitted not\nher hold, but redoubled her cries for succour.  The Friar's danger grew\nmore urgent.  He expected every moment to hear people assembling at her\nvoice; And worked up to madness by the approach of ruin, He adopted a\nresolution equally desperate and savage. Turning round suddenly, with\none hand He grasped Elvira's throat so as to prevent her continuing her\nclamour, and with the other, dashing her violently upon the ground, He\ndragged her towards the Bed.  Confused by this unexpected attack, She\nscarcely had power to strive at forcing herself from his grasp:  While\nthe Monk, snatching the pillow from beneath her Daughter's head,\ncovering with it Elvira's face, and pressing his knee upon her stomach\nwith all his strength, endeavoured to put an end to her existence.  He\nsucceeded but too well.  Her natural strength increased by the excess\nof anguish, long did the Sufferer struggle to disengage herself, but in\nvain.  The Monk continued to kneel upon her breast, witnessed without\nmercy the convulsive trembling of her limbs beneath him, and sustained\nwith inhuman firmness the spectacle of her agonies, when soul and body\nwere on the point of separating.  Those agonies at length were over.\nShe ceased to struggle for life.  The Monk took off the pillow, and\ngazed upon her.  Her face was covered with a frightful blackness:\n\nHer limbs moved no more; The blood was chilled in her veins; Her heart\nhad forgotten to beat, and her hands were stiff and frozen.\n\nAmbrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now\nbecome a Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting.\n\nThis horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar beheld the\nenormity of his crime.  A cold dew flowed over his limbs; his eyes\nclosed; He staggered to a chair, and sank into it almost as lifeless as\nthe Unfortunate who lay extended at his feet.  From this state He was\nrouzed by the necessity of flight, and the danger of being found in\nAntonia's apartment.  He had no desire to profit by the execution of\nhis crime.  Antonia now appeared to him an object of disgust.  A deadly\ncold had usurped the place of that warmth which glowed in his bosom:\nNo ideas offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt,\nof present shame and future punishment.  Agitated by remorse and fear\nHe prepared for flight:  Yet his terrors did not so compleatly master\nhis recollection, as to prevent his taking the precautions necessary\nfor his safety.  He replaced the pillow upon the bed, gathered up his\ngarments, and with the fatal Talisman in his hand, bent his unsteady\nsteps towards the door. Bewildered by fear, He fancied that his flight\nwas opposed by Legions of Phantoms; Whereever He turned, the disfigured\nCorse seemed to lie in his passage, and it was long before He succeeded\nin reaching the door.  The enchanted Myrtle produced its former effect.\nThe door opened, and He hastened down the staircase. He entered the\nAbbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his Cell, He abandoned\nhis soul to the tortures of unavailing remorse, and terrors of\nimpending detection.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n  Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity\n  To those you left behind disclose the secret?\n  O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out,\n  What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be.\n  I've heard that Souls departed have sometimes\n  Fore-warned Men of their deaths:\n  'Twas kindly done\n  To knock, and give the alarum.\n                               Blair.\n\n\nAmbrosio shuddered at himself, when He reflected on his rapid advances\nin iniquity.  The enormous crime which He had just committed filled him\nwith real horror.  The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes,\nand his guilt was already punished by the agonies of his conscience.\nTime, however, considerably weakened these impressions:  One day passed\naway, another followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown\nupon him.  Impunity reconciled him to his guilt:  He began to resume\nhis spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, He paid less\nattention to the reproaches of remorse.  Matilda exerted herself to\nquiet his alarms.  At the first intelligence of Elvira's death, She\nseemed greatly affected, and joined the Monk in deploring the unhappy\ncatastrophe of his adventure:  But when She found his agitation to be\nsomewhat calmed, and himself better disposed to listen to her\narguments, She proceeded to mention his offence in milder terms, and\nconvince him that He was not so highly culpable as He appeared to\nconsider himself.  She represented that He had only availed himself of\nthe rights which Nature allows to every one, those of\nself-preservation:  That either Elvira or himself must have perished,\nand that her inflexibility and resolution to ruin him had deservedly\nmarked her out for the Victim.  She next stated, that as He had before\nrendered himself suspected to Elvira, it was a fortunate event for him\nthat her lips were closed by death; since without this last adventure,\nher suspicions if made public might have produced very disagreeable\nconsequences.  He had therefore freed himself from an Enemy, to whom\nthe errors of his conduct were sufficiently known to make her\ndangerous, and who was the greatest obstacle to his designs upon\nAntonia.  Those designs She encouraged him not to abandon.  She assured\nhim that, no longer protected by her Mother's watchful eye, the\nDaughter would fall an easy conquest; and by praising and enumerating\nAntonia's charms, She strove to rekindle the desires of the Monk.  In\nthis endeavour She succeeded but too well.\n\nAs if the crimes into which his passion had seduced him had only\nincreased its violence, He longed more eagerly than ever to enjoy\nAntonia.  The same success in concealing his present guilt, He trusted\nwould attend his future.  He was deaf to the murmurs of conscience, and\nresolved to satisfy his desires at any price.  He waited only for an\nopportunity of repeating his former enterprize; But to procure that\nopportunity by the same means was now impracticable.  In the first\ntransports of despair He had dashed the enchanted Myrtle into a\nthousand pieces:  Matilda told him plainly that He must expect no\nfurther assistance from the infernal Powers unless He was willing to\nsubscribe to their established conditions.  This Ambrosio was\ndetermined not to do: He persuaded himself that however great might be\nhis iniquity, so long as he preserved his claim to salvation, He need\nnot despair of pardon.  He therefore resolutely refused to enter into\nany bond or compact with the Fiends; and Matilda finding him obstinate\nupon this point, forbore to press him further.  She exerted her\ninvention to discover some means of putting Antonia into the Abbot's\npower:  Nor was it long before that means presented itself.\n\nWhile her ruin was thus meditating, the unhappy Girl herself suffered\nseverely from the loss of her Mother.  Every morning on waking, it was\nher first care to hasten to Elvira's chamber.  On that which followed\nAmbrosio's fatal visit, She woke later than was her usual custom: Of\nthis She was convinced by the Abbey Chimes.  She started from her bed,\nthrew on a few loose garments hastily, and was speeding to enquire how\nher Mother had passed the night, when her foot struck against something\nwhich lay in her passage.  She looked down.  What was her horror at\nrecognizing Elvira's livid Corse!  She uttered a loud shriek, and threw\nherself upon the floor.  She clasped the inanimate form to her bosom,\nfelt that it was dead-cold, and with a movement of disgust, of which\nShe was not the Mistress, let it fall again from her arms.  The cry had\nalarmed Flora, who hastened to her assistance.  The sight which She\nbeheld penetrated her with horror; but her alarm was more audible than\nAntonia's.  She made the House ring with her lamentations, while her\nMistress, almost suffocated with grief, could only mark her distress by\nsobs and groans.  Flora's shrieks soon reached the ears of the Hostess,\nwhose terror and surprize were excessive on learning the cause of this\ndisturbance.  A Physician was immediately sent for:  But on the first\nmoment of beholding the Corse, He declared that Elvira's recovery was\nbeyond the power of art.  He proceeded therefore to give his assistance\nto Antonia, who by this time was truly in need of it.  She was conveyed\nto bed, while the Landlady busied herself in giving orders for Elvira's\nBurial.  Dame Jacintha was a plain good kind of Woman, charitable,\ngenerous, and devout:  But her intellects were weak, and She was a\nMiserable Slave to fear and superstition.  She shuddered at the idea of\npassing the night in the same House with a dead Body: She was persuaded\nthat Elvira's Ghost would appear to her, and no less certain that such\na visit would kill her with fright.  From this persuasion, She resolved\nto pass the night at a Neighbour's, and insisted that the Funeral\nshould take place the next day. St. Clare's Cemetery being the nearest,\nit was determined that Elvira should be buried there.  Dame Jacintha\nengaged to defray every expence attending the burial.  She knew not in\nwhat circumstances Antonia was left, but from the sparing manner in\nwhich the Family had lived, She concluded them to be indifferent.\n\nConsequently, She entertained very little hope of ever being\nrecompensed; But this consideration prevented her not from taking care\nthat the Interment was performed with decency, and from showing the\nunfortunate Antonia all possible respect.\n\nNobody dies of mere grief; Of this Antonia was an instance. Aided by\nher youth and healthy constitution, She shook off the malady which her\nMother's death had occasioned; But it was not so easy to remove the\ndisease of her mind.  Her eyes were constantly filled with tears: Every\ntrifle affected her, and She evidently nourished in her bosom a\nprofound and rooted melancholy.  The slightest mention of Elvira, the\nmost trivial circumstance recalling that beloved Parent to her memory,\nwas sufficient to throw her into serious agitation.  How much would her\ngrief have been increased, had She known the agonies which terminated\nher Mother's existence!  But of this no one entertained the least\nsuspicion.  Elvira was subject to strong convulsions:  It was supposed\nthat, aware of their approach, She had dragged herself to her\nDaughter's chamber in hopes of assistance; that a sudden access of her\nfits had seized her, too violent to be resisted by her already\nenfeebled state of health; and that She had expired ere She had time to\nreach the medicine which generally relieved her, and which stood upon a\nshelf in Antonia's room.  This idea was firmly credited by the few\npeople, who interested themselves about Elvira:  Her Death was esteemed\na natural event, and soon forgotten by all save by her, who had but too\nmuch reason to deplore her loss.\n\nIn truth Antonia's situation was sufficiently embarrassing and\nunpleasant.  She was alone in the midst of a dissipated and expensive\nCity; She was ill provided with money, and worse with Friends.  Her\naunt Leonella was still at Cordova, and She knew not her direction.  Of\nthe Marquis de las Cisternas She heard no news:  As to Lorenzo, She had\nlong given up the idea of possessing any interest in his bosom.  She\nknew not to whom She could address herself in her present dilemma.  She\nwished to consult Ambrosio; But She remembered her Mother's injunctions\nto shun him as much as possible, and the last conversation which Elvira\nhad held with her upon the subject had given her sufficient lights\nrespecting his designs to put her upon her guard against him in future.\nStill all her Mother's warnings could not make her change her good\nopinion of the Friar.  She continued to feel that his friendship and\nsociety were requisite to her happiness:  She looked upon his failings\nwith a partial eye, and could not persuade herself that He really had\nintended her ruin.  However, Elvira had positively commanded her to\ndrop his acquaintance, and She had too much respect for her orders to\ndisobey them.\n\nAt length She resolved to address herself for advice and protection to\nthe Marquis de las Cisternas, as being her nearest Relation.  She wrote\nto him, briefly stating her desolate situation; She besought him to\ncompassionate his Brother's Child, to continue to her Elvira's pension,\nand to authorise her retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till\nnow had been her retreat.  Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the\ntrusty Flora, who immediately set out to execute her commission.  But\nAntonia was born under an unlucky Star.  Had She made her application\nto the Marquis but one day sooner, received as his Niece and placed at\nthe head of his Family, She would have escaped all the misfortunes with\nwhich She was now threatened. Raymond had always intended to execute\nthis plan:  But first, his hopes of making the proposal to Elvira\nthrough the lips of Agnes, and afterwards, his disappointment at losing\nhis intended Bride, as well as the severe illness which for some time\nhad confined him to his Bed, made him defer from day to day the giving\nan Asylum in his House to his Brother's Widow.  He had commissioned\nLorenzo to supply her liberally with money:  But Elvira, unwilling to\nreceive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured him that She needed\nno immediate pecuniary assistance. Consequently, the Marquis did not\nimagine that a trifling delay on his part could create any\nembarrassment; and the distress and agitation of his mind might well\nexcuse his negligence.\n\nHad He been informed that Elvira's death had left her Daughter\nFriendless and unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such\nmeasures, as would have ensured her from every danger:  But Antonia was\nnot destined to be so fortunate.  The day on which She sent her letter\nto the Palace de las Cisternas was that following Lorenzo's departure\nfrom Madrid.  The Marquis was in the first paroxysms of despair at the\nconviction that Agnes was indeed no more:  He was delirious, and his\nlife being in danger, no one was suffered to approach him.  Flora was\ninformed that He was incapable of attending to Letters, and that\nprobably a few hours would decide his fate.  With this unsatisfactory\nanswer She was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself\nplunged into greater difficulties than ever.\n\nFlora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her.  The Latter\nbegged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She chose to stay\nwith her, She would treat her like her own Child. Antonia, finding that\nthe good Woman had taken a real affection for her, was somewhat\ncomforted by thinking that She had at least one Friend in the World.  A\nLetter was now brought to her, directed to Elvira.  She recognized\nLeonella's writing, and opening it with joy, found a detailed account\nof her Aunt's adventures at Cordova.  She informed her Sister that She\nhad recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in\nexchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, and\nto come.  She added that She should be at Madrid on the Tuesday night,\nand meant to have the pleasure of presenting her Caro Sposo in form.\nThough her nuptials were far from pleasing Antonia, Leonella's speedy\nreturn gave her Niece much delight. She rejoiced in thinking that She\nshould once more be under a Relation's care.  She could not but judge\nit to be highly improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute\nStrangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her from the\ninsults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was exposed.  She\ntherefore looked forward with impatience to the Tuesday night.\n\nIt arrived.  Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they\nrolled along the Street.  None of them stopped, and it grew late\nwithout Leonella's appearing.  Still, Antonia resolved to sit up till\nher Aunt's arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances, Dame\nJacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same.  The hours passed on\nslow and tediously.  Lorenzo's departure from Madrid had put a stop to\nthe nightly Serenades:  She hoped in vain to hear the usual sound of\nGuitars beneath her window.  She took up her own, and struck a few\nchords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She\nsoon replaced the Instrument in its case.  She seated herself at her\nembroidery frame, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the\nthread snapped every moment, and the needles were so expert at falling\nthat they seemed to be animated.  At length a flake of wax fell from\nthe Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: This\ncompleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and quitted the\nframe.  It was decreed that for that night nothing should have the\npower of amusing her.  She was the prey of Ennui, and employed herself\nin making fruitless wishes for the arrival of her Aunt.\n\nAs She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the Door\ncaught her eye conducting to that which had been her Mother's.  She\nremembered that Elvira's little Library was arranged there, and thought\nthat She might possibly find in it some Book to amuse her till Leonella\nshould arrive.  Accordingly She took her Taper from the table, passed\nthrough the little Closet, and entered the adjoining apartment.  As She\nlooked around her, the sight of this room brought to her recollection a\nthousand painful ideas.  It was the first time of her entering it since\nher Mother's death.  The total silence prevailing through the chamber,\nthe Bed despoiled of its furniture, the cheerless hearth where stood an\nextinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants in the window which, since\nElvira's loss, had been neglected, inspired Antonia with a melancholy\nawe.  The gloom of night gave strength to this sensation.  She placed\nher light upon the Table, and sank into a large chair, in which She had\nseen her Mother seated a thousand and a thousand times.  She was never\nto see her seated there again!  Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek,\nand She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with every\nmoment.\n\nAshamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat:  She\nproceeded to seek for what had brought her to this melancholy scene.\nThe small collection of Books was arranged upon several shelves in\norder.  Antonia examined them without finding any thing likely to\ninterest her, till She put her hand upon a volume of old Spanish\nBallads.  She read a few Stanzas of one of them: They excited her\ncuriosity.  She took down the Book, and seated herself to peruse it\nwith more ease.  She trimmed the Taper, which now drew towards its end,\nand then read the following Ballad.\n\n  ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE\n\n  A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright\n  Conversed, as They sat on the green:\n  They gazed on each other with tender delight;\n  Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,\n  The Maid's was the Fair Imogine.\n\n  'And Oh!' said the Youth, 'since to-morrow I go\n  To fight in a far distant land,\n  Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,\n  Some Other will court you, and you will bestow\n  On a wealthier Suitor your hand.'\n\n  'Oh! hush these suspicions,' Fair Imogine said,\n  'Offensive to Love and to me!\n  For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,\n  I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead\n  Shall Husband of Imogine be.\n\n  'If e'er I by lust or by wealth led aside\n  Forget my Alonzo the Brave,\n  God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride\n  Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,\n  May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,\n  And bear me away to the Grave!'\n\n  To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;\n  His Love, She lamented him sore:\n  But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,\n  A Baron all covered with jewels and gold\n  Arrived at Fair Imogine's door.\n\n  His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain\n  Soon made her untrue to her vows:\n  He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;\n  He caught her affections so light and so vain,\n  And carried her home as his Spouse.\n\n  And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;\n  The revelry now was begun:\n  The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast;\n  Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,\n  When the Bell of the Castle told,--'One!'\n\n  Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found\n  That a Stranger was placed by her side:  His air was terrific;\n  He uttered no sound;  He spoke not, He moved not,\n  He looked not around,\n  But earnestly gazed on the Bride.\n\n  His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;\n  His armour was sable to view:\n  All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;\n  The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,\n  The Lights in the chamber burned blue!\n\n  His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;\n  The Guests sat in silence and fear.\n  At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;\n  'I pray,  Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,\n  And deign to partake of our chear.'\n\n  The Lady is silent:  The Stranger complies.\n  His vizor lie slowly unclosed:\n  Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes!\n  What words can express her dismay and surprize,\n  When a Skeleton's head was exposed.\n\n  All present then uttered a terrified shout;\n  All turned with disgust from the scene.\n  The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,\n  And sported his eyes and his temples about,\n  While the Spectre addressed Imogine.\n\n  'Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!' He cried;\n  'Remember Alonzo the Brave!\n  God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride\n  My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,\n  Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride\n  And bear thee away to the Grave!'\n\n  Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,\n  While loudly She shrieked in dismay;\n  Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:\n  Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,\n  Or the Spectre who bore her away.\n\n  Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time\n  To inhabit the Castle presume:\n  For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime\n  There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,\n  And mourns her deplorable doom.\n\n  At midnight four times in each year does her Spright\n  When Mortals in slumber are bound,\n  Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,\n  Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,\n  And shriek, as He whirls her around.\n\n  While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,\n  Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:\n  Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave\n  They howl.--'To the health of Alonzo the Brave,\n  And his Consort, the False Imogine!'\n\n\nThe perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia's\nmelancholy.  She had naturally a strong inclination to the marvellous;\nand her Nurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions, had related to her\nwhen an Infant so many horrible adventures of this kind, that all\nElvira's attempts had failed to eradicate their impressions from her\nDaughter's mind.  Antonia still nourished a superstitious prejudice in\nher bosom:  She was often susceptible of terrors which, when She\ndiscovered their natural and insignificant cause, made her blush at her\nown weakness. With such a turn of mind, the adventure which She had\njust been reading sufficed to give her apprehensions the alarm.  The\nhour and the scene combined to authorize them.  It was the dead of\nnight: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by her deceased\nMother.  The weather was comfortless and stormy:  The wind howled\naround the House, the doors rattled in their frames, and the heavy rain\npattered against the windows.  No other sound was heard.  The Taper,\nnow burnt down to the socket, sometimes flaring upwards shot a gleam of\nlight through the room, then sinking again seemed upon the point of\nexpiring.  Antonia's heart throbbed with agitation:  Her eyes wandered\nfearfully over the objects around her, as the trembling flame\nilluminated them at intervals.  She attempted to rise from her seat;\nBut her limbs trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed.\nShe then called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance:  But\nagitation choaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow murmurs.\n\nShe passed some minutes in this situation, after which her terrors\nbegan to diminish.  She strove to recover herself, and acquire strength\nenough to quit the room: Suddenly She fancied, that She heard a low\nsigh drawn near her.  This idea brought back her former weakness.  She\nhad already raised herself from her seat, and was on the point of\ntaking the Lamp from the Table. The imaginary noise stopped her:  She\ndrew back her hand, and supported herself upon the back of a Chair.\nShe listened anxiously, but nothing more was heard.\n\n'Gracious God!' She said to herself; 'What could be that sound? Was I\ndeceived, or did I really hear it?'\n\nHer reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely\naudible:  It seemed as if somebody was whispering.  Antonia's alarm\nincreased:  Yet the Bolt She knew to be fastened, and this idea in some\ndegree reassured her.  Presently the Latch was lifted up softly, and\nthe Door moved with caution backwards and forwards.  Excess of terror\nnow supplied Antonia with that strength, of which She had till then\nbeen deprived.  She started from her place and made towards the Closet\ndoor, whence She might soon have reached the chamber where She expected\nto find Flora and Dame Jacintha.  Scarcely had She reached the middle\nof the room when the Latch was lifted up a second time.  An involuntary\nmovement obliged her to turn her head.  Slowly and gradually the Door\nturned upon its hinges, and standing upon the Threshold She beheld a\ntall thin Figure, wrapped in a white shroud which covered it from head\nto foot.\n\nThis vision arrested her feet:  She remained as if petrified in the\nmiddle of the apartment.  The Stranger with measured and solemn steps\ndrew near the Table.  The dying Taper darted a blue and melancholy\nflame as the Figure advanced towards it.  Over the Table was fixed a\nsmall Clock; The hand of it was upon the stroke of three.  The Figure\nstopped opposite to the Clock:  It raised its right arm, and pointed to\nthe hour, at the same time looking earnestly upon Antonia, who waited\nfor the conclusion of this scene, motionless and silent.\n\nThe figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock struck.\nWhen the sound had ceased, the Stranger advanced yet a few steps nearer\nAntonia.\n\n'Yet three days,' said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; 'Yet\nthree days, and we meet again!'\n\nAntonia shuddered at the words.\n\n'We meet again?' She pronounced at length with difficulty: 'Where shall\nwe meet?  Whom shall I meet?'\n\nThe figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the other\nraised the Linen which covered its face.\n\n'Almighty God! My Mother!'\n\nAntonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor.\n\nDame Jacintha who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was alarmed by\nthe cry:  Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch fresh oil for the\nLamp, by which they had been sitting.  Jacintha therefore hastened\nalone to Antonia's assistance, and great was her amazement to find her\nextended upon the floor.  She raised her in her arms, conveyed her to\nher apartment, and placed her upon the Bed still senseless.  She then\nproceeded to bathe her temples, chafe her hands, and use all possible\nmeans of bringing her to herself.  With some difficulty She succeeded.\nAntonia opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly.\n\n'Where is She?' She cried in a trembling voice; 'Is She gone?  Am I\nsafe?  Speak to me!  Comfort me!  Oh! speak to me for God's sake!'\n\n'Safe from whom, my Child?' replied the astonished Jacintha; 'What\nalarms you?  Of whom are you afraid?'\n\n'In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days!  I heard\nher say it!  I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this moment!'\n\nShe threw herself upon Jacintha's bosom.\n\n'You saw her?  Saw whom?'\n\n'My Mother's Ghost!'\n\n'Christ Jesus!' cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let fall\nAntonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of the room.\n\nAs She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them.\n\n'Go to your Mistress, Flora,' said She; 'Here are rare doings! Oh! I am\nthe most unfortunate Woman alive!  My House is filled with Ghosts and\ndead Bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; Yet I am sure, nobody\nlikes such company less than I do.  But go your way to Donna Antonia,\nFlora, and let me go mine.'\n\nThus saying, She continued her course to the Street door, which She\nopened, and without allowing herself time to throw on her veil, She\nmade the best of her way to the Capuchin Abbey.  In the meanwhile,\nFlora hastened to her Lady's chamber, equally surprized and alarmed at\nJacintha's consternation.  She found Antonia lying upon the bed\ninsensible.  She used the same means for her recovery that Jacintha had\nalready employed; But finding that her Mistress only recovered from one\nfit to fall into another, She sent in all haste for a Physician.  While\nexpecting his arrival, She undrest Antonia, and conveyed her to Bed.\n\nHeedless of the storm, terrified almost out of her senses, Jacintha ran\nthrough the Streets, and stopped not till She reached the Gate of the\nAbbey.  She rang loudly at the bell, and as soon as the Porter\nappeared, She desired permission to speak to the Superior.  Ambrosio\nwas then conferring with Matilda upon the means of procuring access to\nAntonia.  The cause of Elvira's death remaining unknown, He was\nconvinced that crimes were not so swiftly followed by punishment, as\nhis Instructors the Monks had taught him, and as till then He had\nhimself believed.  This persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia's\nruin, for the enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only\nseemed to have increased his passion.  The Monk had already made one\nattempt to gain admission to her presence; But Flora had refused him in\nsuch a manner as to convince him that all future endeavours must be\nvain.  Elvira had confided her suspicions to that trusty Servant:  She\nhad desired her never to leave Ambrosio alone with her Daughter, and if\npossible to prevent their meeting altogether.  Flora promised to obey\nher, and had executed her orders to the very letter.  Ambrosio's visit\nhad been rejected that morning, though Antonia was ignorant of it.  He\nsaw that to obtain a sight of his Mistress by open means was out of the\nquestion; and both Himself and Matilda had consumed the night, in\nendeavouring to invent some plan, whose event might be more successful.\nSuch was their employment, when a Lay-Brother entered the Abbot's Cell,\nand informed him that a Woman calling herself Jacintha Zuniga requested\naudience for a few minutes.\n\nAmbrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his Visitor.\nHe refused it positively, and bad the Lay-Brother tell the Stranger to\nreturn the next day.  Matilda interrupted him.\n\n'See this Woman,' said She in a low voice; 'I have my reasons.'\n\nThe Abbot obeyed her, and signified that He would go to the Parlour\nimmediately.  With this answer the Lay-Brother withdrew.  As soon as\nthey were alone Ambrosio enquired why Matilda wished him to see this\nJacintha.\n\n'She is Antonia's Hostess,' replied Matilda; 'She may possibly be of\nuse to you:  but let us examine her, and learn what brings her hither.'\n\nThey proceeded together to the Parlour, where Jacintha was already\nwaiting for the Abbot.  She had conceived a great opinion of his piety\nand virtue; and supposing him to have much influence over the Devil,\nthought that it must be an easy matter for him to lay Elvira's Ghost in\nthe Red Sea.  Filled with this persuasion She had hastened to the\nAbbey.  As soon as She saw the Monk enter the Parlour, She dropped upon\nher knees, and began her story as follows.\n\n'Oh!  Reverend Father!  Such an accident!  Such an adventure! I know\nnot what course to take, and unless you can help me, I shall certainly\ngo distracted.  Well, to be sure, never was Woman so unfortunate, as\nmyself!  All in my power to keep clear of such abomination have I done,\nand yet that all is too little.  What signifies my telling my beads\nfour times a day, and observing every fast prescribed by the Calendar?\nWhat signifies my having made three Pilgrimages to St. James of\nCompostella, and purchased as many pardons from the Pope as would buy\noff Cain's punishment?  Nothing prospers with me!  All goes wrong, and\nGod only knows, whether any thing will ever go right again!  Why now,\nbe your Holiness the Judge.  My Lodger dies in convulsions; Out of pure\nkindness I bury her at my own expence; (Not that She is any Relation of\nmine, or that I shall be benefited a single pistole by her death:  I\ngot nothing by it, and therefore you know, reverend Father, that her\nliving or dying was just the same to me.  But that is nothing to the\npurpose; To return to what I was saying,) I took care of her funeral,\nhad every thing performed decently and properly, and put myself to\nexpence enough, God knows!  And how do you think the Lady repays me for\nmy kindness?  Why truly by refusing to sleep quietly in her comfortable\ndeal Coffin, as a peaceable well-disposed Spirit ought to do, and\ncoming to plague me, who never wish to set eyes on her again.\nForsooth, it well becomes her to go racketing about my House at\nmidnight, popping into her Daughter's room through the Keyhole, and\nfrightening the poor Child out of her wits!  Though She be a Ghost, She\nmight be more civil than to bolt into a Person's House, who likes her\ncompany so little.  But as for me, reverend Father, the plain state of\nthe case is this: If She walks into my House, I must walk out of it,\nfor I cannot abide such Visitors, not I!  Thus you see, your Sanctity,\nthat without your assistance I am ruined and undone for ever.  I shall\nbe obliged to quit my House; Nobody will take it, when 'tis known that\nShe haunts it, and then I shall find myself in a fine situation!\nMiserable Woman that I am!  What shall I do!  What will become of me!'\n\nHere She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the Abbot's\nopinion of her case.\n\n'In truth, good Woman,' replied He, 'It will be difficult for me to\nrelieve you without knowing what is the matter with you.  You have\nforgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you want.'\n\n'Let me die' cried Jacintha, 'but your Sanctity is in the right! This\nthen is the fact stated briefly.  A lodger of mine is lately dead, a\nvery good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as far as my\nknowledge of her went, though that was not a great way:\n\nShe kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to be upon\nthe high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her, She had a look\nwith her which always made me feel a little queerish, God forgive me\nfor saying so.  However, though She was more stately than needful, and\naffected to look down upon me (Though if I am well informed, I come of\nas good Parents as She could do for her ears, for her Father was a\nShoe-maker at Cordova, and Mine was an Hatter at Madrid, aye, and a\nvery creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yet for all her pride,\nShe was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to have a better\nLodger.  This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping quietly in\nher Grave:  But there is no trusting to people in this world!  For my\npart, I never saw her do amiss, except on the Friday before her death.\nTo be sure, I was then much scandalized by seeing her eat the wing of a\nChicken! \"How, Madona Flora!\" quoth I; (Flora, may it please your\nReverence, is the name of the waiting Maid)--\"How, Madona Flora!\"\nquoth I; \"Does your Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays?  Well!  Well!\nSee the event, and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!\"\nThese were my very words, but Alas!  I might as well have held my\ntongue!  Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and\nsnappish, (More is the pity, say I) told me that there was no more harm\nin eating a Chicken than the egg from which it came. Nay, She even\ndeclared that if her Lady added a slice of bacon, She would not be an\ninch nearer Damnation, God protect us!  A poor ignorant sinful soul!  I\nprotest to your Holiness, I trembled to hear her utter such\nblasphemies, and expected every moment to see the ground open and\nswallow her up, Chicken and all!  For you must know, worshipful Father,\nthat while She talked thus, She held the plate in her hand, on which\nlay the identical roast Fowl.  And a fine Bird it was, that I must say\nfor it! Done to a turn, for I superintended the cooking of it myself:\nIt was a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please your\nHoliness, and the flesh was as white as an egg-shell, as indeed Donna\nElvira told me herself. \"Dame Jacintha,\" said She, very\ngood-humouredly, though to say the truth, She was always very polite to\nme .....'\n\nHere Ambrosio's patience failed him.  Eager to know Jacintha's business\nin which Antonia seemed to be concerned, He was almost distracted while\nlistening to the rambling of this prosing old Woman.  He interrupted\nher, and protested that if She did not immediately tell her story and\nhave done with it, He should quit the Parlour, and leave her to get out\nof her difficulties by herself.  This threat had the desired effect.\nJacintha related her business in as few words as She could manage; But\nher account was still so prolix that Ambrosio had need of his patience\nto bear him to the conclusion.\n\n'And so, your Reverence,' said She, after relating Elvira's death and\nburial, with all their circumstances; 'And so, your Reverence, upon\nhearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away posted I to Donna\nAntonia's chamber.  Finding nobody there, I past on to the next; But I\nmust own, I was a little timorous at going in, for this was the very\nroom where Donna Elvira used to sleep.  However, in I went, and sure\nenough, there lay the young Lady at full length upon the floor, as cold\nas a stone, and as white as a sheet.  I was surprized at this, as your\nHoliness may well suppose; But Oh me! how I shook when I saw a great\ntall figure at my elbow whose head touched the ceiling!  The face was\nDonna Elvira's, I must confess; But out of its mouth came clouds of\nfire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which it rattled\npiteously, and every hair on its head was a Serpent as big as my arm!\nAt this I was frightened enough, and began to say my Ave-Maria:  But\nthe Ghost interrupting me uttered three loud groans, and roared out in\na terrible voice, \"Oh! That Chicken's wing!  My poor soul suffers for\nit!\"  As soon as She had said this, the Ground opened, the Spectre\nsank down, I heard a clap of thunder, and the room was filled with a\nsmell of brimstone.  When I recovered from my fright, and had brought\nDonna Antonia to herself, who told me that She had cried out upon\nseeing her Mother's Ghost, (And well might She cry, poor Soul!  Had I\nbeen in her place, I should have cried ten times louder) it directly\ncame into my head, that if any one had power to quiet this Spectre, it\nmust be your Reverence.  So hither I came in all diligence, to beg that\nyou will sprinkle my House with holy water, and lay the Apparition in\nthe Red Sea.'\n\nAmbrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit.\n\n'Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?' said He.\n\n'As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!'\n\nAmbrosio paused for a moment.  Here was an opportunity offered him of\ngaining access to Antonia, but He hesitated to employ it. The\nreputation which He enjoyed in Madrid was still dear to him; and since\nHe had lost the reality of virtue, it appeared as if its semblance was\nbecome more valuable.  He was conscious that publicly to break through\nthe rule never to quit the Abbey precincts, would derogate much from\nhis supposed austerity. In visiting Elvira, He had always taken care to\nkeep his features concealed from the Domestics.  Except by the Lady,\nher Daughter, and the faithful Flora, He was known in the Family by no\nother name than that of Father Jerome.  Should He comply with\nJacintha's request, and accompany her to her House, He knew that the\nviolation of his rule could not be kept a secret.  However, his\neagerness to see Antonia obtained the victory: He even hoped, that the\nsingularity of this adventure would justify him in the eyes of Madrid:\nBut whatever might be the consequences, He resolved to profit by the\nopportunity which chance had presented to him.  An expressive look from\nMatilda confirmed him in this resolution.\n\n'Good Woman,' said He to Jacintha, 'what you tell me is so\nextraordinary that I can scarcely credit your assertions. However, I\nwill comply with your request.  Tomorrow after Matins you may expect me\nat your House:  I will then examine into what I can do for you, and if\nit is in my power, will free you from this unwelcome Visitor.  Now then\ngo home, and peace be with you!'\n\n'Home?' exclaimed Jacintha; 'I go home?  Not I by my troth! except\nunder your protection, I set no foot of mine within the threshold.  God\nhelp me, the Ghost may meet me upon the Stairs, and whisk me away with\nher to the devil!  Oh!  That I had accepted young Melchior Basco's\noffer!  Then I should have had somebody to protect me; But now I am a\nlone Woman, and meet with nothing but crosses and misfortunes!  Thank\nHeaven, it is not yet too late to repent!  There is Simon Gonzalez will\nhave me any day of the week, and if I live till daybreak, I will marry\nhim out of hand:  An Husband I will have, that is determined, for now\nthis Ghost is once in my House, I shall be frightened out of my wits to\nsleep alone.  But for God's sake, reverend Father, come with me now. I\nshall have no rest till the House is purified, or the poor young Lady\neither.  The dear Girl!  She is in a piteous taking:  I left her in\nstrong convulsions, and I doubt, She will not easily recover her\nfright.'\n\nThe Friar started, and interrupted her hastily.\n\n'In convulsions, say you?  Antonia in convulsions?  Lead on, good\nWoman!  I follow you this moment!'\n\nJacintha insisted upon his stopping to furnish himself with the vessel\nof holy water:  With this request He complied.  Thinking herself safe\nunder his protection should a Legion of Ghosts attack her, the old\nWoman returned the Monk a profusion of thanks, and they departed\ntogether for the Strada di San Iago.\n\nSo strong an impression had the Spectre made upon Antonia, that for the\nfirst two or three hours the Physician declared her life to be in\ndanger.  The fits at length becoming less frequent induced him to alter\nhis opinion.  He said that to keep her quiet was all that was\nnecessary; and He ordered a medicine to be prepared which would\ntranquillize her nerves, and procure her that repose which at present\nShe much wanted.  The sight of Ambrosio, who now appeared with Jacintha\nat her Bedside, contributed essentially to compose her ruffled spirits.\nElvira had not sufficiently explained herself upon the nature of his\ndesigns, to make a Girl so ignorant of the world as her Daughter aware\nhow dangerous was his acquaintance.  At this moment, when penetrated\nwith horror at the scene which had just past, and dreading to\ncontemplate the Ghost's prediction, her mind had need of all the\nsuccours of friendship and religion, Antonia regarded the Abbot with an\neye doubly partial.  That strong prepossession in his favour still\nexisted which She had felt for him at first sight:  She fancied, yet\nknew not wherefore, that his presence was a safeguard to her from every\ndanger, insult, or misfortune.\n\nShe thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the\nadventure, which had alarmed her so seriously.\n\nThe Abbot strove to reassure her, and convince her that the whole had\nbeen a deception of her overheated fancy.  The solitude in which She\nhad passed the Evening, the gloom of night, the Book which She had been\nreading, and the Room in which She sat, were all calculated to place\nbefore her such a vision.  He treated the idea of Ghosts with ridicule,\nand produced strong arguments to prove the fallacy of such a system.\nHis conversation tranquillized and comforted her, but did not convince\nher.  She could not believe that the Spectre had been a mere creature\nof her imagination; Every circumstance was impressed upon her mind too\nforcibly, to permit her flattering herself with such an idea.  She\npersisted in asserting that She had really seen her Mother's Ghost, had\nheard the period of her dissolution announced and declared that She\nnever should quit her bed alive.  Ambrosio advised her against\nencouraging these sentiments, and then quitted her chamber, having\npromised to repeat his visit on the morrow.  Antonia received this\nassurance with every mark of joy:  But the Monk easily perceived that\nHe was not equally acceptable to her Attendant.  Flora obeyed Elvira's\ninjunctions with the most scrupulous observance.  She examined every\ncircumstance with an anxious eye likely in the least to prejudice her\nyoung Mistress, to whom She had been attached for many years.  She was\na Native of Cuba, had followed Elvira to Spain, and loved the young\nAntonia with a Mother's affection.  Flora quitted not the room for a\nmoment while the Abbot remained there:  She watched his every word, his\nevery look, his every action.  He saw that her suspicious eye was\nalways fixed upon him, and conscious that his designs would not bear\ninspection so minute, He felt frequently confused and disconcerted.  He\nwas aware that She doubted the purity of his intentions; that She would\nnever leave him alone with Antonia, and his Mistress defended by the\npresence of this vigilant Observer, He despaired of finding the means\nto gratify his passion.\n\nAs He quitted the House, Jacintha met him, and begged that some Masses\nmight be sung for the repose of Elvira's soul, which She doubted not\nwas suffering in Purgatory.  He promised not to forget her request; But\nHe perfectly gained the old Woman's heart by engaging to watch during\nthe whole of the approaching night in the haunted chamber.  Jacintha\ncould find no terms sufficiently strong to express her gratitude, and\nthe Monk departed loaded with her benedictions.\n\nIt was broad day when He returned to the Abbey.  His first care was to\ncommunicate what had past to his Confident.  He felt too sincere a\npassion for Antonia to have heard unmoved the prediction of her speedy\ndeath, and He shuddered at the idea of losing an object so dear to him.\nUpon this head Matilda reassured him.  She confirmed the arguments\nwhich Himself had already used:  She declared Antonia to have been\ndeceived by the wandering of her brain, by the Spleen which opprest her\nat the moment, and by the natural turn of her mind to superstition, and\nthe marvellous.  As to Jacintha's account, the absurdity refuted\nitself; The Abbot hesitated not to believe that She had fabricated the\nwhole story, either confused by terror, or hoping to make him comply\nmore readily with her request.  Having overruled the Monk's\napprehensions, Matilda continued thus.\n\n'The prediction and the Ghost are equally false; But it must be your\ncare, Ambrosio, to verify the first. Antonia within three days must\nindeed be dead to the world; But She must live for you.\n\nHer present illness, and this fancy which She has taken into her head,\nwill colour a plan which I have long meditated, but which was\nimpracticable without your procuring access to Antonia.  She shall be\nyours, not for a single night, but for ever.  All the vigilance of her\nDuenna shall not avail her:  You shall riot unrestrained in the charms\nof your Mistress.  This very day must the scheme be put in execution,\nfor you have no time to lose. The Nephew of the Duke of Medina Celi\nprepares to demand Antonia for his Bride:  In a few days She will be\nremoved to the Palace of her Relation, the Marquis de las Cisternas,\nand there She will be secure from your attempts.  Thus during your\nabsence have I been informed by my Spies, who are ever employed in\nbringing me intelligence for your service.  Now then listen to me.\nThere is a juice extracted from certain herbs, known but to few, which\nbrings on the Person who drinks it the exact image of Death.  Let this\nbe administered to Antonia:  You may easily find means to pour a few\ndrops into her medicine.  The effect will be throwing her into strong\nconvulsions for an hour:  After which her blood will gradually cease to\nflow, and heart to beat; A mortal paleness will spread itself over her\nfeatures, and She will appear a Corse to every eye.  She has no Friends\nabout her:  You may charge yourself unsuspected with the\nsuperintendence of her funeral, and cause her to be buried in the\nVaults of St. Clare. Their solitude and easy access render these\nCaverns favourable to your designs.  Give Antonia the soporific draught\nthis Evening: Eight and forty hours after She has drank it, Life will\nrevive to her bosom.  She will then be absolutely in your power:  She\nwill find all resistance unavailing, and necessity will compel her to\nreceive you in her arms.'\n\n'Antonia will be in my power!' exclaimed the Monk; 'Matilda, you\ntransport me!  At length then, happiness will be mine, and that\nhappiness will be Matilda's gift, will be the gift of friendship!\n\nI shall clasp Antonia in my arms, far from every prying eye, from every\ntormenting Intruder!  I shall sigh out my soul upon her bosom; Shall\nteach her young heart the first rudiments of pleasure, and revel\nuncontrouled in the endless variety of her charms!  And shall this\ndelight indeed by mine?  Shall I give the reins to my desires, and\ngratify every wild tumultuous wish?  Oh! Matilda, how can I express to\nyou my gratitude?'\n\n'By profiting by my counsels.  Ambrosio, I live but to serve you:\n\nYour interest and happiness are equally mine. Be your person Antonia's,\nbut to your friendship and your heart I still assert my claim.\nContributing to yours forms now my only pleasure. Should my exertions\nprocure the gratification of your wishes, I shall consider my trouble\nto be amply repaid.  But let us lose no time.  The liquor of which I\nspoke is only to be found in St. Clare's Laboratory.  Hasten then to\nthe Prioress; Request of her admission to the Laboratory, and it will\nnot be denied. There is a Closet at the lower end of the great Room,\nfilled with liquids of different colours and qualities.  The Bottle in\nquestion stands by itself upon the third shelf on the left.  It\ncontains a greenish liquor:  Fill a small phial with it when you are\nunobserved, and Antonia is your own.'\n\nThe Monk hesitated not to adopt this infamous plan.  His desires, but\ntoo violent before, had acquired fresh vigour from the sight of\nAntonia.  As He sat by her bedside, accident had discovered to him some\nof those charms which till then had been concealed from him: He found\nthem even more perfect, than his ardent imagination had pictured them.\nSometimes her white and polished arm was displayed in arranging the\npillow: Sometimes a sudden movement discovered part of her swelling\nbosom:  But whereever the new-found charm presented itself, there\nrested the Friar's gloting eyes.  Scarcely could He master himself\nsufficiently to conceal his desires from Antonia and her vigilant\nDuenna. Inflamed by the remembrance of these beauties, He entered into\nMatilda's scheme without hesitation.\n\nNo sooner were Matins over than He bent his course towards the Convent\nof St. Clare:  His arrival threw the whole Sisterhood into the utmost\namazement.  The Prioress was sensible of the honour done her Convent by\nhis paying it his first visit, and strove to express her gratitude by\nevery possible attention.  He was paraded through the Garden, shown all\nthe reliques of Saints and Martyrs, and treated with as much respect\nand distinction as had He been the Pope himself.  On his part, Ambrosio\nreceived the Domina's civilities very graciously, and strove to remove\nher surprize at his having broken through his resolution.  He stated,\nthat among his penitents, illness prevented many from quitting their\nHouses.  These were exactly the People who most needed his advice and\nthe comforts of Religion:  Many representations had been made to him\nupon this account, and though highly repugnant to his own wishes, He\nhad found it absolutely necessary for the service of heaven to change\nhis determination, and quit his beloved retirement.  The Prioress\napplauded his zeal in his profession and his charity towards Mankind:\nShe declared that Madrid was happy in possessing a Man so perfect and\nirreproachable.  In such discourse, the Friar at length reached the\nLaboratory.  He found the Closet: The Bottle stood in the place which\nMatilda had described, and the Monk seized an opportunity to fill his\nphial unobserved with the soporific liquor.  Then having partaken of a\nCollation in the Refectory, He retired from the Convent pleased with\nthe success of his visit, and leaving the Nuns delighted by the honour\nconferred upon them.\n\nHe waited till Evening before He took the road to Antonia's dwelling.\nJacintha welcomed him with transport, and besought him not to forget\nhis promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber:  That promise He\nnow repeated.  He found Antonia tolerably well, but still harping upon\nthe Ghost's prediction. Flora moved not from her Lady's Bed, and by\nsymptoms yet stronger than on the former night testified her dislike to\nthe Abbot's presence.  Still Ambrosio affected not to observe them.\nThe Physician arrived, while He was conversing with Antonia.  It was\ndark already; Lights were called for, and Flora was compelled to\ndescend for them herself.  However, as She left a third Person in the\nroom, and expected to be absent but a few minutes, She believed that\nShe risqued nothing in quitting her post.  No sooner had She left the\nroom, than Ambrosio moved towards the Table, on which stood Antonia's\nmedicine:  It was placed in a recess of the window.  The Physician\nseated in an armed-chair, and employed in questioning his Patient, paid\nno attention to the proceedings of the Monk.  Ambrosio seized the\nopportunity:  He drew out the fatal Phial, and let a few drops fall\ninto the medicine.  He then hastily left the Table, and returned to the\nseat which He had quitted.  When Flora made her appearance with lights,\nevery thing seemed to be exactly as She had left it.\n\nThe Physician declared that Antonia might quit her chamber the next day\nwith perfect safety.  He recommended her following the same\nprescription which, on the night before, had procured her a refreshing\nsleep: Flora replied that the draught stood ready upon the Table:  He\nadvised the Patient to take it without delay, and then retired.  Flora\npoured the medicine into a Cup and presented it to her Mistress.  At\nthat moment Ambrosio's courage failed him.  Might not Matilda have\ndeceived him?  Might not Jealousy have persuaded her to destroy her\nRival, and substitute poison in the room of an opiate?  This idea\nappeared so reasonable that He was on the point of preventing her from\nswallowing the medicine.  His resolution was adopted too late: The Cup\nwas already emptied, and Antonia restored it into Flora's hands.  No\nremedy was now to be found:  Ambrosio could only expect the moment\nimpatiently, destined to decide upon Antonia's life or death, upon his\nown happiness or despair.\n\nDreading to create suspicion by his stay, or betray himself by his\nmind's agitation, He took leave of his Victim, and withdrew from the\nroom.  Antonia parted from him with less cordiality than on the former\nnight.  Flora had represented to her Mistress that to admit his visits\nwas to disobey her Mother's orders:  She described to her his emotion\non entering the room, and the fire which sparkled in his eyes while He\ngazed upon her.  This had escaped Antonia's observation, but not her\nAttendant's; Who explaining the Monk's designs and their probable\nconsequences in terms much clearer than Elvira's, though not quite so\ndelicate, had succeeded in alarming her young Lady, and persuading her\nto treat him more distantly than She had done hitherto.  The idea of\nobeying her Mother's will at once determined Antonia.  Though She\ngrieved at losing his society, She conquered herself sufficiently to\nreceive the Monk with some degree of reserve and coldness. She thanked\nhim with respect and gratitude for his former visits, but did not\ninvite his repeating them in future.  It now was not the Friar's\ninterest to solicit admission to her presence, and He took leave of her\nas if not designing to return.  Fully persuaded that the acquaintance\nwhich She dreaded was now at an end, Flora was so much worked upon by\nhis easy compliance that She began to doubt the justice of her\nsuspicions.  As She lighted him down Stairs, She thanked him for having\nendeavoured to root out from Antonia's mind her superstitious terrors\nof the Spectre's prediction:  She added, that as He seemed interested\nin Donna Antonia's welfare, should any change take place in her\nsituation, She would be careful to let him know it.  The Monk in\nreplying took pains to raise his voice, hoping that Jacintha would hear\nit.  In this He succeeded; As He reached the foot of the Stairs with\nhis Conductress, the Landlady failed not to make her appearance.\n\n'Why surely you are not going away, reverend Father?' cried She; 'Did\nyou not promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber? Christ Jesus!\nI shall be left alone with the Ghost, and a fine pickle I shall be in\nby morning!  Do all I could, say all I could, that obstinate old Brute,\nSimon Gonzalez, refused to marry me today; And before tomorrow comes, I\nsuppose, I shall be torn to pieces, by the Ghosts, and Goblins, and\nDevils, and what not! For God's sake, your Holiness, do not leave me in\nsuch a woeful condition!  On my bended knees I beseech you to keep your\npromise:  Watch this night in the haunted chamber; Lay the Apparition\nin the Red Sea, and Jacintha remembers you in her prayers to the last\nday of her existence!'\n\nThis request Ambrosio expected and desired; Yet He affected to raise\nobjections, and to seem unwilling to keep his word.  He told Jacintha\nthat the Ghost existed nowhere but in her own brain, and that her\ninsisting upon his staying all night in the House was ridiculous and\nuseless.  Jacintha was obstinate:  She was not to be convinced, and\npressed him so urgently not to leave her a prey to the Devil, that at\nlength He granted her request. All this show of resistance imposed not\nupon Flora, who was naturally of a suspicious temper.  She suspected\nthe Monk to be acting a part very contrary to his own inclinations, and\nthat He wished for no better than to remain where He was.  She even\nwent so far as to believe that Jacintha was in his interest; and the\npoor old Woman was immediately set down, as no better than a Procuress.\nWhile She applauded herself for having penetrated into this plot\nagainst her Lady's honour, She resolved in secret to render it\nfruitless.\n\n'So then,' said She to the Abbot with a look half-satirical and half\nindignant; 'So then you mean to stay here tonight?  Do so, in God's\nname!  Nobody will prevent you.  Sit up to watch for the Ghost's\narrival:  I shall sit up too, and the Lord grant that I may see nothing\nworse than a Ghost!  I quit not Donna Antonia's Bedside during this\nblessed night:  Let me see any one dare to enter the room, and be He\nmortal or immortal, be He Ghost, Devil, or Man, I warrant his repenting\nthat ever He crossed the threshold!'\n\nThis hint was sufficiently strong, and Ambrosio understood its meaning.\nBut instead of showing that He perceived her suspicions; He replied\nmildly that He approved the Duenna's precautions, and advised her to\npersevere in her intention. This, She assured him faithfully that He\nmight depend upon her doing.  Jacintha then conducted him into the\nchamber where the Ghost had appeared, and Flora returned to her Lady's.\n\nJacintha opened the door of the haunted room with a trembling hand:\nShe ventured to peep in; But the wealth of India would not have tempted\nher to cross the threshold.  She gave the Taper to the Monk, wished him\nwell through the adventure, and hastened to be gone.  Ambrosio entered.\nHe bolted the door, placed the light upon the Table, and seated himself\nin the Chair which on the former night had sustained Antonia.  In spite\nof Matilda's assurances that the Spectre was a mere creation of fancy,\nhis mind was impressed with a certain mysterious horror.  He in vain\nendeavoured to shake it off.  The silence of the night, the story of\nthe Apparition, the chamber wainscotted with dark oak pannells, the\nrecollection which it brought with it of the murdered Elvira, and his\nincertitude respecting the nature of the drops given by him to Antonia,\nmade him feel uneasy at his present situation.  But He thought much\nless of the Spectre, than of the poison.  Should He have destroyed the\nonly object which rendered life dear to him; Should the Ghost's\nprediction prove true; Should Antonia in three days be no more, and He\nthe wretched cause of her death ...... The supposition was too\nhorrible to dwell upon.  He drove away these dreadful images, and as\noften they presented themselves again before him.  Matilda had assured\nhim that the effects of the Opiate would be speedy.  He listened with\nfear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some disturbance in the\nadjoining chamber.  All was still silent.  He concluded that the drops\nhad not begun to operate.  Great was the stake, for which He now\nplayed:  A moment would suffice to decide upon his misery or happiness.\nMatilda had taught him the means of ascertaining that life was not\nextinct for ever:  Upon this assay depended all his hopes.  With every\ninstant his impatience redoubled; His terrors grew more lively, his\nanxiety more awake.  Unable to bear this state of incertitude, He\nendeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of Others to his\nown.  The Books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon shelves near\nthe Table: This stood exactly opposite to the Bed, which was placed in\nan Alcove near the Closet door.  Ambrosio took down a Volume, and\nseated himself by the Table:  But his attention wandered from the Pages\nbefore him.  Antonia's image and that of the murdered Elvira persisted\nto force themselves before his imagination.  Still He continued to\nread, though his eyes ran over the characters without his mind being\nconscious of their import. Such was his occupation, when He fancied\nthat He heard a footstep.  He turned his head, but nobody was to be\nseen.\n\nHe resumed his Book; But in a few minutes after the same sound was\nrepeated, and followed by a rustling noise close behind him. He now\nstarted from his seat, and looking round him, perceived the Closet door\nstanding half-unclosed.  On his first entering the room He had tried to\nopen it, but found it bolted on the inside.\n\n'How is this?' said He to himself; 'How comes this door unfastened?'\n\nHe advanced towards it:  He pushed it open, and looked into the closet:\nNo one was there.  While He stood irresolute, He thought that He\ndistinguished a groaning in the adjacent chamber:  It was Antonia's,\nand He supposed that the drops began to take effect:  But upon\nlistening more attentively, He found the noise to be caused by\nJacintha, who had fallen asleep by the Lady's Bedside, and was snoring\nmost lustily.  Ambrosio drew back, and returned to the other room,\nmusing upon the sudden opening of the Closet door, for which He strove\nin vain to account.\n\nHe paced the chamber up and down in silence.  At length He stopped, and\nthe Bed attracted his attention. The curtain of the Recess was but\nhalf-drawn.  He sighed involuntarily.\n\n'That Bed,' said He in a low voice, 'That Bed was Elvira's! There has\nShe past many a quiet night, for She was good and innocent.  How sound\nmust have been her sleep!  And yet now She sleeps sounder!  Does She\nindeed sleep?  Oh! God grant that She may!  What if She rose from her\nGrave at this sad and silent hour?  What if She broke the bonds of the\nTomb, and glided angrily before my blasted eyes?  Oh! I never could\nsupport the sight!  Again to see her form distorted by dying agonies,\nher blood-swollen veins, her livid countenance, her eyes bursting from\ntheir sockets with pain!  To hear her speak of future punishment,\nmenace me with Heaven's vengeance, tax me with the crimes I have\ncommitted, with those I am going to commit ..... Great God! What is\nthat?'\n\nAs He uttered these words, his eyes which were fixed upon the Bed, saw\nthe curtain shaken gently backwards and forwards.  The Apparition was\nrecalled to his mind, and He almost fancied that He beheld Elvira's\nvisionary form reclining upon the Bed.  A few moments consideration\nsufficed to reassure him.\n\n'It was only the wind,' said He, recovering himself.\n\nAgain He paced the chamber; But an involuntary movement of awe and\ninquietude constantly led his eye towards the Alcove.  He drew near it\nwith irresolution. He paused before He ascended the few steps which led\nto it.  He put out his hand thrice to remove the curtain, and as often\ndrew it back.\n\n'Absurd terrors!' He cried at length, ashamed of his own weakness----\n\nHastily he mounted the steps; When a Figure drest in white started from\nthe Alcove, and gliding by him, made with precipitation towards the\nCloset.  Madness and despair now supplied the Monk with that courage,\nof which He had till then been destitute.  He flew down the steps,\npursued the Apparition, and attempted to grasp it.\n\n'Ghost, or Devil, I hold you!' He exclaimed, and seized the Spectre by\nthe arm.\n\n'Oh!  Christ Jesus!' cried a shrill voice; 'Holy Father, how you gripe\nme!  I protest that I meant no harm!'\n\nThis address, as well as the arm which He held, convinced the Abbot\nthat the supposed Ghost was substantial flesh and blood. He drew the\nIntruder towards the Table, and holding up the light, discovered the\nfeatures of ...... Madona Flora!\n\nIncensed at having been betrayed by this trifling cause into fears so\nridiculous, He asked her sternly, what business had brought her to that\nchamber.  Flora, ashamed at being found out, and terrified at the\nseverity of Ambrosio's looks, fell upon her knees, and promised to make\na full confession.\n\n'I protest, reverend Father,' said She, 'that I am quite grieved at\nhaving disturbed you:  Nothing was further from my intention. I meant\nto get out of the room as quietly as I got in; and had you been\nignorant that I watched you, you know, it would have been the same\nthing as if I had not watched you at all.  To be sure, I did very wrong\nin being a Spy upon you, that I cannot deny; But Lord! your Reverence,\nhow can a poor weak Woman resist curiosity?  Mine was so strong to know\nwhat you were doing, that I could not but try to get a little peep,\nwithout any body knowing any thing about it.  So with that I left old\nDame Jacintha sitting by my Lady's Bed, and I ventured to steal into\nthe Closet.  Being unwilling to interrupt you, I contented myself at\nfirst with putting my eye to the Keyhole; But as I could see nothing by\nthis means, I undrew the bolt, and while your back was turned to the\nAlcove, I whipt me in softly and silently.  Here I lay snug behind the\ncurtain, till your Reverence found me out, and seized me ere I had time\nto regain the Closet door.  This is the whole truth, I assure you, Holy\nFather, and I beg your pardon a thousand times for my impertinence.'\n\nDuring this speech the Abbot had time to recollect himself:  He was\nsatisfied with reading the penitent Spy a lecture upon the dangers of\ncuriosity, and the meanness of the action in which She had been just\ndiscovered.  Flora declared herself fully persuaded that She had done\nwrong; She promised never to be guilty of the same fault again, and was\nretiring very humble and contrite to Antonia's chamber, when the Closet\ndoor was suddenly thrown open, and in rushed Jacintha pale and out of\nbreath.\n\n'Oh!  Father!  Father!' She cried in a voice almost choaked with\nterror; 'What shall I do!  What shall I do! Here is a fine piece of\nwork!  Nothing but misfortunes!  Nothing but dead people, and dying\npeople!  Oh!  I shall go distracted!  I shall go distracted!'\n\n'Speak!  Speak!' cried Flora and the Monk at the same time; 'What has\nhappened?  What is the matter?'\n\n'Oh! I shall have another Corse in my House!  Some Witch has certainly\ncast a spell upon it, upon me, and upon all about me! Poor Donna\nAntonia!  There She lies in just such convulsions, as killed her\nMother!  The Ghost told her true! I am sure, the Ghost has told her\ntrue!'\n\nFlora ran, or rather flew to her Lady's chamber: Ambrosio followed her,\nhis bosom trembling with hope and apprehension. They found Antonia as\nJacintha had described, torn by racking convulsions from which they in\nvain endeavoured to relieve her. The Monk dispatched Jacintha to the\nAbbey in all haste, and commissioned her to bring Father Pablos back\nwith her, without losing a moment.\n\n'I will go for him,' replied Jacintha, 'and tell him to come hither;\nBut as to bringing him myself, I shall do no such thing. I am sure that\nthe House is bewitched, and burn me if ever I set foot in it again.'\n\nWith this resolution She set out for the Monastery, and delivered to\nFather Pablos the Abbot's orders.  She then betook herself to the House\nof old Simon Gonzalez, whom She resolved never to quit, till She had\nmade him her Husband, and his dwelling her own.\n\nFather Pablos had no sooner beheld Antonia, than He pronounced her\nincurable.  The convulsions continued for an hour:  During that time\nher agonies were much milder than those which her groans created in the\nAbbot's heart.  Her every pang seemed a dagger in his bosom, and He\ncursed himself a thousand times for having adopted so barbarous a\nproject.  The hour being expired, by degrees the Fits became less\nfrequent, and Antonia less agitated.  She felt that her dissolution was\napproaching, and that nothing could save her.\n\n'Worthy Ambrosio,' She said in a feeble voice, while She pressed his\nhand to her lips; 'I am now at liberty to express, how grateful is my\nheart for your attention and kindness.  I am upon the bed of death; Yet\nan hour, and I shall be no more.  I may therefore acknowledge without\nrestraint, that to relinquish your society was very painful to me:  But\nsuch was the will of a Parent, and I dared not disobey.  I die without\nrepugnance: There are few, who will lament my leaving them; There are\nfew, whom I lament to leave.  Among those few, I lament for none more\nthan for yourself; But we shall meet again, Ambrosio!  We shall one day\nmeet in heaven:  There shall our friendship be renewed, and my Mother\nshall view it with pleasure!'\n\nShe paused.  The Abbot shuddered when She mentioned Elvira: Antonia\nimputed his emotion to pity and concern for her.\n\n'You are grieved for me, Father,' She continued; 'Ah! sigh not for my\nloss.  I have no crimes to repent, at least none of which I am\nconscious, and I restore my soul without fear to him from whom I\nreceived it.  I have but few requests to make:  Yet let me hope that\nwhat few I have shall be granted.  Let a solemn Mass be said for my\nsoul's repose, and another for that of my beloved Mother.  Not that I\ndoubt her resting in her Grave:  I am now convinced that my reason\nwandered, and the falsehood of the Ghost's prediction is sufficient to\nprove my error.  But every one has some failing:  My Mother may have\nhad hers, though I knew them not:  I therefore wish a Mass to be\ncelebrated for her repose, and the expence may be defrayed by the\nlittle wealth of which I am possessed.  Whatever may then remain, I\nbequeath to my Aunt Leonella.  When I am dead, let the Marquis de las\nCisternas know that his Brother's unhappy family can no longer\nimportune him.  But disappointment makes me unjust:  They tell me that\nHe is ill, and perhaps had it been in his power, He wished to have\nprotected me.  Tell him then, Father, only that I am dead, and that if\nHe had any faults to me, I forgave him from my heart. This done, I have\nnothing more to ask for, than your prayers: Promise to remember my\nrequests, and I shall resign my life without a pang or sorrow.'\n\nAmbrosio engaged to comply with her desires, and proceeded to give her\nabsolution.  Every moment announced the approach of Antonia's fate:\nHer sight failed; Her heart beat sluggishly; Her fingers stiffened, and\ngrew cold, and at two in the morning She expired without a groan.  As\nsoon as the breath had forsaken her body, Father Pablos retired,\nsincerely affected at the melancholy scene.  On her part, Flora gave\nway to the most unbridled sorrow.\n\nFar different concerns employed Ambrosio:  He sought for the pulse\nwhose throbbing, so Matilda had assured him, would prove Antonia's\ndeath but temporal.  He found it; He pressed it; It palpitated beneath\nhis hand, and his heart was filled with ecstacy. However, He carefully\nconcealed his satisfaction at the success of his plan.  He assumed a\nmelancholy air, and addressing himself to Flora, warned her against\nabandoning herself to fruitless sorrow.  Her tears were too sincere to\npermit her listening to his counsels, and She continued to weep\nunceasingly.\n\nThe Friar withdrew, first promising to give orders himself about the\nFuneral, which, out of consideration for Jacintha as He pretended,\nshould take place with all expedition.  Plunged in grief for the loss\nof her beloved Mistress, Flora scarcely attended to what He said.\nAmbrosio hastened to command the Burial.  He obtained permission from\nthe Prioress, that the Corse should be deposited in St. Clare's\nSepulchre: and on the Friday Morning, every proper and needful ceremony\nbeing performed, Antonia's body was committed to the Tomb.\n\nOn the same day Leonella arrived at Madrid, intending to present her\nyoung Husband to Elvira.  Various circumstances had obliged her to\ndefer her journey from Tuesday to Friday, and She had no opportunity of\nmaking this alteration in her plans known to her Sister.  As her heart\nwas truly affectionate, and as She had ever entertained a sincere\nregard for Elvira and her Daughter, her surprize at hearing of their\nsudden and melancholy fate was fully equalled by her sorrow and\ndisappointment.  Ambrosio sent to inform her of Antonia's bequest:  At\nher solication, He promised, as soon as Elvira's trifling debts were\ndischarged, to transmit to her the remainder.  This being settled, no\nother business detained Leonella in Madrid, and She returned to Cordova\nwith all diligence.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n  Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies\n  That earth hath seen or fancy could devise,\n  Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,\n  Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,\n  With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair,\n  As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air.\n               Cowper.\n\nHis whole attention bent upon bringing to justice the Assassins of his\nSister, Lorenzo little thought how severely his interest was suffering\nin another quarter.  As was before mentioned, He returned not to Madrid\ntill the evening of that day on which Antonia was buried. Signifying to\nthe Grand Inquisitor the order of the Cardinal-Duke (a ceremony not to\nbe neglected, when a Member of the Church was to be arrested publicly)\ncommunicating his design to his Uncle and Don Ramirez, and assembling a\ntroop of Attendants sufficiently to prevent opposition, furnished him\nwith full occupation during the few hours preceding midnight.\nConsequently, He had no opportunity to enquire about his Mistress, and\nwas perfectly ignorant both of her death and her Mother's.\n\nThe Marquis was by no means out of danger:  His delirium was gone, but\nhad left him so much exhausted that the Physicians declined pronouncing\nupon the consequences likely to ensue.  As for Raymond himself, He\nwished for nothing more earnestly than to join Agnes in the grave.\nExistence was hateful to him:  He saw nothing in the world deserving\nhis attention; and He hoped to hear that Agnes was revenged, and\nhimself given over in the same moment.\n\nFollowed by Raymond's ardent prayers for success, Lorenzo was at the\nGates of St. Clare a full hour before the time appointed by the Mother\nSt. Ursula.  He was accompanied by his Uncle, by Don Ramirez de Mello,\nand a party of chosen Archers.  Though in considerable numbers their\nappearance created no surprize:  A great Crowd was already assembled\nbefore the Convent doors, in order to witness the Procession.  It was\nnaturally supposed that Lorenzo and his Attendants were conducted\nthither by the same design.  The Duke of Medina being recognised, the\nPeople drew back, and made way for his party to advance.  Lorenzo\nplaced himself opposite to the great Gate, through which the Pilgrims\nwere to pass. Convinced that the Prioress could not escape him, He\nwaited patiently for her appearance, which She was expected to make\nexactly at Midnight.\n\nThe Nuns were employed in religious duties established in honour of St.\nClare, and to which no Prophane was ever admitted.  The Chapel windows\nwere illuminated. As they stood on the outside, the Auditors heard the\nfull swell of the organ, accompanied by a chorus of female voices, rise\nupon the stillness of the night. This died away, and was succeeded by a\nsingle strain of harmony: It was the voice of her who was destined to\nsustain in the procession the character of St. Clare.  For this office\nthe most beautiful Virgin of Madrid was always selected, and She upon\nwhom the choice fell esteemed it as the highest of honours.  While\nlistening to the Music, whose melody distance only seemed to render\nsweeter, the Audience was wrapped up in profound attention.  Universal\nsilence prevailed through the Crowd, and every heart was filled with\nreverence for religion.  Every heart but Lorenzo's.  Conscious that\namong those who chaunted the praises of their God so sweetly, there\nwere some who cloaked with devotion the foulest sins, their hymns\ninspired him with detestation at their Hypocrisy.  He had long observed\nwith disapprobation and contempt the superstition which governed\nMadrid's Inhabitants.  His good sense had pointed out to him the\nartifices of the Monks, and the gross absurdity of their miracles,\nwonders, and supposititious reliques.  He blushed to see his Countrymen\nthe Dupes of deceptions so ridiculous, and only wished for an\nopportunity to free them from their monkish fetters.  That opportunity,\nso long desired in vain, was at length presented to him.  He resolved\nnot to let it slip, but to set before the People in glaring colours how\nenormous were the abuses but too frequently practised in Monasteries,\nand how unjustly public esteem was bestowed indiscriminately upon all\nwho wore a religious habit.  He longed for the moment destined to\nunmask the Hypocrites, and convince his Countrymen that a sanctified\nexterior does not always hide a virtuous heart.\n\nThe service lasted, till Midnight was announced by the Convent Bell.\nThat sound being heard, the Music ceased:  The voices died away softly,\nand soon after the lights disappeared from the Chapel windows.\nLorenzo's heart beat high, when He found the execution of his plan to\nbe at hand.  From the natural superstition of the People He had\nprepared himself for some resistance.  But He trusted that the Mother\nSt. Ursula would bring good reasons to justify his proceeding.  He had\nforce with him to repel the first impulse of the Populace, till his\narguments should be heard:  His only fear was lest the Domina,\nsuspecting his design, should have spirited away the Nun on whose\ndeposition every thing depended.  Unless the Mother St. Ursula should\nbe present, He could only accuse the Prioress upon suspicion; and this\nreflection gave him some little apprehension for the success of his\nenterprize.  The tranquillity which seemed to reign through the Convent\nin some degree re-assured him: Still He expected the moment eagerly,\nwhen the presence of his Ally should deprive him of the power of\ndoubting.\n\nThe Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the\nGarden and Cemetery.  The Monks had been invited to assist at the\nPilgrimage.  They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted Torches\nin their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St. Clare.  Father\nPablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused himself from\nattending.  The people made way for the holy Train, and the Friars\nplaced themselves in ranks on either side of the great Gates.  A few\nminutes sufficed to arrange the order of the Procession.  This being\nsettled, the Convent doors were thrown open, and again the female\nChorus sounded in full melody.  First appeared a Band of Choristers:\nAs soon as they had passed, the Monks fell in two by two, and followed\nwith steps slow and measured.  Next came the Novices; They bore no\nTapers, as did the Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards,\nand seemed to be occupied by telling their Beads.  To them succeeded a\nyoung and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia:  She held a golden\nbason in which were two eyes:  Her own were covered by a velvet\nbandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an Angel.  She\nwas followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one hand, a flaming\nSword in the other:  She was robed in white, and her brow was\nornamented with a sparkling Diadem.  After her appeared St. Genevieve,\nsurrounded by a number of Imps, who putting themselves into grotesque\nattitudes, drawing her by the robe, and sporting round her with antic\ngestures, endeavoured to distract her attention from the Book, on which\nher eyes were constantly fixed.  These merry Devils greatly entertained\nthe Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of\nLaughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose\ndisposition was naturally solemn and saturnine.  She had every reason\nto be satisfied with her choice:  The drolleries of the Imps were\nentirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on without discomposing a\nmuscle.\n\nEach of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of\nChoristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her to be\nvery much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent's avowed Patroness.  These\nhaving passed, a long train of Nuns appeared, bearing like the\nChoristers each a burning Taper.  Next came the reliques of St. Clare,\ninclosed in vases equally precious for their materials and workmanship:\nBut they attracted not Lorenzo's attention.  The Nun who bore the heart\noccupied him entirely.  According to Theodore's description, He doubted\nnot her being the Mother St. Ursula.  She seemed to look round with\nanxiety.  As He stood foremost in the rank by which the procession\npast, her eye caught Lorenzo's.  A flush of joy overspread her till\nthen pallid cheek.  She turned to her Companion eagerly.\n\n'We are safe!' He heard her whisper; ''tis her Brother!'\n\nHis heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon the\nremainder of the show.  Now appeared its most brilliant ornament.  It\nwas a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with jewels and dazzling\nwith light.  It rolled onwards upon concealed wheels, and was guided by\nseveral lovely Children, dressed as Seraphs.  The summit was covered\nwith silver clouds, upon which reclined the most beautiful form that\neyes ever witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare:  Her dress\nwas of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds\nformed an artificial glory:  But all these ornaments yielded to the\nlustre of her charms.  As She advanced, a murmur of delight ran through\nthe Crowd.  Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He never beheld more\nperfect beauty, and had not his heart been Antonia's, it must have\nfallen a sacrifice to this enchanting Girl.  As it was, He considered\nher only as a fine Statue:  She obtained from him no tribute save cold\nadmiration, and when She had passed him, He thought of her no more.\n\n'Who is She?' asked a By-stander in Lorenzo's hearing.\n\n'One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name is\nVirginia de Villa-Franca:  She is a Pensioner of St. Clare's Convent, a\nRelation of the Prioress, and has been selected with justice as the\nornament of the Procession.'\n\nThe Throne moved onwards.  It was followed by the Prioress herself:\nShe marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a devout and\nsanctified air, and closed the procession.  She moved on slowly:  Her\neyes were raised to heaven:  Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed\nabstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her\nsecret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent.  She\npassed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the\nPopulace:  But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when\nDon Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner.\n\nFor a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no\nsooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed against sacrilege\nand impiety, and called the People to rescue a Daughter of the Church.\nThey were eagerly preparing to obey her; when Don Ramirez, protected by\nthe Archers from their rage, commanded them to forbear, and threatened\nthem with the severest vengeance of the Inquisition.  At that dreaded\nword every arm fell, every sword shrunk back into its scabbard.  The\nPrioress herself turned pale, and trembled.  The general silence\nconvinced her that She had nothing to hope but from innocence, and She\nbesought Don Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her of what crime\nShe was accused.\n\n'That you shall know in time,' replied He; 'But first I must secure the\nMother St. Ursula.'\n\n'The Mother St. Ursula?' repeated the Domina faintly.\n\nAt this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo and the\nDuke, who had followed Don Ramirez.\n\n'Ah! great God!' She cried, clasping her hands together with a frantic\nair; 'I am betrayed!'\n\n'Betrayed?' replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by some of\nthe Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the procession:\n'Not betrayed, but discovered.  In me recognise your Accuser:  You know\nnot how well I am instructed in your guilt!--Segnor!' She continued,\nturning to Don Ramirez; 'I commit myself to your custody.  I charge the\nPrioress of St. Clare with murder, and stake my life for the justice of\nmy accusation.'\n\nA general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and an\nexplanation was demanded loudly.  The trembling Nuns, terrified at the\nnoise and universal confusion, had dispersed, and fled different ways.\nSome regained the Convent; Others sought refuge in the dwellings of\ntheir Relations; and Many, only sensible of their present danger, and\nanxious to escape from the tumult, ran through the Streets, and\nwandered, they knew not whither.  The lovely Virginia was one of the\nfirst to fly:  And in order that She might be better seen and heard,\nthe People desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacant\nThrone.  The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine, and\nthen addressed the surrounding multitude as follows.\n\n'However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when considered to\nbe adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will justify it most fully.\nA secret, an horrible secret weighs heavy upon my soul:  No rest can be\nmine till I have revealed it to the world, and satisfied that innocent\nblood which calls from the Grave for vengeance.  Much have I dared to\ngain this opportunity of lightening my conscience.  Had I failed in my\nattempt to reveal the crime, had the Domina but suspected that the\nmystery was none to me, my ruin was inevitable.  Angels who watch\nunceasingly over those who deserve their favour, have enabled me to\nescape detection:  I am now at liberty to relate a Tale, whose\ncircumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror.  Mine is the\ntask to rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided Parents to\nwhat dangers the Woman is exposed, who falls under the sway of a\nmonastic Tyrant.\n\n'Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more\ngentle, than Agnes de Medina.  I knew her well; She entrusted to me\nevery secret of her heart; I was her Friend and Confident, and I loved\nher with sincere affection.  Nor was I singular in my attachment.   Her\npiety unfeigned, her willingness to oblige, and her angelic\ndisposition, rendered her the Darling of all that was estimable in the\nConvent.  The Prioress herself, proud, scrupulous and forbidding, could\nnot refuse Agnes that tribute of approbation which She bestowed upon no\none else.  Every one has some fault:  Alas! Agnes had her weakness!\nShe violated the laws of our order, and incurred the inveterate hate of\nthe unforgiving Domina.  St. Clare's rules are severe:  But grown\nantiquated and neglected, many of late years have either been\nforgotten, or changed by universal consent into milder punishments.\nThe penance, adjudged to the crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most\ninhuman!  The law had been long exploded:  Alas!  It still existed, and\nthe revengeful Prioress now determined to revive it.\n\nThis law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a private\ndungeon, expressly constituted to hide from the world for ever the\nVictim of Cruelty and tyrannic superstition.  In this dreadful abode\nShe was to lead a perpetual solitude, deprived of all society, and\nbelieved to be dead by those whom affection might have prompted to\nattempt her rescue.  Thus was She to languish out the remainder of her\ndays, with no other food than bread and water, and no other comfort\nthan the free indulgence of her tears.'\n\nThe indignation created by this account was so violent, as for some\nmoments to interrupt St. Ursula's narrative.  When the disturbance\nceased, and silence again prevailed through the Assembly, She continued\nher discourse, while at every word the Domina's countenance betrayed\nher increasing terrors.\n\n'A Council of the twelve elder Nuns was called:  I was of the number.\nThe Prioress in exaggerated colours described the offence of Agnes, and\nscrupled not to propose the revival of this almost forgotten law.  To\nthe shame of our sex be it spoken, that either so absolute was the\nDomina's will in the Convent, or so much had disappointment, solitude,\nand self-denial hardened their hearts and sowered their tempers that\nthis barbarous proposal was assented to by nine voices out of the\ntwelve.  I was not one of the nine.  Frequent opportunities had\nconvinced me of the virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitied her most\nsincerely.  The Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party:  We made\nthe strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself\ncompelled to change her intention.  In spite of the majority in her\nfavour, She feared to break with us openly.  She knew that supported by\nthe Medina family, our forces would be too strong for her to cope with:\nAnd She also knew that after being once imprisoned and supposed dead,\nshould Agnes be discovered, her ruin would be inevitable.  She\ntherefore gave up her design, though which much reluctance.  She\ndemanded some days to reflect upon a mode of punishment which might be\nagreeable to the whole Community; and She promised, that as soon as her\nresolution was fixed, the same Council should be again summoned.  Two\ndays passed away:  On the Evening of the Third it was announced that on\nthe next day Agnes should be examined; and that according to her\nbehaviour on that occasion, her punishment should be either\nstrengthened or mitigated.\n\n'On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of Agnes\nat an hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in sleep.  I\ncomforted her to the best of my power:  I bad her take courage, told\nher to rely upon the support of her friends, and taught her certain\nsigns, by which I might instruct her to answer the Domina's questions\nby an assent or negative.  Conscious that her Enemy would strive to\nconfuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I feared her being ensnared into\nsome confession prejudicial to her interests.  Being anxious to keep my\nvisit secret, I stayed with Agnes but a short time.  I bad her not let\nher spirits be cast down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed\ndown her cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring,\nwhen I heard the sound of steps approaching the Cell.  I started back.\nA Curtain which veiled a large Crucifix offered me a retreat, and I\nhastened to place myself behind it.  The door opened.  The Prioress\nentered, followed by four other Nuns.  They advanced towards the bed of\nAgnes. The Superior reproached her with her errors in the bitterest\nterms:  She told her that She was a disgrace to the Convent, that She\nwas resolved to deliver the world and herself from such a Monster, and\ncommanded her to drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by\none of the Nuns.  Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and\ntrembling to find herself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl\nstrove to excite the Domina's pity by the most affecting prayers.\n\nShe sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a\nFiend:  She promised to submit patiently to any punishment, to shame,\nimprisonment, and torture, might She but be permitted to live!  Oh!\nmight She but live another month, or week, or day! Her merciless Enemy\nlistened to her complaints unmoved:  She told her that at first She\nmeant to have spared her life, and that if She had altered her\nintention, She had to thank the opposition of her Friends.  She\ncontinued to insist upon her swallowing the poison:  She bad her\nrecommend herself to the Almighty's mercy, not to hers, and assured her\nthat in an hour She would be numbered with the Dead.  Perceiving that\nit was vain to implore this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring\nfrom her bed, and call for assistance:  She hoped, if She could not\nescape the fate announced to her, at least to have witnesses of the\nviolence committed.  The Prioress guessed her design.  She seized her\nforcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon her pillow.  At the same\ntime drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of the unfortunate\nAgnes, She protested that if She uttered a single cry, or hesitated a\nsingle moment to drink the poison, She would pierce her heart that\ninstant.  Already half-dead with fear, She could make no further\nresistance.  The Nun approached with the fatal Goblet.  The Domina\nobliged her to take it, and swallow the contents.  She drank, and the\nhorrid deed was accomplished.  The Nuns then seated themselves round\nthe Bed.  They answered her groans with reproaches; They interrupted\nwith sarcasms the prayers in which She recommended her parting soul to\nmercy:  They threatened her with heaven's vengeance and eternal\nperdition: They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper\nthorns Death's painful pillow.  Such were the sufferings of this young\nUnfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her Tormentors.\nShe expired in horror of the past, in fears for the future; and her\nagonies were such as must have amply gratified the hate and vengeance\nof her Enemies.  As soon as her Victim ceased to breathe, the Domina\nretired, and was followed by her Accomplices.\n\n'It was now that I ventured from my concealment.  I dared not to assist\nmy unhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I should only\nhave brought on myself the same destruction.  Shocked and terrified\nbeyond expression at this horrid scene, scarcely had I sufficient\nstrength to regain my Cell.  As I reached the door of that of Agnes, I\nventured to look towards the bed, on which lay her lifeless body, once\nso lovely and so sweet!  I breathed a prayer for her departed Spirit,\nand vowed to revenge her death by the shame and punishment of her\nAssassins.  With danger and difficulty have I kept my oath.  I unwarily\ndropped some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard\nby excessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the\nPrioress.  My every action was observed; My every step was traced.  I\nwas constantly surrounded by the Superior's spies.  It was long before\nI could find the means of conveying to the unhappy Girl's Relations an\nintimation of my secret.  It was given out that Agnes had expired\nsuddenly: This account was credited not only by her Friends in Madrid,\nbut even by those within the Convent.  The poison had left no marks\nupon her body: No one suspected the true cause of her death, and it\nremained unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself.\n\n'I have no more to say:  For what I have already said, I will answer\nwith my life.  I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess; That She has\ndriven from the world, perhaps from heaven, an Unfortunate whose\noffence was light and venial; that She has abused the power intrusted\nto her hands, and has been a Tyrant, a Barbarian, and an Hypocrite.  I\nalso accuse the four Nuns, Violante, Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as\nbeing her Accomplices, and equally criminal.'\n\nHere St. Ursula ended her narrative.  It created horror and surprize\nthroughout:  But when She related the inhuman murder of Agnes, the\nindignation of the Mob was so audibly testified, that it was scarcely\npossible to hear the conclusion.  This confusion increased with every\nmoment:  At length a multitude of voices exclaimed that the Prioress\nshould be given up to their fury. To this Don Ramirez refused to\nconsent positively.  Even Lorenzo bad the People remember that She had\nundergone no trial, and advised them to leave her punishment to the\nInquisition.  All representations were fruitless:  The disturbance grew\nstill more violent, and the Populace more exasperated.  In vain did\nRamirez attempt to convey his Prisoner out of the Throng.  Wherever He\nturned, a band of Rioters barred his passage, and demanded her being\ndelivered over to them more loudly than before. Ramirez ordered his\nAttendants to cut their way through the multitude: Oppressed by\nnumbers, it was impossible for them to draw their swords.  He\nthreatened the Mob with the vengeance of the Inquisition:  But in this\nmoment of popular phrenzy even this dreadful name had lost its effect.\nThough regret for his Sister made him look upon the Prioress with\nabhorrence, Lorenzo could not help pitying a Woman in a situation so\nterrible:  But in spite of all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of\nDon Ramirez, and the Archers, the People continued to press onwards.\nThey forced a passage through the Guards who protected their destined\nVictim, dragged her from her shelter, and proceeded to take upon her a\nmost summary and cruel vengeance.  Wild with terror, and scarcely\nknowing what She said, the wretched Woman shrieked for a moment's\nmercy:  She protested that She was innocent of the death of Agnes, and\ncould clear herself from the suspicion beyond the power of doubt.  The\nRioters heeded nothing but the gratification of their barbarous\nvengeance.  They refused to listen to her:  They showed her every sort\nof insult, loaded her with mud and filth, and called her by the most\nopprobrious appellations. They tore her one from another, and each new\nTormentor was more savage than the former.  They stifled with howls and\nexecrations her shrill cries for mercy; and dragged her through the\nStreets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating her with every\nspecies of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury could invent.  At\nlength a Flint, aimed by some well-directing hand, struck her full upon\nthe temple.  She sank upon the ground bathed in blood, and in a few\nminutes terminated her miserable existence. Yet though She no longer\nfelt their insults, the Rioters still exercised their impotent rage\nupon her lifeless body.  They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it,\ntill it became no more than a mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and\ndisgusting.\n\nUnable to prevent this shocking event, Lorenzo and his Friends had\nbeheld it with the utmost horror:  But they were rouzed from their\ncompelled inactivity, on hearing that the Mob was attacking the Convent\nof St. Clare.  The incensed Populace, confounding the innocent with the\nguilty, had resolved to sacrifice all the Nuns of that order to their\nrage, and not to leave one stone of the building upon another.  Alarmed\nat this intelligence, they hastened to the Convent, resolved to defend\nit if possible, or at least to rescue the Inhabitants from the fury of\nthe Rioters. Most of the Nuns had fled, but a few still remained in\ntheir habitation.  Their situation was truly dangerous.  However, as\nthey had taken the precaution of fastening the inner Gates, with this\nassistance Lorenzo hoped to repel the Mob, till Don Ramirez should\nreturn to him with a more sufficient force.\n\nHaving been conducted by the former disturbance to the distance of some\nStreets from the Convent, He did not immediately reach it:  When He\narrived, the throng surrounding it was so excessive as to prevent his\napproaching the Gates.  In the interim, the Populace besieged the\nBuilding with persevering rage:  They battered the walls, threw lighted\ntorches in at the windows, and swore that by break of day not a Nun of\nSt. Clare's order should be left alive.  Lorenzo had just succeeded in\npiercing his way through the Crowd, when one of the Gates was forced\nopen.  The Rioters poured into the interior part of the Building, where\nthey exercised their vengeance upon every thing which found itself in\ntheir passage.  They broke the furniture into pieces, tore down the\npictures, destroyed the reliques, and in their hatred of her Servant\nforgot all respect to the Saint.  Some employed themselves in searching\nout the Nuns, Others in pulling down parts of the Convent, and Others\nagain in setting fire to the pictures and valuable furniture which it\ncontained.  These Latter produced the most decisive desolation:  Indeed\nthe consequences of their action were more sudden than themselves had\nexpected or wished.  The Flames rising from the burning piles caught\npart of the Building, which being old and dry, the conflagration spread\nwith rapidity from room to room. The Walls were soon shaken by the\ndevouring element: The Columns gave way: The Roofs came tumbling down\nupon the Rioters, and crushed many of them beneath their weight.\nNothing was to be heard but shrieks and groans; The Convent was wrapped\nin flames, and the whole presented a scene of devastation and horror.\n\nLorenzo was shocked at having been the cause, however innocent, of this\nfrightful disturbance:  He endeavoured to repair his fault by\nprotecting the helpless Inhabitants of the Convent.  He entered it with\nthe Mob, and exerted himself to repress the prevailing Fury, till the\nsudden and alarming progress of the flames compelled him to provide for\nhis own safety.  The People now hurried out, as eagerly as they had\nbefore thronged in; But their numbers clogging up the doorway, and the\nfire gaining upon them rapidly, many of them perished ere they had time\nto effect their escape.  Lorenzo's good fortune directed him to a small\ndoor in a farther Aisle of the Chapel.  The bolt was already undrawn:\nHe opened the door, and found himself at the foot of St. Clare's\nSepulchre.\n\nHere He stopped to breathe.  The Duke and some of his Attendants had\nfollowed him, and thus were in security for the present. They now\nconsulted, what steps they should take to escape from this scene of\ndisturbance: But their deliberations were considerably interrupted by\nthe sight of volumes of fire rising from amidst the Convent's massy\nwalls, by the noise of some heavy Arch tumbling down in ruins, or by\nthe mingled shrieks of the Nuns and Rioters, either suffocating in the\npress, perishing in the flames, or crushed beneath the weight of the\nfalling Mansion.\n\nLorenzo enquired, whither the Wicket led?  He was answered, to the\nGarden of the Capuchins, and it was resolved to explore an outlet upon\nthat side.  Accordingly the Duke raised the Latch, and passed into the\nadjoining Cemetery.  The Attendants followed without ceremony.\nLorenzo, being the last, was also on the point of quitting the\nColonnade, when He saw the door of the Sepulchre opened softly.\nSomeone looked out, but on perceiving Strangers uttered a loud shriek,\nstarted back again, and flew down the marble Stairs.\n\n'What can this mean?' cried Lorenzo; 'Here is some mystery concealed.\nFollow me without delay!'\n\nThus saying, He hastened into the Sepulchre, and pursued the person who\ncontinued to fly before him.  The Duke knew not the cause of his\nexclamation, but supposing that He had good reasons for it, he followed\nhim without hesitation.  The Others did the same, and the whole Party\nsoon arrived at the foot of the Stairs.\n\nThe upper door having been left open, the neighbouring flames darted\nfrom above a sufficient light to enable Lorenzo's catching a glance of\nthe Fugitive running through the long passages and distant Vaults:  But\nwhen a sudden turn deprived him of this assistance, total darkness\nsucceeded, and He could only trace the object of his enquiry by the\nfaint echo of retiring feet.  The Pursuers were now compelled to\nproceed with caution:  As well as they could judge, the Fugitive also\nseemed to slacken pace, for they heard the steps follow each other at\nlonger intervals.  They at length were bewildered by the Labyrinth of\npassages, and dispersed in various directions.  Carried away by his\neagerness to clear up this mystery, and to penetrate into which He was\nimpelled by a movement secret and unaccountable, Lorenzo heeded not\nthis circumstance till He found himself in total solitude. The noise of\nfootsteps had ceased.  All was silent around, and no clue offered\nitself to guide him to the flying Person.  He stopped to reflect on the\nmeans most likely to aid his pursuit. He was persuaded that no common\ncause would have induced the Fugitive to seek that dreary place at an\nhour so unusual:  The cry which He had heard, seemed uttered in a voice\nof terror, and He was convinced that some mystery was attached to this\nevent. After some minutes past in hesitation He continued to proceed,\nfeeling his way along the walls of the passage.  He had already past\nsome time in this slow progress, when He descried a spark of light\nglimmering at a distance.  Guided by this observation, and having drawn\nhis sword, He bent his steps towards the place, whence the beam seemed\nto be emitted.\n\nIt proceeded from the Lamp which flamed before St. Clare's Statue.\nBefore it stood several Females, their white Garments streaming in the\nblast, as it howled along the vaulted dungeons. Curious to know what\nhad brought them together in this melancholy spot, Lorenzo drew near\nwith precaution.  The Strangers seemed earnestly engaged in\nconversation.  They heard not Lorenzo's steps, and He approached\nunobserved, till He could hear their voices distinctly.\n\n'I protest,' continued She who was speaking when He arrived, and to\nwhom the rest were listening with great attention; 'I protest, that I\nsaw them with my own eyes.  I flew down the steps; They pursued me, and\nI escaped falling into their hands with difficulty.  Had it not been\nfor the Lamp, I should never have found you.'\n\n'And what could bring them hither?' said another in a trembling voice;\n'Do you think that they were looking for us?'\n\n'God grant that my fears may be false,' rejoined the First; 'But I\ndoubt they are Murderers!  If they discover us, we are lost! As for me,\nmy fate is certain:  My affinity to the Prioress will be a sufficient\ncrime to condemn me; and though till now these Vaults have afforded me\na retreat.......'\n\nHere looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to\napproach softly.\n\n'The Murderers!' She cried--\n\nShe started away from the Statue's Pedestal on which She had been\nseated, and attempted to escape by flight.  Her Companions at the same\nmoment uttered a terrified scream, while Lorenzo arrested the Fugitive\nby the arm.  Frightened and desperate She sank upon her knees before\nhim.\n\n'Spare me!' She exclaimed; 'For Christ's sake, spare me!  I am\ninnocent, indeed, I am!'\n\nWhile She spoke, her voice was almost choaked with fear.  The beams of\nthe Lamp darting full upon her face which was unveiled, Lorenzo\nrecognized the beautiful Virginia de Villa-Franca.  He hastened to\nraise her from the ground, and besought her to take courage.  He\npromised to protect her from the Rioters, assured her that her retreat\nwas still a secret, and that She might depend upon his readiness to\ndefend her to the last drop of his blood.  During this conversation,\nthe Nuns had thrown themselves into various attitudes:  One knelt, and\naddressed herself to heaven; Another hid her face in the lap of her\nNeighbour; Some listened motionless with fear to the discourse of the\nsupposed Assassin; while Others embraced the Statue of St. Clare, and\nimplored her protection with frantic cries.  On perceiving their\nmistake, they crowded round Lorenzo and heaped benedictions on him by\ndozens.  He found that, on hearing the threats of the Mob, and\nterrified by the cruelties which from the Convent Towers they had seen\ninflicted on the Superior, many of the Pensioners and Nuns had taken\nrefuge in the Sepulchre.  Among the former was to be reckoned the\nlovely Virginia.  Nearly related to the Prioress, She had more reason\nthan the rest to dread the Rioters, and now besought Lorenzo earnestly\nnot to abandon her to their rage.  Her Companions, most of whom were\nWomen of noble family, made the same request, which He readily granted.\nHe promised not to quit them, till He had seen each of them safe in the\narms of her Relations:  But He advised their deferring to quit the\nSepulchre for some time longer, when the popular fury should be\nsomewhat calmed, and the arrival of military force have dispersed the\nmultitude.\n\n'Would to God!' cried Virginia, 'That I were already safe in my\nMother's embraces!  How say you, Segnor; Will it be long, ere we may\nleave this place?  Every moment that I pass here, I pass in torture!'\n\n'I hope, not long,' said He; 'But till you can proceed with security,\nthis Sepulchre will prove an impenetrable asylum.  Here you run no\nrisque of a discovery, and I would advise your remaining quiet for the\nnext two or three hours.'\n\n'Two or three hours?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'If I stay another hour\nin these vaults, I shall expire with fear!  Not the wealth of worlds\nshould bribe me to undergo again what I have suffered since my coming\nhither. Blessed Virgin!  To be in this melancholy place in the middle\nof night, surrounded by the mouldering bodies of my deceased\nCompanions, and expecting every moment to be torn in pieces by their\nGhosts who wander about me, and complain, and groan, and wail in\naccents that make my blood run cold, ..... Christ Jesus!  It is\nenough to drive me to madness!'\n\n'Excuse me,' replied Lorenzo, 'if I am surprized that while menaced by\nreal woes you are capable of yielding to imaginary dangers.  These\nterrors are puerile and groundless:  Combat them, holy Sister; I have\npromised to guard you from the Rioters, but against the attacks of\nsuperstition you must depend for protection upon yourself. The idea of\nGhosts is ridiculous in the extreme; And if you continue to be swayed\nby ideal terrors ...'\n\n'Ideal?' exclaimed the Nuns with one voice; 'Why we heard it ourselves,\nSegnor!  Every one of us heard it!  It was frequently repeated, and it\nsounded every time more melancholy and deep. You will never persuade me\nthat we could all have been deceived. Not we, indeed; No, no; Had the\nnoise been merely created by fancy ....'\n\n'Hark!  Hark!' interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; 'God preserve\nus!  There it is again!'\n\nThe Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees.\n\nLorenzo looked round him eagerly, and was on the point of yielding to\nthe fears which already had possessed the Women. Universal silence\nprevailed.  He examined the Vault, but nothing was to be seen.  He now\nprepared to address the Nuns, and ridicule their childish\napprehensions, when his attention was arrested by a deep and long-drawn\ngroan.\n\n'What was that?' He cried, and started.\n\n'There, Segnor!' said Helena; 'Now you must be convinced!  You have\nheard the noise yourself!  Now judge, whether our terrors are\nimaginary.  Since we have been here, that groaning has been repeated\nalmost every five minutes.  Doubtless, it proceeds from some Soul in\npain, who wishes to be prayed out of purgatory:  But none of us here\ndares ask it the question.  As for me, were I to see an Apparition, the\nfright, I am very certain, would kill me out of hand.'\n\nAs She said this, a second groan was heard yet more distinctly. The\nNuns crossed themselves, and hastened to repeat their prayers against\nevil Spirits.  Lorenzo listened attentively.  He even thought that He\ncould distinguish sounds, as of one speaking in complaint; But distance\nrendered them inarticulate.  The noise seemed to come from the midst of\nthe small Vault in which He and the Nuns then were, and which a\nmultitude of passages branching out in various directions, formed into\na sort of Star.  Lorenzo's curiosity which was ever awake, made him\nanxious to solve this mystery.  He desired that silence might be kept.\nThe Nuns obeyed him.  All was hushed, till the general stillness was\nagain disturbed by the groaning, which was repeated several times\nsuccessively.  He perceived it to be most audible, when upon following\nthe sound He was conducted close to the shrine of St. Clare:\n\n'The noise comes from hence,' said He; 'Whose is this Statue?'\n\nHelena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment.\nSuddenly She clapped her hands together.\n\n'Aye!' cried She, 'it must be so.  I have discovered the meaning of\nthese groans.'\n\nThe Nuns crowded round her, and besought her eagerly to explain\nherself.  She gravely replied that for time immemorial the Statue had\nbeen famous for performing miracles:  From this She inferred that the\nSaint was concerned at the conflagration of a Convent which She\nprotected, and expressed her grief by audible lamentations. Not having\nequal faith in the miraculous Saint, Lorenzo did not think this\nsolution of the mystery quite so satisfactory, as the Nuns, who\nsubscribed to it without hesitation.  In one point, 'tis true, that He\nagreed with Helena.\n\nHe suspected that the groans proceeded from the Statue:  The more He\nlistened, the more was He confirmed in this idea.  He drew nearer to\nthe Image, designing to inspect it more closely:  But perceiving his\nintention, the Nuns besought him for God's sake to desist, since if He\ntouched the Statue, his death was inevitable.\n\n'And in what consists the danger?' said He.\n\n'Mother of God!  In what?' replied Helena, ever eager to relate a\nmiraculous adventure; 'If you had only heard the hundredth part of\nthose marvellous Stories about this Statue which the Domina used to\nrecount!  She assured us often and often, that if we only dared to lay\na finger upon it, we might expect the most fatal consequences. Among\nother things She told us that a Robber having entered these Vaults by\nnight, He observed yonder Ruby, whose value is inestimable.  Do you see\nit, Segnor?  It sparkles upon the third finger of the hand, in which\nShe holds a crown of Thorns.  This Jewel naturally excited the\nVillain's cupidity.  He resolved to make himself Master of it.  For\nthis purpose He ascended the Pedestal:  He supported himself by\ngrasping the Saint's right arm, and extended his own towards the Ring.\nWhat was his surprize, when He saw the Statue's hand raised in a\nposture of menace, and heard her lips pronounce his eternal perdition!\nPenetrated with awe and consternation, He desisted from his attempt,\nand prepared to quit the Sepulchre.  In this He also failed.  Flight\nwas denied him.  He found it impossible to disengage the hand, which\nrested upon the right arm of the Statue.  In vain did He struggle:  He\nremained fixed to the Image, till the insupportable and fiery anguish\nwhich darted itself through his veins, compelled his shrieking for\nassistance.\n\nThe Sepulchre was now filled with Spectators.  The Villain confessed\nhis sacrilege, and was only released by the separation of his hand from\nhis body.  It has remained ever since fastened to the Image.  The\nRobber turned Hermit, and led ever after an exemplary life:  But yet\nthe Saint's decree was performed, and Tradition says that He continues\nto haunt this Sepulchre, and implore St. Clare's pardon with groans and\nlamentations.  Now I think of it, those which we have just heard, may\nvery possibly have been uttered by the Ghost of this Sinner: But of\nthis I will not be positive.  All that I can say is, that since that\ntime no one has ever dared to touch the Statue:  Then do not be\nfoolhardy, good Segnor!  For the love of heaven, give up your design,\nnor expose yourself unnecessarily to certain destruction.'\n\nNot being convinced that his destruction would be so certain as Helena\nseemed to think it, Lorenzo persisted in his resolution. The Nuns\nbesought him to desist in piteous terms, and even pointed out the\nRobber's hand, which in effect was still visible upon the arm of the\nStatue.  This proof, as they imagined, must convince him. It was very\nfar from doing so; and they were greatly scandalized when he declared\nhis suspicion that the dried and shrivelled fingers had been placed\nthere by order of the Prioress.  In spite of their prayers and threats\nHe approached the Statue.  He sprang over the iron Rails which defended\nit, and the Saint underwent a thorough examination. The Image at first\nappeared to be of Stone, but proved on further inspection to be formed\nof no more solid materials than coloured Wood.  He shook it, and\nattempted to move it; But it appeared to be of a piece with the Base\nwhich it stood upon.  He examined it over and over:  Still no clue\nguided him to the solution of this mystery, for which the Nuns were\nbecome equally solicitous, when they saw that He touched the Statue\nwith impunity.  He paused, and listened:  The groans were repeated at\nintervals, and He was convinced of being in the spot nearest to them.\nHe mused upon this singular event, and ran over the Statue with\nenquiring eyes. Suddenly they rested upon the shrivelled hand.  It\nstruck him, that so particular an injunction was not given without\ncause, not to touch the arm of the Image.  He again ascended the\nPedestal; He examined the object of his attention, and discovered a\nsmall knob of iron concealed between the Saint's shoulder and what was\nsupposed to have been the hand of the Robber.  This observation\ndelighted him.  He applied his fingers to the knob, and pressed it down\nforcibly.  Immediately a rumbling noise was heard within the Statue, as\nif a chain tightly stretched was flying back. Startled at the sound the\ntimid Nuns started away, prepared to hasten from the Vault at the first\nappearance of danger.  All remaining quiet and still, they again\ngathered round Lorenzo, and beheld his proceedings with anxious\ncuriosity.\n\nFinding that nothing followed this discovery, He descended.  As He took\nhis hand from the Saint, She trembled beneath his touch. This created\nnew terrors in the Spectators, who believed the Statue to be animated.\nLorenzo's ideas upon the subject were widely different. He easily\ncomprehended that the noise which He had heard, was occasioned by his\nhaving loosened a chain which attached the Image to its Pedestal.  He\nonce more attempted to move it, and succeeded without much exertion.\nHe placed it upon the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal to be\nhollow, and covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate.\n\nThis excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both their\nreal and imaginary dangers.  Lorenzo proceeded to raise the Grate, in\nwhich the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their strength.  The\nattempt was accomplished with little difficulty. A deep abyss now\npresented itself before them, whose thick obscurity the eye strove in\nvain to pierce.  The rays of the Lamp were too feeble to be of much\nassistance.  Nothing was discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen\nsteps which sank into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness.\nThe groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended\nfrom this Cavern.  As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He\ndistinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom.  He gazed\nattentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was convinced\nthat He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now disappearing.  He\ncommunicated this circumstance to the Nuns: They also perceived the\nspark; But when He declared his intention to descend into the Cave,\nthey united to oppose his resolution. All their remonstrances could not\nprevail on him to alter it. None of them had courage enough to\naccompany him; neither could He think of depriving them of the Lamp.\nAlone therefore, and in darkness, He prepared to pursue his design,\nwhile the Nuns were contented to offer up prayers for his success and\nsafety.\n\nThe steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was like\nwalking down the side of a precipice.  The obscurity by which He was\nsurrounded rendered his footing insecure.  He was obliged to proceed\nwith great caution, lest He should miss the steps and fall into the\nGulph below him.  This He was several times on the point of doing.\nHowever, He arrived sooner upon solid ground than He had expected:  He\nnow found that the thick darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned\nthrough the Cavern had deceived him into the belief of its being much\nmore profound than it proved upon inspection.  He reached the foot of\nthe Stairs unhurt:  He now stopped, and looked round for the spark\nwhich had before caught his attention.  He sought it in vain: All was\ndark and gloomy.  He listened for the groans; But his ear caught no\nsound, except the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as in low voices\nthey repeated their Ave-Marias.  He stood irresolute to which side He\nshould address his steps.  At all events He determined to proceed:  He\ndid so, but slowly, fearing lest instead of approaching, He should be\nretiring from the object of his search.  The groans seemed to announce\none in pain, or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of\nrelieving the Mourner's calamities.  A plaintive tone, sounding at no\ngreat distance, at length reached his hearing; He bent his course\njoyfully towards it.  It became more audible as He advanced; and He\nsoon beheld again the spark of light, which a low projecting Wall had\nhitherto concealed from him.\n\nIt proceeded from a small Lamp which was placed upon an heap of stones,\nand whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to point out, than\ndispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon formed in one side of\nthe Cavern; It also showed several other recesses of similar\nconstruction, but whose depth was buried in obscurity.  Coldly played\nthe light upon the damp walls, whose dew-stained surface gave back a\nfeeble reflection.  A thick and pestilential fog clouded the height of\nthe vaulted dungeon.  As Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness\nspread itself through his veins.  The frequent groans still engaged him\nto move forwards.  He turned towards them, and by the Lamp's glimmering\nbeams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature stretched\nupon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so pale, that He\ndoubted to think her Woman.  She was half-naked: Her long dishevelled\nhair fell in disorder over her face, and almost entirely concealed it.\nOne wasted Arm hung listlessly upon a tattered rug which covered her\nconvulsed and shivering limbs:  The Other was wrapped round a small\nbundle, and held it closely to her bosom.  A large Rosary lay near her:\nOpposite to her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes\nfixedly, and by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher.\n\nLorenzo stopped:  He was petrified with horror.  He gazed upon the\nmiserable Object with disgust and pity.  He trembled at the spectacle;\nHe grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and his limbs were\nunable to support his weight.  He was obliged to lean against the low\nWall which was near him, unable to go forward, or to address the\nSufferer.  She cast her eyes towards the Staircase:  The Wall concealed\nLorenzo, and She observed him not.\n\n'No one comes!' She at length murmured.\n\nAs She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She\nsighed bitterly.\n\n'No one comes!' She repeated; 'No!  They have forgotten me!  They will\ncome no more!'\n\nShe paused for a moment:  Then continued mournfully.\n\n'Two days!  Two long, long days, and yet no food!  And yet no hope, no\ncomfort!  Foolish Woman!  How can I wish to lengthen a life so\nwretched!  Yet such a death!  O! God!  To perish by such a death!  To\nlinger out such ages in torture!  Till now, I knew not what it was to\nhunger!  Hark!  No.  No one comes!  They will come no more!'\n\nShe was silent.  She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked\nshoulders.\n\n'I am very cold!  I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!\n\n'Tis strange:  But no matter.  Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel\nit--I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!'\n\nShe looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it,\nand kissed it:  Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust.\n\n'It was once so sweet!  It would have been so lovely, so like him!  I\nhave lost it for ever!  How a few days have changed it! I should not\nknow it again myself!  Yet it is dear to me!  God! how dear!  I will\nforget what it is: I will only remember what it was, and love it as\nwell, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so like him!  I thought that\nI had wept away all my tears, but here is one still lingering.'\n\nShe wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair.  She put out her hand for\nthe Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty.  She cast into it a look\nof hopeless enquiry.  She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground.\n\n'Quite a void!  Not a drop!  Not one drop left to cool my scorched-up\nburning palate!  Now would I give treasures for a draught of water!\nAnd they are God's Servants, who make me suffer thus!  They think\nthemselves holy, while they torture me like Fiends!  They are cruel and\nunfeeling; And 'tis they who bid me repent; And 'tis they, who threaten\nme with eternal perdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!'\n\nShe again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while\nShe told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be\npraying with fervency.\n\nWhile He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo's sensibility\nbecame yet more violently affected.  The first sight of such misery had\ngiven a sensible shock to his feelings:  But that being past, He now\nadvanced towards the Captive.  She heard his steps, and uttering a cry\nof joy, dropped the Rosary.\n\n'Hark!  Hark!  Hark!' She cried:  'Some one comes!'\n\nShe strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the\nattempt:  She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw,\nLorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains.  He still approached, while\nthe Prisoner thus continued.\n\n'Is it you, Camilla?  You are come then at last?  Oh! it was time!  I\nthought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of\nhunger.  Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity's sake!  I am faint with\nlong fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the\nground.  Good Camilla, give me to drink, lest I expire before you!'\n\nFearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo\nwas at a loss how to address her.\n\n'It is not Camilla,' said He at length, speaking in a slow and gentle\nvoice.\n\n'Who is it then?' replied the Sufferer:  'Alix, perhaps, or Violante.\nMy eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot distinguish your\nfeatures.  But whichever it is, if your breast is sensible of the least\ncompassion, if you are not more cruel than Wolves and Tigers, take pity\non my sufferings.  You know that I am dying for want of sustenance.\nThis is the third day, since these lips have received nourishment.  Do\nyou bring me food?  Or come you only to announce my death, and learn\nhow long I have yet to exist in agony?'\n\n'You mistake my business,' replied Lorenzo; 'I am no Emissary of the\ncruel Prioress.  I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relieve them.'\n\n'To relieve them?' repeated the Captive; 'Said you, to relieve them?'\n\nAt the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon\nher hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly.\n\n'Great God!  It is no illusion!  A Man!  Speak!  Who are you? What\nbrings you hither?  Come you to save me, to restore me to liberty, to\nlife and light?  Oh! speak, speak quickly, lest I encourage an hope\nwhose disappointment will destroy me.'\n\n'Be calm!' replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate; 'The\nDomina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the forfeit of\nher offences:  You have nothing more to fear from her.\n\nA few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of your\nFriends from whom you have been secluded.  You may rely upon my\nprotection.  Give me your hand, and be not fearful. Let me conduct you\nwhere you may receive those attentions which your feeble state\nrequires.'\n\n'Oh!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!' cried the Prisoner with an exulting shriek;\n'There is a God then, and a just one! Joy!  Joy!  I shall once more\nbreath the fresh air, and view the light of the glorious sunbeams! I\nwill go with you! Stranger, I will go with you!  Oh!  Heaven will bless\nyou for pitying an Unfortunate!  But this too must go with me,' She\nadded pointing to the small bundle which She still clasped to her\nbosom; 'I cannot part with this.  I will bear it away:  It shall\nconvince the world how dreadful are the abodes so falsely termed\nreligious.  Good Stranger, lend me your hand to rise:  I am faint with\nwant, and sorrow, and sickness, and my forces have quite forsaken me!\nSo, that is well!'\n\nAs Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon\nhis face.\n\n'Almighty God!' She exclaimed; 'Is it possible!  That look! Those\nfeatures!  Oh!  Yes, it is, it is .....'\n\nShe extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled frame\nwas unable to sustain the emotions which agitated her bosom.  She\nfainted, and again sank upon the bed of straw.\n\nLorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation.  He thought that He had\nbefore heard such accents as her hollow voice had just formed, but\nwhere He could not remember.  He saw that in her dangerous situation\nimmediate physical aid was absolutely necessary, and He hastened to\nconvey her from the dungeon.  He was at first prevented from doing so\nby a strong chain fastened round the prisoner's body, and fixing her to\nthe neighbouring Wall.  However, his natural strength being aided by\nanxiety to relieve the Unfortunate, He soon forced out the Staple to\nwhich one end of the Chain was attached. Then taking the Captive in his\narms, He bent his course towards the Staircase.  The rays of the Lamp\nabove, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his steps. He\ngained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived at the iron-grate.\n\nThe Nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by curiosity\nand apprehension:  They were equally surprized and delighted on seeing\nhim suddenly emerge from the Cave.  Every heart was filled with\ncompassion for the miserable Creature whom He bore in his arms.  While\nthe Nuns, and Virginia in particular, employed themselves in striving\nto recall her to her senses, Lorenzo related in few words the manner of\nhis finding her.  He then observed to them that by this time the tumult\nmust have been quelled, and that He could now conduct them to their\nFriends without danger.  All were eager to quit the Sepulchre:  Still\nto prevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to\nventure out first alone, and examine whether the Coast was clear. With\nthis request He complied.  Helena offered to conduct him to the\nStaircase, and they were on the point of departing, when a strong light\nflashed from several passages upon the adjacent walls.  At the same\ntime Steps were heard of people approaching hastily, and whose number\nseemed to be considerable. The Nuns were greatly alarmed at this\ncircumstance:  They supposed their retreat to be discovered, and the\nRioters to be advancing in pursuit of them.  Hastily quitting the\nPrisoner who remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and\nclaimed his promise to protect them.  Virginia alone forgot her own\ndanger by striving to relieve the sorrows of Another.  She supported\nthe Sufferer's head upon her knees, bathing her temples with\nrose-water, chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling her face with tears\nwhich were drawn from her by compassion.  The Strangers approaching\nnearer, Lorenzo was enabled to dispel the fears of the Suppliants.  His\nname, pronounced by a number of voices among which He distinguished the\nDuke's, pealed along the Vaults, and convinced him that He was the\nobject of their search.  He communicated this intelligence to the Nuns,\nwho received it with rapture.  A few moments after confirmed his idea.\nDon Ramirez, as well as the Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with\nTorches.  They had been seeking him through the Vaults, in order to let\nhim know that the Mob was dispersed, and the riot entirely over.\nLorenzo recounted briefly his adventure in the Cavern, and explained\nhow much the Unknown was in want of medical assistance.  He besought\nthe Duke to take charge of her, as well as of the Nuns and Pensioners.\n\n'As for me,' said He, 'Other cares demand my attention.  While you with\none half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their respective homes,\nI wish the other half to be left with me.  I will examine the Cavern\nbelow, and pervade the most secret recesses of the Sepulchre.  I cannot\nrest till convinced that yonder wretched Victim was the only one\nconfined by Superstition in these vaults.'\n\nThe Duke applauded his intention.  Don Ramirez offered to assist him in\nhis enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude.\n\nThe Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed\nthemselves to the care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the\nSepulchre.  Virginia requested that the Unknown might be given to her\nin charge, and promised to let Lorenzo know whenever She was\nsufficiently recovered to accept his visits.  In truth, She made this\npromise more from consideration for herself than for either Lorenzo or\nthe Captive.  She had witnessed his politeness, gentleness, and\nintrepidity with sensible emotion.  She wished earnestly to preserve\nhis acquaintance; and in addition to the sentiments of pity which the\nPrisoner excited, She hoped that her attention to this Unfortunate\nwould raise her a degree in the esteem of Lorenzo.  She had no occasion\nto trouble herself upon this head.  The kindness already displayed by\nher and the tender concern which She had shown for the Sufferer had\ngained her an exalted place in his good graces.  While occupied in\nalleviating the Captive's sorrows, the nature of her employment adorned\nher with new charms, and rendered her beauty a thousand times more\ninteresting.  Lorenzo viewed her with admiration and delight:  He\nconsidered her as a ministering Angel descended to the aid of afflicted\ninnocence; nor could his heart have resisted her attractions, had it\nnot been steeled by the remembrance of Antonia.\n\nThe Duke now conveyed the Nuns in safety to the Dwellings of their\nrespective Friends.  The rescued Prisoner was still insensible and gave\nno signs of life, except by occasional groans.  She was borne upon a\nsort of litter; Virginia, who was constantly by the side of it, was\napprehensive that exhausted by long abstinence, and shaken by the\nsudden change from bonds and darkness to liberty and light, her frame\nwould never get the better of the shock.  Lorenzo and Don Ramirez still\nremained in the Sepulchre.  After deliberating upon their proceedings,\nit was resolved that to prevent losing time, the Archers should be\ndivided into two Bodies:  That with one Don Ramirez should examine the\ncavern, while Lorenzo with the other might penetrate into the further\nVaults.  This being arranged, and his Followers being provided with\nTorches, Don Ramirez advanced to the Cavern. He had already descended\nsome steps when He heard People approaching hastily from the interior\npart of the Sepulchre. This surprized him, and He quitted the Cave\nprecipitately.\n\n'Do you hear footsteps?' said Lorenzo; 'Let us bend our course towards\nthem.  'Tis from this side that they seem to proceed.'\n\nAt that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken his\nsteps.\n\n'Help!  Help, for God's sake!  cried a voice, whose melodious tone\npenetrated Lorenzo's heart with terror.\n\nHe flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was\nfollowed by Don Ramirez with equal swiftness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n  Great Heaven!  How frail thy creature Man is made!\n  How by himself insensibly betrayed!\n  In our own strength unhappily secure,\n  Too little cautious of the adverse power,\n  On pleasure's flowery brink we idly stray,\n  Masters as yet of our returning way:\n  Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,\n  Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,\n  And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,\n  Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:\n  Round our devoted heads the billows beat,\n  And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat.\n                       Prior.\n\n\nAll this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes which\nwere passing so near.  The execution of his designs upon Antonia\nemployed his every thought.  Hitherto, He was satisfied with the\nsuccess of his plans.  Antonia had drank the opiate, was buried in the\nvaults of St. Clare, and absolutely in his disposal.  Matilda, who was\nwell acquainted with the nature and effects of the soporific medicine,\nhad computed that it would not cease to operate till one in the\nMorning.  For that hour He waited with impatience.  The Festival of St.\nClare presented him with a favourable opportunity of consummating his\ncrime.  He was certain that the Friars and Nuns would be engaged in the\nProcession, and that He had no cause to dread an interruption: From\nappearing himself at the head of his Monks, He had desired to be\nexcused.  He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of help, cut off\nfrom all the world, and totally in his power, Antonia would comply with\nhis desires.  The affection which She had ever exprest for him,\nwarranted this persuasion:  But He resolved that should She prove\nobstinate, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying\nher.  Secure from a discovery, He shuddered not at the idea of\nemploying force:  If He felt any repugnance, it arose not from a\nprinciple of shame or compassion, but from his feeling for Antonia the\nmost sincere and ardent affection, and wishing to owe her favours to no\none but herself.\n\nThe Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight.  Matilda was among the\nChoristers, and led the chaunt.  Ambrosio was left by himself, and at\nliberty to pursue his own inclinations.  Convinced that no one remained\nbehind to watch his motions, or disturb his pleasures, He now hastened\nto the Western Aisles.  His heart beating with hope not unmingled with\nanxiety, He crossed the Garden, unlocked the door which admitted him\ninto the Cemetery, and in a few minutes He stood before the Vaults.\nHere He paused.\n\nHe looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business was\nunfit for any other eye.  As He stood in hesitation, He heard the\nmelancholy shriek of the screech-Owl:  The wind rattled loudly against\nthe windows of the adjacent Convent, and as the current swept by him,\nbore with it the faint notes of the chaunt of Choristers.  He opened\nthe door cautiously, as if fearing to be overheard:  He entered; and\nclosed it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long\npassages, in whose windings Matilda had instructed him, and reached the\nprivate Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress.\n\nIts entrance was by no means easy to discover:  But this was no\nobstacle to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia's Funeral had observed\nit too carefully to be deceived.  He found the door, which was\nunfastened, pushed it open, and descended into the dungeon.  He\napproached the humble Tomb in which Antonia reposed.  He had provided\nhimself with an iron crow and a pick-axe; But this precaution was\nunnecessary.  The Grate was slightly fastened on the outside:  He\nraised it, and placing the Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently over the\nTomb.  By the side of three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the\nsleeping Beauty.  A lively red, the forerunner of returning animation,\nhad already spread itself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud\nShe reclined upon her funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images\nof Death around her.  While He gazed upon their rotting bones and\ndisgusting figures, who perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, Ambrosio\nthought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the same state. As the memory of\nthat horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy\nhorror.  Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroy\nAntonia's honour.\n\n'For your sake, Fatal Beauty!' murmured the Monk, while gazing on his\ndevoted prey; 'For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold\nmyself to eternal tortures.  Now you are in my power: The produce of my\nguilt will at least be mine.  Hope not that your prayers breathed in\ntones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and\nyour hands lifted in supplication, as when seeking in penitence the\nVirgin's pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence, your beauteous\ngrief, or all your suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces.\nBefore the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!'\n\nHe lifted her still motionless from the Tomb:  He seated himself upon a\nbank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for\nthe symptoms of returning animation.  Scarcely could He command his\npassions sufficiently, to restrain himself from enjoying her while yet\ninsensible.  His natural lust was increased in ardour by the\ndifficulties which had opposed his satisfying it:  As also by his long\nabstinence from Woman, since from the moment of resigning her claim to\nhis love, Matilda had exiled him from her arms for ever.\n\n'I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;' Had She told him, when in the fullness\nof his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual earnestness;\n'I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be your Mistress.\nCease then to solicit my complying with desires, which insult me.\nWhile your heart was mine, I gloried in your embraces:  Those happy\ntimes are past:  My person is become indifferent to you, and 'tis\nnecessity, not love, which makes you seek my enjoyment.  I cannot yield\nto a request so humiliating to my pride.'\n\nSuddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an\nabsolute want, the Monk felt this restraint severely.  Naturally\naddicted to the gratification of the senses, in the full vigour of\nmanhood, and heat of blood, He had suffered his temperament to acquire\nsuch ascendency that his lust was become madness.  Of his fondness for\nAntonia, none but the grosser particles remained: He longed for the\npossession of her person; and even the gloom of the vault, the\nsurrounding silence, and the resistance which He expected from her,\nseemed to give a fresh edge to his fierce and unbridled desires.\n\nGradually He felt the bosom which rested against his, glow with\nreturning warmth.  Her heart throbbed again; Her blood flowed swifter,\nand her lips moved.  At length She opened her eyes, but still opprest\nand bewildered by the effects of the strong opiate, She closed them\nagain immediately.  Ambrosio watched her narrowly, nor permitted a\nmovement to escape him.  Perceiving that She was fully restored to\nexistence, He caught her in rapture to his bosom, and closely pressed\nhis lips to hers.  The suddenness of his action sufficed to dissipate\nthe fumes which obscured Antonia's reason.  She hastily raised herself,\nand cast a wild look round her.  The strange Images which presented\nthemselves on every side contributed to confuse her.  She put her hand\nto her head, as if to settle her disordered imagination.  At length She\ntook it away, and threw her eyes through the dungeon a second time.\nThey fixed upon the Abbot's face.\n\n'Where am I?' She said abruptly.  'How came I here?  Where is my\nMother?  Methought, I saw her!  Oh! a dream, a dreadful dreadful dream\ntold me ...... But where am I?  Let me go!  I cannot stay here!'\n\nShe attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her.\n\n'Be calm, lovely Antonia!' He replied; 'No danger is near you: Confide\nin my protection.  Why do you gaze on me so earnestly? Do you not know\nme?  Not know your Friend?  Ambrosio?'\n\n'Ambrosio?  My Friend?  Oh!  yes, yes; I remember ...... But why\nam I here?  Who has brought me?  Why are you with me? Oh! Flora bad me\nbeware .....! Here are nothing but Graves, and Tombs, and\nSkeletons! This place frightens me!  Good Ambrosio take me away from\nit, for it recalls my fearful dream!  Methought I was dead, and laid in\nmy grave!  Good Ambrosio, take me from hence.  Will you not?  Oh! will\nyou not?  Do not look on me thus!\n\nYour flaming eyes terrify me!  Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for God's\nsake!'\n\n'Why these terrors, Antonia?' rejoined the Abbot, folding her in his\narms, and covering her bosom with kisses which She in vain struggled to\navoid:  'What fear you from me, from one who adores you?  What matters\nit where you are?  This Sepulchre seems to me Love's bower; This gloom\nis the friendly night of mystery which He spreads over our delights!\nSuch do I think it, and such must my Antonia.  Yes, my sweet Girl!\nYes! Your veins shall glow with fire which circles in mine, and my\ntransports shall be doubled by your sharing them!'\n\nWhile He spoke thus, He repeated his embraces, and permitted himself\nthe most indecent liberties.  Even Antonia's ignorance was not proof\nagainst the freedom of his behaviour.  She was sensible of her danger,\nforced herself from his arms, and her shroud being her only garment,\nShe wrapped it closely round her.\n\n'Unhand me, Father!' She cried, her honest indignation tempered by\nalarm at her unprotected position; 'Why have you brought me to this\nplace?  Its appearance freezes me with horror!  Convey me from hence,\nif you have the least sense of pity and humanity! Let me return to the\nHouse which I have quitted I know not how; But stay here one moment\nlonger, I neither will, or ought.'\n\nThough the Monk was somewhat startled by the resolute tone in which\nthis speech was delivered, it produced upon him no other effect than\nsurprize.  He caught her hand, forced her upon his knee, and gazing\nupon her with gloting eyes, He thus replied to her.\n\n'Compose yourself, Antonia.  Resistance is unavailing, and I need\ndisavow my passion for you no longer.  You are imagined dead: Society\nis for ever lost to you.  I possess you here alone; You are absolutely\nin my power, and I burn with desires which I must either gratify or\ndie:  But I would owe my happiness to yourself.  My lovely Girl!  My\nadorable Antonia!  Let me instruct you in joys to which you are still a\nStranger, and teach you to feel those pleasures in my arms which I must\nsoon enjoy in yours.  Nay, this struggling is childish,' He continued,\nseeing her repell his caresses, and endeavour to escape from his grasp;\n'No aid is near:  Neither heaven or earth shall save you from my\nembraces.  Yet why reject pleasures so sweet, so rapturous?  No one\nobserves us: Our loves will be a secret to all the world: Love and\nopportunity invite your giving loose to your passions. Yield to them,\nmy Antonia!  Yield to them, my lovely Girl!  Throw your arms thus\nfondly round me; Join your lips thus closely to mine!  Amidst all her\ngifts, has Nature denied her most precious, the sensibility of\nPleasure?  Oh! impossible!  Every feature, look, and motion declares\nyou formed to bless, and to be blessed yourself!  Turn not on me those\nsupplicating eyes:  Consult your own charms; They will tell you that I\nam proof against entreaty. Can I relinquish these limbs so white, so\nsoft, so delicate; These swelling breasts, round, full, and elastic!\nThese lips fraught with such inexhaustible sweetness?  Can I relinquish\nthese treasures, and leave them to another's enjoyment?  No, Antonia;\nnever, never!  I swear it by this kiss, and this! and this!'\n\nWith every moment the Friar's passion became more ardent, and Antonia's\nterror more intense.  She struggled to disengage herself from his arms:\nHer exertions were unsuccessful; and finding that Ambrosio's conduct\nbecame still freer, She shrieked for assistance with all her strength.\nThe aspect of the Vault, the pale glimmering of the Lamp, the\nsurrounding obscurity, the sight of the Tomb, and the objects of\nmortality which met her eyes on either side, were ill-calculated to\ninspire her with those emotions by which the Friar was agitated.  Even\nhis caresses terrified her from their fury, and created no other\nsentiment than fear.  On the contrary, her alarm, her evident disgust,\nand incessant opposition, seemed only to inflame the Monk's desires,\nand supply his brutality with additional strength.  Antonia's shrieks\nwere unheard:  Yet She continued them, nor abandoned her endeavours to\nescape, till exhausted and out of breath She sank from his arms upon\nher knees, and once more had recourse to prayers and supplications.\nThis attempt had no better success than the former.  On the contrary,\ntaking advantage of her situation, the Ravisher threw himself by her\nside:  He clasped her to his bosom almost lifeless with terror, and\nfaint with struggling.  He stifled her cries with kisses, treated her\nwith the rudeness of an unprincipled Barbarian, proceeded from freedom\nto freedom, and in the violence of his lustful delirium, wounded and\nbruised her tender limbs.  Heedless of her tears, cries and entreaties,\nHe gradually made himself Master of her person, and desisted not from\nhis prey, till He had accomplished his crime and the dishonour of\nAntonia.\n\nScarcely had He succeeded in his design than He shuddered at himself\nand the means by which it was effected.  The very excess of his former\neagerness to possess Antonia now contributed to inspire him with\ndisgust; and a secret impulse made him feel how base and unmanly was\nthe crime which He had just committed.  He started hastily from her\narms.  She, who so lately had been the object of his adoration, now\nraised no other sentiment in his heart than aversion and rage.  He\nturned away from her; or if his eyes rested upon her figure\ninvoluntarily, it was only to dart upon her looks of hate.  The\nUnfortunate had fainted ere the completion of her disgrace: She only\nrecovered life to be sensible of her misfortune. She remained stretched\nupon the earth in silent despair:  The tears chased each other slowly\ndown her cheeks, and her bosom heaved with frequent sobs.  Oppressed\nwith grief, She continued for some time in this state of torpidity. At\nlength She rose with difficulty, and dragging her feeble steps towards\nthe door, prepared to quit the dungeon.\n\nThe sound of her footsteps rouzed the Monk from his sullen apathy.\nStarting from the Tomb against which He reclined, while his eyes\nwandered over the images of corruption contained in it, He pursued the\nVictim of his brutality, and soon overtook her. He seized her by the\narm, and violently forced her back into the dungeon.\n\n'Whither go you?' He cried in a stern voice; 'Return this instant!'\n\nAntonia trembled at the fury of his countenance.\n\n'What, would you more?' She said with timidity: 'Is not my ruin\ncompleated?  Am I not undone, undone for ever?  Is not your cruelty\ncontented, or have I yet more to suffer?  Let me depart. Let me return\nto my home, and weep unrestrained my shame and my affliction!'\n\n'Return to your home?' repeated the Monk, with bitter and contemptuous\nmockery; Then suddenly his eyes flaming with passion, 'What? That you\nmay denounce me to the world?  That you may proclaim me an Hypocrite, a\nRavisher, a Betrayer, a Monster of cruelty, lust, and ingratitude?  No,\nno, no!  I know well the whole weight of my offences; Well that your\ncomplaints would be too just, and my crimes too notorious!  You shall\nnot from hence to tell Madrid that I am a Villain; that my conscience\nis loaded with sins which make me despair of Heaven's pardon. Wretched\nGirl, you must stay here with me!  Here amidst these lonely Tombs,\nthese images of Death, these rotting loathsome corrupted bodies!  Here\nshall you stay, and witness my sufferings; witness what it is to die in\nthe horrors of despondency, and breathe the last groan in blasphemy and\ncurses! And who am I to thank for this?  What seduced me into crimes,\nwhose bare remembrance makes me shudder?  Fatal Witch! was it not thy\nbeauty?  Have you not plunged my soul into infamy?  Have you not made\nme a perjured Hypocrite, a Ravisher, an Assassin!  Nay, at this moment,\ndoes not that angel look bid me despair of God's forgiveness?  Oh! when\nI stand before his judgment-throne, that look will suffice to damn me!\nYou will tell my Judge that you were happy, till I saw you; that you\nwere innocent, till I polluted you!  You will come with those tearful\neyes, those cheeks pale and ghastly, those hands lifted in\nsupplication, as when you sought from me that mercy which I gave not!\nThen will my perdition be certain!  Then will come your Mother's Ghost,\nand hurl me down into the dwellings of Fiends, and flames, and Furies,\nand everlasting torments!  And 'tis you, who will accuse me!  'Tis you,\nwho will cause my eternal anguish!  You, wretched Girl!  You!  You!'\n\nAs He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia's arm,\nand spurned the earth with delirious fury.\n\nSupposing his brain to be turned, Antonia sank in terror upon her\nknees:  She lifted up her hands, and her voice almost died away, ere\nShe could give it utterance.\n\n'Spare me!  Spare me!' She murmured with difficulty.\n\n'Silence!' cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon the ground----\n\nHe quitted her, and paced the dungeon with a wild and disordered air.\nHis eyes rolled fearfully:  Antonia trembled whenever She met their\ngaze.  He seemed to meditate on something horrible, and She gave up all\nhopes of escaping from the Sepulchre with life. Yet in harbouring this\nidea, She did him injustice.  Amidst the horror and disgust to which\nhis soul was a prey, pity for his Victim still held a place in it.  The\nstorm of passion once over, He would have given worlds had He possest\nthem, to have restored to her that innocence of which his unbridled\nlust had deprived her.  Of the desires which had urged him to the\ncrime, no trace was left in his bosom:  The wealth of India would not\nhave tempted him to a second enjoyment of her person.  His nature\nseemed to revolt at the very idea, and fain would He have wiped from\nhis memory the scene which had just past.  As his gloomy rage abated,\nin proportion did his compassion augment for Antonia.  He stopped, and\nwould have spoken to her words of comfort; But He knew not from whence\nto draw them, and remained gazing upon her with mournful wildness.  Her\nsituation seemed so hopeless, so woebegone, as to baffle mortal power\nto relieve her.  What could He do for her?  Her peace of mind was lost,\nher honour irreparably ruined.  She was cut off for ever from society,\nnor dared He give her back to it.  He was conscious that were She to\nappear in the world again, his guilt would be revealed, and his\npunishment inevitable.  To one so laden with crimes, Death came armed\nwith double terrors.  Yet should He restore Antonia to light, and stand\nthe chance of her betraying him, how miserable a prospect would present\nitself before her. She could never hope to be creditably established;\nShe would be marked with infamy, and condemned to sorrow and solitude\nfor the remainder of her existence.  What was the alternative?  A\nresolution far more terrible for Antonia, but which at least would\ninsure the Abbot's safety.  He determined to leave the world persuaded\nof her death, and to retain her a captive in this gloomy prison:  There\nHe proposed to visit her every night, to bring her food, to profess his\npenitence, and mingle his tears with hers.  The Monk felt that this\nresolution was unjust and cruel; but it was his only means to prevent\nAntonia from publishing his guilt and her own infamy.  Should He\nrelease her, He could not depend upon her silence:  His offence was too\nflagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness.  Besides, her\nreappearing would excite universal curiosity, and the violence of her\naffliction would prevent her from concealing its cause. He determined\ntherefore, that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in the dungeon.\n\nHe approached her with confusion painted on his countenance.  He raised\nher from the ground.  Her hand trembled, as He took it, and He dropped\nit again as if He had touched a Serpent.  Nature seemed to recoil at\nthe touch.  He felt himself at once repulsed from and attracted towards\nher, yet could account for neither sentiment.  There was something in\nher look which penetrated him with horror; and though his understanding\nwas still ignorant of it, Conscience pointed out to him the whole\nextent of his crime. In hurried accents yet the gentlest He could find,\nwhile his eye was averted, and his voice scarcely audible, He strove to\nconsole her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided.  He\ndeclared himself sincerely penitent, and that He would gladly shed a\ndrop of his blood, for every tear which his barbarity had forced from\nher.  Wretched and hopeless, Antonia listened to him in silent grief:\nBut when He announced her confinement in the Sepulchre, that dreadful\ndoom to which even death seemed preferable roused her from her\ninsensibility at once.  To linger out a life of misery in a narrow\nloathsome Cell, known to exist by no human Being save her Ravisher,\nsurrounded by mouldering Corses, breathing the pestilential air of\ncorruption, never more to behold the light, or drink the pure gale of\nheaven, the idea was more terrible than She could support. It conquered\neven her abhorrence of the Friar. Again She sank upon her knees:  She\nbesought his compassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent. She\npromised, would He but restore her to liberty, to conceal her injuries\nfrom the world; to assign any reason for her reappearance which He\nmight judge proper; and in order to prevent the least suspicion from\nfalling upon him, She offered to quit Madrid immediately.  Her\nentreaties were so urgent as to make a considerable impression upon the\nMonk.  He reflected that as her person no longer excited his desires,\nHe had no interest in keeping her concealed as He had at first\nintended; that He was adding a fresh injury to those which She had\nalready suffered; and that if She adhered to her promises, whether She\nwas confined or at liberty, his life and reputation were equally\nsecure.  On the other hand, He trembled lest in her affliction Antonia\nshould unintentionally break her engagement; or that her excessive\nsimplicity and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more artful\nto surprize her secret.  However well-founded were these apprehensions,\ncompassion, and a sincere wish to repair his fault as much as possible\nsolicited his complying with the prayers of his Suppliant.  The\ndifficulty of colouring Antonia's unexpected return to life, after her\nsupposed death and public interment, was the only point which kept him\nirresolute.  He was still pondering on the means of removing this\nobstacle, when He heard the sound of feet approaching with\nprecipitation.  The door of the Vault was thrown open, and Matilda\nrushed in, evidently much confused and terrified.\n\nOn seeing a Stranger enter, Antonia uttered a cry of joy:  But her\nhopes of receiving succour from him were soon dissipated. The supposed\nNovice, without expressing the least surprize at finding a Woman alone\nwith the Monk, in so strange a place, and at so late an hour, addressed\nhim thus without losing a moment.\n\n'What is to be done, Ambrosio?  We are lost, unless some speedy means\nis found of dispelling the Rioters.  Ambrosio, the Convent of St. Clare\nis on fire; The Prioress has fallen a victim to the fury of the Mob.\nAlready is the Abbey menaced with a similar fate.  Alarmed at the\nthreats of the People, the Monks seek for you everywhere. They imagine\nthat your authority alone will suffice to calm this disturbance.  No\none knows what is become of you, and your absence creates universal\nastonishment and despair.  I profited by the confusion, and fled hither\nto warn you of the danger.'\n\n'This will soon be remedied,' answered the Abbot; 'I will hasten back\nto my Cell:  a trivial reason will account for my having been missed.'\n\n'Impossible!' rejoined Matilda:  'The Sepulchre is filled with Archers.\nLorenzo de Medina, with several Officers of the Inquisition, searches\nthrough the Vaults, and pervades every passage.  You will be\nintercepted in your flight; Your reasons for being at this late hour in\nthe Sepulchre will be examined; Antonia will be found, and then you are\nundone for ever!'\n\n'Lorenzo de Medina?  Officers of the Inquisition? What brings them\nhere?  Seek they for me?  Am I then suspected?  Oh! speak, Matilda!\nAnswer me, in pity!'\n\n'As yet they do not think of you, but I fear that they will ere long.\nYour only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the difficulty of\nexploring this Vault.  The door is artfully hidden:\n\nHaply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till the\nsearch is over.'\n\n'But Antonia ..... Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her cries\nbe heard ....'\n\n'Thus I remove that danger!' interrupted Matilda.\n\nAt the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted prey.\n\n'Hold! Hold!' cried Ambrosio, seizing her hand, and wresting from it\nthe already lifted weapon.  'What would you do, cruel Woman? The\nUnfortunate has already suffered but too much, thanks to your\npernicious consels!  Would to God that I had never followed them!\nWould to God that I had never seen your face!'\n\nMatilda darted upon him a look of scorn.\n\n'Absurd!' She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty which\nimpressed the Monk with awe.  'After robbing her of all that made it\ndear, can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable?  But 'tis\nwell!  Let her live to convince you of your folly.  I abandon you to\nyour evil destiny!  I disclaim your alliance!  Who trembles to commit\nso insignificant a crime, deserves not my protection.  Hark!  Hark!\nAmbrosio; Hear you not the Archers? They come, and your destruction is\ninevitable!'\n\nAt this moment the Abbot heard the sound of distant voices.  He flew to\nclose the door on whose concealment his safety depended, and which\nMatilda had neglected to fasten.  Ere He could reach it, He saw Antonia\nglide suddenly by him, rush through the door, and fly towards the noise\nwith the swiftness of an arrow.  She had listened attentively to\nMatilda:  She heard Lorenzo's name mentioned, and resolved to risque\nevery thing to throw herself under his protection.  The door was open.\nThe sounds convinced her that the Archers could be at no great\ndistance.  She mustered up her little remaining strength, rushed by the\nMonk ere He perceived her design, and bent her course rapidly towards\nthe voices.  As soon as He recovered from his first surprize, the Abbot\nfailed not to pursue her.  In vain did Antonia redouble her speed, and\nstretch every nerve to the utmost.  Her Enemy gained upon her every\nmoment:  She heard his steps close after her, and felt the heat of his\nbreath glow upon her neck.  He overtook her; He twisted his hand in the\nringlets of her streaming hair, and attempted to drag her back with him\nto the dungeon.  Antonia resisted with all her strength:  She folded\nher arms round a Pillar which supported the roof, and shrieked loudly\nfor assistance. In vain did the Monk strive to threaten her to silence.\n\n'Help!' She continued to exclaim; 'Help! Help! for God's sake!'\n\nQuickened by her cries, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching.\nThe Abbot expected every moment to see the Inquisitors arrive.  Antonia\nstill resisted, and He now enforced her silence by means the most\nhorrible and inhuman.  He still grasped Matilda's dagger: Without\nallowing himself a moment's reflection, He raised it, and plunged it\ntwice in the bosom of Antonia!  She shrieked, and sank upon the ground.\nThe Monk endeavoured to bear her away with him, but She still embraced\nthe Pillar firmly.  At that instant the light of approaching Torches\nflashed upon the Walls.  Dreading a discovery, Ambrosio was compelled\nto abandon his Victim, and hastily fled back to the Vault, where He had\nleft Matilda.\n\nHe fled not unobserved.  Don Ramirez happening to arrive the first,\nperceived a Female bleeding upon the ground, and a Man flying from the\nspot, whose confusion betrayed him for the Murderer.  He instantly\npursued the Fugitive with some part of the Archers, while the Others\nremained with Lorenzo to protect the wounded Stranger. They raised her,\nand supported her in their arms.  She had fainted from excess of pain,\nbut soon gave signs of returning life.  She opened her eyes, and on\nlifting up her head, the quantity of fair hair fell back which till\nthen had obscured her features.\n\n'God Almighty!  It is Antonia!'\n\nSuch was Lorenzo's exclamation, while He snatched her from the\nAttendant's arms, and clasped her in his own.\n\nThough aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but too\nwell the purpose of its Employer. The wounds were mortal, and Antonia\nwas conscious that She never could recover.  Yet the few moments which\nremained for her were moments of happiness.  The concern exprest upon\nLorenzo's countenance, the frantic fondness of his complaints, and his\nearnest enquiries respecting her wounds, convinced her beyond a doubt\nthat his affections were her own.  She would not be removed from the\nVaults, fearing lest motion should only hasten her death; and She was\nunwilling to lose those moments which She past in receiving proofs of\nLorenzo's love, and assuring him of her own.  She told him that had She\nstill been undefiled She might have lamented the loss of life; But that\ndeprived of honour and branded with shame, Death was to her a blessing:\nShe could not have been his Wife, and that hope being denied her, She\nresigned herself to the Grave without one sigh of regret.  She bad him\ntake courage, conjured him not to abandon himself to fruitless sorrow,\nand declared that She mourned to leave nothing in the whole world but\nhim.  While every sweet accent increased rather than lightened\nLorenzo's grief, She continued to converse with him till the moment of\ndissolution.  Her voice grew faint and scarcely audible; A thick cloud\nspread itself over her eyes; Her heart beat slow and irregular, and\nevery instant seemed to announce that her fate was near at hand.\n\nShe lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo's bosom, and her lips still\nmurmuring to him words of comfort.  She was interrupted by the Convent\nBell, as tolling at a distance, it struck the hour. Suddenly Antonia's\neyes sparkled with celestial brightness:  Her frame seemed to have\nreceived new strength and animation.  She started from her Lover's arms.\n\n'Three o'clock!' She cried; 'Mother, I come!'\n\nShe clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. Lorenzo in\nagony threw himself beside her:  He tore his hair, beat his breast, and\nrefused to be separated from the Corse.  At length his force being\nexhausted, He suffered himself to be led from the Vault, and was\nconveyed to the Palace de Medina scarcely more alive than the\nunfortunate Antonia.\n\nIn the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in\nregaining the Vault.  The Door was already fastened when Don Ramirez\narrived, and much time elapsed, ere the Fugitive's retreat was\ndiscovered.  But nothing can resist perseverance. Though so artfully\nconcealed, the Door could not escape the vigilance of the Archers.\nThey forced it open, and entered the Vault to the infinite dismay of\nAmbrosio and his Companion.  The Monk's confusion, his attempt to hide\nhimself, his rapid flight, and the blood sprinkled upon his cloaths,\nleft no room to doubt his being Antonia's Murderer.  But when He was\nrecognized for the immaculate Ambrosio, 'The Man of Holiness,' the Idol\nof Madrid, the faculties of the Spectators were chained up in surprize,\nand scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was no\nvision.  The Abbot strove not to vindicate himself, but preserved a\nsullen silence.  He was secured and bound.  The same precaution was\ntaken with Matilda:  Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy of her\nfeatures and profusion of her golden hair betrayed her sex, and this\nincident created fresh amazement.  The dagger was also found in the\nTomb, where the Monk had thrown it; and the dungeon having undergone a\nthorough search, the two Culprits were conveyed to the prisons of the\nInquisition.\n\nDon Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant both of\nthe crimes and profession of the Captives.  He feared a repetition of\nthe riots which had followed the apprehending the Prioress of St.\nClare.  He contented himself with stating to the Capuchins the guilt of\ntheir Superior.  To avoid the shame of a public accusation, and\ndreading the popular fury from which they had already saved their Abbey\nwith much difficulty, the Monks readily permitted the Inquisitors to\nsearch their Mansion without noise.  No fresh discoveries were made.\nThe effects found in the Abbot's and Matilda's Cells were seized, and\ncarried to the Inquisition to be produced in evidence.  Every thing\nelse remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity once\nmore prevailed through Madrid.\n\nSt. Clare's Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages of the\nMob and conflagration.  Nothing remained of it but the principal Walls,\nwhose thickness and solidity had preserved them from the flames.  The\nNuns who had belonged to it were obliged in consequence to disperse\nthemselves into other Societies:  But the prejudice against them ran\nhigh, and the Superiors were very unwilling to admit them.  However,\nmost of them being related to Families the most distinguished for their\nriches, birth and power, the several Convents were compelled to receive\nthem, though they did it with a very ill grace.  This prejudice was\nextremely false and unjustifiable:  After a close investigation, it was\nproved that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes,\nexcept the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out.  These had fallen\nVictims to the popular fury; as had also several who were perfectly\ninnocent and unconscious of the whole affair.  Blinded by resentment,\nthe Mob had sacrificed every Nun who fell into their hands: They who\nescaped were entirely indebted to the Duke de Medina's prudence and\nmoderation.  Of this they were conscious, and felt for that Nobleman a\nproper sense of gratitude.\n\nVirginia was not the most sparing of her thanks:  She wished equally to\nmake a proper return for his attentions, and to obtain the good graces\nof Lorenzo's Uncle. In this She easily succeeded.\n\nThe Duke beheld her beauty with wonder and admiration; and while his\neyes were enchanted with her Form, the sweetness of her manners and her\ntender concern for the suffering Nun prepossessed his heart in her\nfavour.  This Virginia had discernment enough to perceive, and She\nredoubled her attention to the Invalid.  When He parted from her at the\ndoor of her Father's Palace, the Duke entreated permission to enquire\noccasionally after her health. His request was readily granted:\nVirginia assured him that the Marquis de Villa-Franca would be proud of\nan opportunity to thank him in person for the protection afforded to\nher.  They now separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness,\nand She much pleased with him and more with his Nephew.\n\nOn entering the Palace, Virginia's first care was to summon the family\nPhysician, and take care of her unknown charge.  Her Mother hastened to\nshare with her the charitable office.  Alarmed by the riots, and\ntrembling for his Daughter's safety, who was his only child, the\nMarquis had flown to St. Clare's Convent, and was still employed in\nseeking her.  Messengers were now dispatched on all sides to inform him\nthat He would find her safe at his Hotel, and desire him to hasten\nthither immediately. His absence gave Virginia liberty to bestow her\nwhole attention upon her Patient; and though much disordered herself by\nthe adventures of the night, no persuasion could induce her to quit the\nbedside of the Sufferer.  Her constitution being much enfeebled by want\nand sorrow, it was some time before the Stranger was restored to her\nsenses.  She found great difficulty in swallowing the medicines\nprescribed to her:  But this obstacle being removed, She easily\nconquered her disease which proceeded from nothing but weakness.  The\nattention which was paid her, the wholesome food to which She had been\nlong a Stranger, and her joy at being restored to liberty, to society,\nand, as She dared to hope, to Love, all this combined to her speedy\nre-establishment.\n\nFrom the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, her\nsufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of her\namiable Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively interest; But\nhow was She delighted, when her Guest being sufficiently recovered to\nrelate her History, She recognized in the captive Nun the Sister of\nLorenzo!\n\nThis victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the\nunfortunate Agnes.  During her abode in the Convent, She had been well\nknown to Virginia:  But her emaciated form, her features altered by\naffliction, her death universally credited, and her overgrown and\nmatted hair which hung over her face and bosom in disorder at first had\nprevented her being recollected.  The Prioress had put every artifice\nin practice to induce Virginia to take the veil; for the Heiress of\nVilla-Franca would have been no despicable acquisition.  Her seeming\nkindness and unremitted attention so far succeeded that her young\nRelation began to think seriously upon compliance.  Better instructed\nin the disgust and ennui of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the\ndesigns of the Domina:  She trembled for the innocent Girl, and\nendeavoured to make her sensible of her error.  She painted in their\ntrue colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a Convent, the\ncontinued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty intrigues, the\nservile court and gross flattery expected by the Superior.  She then\nbad Virginia reflect on the brilliant prospect which presented itself\nbefore her:  The Idol of her Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed\nby nature and education with every perfection of person and mind, She\nmight look forward to an establishment the most fortunate.  Her riches\nfurnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest extent,\ncharity and benevolence, those virtues so dear to her; and her stay in\nthe world would enable her discovering Objects worthy her protection,\nwhich could not be done in the seclusion of a Convent.\n\nHer persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the Veil:\nBut another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight with her than\nall the others put together.  She had seen Lorenzo, when He visited his\nSister at the Grate.  His Person pleased her, and her conversations\nwith Agnes generally used to terminate in some question about her\nBrother.  She, who doted upon Lorenzo, wished for no better than an\nopportunity to trumpet out his praise.  She spoke of him in terms of\nrapture; and to convince her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how\ncultivated his mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at\ndifferent times the letters which She received from him.  She soon\nperceived that from these communications the heart of her young Friend\nhad imbibed impressions, which She was far from intending to give, but\nwas truly happy to discover.  She could not have wished her Brother a\nmore desirable union:  Heiress of Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate,\nbeautiful, and accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him\nhappy.  She sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without\nmentioning names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that\nhis heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that upon\nthese grounds She might proceed without danger. She in consequence\nendeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her Friend.  Lorenzo\nwas made the constant topic of her discourse; and the avidity with\nwhich her Auditor listened, the sighs which frequently escaped from her\nbosom, and the eagerness with which upon any digression She brought\nback the conversation to the subject whence it had wandered, sufficed\nto convince Agnes that her Brother's addresses would be far from\ndisagreeable.  She at length ventured to mention her wishes to the\nDuke:  Though a Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her\nsituation to think her worthy his Nephew's hand.  It was agreed between\nhim and his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and\nShe only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him as\nhis Bride.  The unfortunate events which took place in the interim,\nprevented her from executing her design.  Virginia wept her loss\nsincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person to whom She\ncould speak of Lorenzo.  Her passion continued to prey upon her heart\nin secret, and She had almost determined to confess her sentiments to\nher Mother, when accident once more threw their object in her way.  The\nsight of him so near her, his politeness, his compassion, his\nintrepidity, had combined to give new ardour to her affection.  When\nShe now found her Friend and Advocate restored to her, She looked upon\nher as a Gift from Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being\nunited to Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister's influence.\n\nSupposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made the\nproposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew's hints of marriage to\nVirginia's account: Consequently, He gave them the most favourable\nreception. On returning to his Hotel, the relation given him of\nAntonia's death, and Lorenzo's behaviour on the occasion, made evident\nhis mistake.  He lamented the circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being\neffectually out of the way, He trusted that his designs would yet be\nexecuted.  'Tis true that Lorenzo's situation just then ill-suited him\nfor a Bridegroom.  His hopes disappointed at the moment when He\nexpected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of his\nMistress had affected him very severely.  The Duke found him upon the\nBed of sickness.  His Attendants expressed serious apprehensions for\nhis life; But the Uncle entertained not the same fears.  He was of\nopinion, and not unwisely, that 'Men have died, and worms have eat\nthem; but not for Love!'  He therefore flattered himself that however\ndeep might be the impression made upon his Nephew's heart, Time and\nVirginia would be able to efface it.  He now hastened to the afflicted\nYouth, and endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress,\nbut encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair.  He allowed\nthat He could not but feel shocked at an event so terrible, nor could\nHe blame his sensibility; But He besought him not to torment himself\nwith vain regrets, and rather to struggle with affliction, and preserve\nhis life, if not for his own sake, at least for the sake of those who\nwere fondly attached to him. While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo\nforget Antonia's loss, the Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia,\nand seized every opportunity to advance his Nephew's interest in her\nheart.\n\nIt may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without enquiring\nafter Don Raymond.  She was shocked to hear the wretched situation to\nwhich grief had reduced him; Yet She could not help exulting secretly,\nwhen She reflected, that his illness proved the sincerity of his love.\nThe Duke undertook the office himself, of announcing to the Invalid the\nhappiness which awaited him.  Though He omitted no precaution to\nprepare him for such an event, at this sudden change from despair to\nhappiness Raymond's transports were so violent, as nearly to have\nproved fatal to him.  These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind,\nthe assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who\nwas no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the\nMarchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled him to\novercome the effects of his late dreadful malady.  The calm of his soul\ncommunicated itself to his body, and He recovered with such rapidity as\nto create universal surprize.\n\nNo so Lorenzo.  Antonia's death accompanied with such terrible\ncircumstances weighed upon his mind heavily.  He was worn down to a\nshadow.  Nothing could give him pleasure.  He was persuaded with\ndifficulty to swallow nourishment sufficient for the support of life,\nand a consumption was apprehended.  The society of Agnes formed his\nonly comfort.  Though accident had never permitted their being much\ntogether, He entertained for her a sincere friendship and attachment.\nPerceiving how necessary She was to him, She seldom quitted his\nchamber.  She listened to his complaints with unwearied attention, and\nsoothed him by the gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with\nhis distress. She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the\nPossessors of which treated her with marked affection.  The Duke had\nintimated to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia.  The match was\nunexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle's immense property, and\nwas distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable person, extensive\nknowledge, and propriety of conduct:  Add to this, that the Marchioness\nhad discovered how strong was her Daughter's prepossession in his\nfavour.\n\nIn consequence the Duke's proposal was accepted without hesitation:\nEvery precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo's seeing the Lady with\nthose sentiments which She so well merited to excite.  In her visits to\nher Brother Agnes was frequently accompanied by the Marchioness; and as\nsoon as He was able to move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her\nmother's protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for\nhis recovery.  This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which She\nmentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing, and when She lamented her\nRival's melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so beautiful through her\ntears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or listen to her without emotion.\nHis Relations, as well as the Lady, perceived that with every day her\nsociety seemed to give him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in\nterms of stronger admiration.  However, they prudently kept their\nobservations to themselves.  No word was dropped which might lead him\nto suspect their designs.  They continued their former conduct and\nattention, and left Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the\nfriendship which He already felt for Virginia.\n\nIn the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly there\nwas scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by the side of\nLorenzo's Couch.  He gradually regained his strength, but the progress\nof his recovery was slow and doubtful.  One evening He seemed to be in\nbetter spirits than usual:  Agnes and her Lover, the Duke, Virginia,\nand her Parents were sitting round him.  He now for the first time\nentreated his Sister to inform him how She had escaped the effects of\nthe poison which St. Ursula had seen her swallow.  Fearful of recalling\nthose scenes to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had\nhitherto concealed from him the history of her sufferings.  As He now\nstarted the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the narrative of\nher sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of those on which He\ndwelt too constantly, She immediately complied with his request.  The\nrest of the company had already heard her story; But the interest which\nall present felt for its Heroine made them anxious to hear it repeated.\nThe whole society seconding Lorenzo's entreaties, Agnes obeyed.  She\nfirst recounted the discovery which had taken place in the Abbey\nChapel, the Domina's resentment, and the midnight scene of which St.\nUrsula had been a concealed witness.  Though the Nun had already\ndescribed this latter event, Agnes now related it more circumstantially\nand at large:  After which She proceeded in her narrative as follows.\n\n      Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina\n\nMy supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies.  Those\nmoments which I believed my last, were embittered by the Domina's\nassurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes closed, I\nheard her rage exhale itself in curses on my offence. The horror of\nthis situation, of a death-bed from which hope was banished, of a sleep\nfrom which I was only to wake to find myself the prey of flames and\nFuries, was more dreadful than I can describe.  When animation revived\nin me, my soul was still impressed with these terrible ideas:  I looked\nround with fear, expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance.\nFor the first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so\ndizzy, that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which\nfloated in wild confusion before me.  If I endeavoured to raise myself\nfrom the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every thing\naround me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the earth.  My weak\nand dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer approach to a gleam of\nlight which I saw trembling above me.  I was compelled to close them\nagain, and remain motionless in the same posture.\n\nA full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine the\nsurrounding Objects.  When I did examine them, what terror filled my\nbosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker Couch:  It had six\nhandles to it, which doubtless had served the Nuns to convey me to my\ngrave.  I was covered with a linen cloth:\n\nSeveral faded flowers were strown over me:  On one side lay a small\nwooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads. Four low narrow\nwalls confined me.  The top was also covered, and in it was practised a\nsmall grated Door: Through this was admitted the little air which\ncirculated in this miserable place.  A faint glimmering of light which\nstreamed through the Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding\nhorrors.  I was opprest by a noisome suffocating smell; and perceiving\nthat the grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly\neffect my escape.  As I raised myself with this design, my hand rested\nupon something soft:  I grasped it, and advanced it towards the light.\nAlmighty God!  What was my disgust, my consternation!  In spite of its\nputridity, and the worms which preyed upon it, I perceived a corrupted\nhuman head, and recognised the features of a Nun who had died some\nmonths before!\n\nI threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier.\n\nWhen my strength returned, this circumstance, and the consciousness of\nbeing surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering Bodies of my\nCompanions, increased my desire to escape from my fearful prison.  I\nagain moved towards the light.  The grated door was within my reach: I\nlifted it without difficulty; Probably it had been left unclosed to\nfacilitate my quitting the dungeon.  Aiding myself by the irregularity\nof the Walls some of whose stones projected beyond the rest, I\ncontrived to ascend them, and drag myself out of my prison.  I now\nfound Myself in a Vault tolerably spacious.  Several Tombs, similar in\nappearance to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the\nsides in order, and seemed to be considerably sunk within the earth.  A\nsepulchral Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and shed\na gloomy light through the dungeon.  Emblems of Death were seen on\nevery side:  Skulls, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and other leavings\nof Mortality were scattered upon the dewy ground. Each Tomb was\nornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner stood a wooden\nStatue of St. Clare.  To these objects I at first paid no attention:  A\nDoor, the only outlet from the Vault, had attracted my eyes.  I\nhastened towards it, having wrapped my winding-sheet closely round me.\nI pushed against the door, and to my inexpressible terror found that it\nwas fastened on the outside.\n\nI guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of the\nliquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison had\nadministered a strong Opiate.  From this I concluded that being to all\nappearance dead I had received the rites of burial; and that deprived\nof the power of making my existence known, it would be my fate to\nexpire of hunger.  This idea penetrated me with horror, not merely for\nmy own sake, but that of the innocent Creature, who still lived within\nmy bosom.  I again endeavoured to open the door, but it resisted all my\nefforts.  I stretched my voice to the extent of its compass, and\nshrieked for aid:  I was remote from the hearing of every one:  No\nfriendly voice replied to mine.  A profound and melancholy silence\nprevailed through the Vault, and I despaired of liberty.  My long\nabstinence from food now began to torment me.  The tortures which\nhunger inflicted on me, were the most painful and insupportable: Yet\nthey seemed to increase with every hour which past over my head.\nSometimes I threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild and\ndesperate:  Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again strove\nto force it open, and repeated my fruitless cries for succour. Often\nwas I on the point of striking my temple against the sharp corner of\nsome Monument, dashing out my brains, and thus terminating my woes at\nonce; But still the remembrance of my Baby vanquished my resolution: I\ntrembled at a deed which equally endangered my Child's existence and my\nown.  Then would I vent my anguish in loud exclamations and passionate\ncomplaints; and then again my strength failing me, silent and hopeless\nI would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare's Statue, fold my arms,\nand abandon myself to sullen despair.  Thus passed several wretched\nhours.  Death advanced towards me with rapid strides, and I expected\nthat every succeeding moment would be that of my dissolution.  Suddenly\na neighbouring Tomb caught my eye:  A Basket stood upon it, which till\nthen I had not observed.  I started from my seat:  I made towards it as\nswiftly as my exhausted frame would permit.  How eagerly did I seize\nthe Basket, on finding it to contain a loaf of coarse bread and a small\nbottle of water.\n\nI threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had to all\nappearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The bread was\nhard, and the water tainted; Yet never did I taste food to me so\ndelicious.  When the cravings of appetite were satisfied, I busied\nmyself with conjectures upon this new circumstance: I debated whether\nthe Basket had been placed there with a view to my necessity.  Hope\nanswered my doubts in the affirmative.  Yet who could guess me to be in\nneed of such assistance?  If my existence was known, why was I detained\nin this gloomy Vault?  If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant the\nceremony of committing me to the Tomb?  Or if I was doomed to perish\nwith hunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions placed within\nmy reach?  A Friend would not have kept my dreadful punishment a\nsecret; Neither did it seem probable that an Enemy would have taken\npains to supply me with the means of existence. Upon the whole I was\ninclined to think that the Domina's designs upon my life had been\ndiscovered by some one of my Partizans in the Convent, who had found\nmeans to substitute an opiate for poison: That She had furnished me\nwith food to support me, till She could effect my delivery:  And that\nShe was then employed in giving intelligence to my Relations of my\ndanger, and pointing out a way to release me from captivity.  Yet why\nthen was the quality of my provisions so coarse?  How could my Friend\nhave entered the Vault without the Domina's knowledge?  And if She had\nentered, why was the Door fastened so carefully?  These reflections\nstaggered me:  Yet still this idea was the most favourable to my hopes,\nand I dwelt upon it in preference.\n\nMy meditations were interrupted by the sound of distant footsteps.\nThey approached, but slowly.  Rays of light now darted through the\ncrevices of the Door. Uncertain whether the Persons who advanced came\nto relieve me, or were conducted by some other motive to the Vault, I\nfailed not to attract their notice by loud cries for help.  Still the\nsounds drew near:  The light grew stronger:  At length with\ninexpressible pleasure I heard the Key turning in the Lock.  Persuaded\nthat my deliverance was at hand, I flew towards the Door with a shriek\nof joy.  It opened:  But all my hopes of escape died away, when the\nPrioress appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been\nwitnesses of my supposed death.  They bore torches in their hands, and\ngazed upon me in fearful silence.\n\nI started back in terror.  The Domina descended into the Vault, as did\nalso her Companions.  She bent upon me a stern resentful eye, but\nexpressed no surprize at finding me still living.  She took the seat\nwhich I had just quitted: The door was again closed, and the Nuns\nranged themselves behind their Superior, while the glare of their\ntorches, dimmed by the vapours and dampness of the Vault, gilded with\ncold beams the surrounding Monuments.  For some moments all preserved a\ndead and solemn silence.  I stood at some distance from the Prioress.\nAt length She beckoned me to advance.  Trembling at the severity of her\naspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her.  I drew near, but my\nlimbs were unable to support their burthen.  I sank upon my knees; I\nclasped my hands, and lifted them up to her for mercy, but had no power\nto articulate a syllable.\n\nShe gazed upon me with angry eyes.\n\n'Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?' She said at length; 'Are those\nhands raised in contrition for your crimes, or in fear of meeting their\npunishment?  Do those tears acknowledge the justice of your doom, or\nonly solicit mitigation of your sufferings?  I fear me, 'tis the\nlatter!'\n\nShe paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine.\n\n'Take courage;' She continued:  'I wish not for your death, but your\nrepentance.  The draught which I administered, was no poison, but an\nopiate.  My intention in deceiving you was to make you feel the agonies\nof a guilty conscience, had Death overtaken you suddenly while your\ncrimes were still unrepented. You have suffered those agonies:  I have\nbrought you to be familiar with the sharpness of death, and I trust\nthat your momentary anguish will prove to you an eternal benefit.  It\nis not my design to destroy your immortal soul; or bid you seek the\ngrave, burthened with the weight of sins unexpiated.  No, Daughter, far\nfrom it:  I will purify you with wholesome chastisement, and furnish\nyou with full leisure for contrition and remorse.  Hear then my\nsentence; The ill-judged zeal of your Friends delayed its execution,\nbut cannot now prevent it.  All Madrid believes you to be no more; Your\nRelations are thoroughly persuaded of your death, and the Nuns your\nPartizans have assisted at your funeral.  Your existence can never be\nsuspected; I have taken such precautions, as must render it an\nimpenetrable mystery.  Then abandon all thoughts of a World from which\nyou are eternally separated, and employ the few hours which are allowed\nyou, in preparing for the next.'\n\nThis exordium led me to expect something terrible.  I trembled, and\nwould have spoken to deprecate her wrath: but a motion of the Domina\ncommanded me to be silent.  She proceeded.\n\n'Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many of\nour misguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my intention to\nrevive the laws of our order in their full force. That against\nincontinence is severe, but no more than so monstrous an offence\ndemands: Submit to it, Daughter, without resistance; You will find the\nbenefit of patience and resignation in a better life than this.  Listen\nthen to the sentence of St. Clare.  Beneath these Vaults there exist\nPrisons, intended to receive such criminals as yourself:  Artfully is\ntheir entrance concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all\nhopes of liberty.  Thither must you now be conveyed.  Food shall be\nsupplied you, but not sufficient for the indulgence of appetite: You\nshall have just enough to keep together body and soul, and its quality\nshall be the simplest and coarsest.  Weep, Daughter, weep, and moisten\nyour bread with your tears:  God knows that you have ample cause for\nsorrow!  Chained down in one of these secret dungeons, shut out from\nthe world and light for ever, with no comfort but religion, no society\nbut repentance, thus must you groan away the remainder of your days.\nSuch are St. Clare's orders; Submit to them without repining.  Follow\nme!'\n\nThunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining strength\nabandoned me.  I answered only by falling at her feet, and bathing them\nwith tears.  The Domina, unmoved by my affliction, rose from her seat\nwith a stately air.  She repeated her commands in an absolute tone:\nBut my excessive faintness made me unable to obey her.  Mariana and\nAlix raised me from the ground, and carried me forwards in their arms.\nThe Prioress moved on, leaning upon Violante, and Camilla preceded her\nwith a Torch.  Thus passed our sad procession along the passages, in\nsilence only broken by my sighs and groans.  We stopped before the\nprincipal shrine of St. Clare.  The Statue was removed from its\nPedestal, though how I knew not.  The Nuns afterwards raised an iron\ngrate till then concealed by the Image, and let it fall on the other\nside with a loud crash.  The awful sound, repeated by the vaults above,\nand Caverns below me, rouzed me from the despondent apathy in which I\nhad been plunged.  I looked before me:  An abyss presented itself to my\naffrighted eyes, and a steep and narrow Staircase, whither my\nConductors were leading me.  I shrieked, and started back.  I implored\ncompassion, rent the air with my cries, and summoned both heaven and\nearth to my assistance.  In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and\nforced into one of the Cells which lined the Cavern's sides.\n\nMy blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode.  The cold\nvapours hovering in the air, the walls green with damp, the bed of\nStraw so forlorn and comfortless, the Chain destined to bind me for\never to my prison, and the Reptiles of every description which as the\ntorches advanced towards them, I descried hurrying to their retreats,\nstruck my heart with terrors almost too exquisite for nature to bear.\nDriven by despair to madness, I burst suddenly from the Nuns who held\nme:  I threw myself upon my knees before the Prioress, and besought her\nmercy in the most passionate and frantic terms.\n\n'If not on me,' said I, 'look at least with pity on that innocent\nBeing, whose life is attached to mine!  Great is my crime, but let not\nmy Child suffer for it!  My Baby has committed no fault: Oh! spare me\nfor the sake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it tastes life your\nseverity dooms to destruction!'\n\nThe Prioress drew back haughtily:  She forced her habit from my grasp,\nas if my touch had been contagious.\n\n'What?' She exclaimed with an exasperated air; 'What?  Dare you plead\nfor the produce of your shame?  Shall a Creature be permitted to live,\nconceived in guilt so monstrous?  Abandoned Woman, speak for him no\nmore!  Better that the Wretch should perish than live: Begotten in\nperjury, incontinence, and pollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy\nof vice.  Hear me, thou Guilty!  Expect no mercy from me either for\nyourself, or Brat.  Rather pray that Death may seize you before you\nproduce it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyes may immediately\nbe closed again for ever!  No aid shall be given you in your labour;\nBring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself, Nurse\nit yourself, Bury it yourself:  God grant that the latter may happen\nsoon, lest you receive comfort from the fruit of your iniquity!'\n\nThis inhuman speech, the threats which it contained, the dreadful\nsufferings foretold to me by the Domina, and her prayers for my\nInfant's death, on whom though unborn I already doated, were more than\nmy exhausted frame could support.  Uttering a deep groan, I fell\nsenseless at the feet of my unrelenting Enemy.  I know not how long I\nremained in this situation; But I imagine that some time must have\nelapsed before my recovery, since it sufficed the Prioress and her Nuns\nto quit the Cavern. When my senses returned, I found myself in silence\nand solitude.  I heard not even the retiring footsteps of my\nPersecutors.  All was hushed, and all was dreadful!  I had been thrown\nupon the bed of Straw: The heavy Chain which I had already eyed with\nterror, was wound around my waist, and fastened me to the Wall.  A Lamp\nglimmering with dull, melancholy rays through my dungeon, permitted my\ndistinguishing all its horrors:  It was separated from the Cavern by a\nlow and irregular Wall of Stone: A large Chasm was left open in it\nwhich formed the entrance, for door there was none.  A leaden Crucifix\nwas in front of my straw Couch.  A tattered rug lay near me, as did\nalso a Chaplet of Beads; and not far from me stood a pitcher of water,\nand a wicker Basket containing a small loaf, and a bottle of oil to\nsupply my Lamp.\n\nWith a despondent eye did I examine this scene of suffering: When I\nreflected that I was doomed to pass in it the remainder of my days, my\nheart was rent with bitter anguish.  I had once been taught to look\nforward to a lot so different!  At one time my prospects had appeared\nso bright, so flattering!  Now all was lost to me.  Friends, comfort,\nsociety, happiness, in one moment I was deprived of all!  Dead to the\nworld, Dead to pleasure, I lived to nothing but the sense of misery.\nHow fair did that world seem to me, from which I was for ever excluded!\nHow many loved objects did it contain, whom I never should behold\nagain! As I threw a look of terror round my prison, as I shrunk from\nthe cutting wind which howled through my subterraneous dwelling, the\nchange seemed so striking, so abrupt, that I doubted its reality.\n\nThat the Duke de Medina's Niece, that the destined Bride of the Marquis\nde las Cisternas, One bred up in affluence, related to the noblest\nfamilies in Spain, and rich in a multitude of affectionate Friends,\nthat She should in one moment become a Captive, separated from the\nworld for ever, weighed down with chains, and reduced to support life\nwith the coarsest aliments, appeared a change so sudden and incredible,\nthat I believed myself the sport of some frightful vision.  Its\ncontinuance convinced me of my mistake with but too much certainty.\nEvery morning my hopes were disappointed.  At length I abandoned all\nidea of escaping:  I resigned myself to my fate, and only expected\nLiberty when She came the Companion of Death.\n\nMy mental anguish, and the dreadful scenes in which I had been an\nActress, advanced the period of my labour.  In solitude and misery,\nabandoned by all, unassisted by Art, uncomforted by Friendship, with\npangs which if witnessed would have touched the hardest heart, was I\ndelivered of my wretched burthen.  It came alive into the world; But I\nknew not how to treat it, or by what means to preserve its existence.\nI could only bathe it with tears, warm it in my bosom, and offer up\nprayers for its safety. I was soon deprived of this mournful\nemployment:  The want of proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurse\nit, the bitter cold of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which\ninflated its lungs, terminated my sweet Babe's short and painful\nexistence.  It expired in a few hours after its birth, and I witnessed\nits death with agonies which beggar all description.\n\nBut my grief was unavailing.  My Infant was no more; nor could all my\nsighs impart to its little tender frame the breath of a moment.  I rent\nmy winding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely Child.  I placed it on my\nbosom, its soft arm folded round my neck, and its pale cold cheek\nresting upon mine.  Thus did its lifeless limbs repose, while I covered\nit with kisses, talked to it, wept, and moaned over it without\nremission, day or night. Camilla entered my prison regularly once every\ntwenty-four hours, to bring me food.  In spite of her flinty nature,\nShe could not behold this spectacle unmoved.  She feared that grief so\nexcessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not always\nin my proper senses.  From a principle of compassion She urged me to\npermit the Corse to be buried:  But to this I never would consent.  I\nvowed not to part with it while I had life: Its presence was my only\ncomfort, and no persuasion could induce me to give it up. It soon\nbecame a mass of putridity, and to every eye was a loathsome and\ndisgusting Object; To every eye but a Mother's.  In vain did human\nfeelings bid me recoil from this emblem of mortality with repugnance:\nI withstood, and vanquished that repugnance.  I persisted in holding my\nInfant to my bosom, in lamenting it, loving it, adoring it!  Hour after\nhour have I passed upon my sorry Couch, contemplating what had once\nbeen my Child:  I endeavoured to retrace its features through the livid\ncorruption, with which they were overspread: During my confinement this\nsad occupation was my only delight; and at that time Worlds should not\nhave bribed me to give it up. Even when released from my prison, I\nbrought away my Child in my arms.  The representations of my two kind\nFriends,\"--(Here She took the hands of the Marchioness and Virginia,\nand pressed them alternately to her lips)--\"at length persuaded me to\nresign my unhappy Infant to the Grave.  Yet I parted from it with\nreluctance:  However, reason at length prevailed; I suffered it to be\ntaken from me, and it now reposes in consecrated ground.\n\nI before mentioned that regularly once a day Camilla brought me food.\nShe sought not to embitter my sorrows with reproach:  She bad me, 'tis\ntrue, resign all hopes of liberty and worldly happiness; But She\nencouraged me to bear with patience my temporary distress, and advised\nme to draw comfort from religion.\n\nMy situation evidently affected her more than She ventured to express:\nBut She believed that to extenuate my fault would make me less anxious\nto repent it.  Often while her lips painted the enormity of my guilt in\nglaring colours, her eyes betrayed, how sensible She was to my\nsufferings.  In fact I am certain that none of my Tormentors, (for the\nthree other Nuns entered my prison occasionally) were so much actuated\nby the spirit of oppressive cruelty as by the idea that to afflict my\nbody was the only way to preserve my soul.  Nay, even this persuasion\nmight not have had such weight with them, and they might have thought\nmy punishment too severe, had not their good dispositions been represt\nby blind obedience to their Superior.  Her resentment existed in full\nforce.  My project of elopement having been discovered by the Abbot of\nthe Capuchins, She supposed herself lowered in his opinion by my\ndisgrace, and in consequence her hate was inveterate.  She told the\nNuns to whose custody I was committed that my fault was of the most\nheinous nature, that no sufferings could equal the offence, and that\nnothing could save me from eternal perdition but punishing my guilt\nwith the utmost severity.  The Superior's word is an oracle to but too\nmany of a Convent's Inhabitants.  The Nuns believed whatever the\nPrioress chose to assert:  Though contradicted by reason and charity,\nthey hesitated not to admit the truth of her arguments. They followed\nher injunctions to the very letter, and were fully persuaded that to\ntreat me with lenity, or to show the least pity for my woes, would be a\ndirect means to destroy my chance for salvation.\n\nCamilla, being most employed about me, was particularly charged by the\nPrioress to treat me with harshness. In compliance with these orders,\nShe frequently strove to convince me, how just was my punishment, and\nhow enormous was my crime:  She bad me think myself too happy in saving\nmy soul by mortifying my body, and even threatened me sometimes with\neternal perdition.  Yet as I before observed, She always concluded by\nwords of encouragement and comfort; and though uttered by Camilla's\nlips, I easily recognised the Domina's expressions.  Once, and once\nonly, the Prioress visited me in my dungeon.  She then treated me with\nthe most unrelenting cruelty:  She loaded me with reproaches, taunted\nme with my frailty, and when I implored her mercy, told me to ask it of\nheaven, since I deserved none on earth.  She even gazed upon my\nlifeless Infant without emotion; and when She left me, I heard her\ncharge Camilla to increase the hardships of my Captivity.  Unfeeling\nWoman!  But let me check my resentment: She has expiated her errors by\nher sad and unexpected death. Peace be with her; and may her crimes be\nforgiven in heaven, as I forgive her my sufferings on earth!\n\nThus did I drag on a miserable existence.  Far from growing familiar\nwith my prison, I beheld it every moment with new horror.  The cold\nseemed more piercing and bitter, the air more thick and pestilential.\nMy frame became weak, feverish, and emaciated.  I was unable to rise\nfrom the bed of Straw, and exercise my limbs in the narrow limits, to\nwhich the length of my chain permitted me to move.  Though exhausted,\nfaint, and weary, I trembled to profit by the approach of Sleep:  My\nslumbers were constantly interrupted by some obnoxious Insect crawling\nover me.\n\nSometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the\npoisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along\nmy bosom:  Sometimes the quick cold Lizard rouzed me leaving his slimy\ntrack upon my face, and entangling itself in the tresses of my wild and\nmatted hair:  Often have I at waking found my fingers ringed with the\nlong worms which bred in the corrupted flesh of my Infant.  At such\ntimes I shrieked with terror and disgust, and while I shook off the\nreptile, trembled with all a Woman's weakness.\n\nSuch was my situation, when Camilla was suddenly taken ill.  A\ndangerous fever, supposed to be infectious, confined her to her bed.\nEvery one except the Lay-Sister appointed to nurse her, avoided her\nwith caution, and feared to catch the disease.  She was perfectly\ndelirious, and by no means capable of attending to me.  The Domina and\nthe Nuns admitted to the mystery, had latterly given me over entirely\nto Camilla's care:  In consequence, they busied themselves no more\nabout me; and occupied by preparing for the approaching Festival, it is\nmore than probable that I never once entered into their thoughts.  Of\nthe reason of Camilla's negligence, I have been informed since my\nrelease by the Mother St. Ursula; At that time I was very far from\nsuspecting its cause.  On the contrary, I waited for my Gaoler's\nappearance at first with impatience, and afterwards with despair. One\nday passed away; Another followed it; The Third arrived.  Still no\nCamilla!  Still no food!  I knew the lapse of time by the wasting of my\nLamp, to supply which fortunately a week's supply of Oil had been left\nme.  I supposed, either that the Nuns had forgotten me, or that the\nDomina had ordered them to let me perish.  The latter idea seemed the\nmost probable; Yet so natural is the love of life, that I trembled to\nfind it true. Though embittered by every species of misery, my\nexistence was still dear to me, and I dreaded to lose it.  Every\nsucceeding minute proved to me that I must abandon all hopes of relief.\nI was become an absolute skeleton:  My eyes already failed me, and my\nlimbs were beginning to stiffen.  I could only express my anguish, and\nthe pangs of that hunger which gnawed my heart-strings, by frequent\ngroans, whose melancholy sound the vaulted roof of the dungeon\nre-echoed.  I resigned myself to my fate:  I already expected the\nmoment of dissolution, when my Guardian Angel, when my beloved Brother\narrived in time to save me.  My sight grown dim and feeble at first\nrefused to recognize him; and when I did distinguish his features, the\nsudden burst of rapture was too much for me to bear.  I was overpowered\nby the swell of joy at once more beholding a Friend, and that a Friend\nso dear to me.  Nature could not support my emotions, and took her\nrefuge in insensibility.\n\nYou already know, what are my obligations to the Family of\nVilla-Franca:  But what you cannot know is the extent of my gratitude,\nboundless as the excellence of my Benefactors. Lorenzo!  Raymond!\nNames so dear to me!  Teach me to bear with fortitude this sudden\ntransition from misery to bliss.  So lately a Captive, opprest with\nchains, perishing with hunger, suffering every inconvenience of cold\nand want, hidden from the light, excluded from society, hopeless,\nneglected, and as I feared, forgotten; Now restored to life and\nliberty, enjoying all the comforts of affluence and ease, surrounded by\nthose who are most loved by me, and on the point of becoming his Bride\nwho has long been wedded to my heart, my happiness is so exquisite, so\nperfect, that scarcely can my brain sustain the weight.  One only wish\nremains ungratified:  It is to see my Brother in his former health, and\nto know that Antonia's memory is buried in her grave.\n\nGranted this prayer, I have nothing more to desire.  I trust, that my\npast sufferings have purchased from heaven the pardon of my momentary\nweakness. That I have offended, offended greatly and grievously, I am\nfully conscious; But let not my Husband, because He once conquered my\nvirtue, doubt the propriety of my future conduct.  I have been frail\nand full of error:  But I yielded not to the  warmth of constitution;\nRaymond, affection for you betrayed me.  I was too confident of my\nstrength; But I depended no less on your honour than my own.  I had\nvowed never to see you more:  Had it not been for the consequences of\nthat unguarded moment, my resolution had been kept.  Fate willed it\notherwise, and I cannot but rejoice at its decree.  Still my conduct\nhas been highly blameable, and while I attempt to justify myself, I\nblush at recollecting my imprudence.  Let me then dismiss the\nungrateful subject; First assuring you, Raymond, that you shall have no\ncause to repent our union, and that the more culpable have been the\nerrors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall be the conduct of\nyour Wife.\n\nHere Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in terms\nequally sincere and affectionate. Lorenzo expressed his satisfaction at\nthe prospect of being so closely connected with a Man for whom He had\never entertained the highest esteem.  The Pope's Bull had fully and\neffectually released Agnes from her religious engagements:  The\nmarriage was therefore celebrated as soon as the needful preparations\nhad been made, for the Marquis wished to have the ceremony performed\nwith all possible splendour and publicity.  This being over, and the\nBride having received the compliments of Madrid, She departed with Don\nRaymond for his Castle in Andalusia:  Lorenzo accompanied them, as did\nalso the Marchioness de Villa-Franca and her lovely Daughter.  It is\nneedless to say that Theodore was of the party, and would be impossible\nto describe his joy at his Master's marriage. Previous to his\ndeparture, the Marquis, to atone in some measure for his past neglect,\nmade some enquiries relative to Elvira. Finding that She as well as her\nDaughter had received many services from Leonella and Jacintha, He\nshowed his respect to the memory of his Sister-in-law by making the two\nWomen handsome presents.  Lorenzo followed his example--Leonella was\nhighly flattered by the attentions of Noblemen so distinguished, and\nJacintha blessed the hour on which her House was bewitched.\n\nOn her side, Agnes failed not to reward her Convent Friends. The worthy\nMother St. Ursula, to whom She owed her liberty, was named at her\nrequest Superintendent of 'The Ladies of Charity:' This was one of the\nbest and most opulent Societies throughout Spain.  Bertha and Cornelia\nnot choosing to quit their Friend, were appointed to principal charges\nin the same establishment. As to the Nuns who had aided the Domina in\npersecuting Agnes, Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had\nperished in the flames which consumed St. Clare's Convent.  Mariana,\nAlix, and Violante, as well as two more, had fallen victims to the\npopular rage.  The three Others who in Council had supported the\nDomina's sentence, were severely reprimanded, and banished to religious\nHouses in obscure and distant Provinces:  Here they languished away a\nfew years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned by their\nCompanions with aversion and contempt.\n\nNor was the fidelity of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her wishes\nbeing consulted, She declared herself impatient to revisit her native\nland.  In consequence, a passage was procured for her to Cuba, where\nShe arrived in safety, loaded with the presents of Raymond and Lorenzo.\n\nThe debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue her\nfavourite plan.  Lodged in the same House, Lorenzo and Virginia were\neternally together. The more He saw of her, the more was He convinced\nof her merit.  On her part, She laid herself out to please, and not to\nsucceed was for her impossible.\n\nLorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant\nmanners, innumerable talents, and sweet disposition:  He was also much\nflattered by her prejudice in his favour, which She had not sufficient\nart to conceal.  However, his sentiments partook not of that ardent\ncharacter which had marked his affection for Antonia.  The image of\nthat lovely and unfortunate Girl still lived in his heart, and baffled\nall Virginia's efforts to displace it.  Still when the Duke proposed to\nhim the match, which He wished to earnestly to take place, his Nephew\ndid not reject the offer.  The urgent supplications of his Friends, and\nthe Lady's merit conquered his repugnance to entering into new\nengagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa-Franca, and\nwas accepted with joy and gratitude.  Virginia became his Wife, nor did\nShe ever give him cause to repent his choice.  His esteem increased for\nher daily.  Her unremitted endeavours to please him could not but\nsucceed.  His affection assumed stronger and warmer colours.  Antonia's\nimage was gradually effaced from his bosom; and Virginia became sole\nMistress of that heart, which She well deserved to possess without a\nPartner.\n\nThe remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and Virginia, were\nhappy as can be those allotted to Mortals, born to be the prey of\ngrief, and sport of disappointment.  The exquisite sorrows with which\nthey had been afflicted, made them think lightly of every succeeding\nwoe.  They had felt the sharpest darts in misfortune's quiver; Those\nwhich remained appeared blunt in comparison.  Having weathered Fate's\nheaviest Storms, they looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they\nfelt Affliction's casual gales, they seemed to them gentle as Zephyrs\nwhich breathe over summer-seas.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n  ----He was a fell despightful Fiend:\n  Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:\n  By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;\n  Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe.\n          Thomson.\n\nOn the day following Antonia's death, all Madrid was a scene of\nconsternation and amazement.  An Archer who had witnessed the adventure\nin the Sepulchre had indiscreetly related the circumstances of the\nmurder:  He had also named the Perpetrator. The confusion was without\nexample which this intelligence raised among the Devotees.  Most of\nthem disbelieved it, and went themselves to the Abbey to ascertain the\nfact.  Anxious to avoid the shame to which their Superior's ill-conduct\nexposed the whole Brotherhood, the Monks assured the Visitors that\nAmbrosio was prevented from receiving them as usual by nothing but\nillness. This attempt was unsuccessful:  The same excuse being repeated\nday after day, the Archer's story gradually obtained confidence. His\nPartizans abandoned him:  No one entertained a doubt of his guilt; and\nthey who before had been the warmest in his praise were now the most\nvociferous in his condemnation.\n\nWhile his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the utmost\nacrimony, Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious villainy, and\nthe terrors of punishment impending over him.  When He looked back to\nthe eminence on which He had lately stood, universally honoured and\nrespected, at peace with the world and with himself, scarcely could He\nbelieve that He was indeed the culprit whose crimes and whose fate He\ntrembled to envisage. But a few weeks had elapsed, since He was pure\nand virtuous, courted by the wisest and noblest in Madrid, and regarded\nby the People with a reverence that approached idolatry:  He now saw\nhimself stained with the most loathed and monstrous sins, the object of\nuniversal execration, a Prisoner of the Holy Office, and probably\ndoomed to perish in tortures the most severe.  He could not hope to\ndeceive his Judges:  The proofs of his guilt were too strong.  His\nbeing in the Sepulchre at so late an hour, his confusion at the\ndiscovery, the dagger which in his first alarm He owned had been\nconcealed by him, and the blood which had spirted upon his habit from\nAntonia's wound, sufficiently marked him out for the Assassin.  He\nwaited with agony for the day of examination:  He had no resource to\ncomfort him in his distress. Religion could not inspire him with\nfortitude: If He read the Books of morality which were put into his\nhands, He saw in them nothing but the enormity of his offences; If he\nattempted to pray, He recollected that He deserved not heaven's\nprotection, and believed his crimes so monstrous as to baffle even\nGod's infinite goodness.  For every other Sinner He thought there might\nbe hope, but for him there could be none.  Shuddering at the past,\nanguished by the present, and dreading the future, thus passed He the\nfew days preceding that which was marked for his Trial.\n\nThat day arrived.  At nine in the morning his prison door was unlocked,\nand his Gaoler entering, commanded him to follow him. He obeyed with\ntrembling.  He was conducted into a spacious Hall, hung with black\ncloth. At the Table sat three grave, stern-looking Men, also habited in\nblack:  One was the Grand Inquisitor, whom the importance of this cause\nhad induced to examine into it himself.  At a smaller table at a little\ndistance sat the Secretary, provided with all necessary implements for\nwriting.  Ambrosio was beckoned to advance, and take his station at the\nlower end of the Table.  As his eye glanced downwards, He perceived\nvarious iron instruments lying scattered upon the floor.  Their forms\nwere unknown to him, but apprehension immediately guessed them to be\nengines of torture.  He turned pale, and with difficulty prevented\nhimself from sinking upon the ground.\n\nProfound silence prevailed, except when the Inquisitors whispered a few\nwords among themselves mysteriously.  Near an hour past away, and with\nevery second of it Ambrosio's fears grew more poignant.  At length a\nsmall Door, opposite to that by which He had entered the Hall, grated\nheavily upon its hinges.  An Officer appeared, and was immediately\nfollowed by the beautiful Matilda. Her hair hung about her face wildly;\nHer cheeks were pale, and her eyes sunk and hollow. She threw a\nmelancholy look upon Ambrosio:  He replied by one of aversion and\nreproach.  She was placed opposite to him.  A Bell then sounded thrice.\nIt was the signal for opening the Court, and the Inquisitors entered\nupon their office.\n\nIn these trials neither the accusation is mentioned, or the name of the\nAccuser.  The Prisoners are only asked, whether they will confess:  If\nthey reply that having no crime they can make no confession, they are\nput to the torture without delay.  This is repeated at intervals,\neither till the suspected avow themselves culpable, or the perseverance\nof the examinants is worn out and exhausted: But without a direct\nacknowledgment of their guilt, the Inquisition never pronounces the\nfinal doom of its Prisoners.\n\nIn general much time is suffered to elapse without their being\nquestioned:  But Ambrosio's trial had been hastened, on account of a\nsolemn Auto da Fe which would take place in a few days, and in which\nthe Inquisitors meant this distinguished Culprit to perform a part, and\ngive a striking testimony of their vigilance.\n\nThe Abbot was not merely accused of rape and murder:  The crime of\nSorcery was laid to his charge, as well as to Matilda's.  She had been\nseized as an Accomplice in Antonia's assassination.  On searching her\nCell, various suspicious books and instruments were found which\njustified the accusation brought against her.  To criminate the Monk,\nthe constellated Mirror was produced, which Matilda had accidentally\nleft in his chamber. The strange figures engraved upon it caught the\nattention of Don Ramirez, while searching the Abbot's Cell:  In\nconsequence, He carried it away with him.  It was shown to the Grand\nInquisitor, who having considered it for some time, took off a small\ngolden Cross which hung at his girdle, and laid it upon the Mirror.\nInstantly a loud noise was heard, resembling a clap of thunder, and the\nsteel shivered into a thousand pieces. This circumstance confirmed the\nsuspicion of the Monk's having dealt in Magic:  It was even supposed\nthat his former influence over the minds of the People was entirely to\nbe ascribed to witchcraft.\n\nDetermined to make him confess not only the crimes which He had\ncommitted, but those also of which He was innocent, the Inquisitors\nbegan their examination. Though dreading the tortures, as He dreaded\ndeath still more which would consign him to eternal torments, the Abbot\nasserted his purity in a voice bold and resolute.  Matilda followed his\nexample, but spoke with fear and trembling.  Having in vain exhorted\nhim to confess, the Inquisitors ordered the Monk to be put to the\nquestion.  The Decree was immediately executed.  Ambrosio suffered the\nmost excruciating pangs that ever were invented by human cruelty: Yet\nso dreadful is Death when guilt accompanies it, that He had sufficient\nfortitude to persist in his disavowal.  His agonies were redoubled in\nconsequence:  Nor was He released till fainting from excess of pain,\ninsensibility rescued him from the hands of his Tormentors.\n\nMatilda was next ordered to the torture:  But terrified by the sight of\nthe Friar's sufferings, her courage totally deserted her.  She sank\nupon her knees, acknowledged her corresponding with infernal Spirits,\nand that She had witnessed the Monk's assassination of Antonia:  But as\nto the crime of Sorcery, She declared herself the sole criminal, and\nAmbrosio perfectly innocent.  The latter assertion met with no credit.\nThe Abbot had recovered his senses in time to hear the confession of\nhis Accomplice: But He was too much enfeebled by what He had already\nundergone to be capable at that time of sustaining new torments.\n\nHe was commanded back to his Cell, but first informed that as soon as\nHe had gained strength sufficient, He must prepare himself for a second\nexamination.  The Inquisitors hoped that He would then be less hardened\nand obstinate.  To Matilda it was announced that She must expiate her\ncrime in fire on the approaching Auto da Fe.  All her tears and\nentreaties could procure no mitigation of her doom, and She was dragged\nby force from the Hall of Trial.\n\nReturned to his dungeon, the sufferings of Ambrosio's body were far\nmore supportable than those of his mind.  His dislocated limbs, the\nnails torn from his hands and feet, and his fingers mashed and broken\nby the pressure of screws, were far surpassed in anguish by the\nagitation of his soul and vehemence of his terrors.  He saw that,\nguilty or innocent, his Judges were bent upon condemning him:  The\nremembrance of what his denial had already cost him terrified him at\nthe idea of being again applied to the question, and almost engaged him\nto confess his crimes.  Then again the consequences of his confession\nflashed before him, and rendered him once more irresolute.  His death\nwould be inevitable, and that a death the most dreadful:  He had\nlistened to Matilda's doom, and doubted not that a similar was reserved\nfor him.  He shuddered at the approaching Auto da Fe, at the idea of\nperishing in flames, and only escaping from indurable torments to pass\ninto others more subtile and ever-lasting! With affright did He bend\nhis mind's eye on the space beyond the grave; nor could hide from\nhimself how justly he ought to dread Heaven's vengeance.  In this\nLabyrinth of terrors, fain would He have taken his refuge in the gloom\nof Atheism:  Fain would He have denied the soul's immortality; have\npersuaded himself that when his eyes once closed, they would never more\nopen, and that the same moment would annihilate his soul and body.\nEven this resource was refused to him.  To permit his being blind to\nthe fallacy of this belief, his knowledge was too extensive, his\nunderstanding too solid and just.  He could not help feeling the\nexistence of a God.  Those truths, once his comfort, now presented\nthemselves before him in the clearest light; But they only served to\ndrive him to distraction.  They destroyed his ill-grounded hopes of\nescaping punishment; and dispelled by the irresistible brightness of\nTruth and convinction, Philosophy's deceitful vapours faded away like a\ndream.\n\nIn anguish almost too great for mortal frame to bear, He expected the\ntime when He was again to be examined. He busied himself in planning\nineffectual schemes for escaping both present and future punishment.\nOf the first there was no possibility; Of the second Despair made him\nneglect the only means.  While Reason forced him to acknowledge a God's\nexistence, Conscience made him doubt the infinity of his goodness.  He\ndisbelieved that a Sinner like him could find mercy.  He had not been\ndeceived into error: Ignorance could furnish him with no excuse.  He\nhad seen vice in her true colours; Before He committed his crimes, He\nhad computed every scruple of their weight; and yet he had committed\nthem.\n\n'Pardon?' He would cry in an access of phrenzy 'Oh! there can be none\nfor me!'\n\nPersuaded of this, instead of humbling himself in penitence, of\ndeploring his guilt, and employing his few remaining hours in\ndeprecating Heaven's wrath, He abandoned himself to the transports of\ndesperate rage; He sorrowed for the punishment of his crimes, not their\ncommission; and exhaled his bosom's anguish in idle sighs, in vain\nlamentations, in blasphemy and despair. As the few beams of day which\npierced through the bars of his prison window gradually disappeared,\nand their place was supplied by the pale and glimmering Lamp, He felt\nhis terrors redouble, and his ideas become more gloomy, more solemn,\nmore despondent.  He dreaded the approach of sleep:  No sooner did his\neyes close, wearied with tears and watching, than the dreadful visions\nseemed to be realised on which his mind had dwelt during the day. He\nfound himself in sulphurous realms and burning Caverns, surrounded by\nFiends appointed his Tormentors, and who drove him through a variety of\ntortures, each of which was more dreadful than the former.  Amidst\nthese dismal scenes wandered the Ghosts of Elvira and her Daughter.\nThey reproached him with their deaths, recounted his crimes to the\nDaemons, and urged them to inflict torments of cruelty yet more\nrefined.  Such were the pictures which floated before his eyes in\nsleep:  They vanished not till his repose was disturbed by excess of\nagony.  Then would He start from the ground on which He had stretched\nhimself, his brows running down with cold sweat, his eyes wild and\nphrenzied; and He only exchanged the terrible certainty for surmizes\nscarcely more supportable.  He paced his dungeon with disordered steps;\nHe gazed with terror upon the surrounding darkness, and often did He\ncry,\n\n  'Oh! fearful is night to the Guilty!'\n\nThe day of his second examination was at hand.  He had been compelled\nto swallow cordials, whose virtues were calculated to restore his\nbodily strength, and enable him to support the question longer.  On the\nnight preceding this dreaded day, his fears for the morrow permitted\nhim not to sleep.  His terrors were so violent, as nearly to annihilate\nhis mental powers.  He sat like one stupefied near the Table on which\nhis Lamp was burning dimly. Despair chained up his faculties in\nIdiotism, and He remained for some hours, unable to speak or move, or\nindeed to think.\n\n'Look up, Ambrosio!' said a Voice in accents well-known to him--\n\nThe Monk started, and raised his melancholy eyes. Matilda stood before\nhim.  She had quitted her religious habit.  She now wore a female\ndress, at once elegant and splendid:  A profusion of diamonds blazed\nupon her robes, and her hair was confined by a coronet of Roses.  In\nher right hand She held a small Book:  A lively expression of pleasure\nbeamed upon her countenance; But still it was mingled with a wild\nimperious majesty which inspired the Monk with awe, and represt in some\nmeasure his transports at seeing her.\n\n'You here, Matilda?' He at length exclaimed; 'How have you gained\nentrance?  Where are your Chains?  What means this magnificence, and\nthe joy which sparkles in your eyes?  Have our Judges relented?  Is\nthere a chance of my escaping?  Answer me for pity, and tell me, what I\nhave to hope, or fear.'\n\n'Ambrosio!' She replied with an air of commanding dignity; 'I have\nbaffled the Inquisition's fury.  I am free: A few moments will place\nkingdoms between these dungeons and me.  Yet I purchase my liberty at a\ndear, at a dreadful price!  Dare you pay the same, Ambrosio?  Dare you\nspring without fear over the bounds which separate Men from\nAngels?--You are silent.--You look upon me with eyes of suspicion and\nalarm--I read your thoughts and confess their justice.  Yes, Ambrosio;\nI have sacrificed all for life and liberty.  I am no longer a candidate\nfor heaven!  I have renounced God's service, and am enlisted beneath\nthe banners of his Foes.  The deed is past recall: Yet were it in my\npower to go back, I would not.  Oh! my Friend, to expire in such\ntorments!  To die amidst curses and execrations! To bear the insults of\nan exasperated Mob!  To be exposed to all the mortifications of shame\nand infamy!  Who can reflect without horror on such a doom?  Let me\nthen exult in my exchange.  I have sold distant and uncertain happiness\nfor present and secure: I have preserved a life which otherwise I had\nlost in torture; and I have obtained the power of procuring every bliss\nwhich can make that life delicious!  The Infernal Spirits obey me as\ntheir Sovereign:  By their aid shall my days be past in every\nrefinement of luxury and voluptuousness.  I will enjoy unrestrained the\ngratification of my senses:  Every passion shall be indulged, even to\nsatiety; Then will I bid my Servants invent new pleasures, to revive\nand stimulate my glutted appetites!  I go impatient to exercise my\nnewly-gained dominion. I pant to be at liberty.  Nothing should hold me\none moment longer in this abhorred abode, but the hope of persuading\nyou to follow my example.  Ambrosio, I still love you:  Our mutual\nguilt and danger have rendered you dearer to me than ever, and I would\nfain save you from impending destruction.  Summon then your resolution\nto your aid; and renounce for immediate and certain benefits the hopes\nof a salvation, difficult to obtain, and perhaps altogether erroneous.\nShake off the prejudice of vulgar souls; Abandon a God who has\nabandoned you, and raise yourself to the level of superior Beings!'\n\nShe paused for the Monk's reply:  He shuddered, while He gave it.\n\n'Matilda!' He said after a long silence in a low and unsteady voice;\n'What price gave you for liberty?'\n\nShe answered him firm and dauntless.\n\n'Ambrosio, it was my Soul!'\n\n'Wretched Woman, what have you done?  Pass but a few years, and how\ndreadful will be your sufferings!'\n\n'Weak Man, pass but this night, and how dreadful will be your own!  Do\nyou remember what you have already endured?  Tomorrow you must bear\ntorments doubly exquisite.  Do you remember the horrors of a fiery\npunishment?  In two days you must be led a Victim to the Stake!  What\nthen will become of you?  Still dare you hope for pardon?  Still are\nyou beguiled with visions of salvation?  Think upon your crimes!  Think\nupon your lust, your perjury, inhumanity, and hypocrisy!  Think upon\nthe innocent blood which cries to the Throne of God for vengeance, and\nthen hope for mercy!  Then dream of heaven, and sigh for worlds of\nlight, and realms of peace and pleasure!  Absurd!  Open your eyes,\nAmbrosio, and be prudent.  Hell is your lot; You are doomed to eternal\nperdition; Nought lies beyond your grave but a gulph of devouring\nflames.  And will you then speed towards that Hell? Will you clasp that\nperdition in your arms, ere 'tis needful? Will you plunge into those\nflames while you still have the power to shun them?  'Tis a Madman's\naction.  No, no, Ambrosio:  Let us for awhile fly from divine\nvengeance.  Be advised by me; Purchase by one moment's courage the\nbliss of years; Enjoy the present, and forget that a future lags\nbehind.'\n\n'Matilda, your counsels are dangerous:  I dare not, I will not follow\nthem.  I must not give up my claim to salvation. Monstrous are my\ncrimes; But God is merciful, and I will not despair of pardon.'\n\n'Is such your resolution?  I have no more to say.  I speed to joy and\nliberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.'\n\n'Yet stay one moment, Matilda!  You command the infernal Daemons:\n\nYou can force open these prison doors; You can release me from these\nchains which weigh me down.  Save me, I conjure you, and bear me from\nthese fearful abodes!'\n\n'You ask the only boon beyond my power to bestow.  I am forbidden to\nassist a Churchman and a Partizan of God:  Renounce those titles, and\ncommand me.'\n\n'I will not sell my soul to perdition.'\n\n'Persist in your obstinacy, till you find yourself at the Stake: Then\nwill you repent your error, and sigh for escape when the moment is gone\nby.  I quit you.  Yet ere the hour of death arrives should wisdom\nenlighten you, listen to the means of repairing your present fault.  I\nleave with you this Book.  Read the four first lines of the seventh\npage backwards:  The Spirit whom you have already once beheld will\nimmediately appear to you.  If you are wise, we shall meet again:  If\nnot, farewell for ever!'\n\nShe let the Book fall upon the ground.  A cloud of blue fire wrapped\nitself round her:  She waved her hand to Ambrosio, and disappeared.\nThe momentary glare which the flames poured through the dungeon, on\ndissipating suddenly, seemed to have increased its natural gloom.  The\nsolitary Lamp scarcely gave light sufficient to guide the Monk to a\nChair.  He threw himself into his seat, folded his arms, and leaning\nhis head upon the table, sank into reflections perplexing and\nunconnected.\n\nHe was still in this attitude when the opening of the prison door\nrouzed him from his stupor.  He was summoned to appear before the Grand\nInquisitor.  He rose, and followed his Gaoler with painful steps.  He\nwas led into the same Hall, placed before the same Examiners, and was\nagain interrogated whether He would confess. He replied as before, that\nhaving no crimes, He could acknowledge none:  But when the Executioners\nprepared to put him to the question, when He saw the engines of\ntorture, and remembered the pangs which they had already inflicted, his\nresolution failed him entirely.  Forgetting the consequences, and only\nanxious to escape the terrors of the present moment, He made an ample\nconfession.  He disclosed every circumstance of his guilt, and owned\nnot merely the crimes with which He was charged, but those of which He\nhad never been suspected.  Being interrogated as to Matilda's flight\nwhich had created much confusion, He confessed that She had sold\nherself to Satan, and that She was indebted to Sorcery for her escape.\nHe still assured his Judges that for his own part He had never entered\ninto any compact with the infernal Spirits; But the threat of being\ntortured made him declare himself to be a Sorcerer, and Heretic, and\nwhatever other title the Inquisitors chose to fix upon him.  In\nconsequence of this avowal, his sentence was immediately pronounced.\nHe was ordered to prepare himself to perish in the Auto da Fe, which\nwas to be solemnized at twelve o'clock that night.  This hour was\nchosen from the idea that the horror of the flames being heightened by\nthe gloom of midnight, the execution would have a greater effect upon\nthe mind of the People.\n\nAmbrosio rather dead than alive was left alone in his dungeon. The\nmoment in which this terrible decree was pronounced had nearly proved\nthat of his dissolution. He looked forward to the morrow with despair,\nand his terrors increased with the approach of midnight.  Sometimes He\nwas buried in gloomy silence:  At others He raved with delirious\npassion, wrung his hands, and cursed the hour when He first beheld the\nlight.  In one of these moments his eye rested upon Matilda's\nmysterious gift.  His transports of rage were instantly suspended.  He\nlooked earnestly at the Book; He took it up, but immediately threw it\nfrom him with horror.  He walked rapidly up and down his dungeon:  Then\nstopped, and again fixed his eyes on the spot where the Book had\nfallen.  He reflected that here at least was a resource from the fate\nwhich He dreaded.  He stooped, and took it up a second time.\n\nHe remained for some time trembling and irresolute:  He longed to try\nthe charm, yet feared its consequences.  The recollection of his\nsentence at length fixed his indecision.  He opened the Volume; but his\nagitation was so great that He at first sought in vain for the page\nmentioned by Matilda.  Ashamed of himself, He called all his courage to\nhis aid.  He turned to the seventh leaf.  He began to read it aloud;\nBut his eyes frequently wandered from the Book, while He anxiously cast\nthem round in search of the Spirit, whom He wished, yet dreaded to\nbehold. Still He persisted in his design; and with a voice unassured\nand frequent interruptions, He contrived to finish the four first lines\nof the page.\n\nThey were in a language, whose import was totally unknown to him.\n\nScarce had He pronounced the last word when the effects of the charm\nwere evident.  A loud burst of Thunder was heard; The prison shook to\nits very foundations; A blaze of lightning flashed through the Cell;\nand in the next moment, borne upon sulphurous whirl-winds, Lucifer\nstood before him a second time. But He came not as when at Matilda's\nsummons He borrowed the Seraph's form to deceive Ambrosio.  He appeared\nin all that ugliness which since his fall from heaven had been his\nportion: His blasted limbs still bore marks of the Almighty's thunder:\nA swarthy darkness spread itself over his gigantic form:  His hands and\nfeet were armed with long Talons:  Fury glared in his eyes, which might\nhave struck the bravest heart with terror: Over his huge shoulders\nwaved two enormous sable wings; and his hair was supplied by living\nsnakes, which twined themselves round his brows with frightful\nhissings.  In one hand He held a roll of parchment, and in the other an\niron pen.  Still the lightning flashed around him, and the Thunder with\nrepeated bursts, seemed to announce the dissolution of Nature.\n\nTerrified at an Apparition so different from what He had expected,\nAmbrosio remained gazing upon the Fiend, deprived of the power of\nutterance.  The Thunder had ceased to roll: Universal silence reigned\nthrough the dungeon.\n\n'For what am I summoned hither?' said the Daemon, in a voice which\nsulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness--\n\nAt the sound Nature seemed to tremble:  A violent earthquake rocked the\nground, accompanied by a fresh burst of Thunder, louder and more\nappalling than the first.\n\nAmbrosio was long unable to answer the Daemon's demand.\n\n'I am condemned to die;' He said with a faint voice, his blood running\ncold, while He gazed upon his dreadful Visitor.  'Save me!  Bear me\nfrom hence!'\n\n'Shall the reward of my services be paid me?  Dare you embrace my\ncause?  Will you be mine, body and soul?  Are you prepared to renounce\nhim who made you, and him who died for you?  Answer but \"Yes\" and\nLucifer is your Slave.'\n\n'Will no less price content you?  Can nothing satisfy you but my\neternal ruin?  Spirit, you ask too much.  Yet convey me from this\ndungeon:  Be my Servant for one hour, and I will be yours for a\nthousand years.  Will not this offer suffice?'\n\n'It will not.  I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine for\never.'\n\n'Insatiate Daemon, I will not doom myself to endless torments.  I will\nnot give up my hopes of being one day pardoned.'\n\n'You will not?  On what Chimaera rest then your hopes? Short-sighted\nMortal!  Miserable Wretch!  Are you not guilty? Are you not infamous in\nthe eyes of Men and Angels.  Can such enormous sins be forgiven?  Hope\nyou to escape my power?  Your fate is already pronounced. The Eternal\nhas abandoned you; Mine you are marked in the book of destiny, and mine\nyou must and shall be!'\n\n'Fiend, 'tis false!  Infinite is the Almighty's mercy, and the Penitent\nshall meet his forgiveness.  My crimes are monstrous, but I will not\ndespair of pardon:  Haply, when they have received due chastisement....'\n\n'Chastisement?  Was Purgatory meant for guilt like yours?  Hope you\nthat your offences shall be bought off by prayers of superstitious\ndotards and droning Monks?  Ambrosio, be wise! Mine you must be:  You\nare doomed to flames, but may shun them for the present.  Sign this\nparchment:  I will bear you from hence, and you may pass your remaining\nyears in bliss and liberty.  Enjoy your existence:  Indulge in every\npleasure to which appetite may lead you:  But from the moment that it\nquits your body, remember that your soul belongs to me, and that I will\nnot be defrauded of my right.'\n\nThe Monk was silent; But his looks declared that the Tempter's words\nwere not thrown away.  He reflected on the conditions proposed with\nhorror:  On the other hand, He believed himself doomed to perdition and\nthat, by refusing the Daemon's succour, He only hastened tortures which\nHe never could escape.  The Fiend saw that his resolution was shaken:\nHe renewed his instances, and endeavoured to fix the Abbot's\nindecision.  He described the agonies of death in the most terrific\ncolours; and He worked so powerfully upon Ambrosio's despair and fears\nthat He prevailed upon him to receive the Parchment.  He then struck\nthe iron Pen which He held into a vein of the Monk's left hand.  It\npierced deep, and was instantly filled with blood; Yet Ambrosio felt no\npain from the wound.  The Pen was put into his hand:  It trembled.  The\nWretch placed the Parchment on the Table before him, and prepared to\nsign it.  Suddenly He held his hand:  He started away hastily, and\nthrew the Pen upon the table.\n\n'What am I doing?' He cried--Then turning to the Fiend with a desperate\nair, 'Leave me!  Begone!  I will not sign the Parchment.'\n\n'Fool!' exclaimed the disappointed Daemon, darting looks so furious as\npenetrated the Friar's soul with horror; 'Thus am I trifled with?  Go\nthen!  Rave in agony, expire in tortures, and then learn the extent of\nthe Eternal's mercy!  But beware how you make me again your mock!  Call\nme no more till resolved to accept my offers!  Summon me a second time\nto dismiss me thus idly, and these Talons shall rend you into a\nthousand pieces! Speak yet again; Will you sign the Parchment?'\n\n'I will not!  Leave me!  Away!'\n\nInstantly the Thunder was heard to roll horribly: Once more the earth\ntrembled with violence:  The Dungeon resounded with loud shrieks, and\nthe Daemon fled with blasphemy and curses.\n\nAt first, the Monk rejoiced at having resisted the Seducer's arts, and\nobtained a triumph over Mankind's Enemy:  But as the hour of punishment\ndrew near, his former terrors revived in his heart.  Their momentary\nrepose seemed to have given them fresh vigour.  The nearer that the\ntime approached, the more did He dread appearing before the Throne of\nGod.  He shuddered to think how soon He must be plunged into eternity;\nHow soon meet the eyes of his Creator, whom He had so grievously\noffended.  The Bell announced midnight:  It was the signal for being\nled to the Stake!  As He listened to the first stroke, the blood ceased\nto circulate in the Abbot's veins:  He heard death and torture murmured\nin each succeeding sound.  He expected to see the Archers entering his\nprison; and as the Bell forbore to toll, he seized the magic volume in\na fit of despair.  He opened it, turned hastily to the seventh page,\nand as if fearing to allow himself a moment's thought ran over the\nfatal lines with rapidity.  Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer\nagain stood before the Trembler.\n\n'You have summoned me,' said the Fiend; 'Are you determined to be wise?\nWill you accept my conditions?  You know them already. Renounce your\nclaim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and I bear you from this\ndungeon instantly.  Yet is it time. Resolve, or it will be too late.\nWill you sign the Parchment?'\n\n'I must!--Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.'\n\n'Sign the Parchment!' replied the Daemon in an exulting tone.\n\nThe Contract and the bloody Pen still lay upon the Table. Ambrosio drew\nnear it.  He prepared to sign his name.  A moment's reflection made him\nhesitate.\n\n'Hark!' cried the Tempter; 'They come!  Be quick! Sign the Parchment,\nand I bear you from hence this moment.'\n\nIn effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead\nAmbrosio to the Stake.  The sound encouraged the Monk in his resolution.\n\n'What is the import of this writing?' said He.\n\n'It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.'\n\n'What am I to receive in exchange?'\n\n'My protection, and release from this dungeon.  Sign it, and this\ninstant I bear you away.'\n\nAmbrosio took up the Pen; He set it to the Parchment. Again his courage\nfailed him:  He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and once more threw\nthe Pen upon the Table.\n\n'Weak and Puerile!' cried the exasperated Fiend: 'Away with this folly!\nSign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my rage!'\n\nAt this moment the bolt of the outward Door was drawn back.  The\nPrisoner heard the rattling of Chains; The heavy Bar fell; The Archers\nwere on the point of entering.  Worked up to phrenzy by the urgent\ndanger, shrinking from the approach of death, terrified by the Daemon's\nthreats, and seeing no other means to escape destruction, the wretched\nMonk complied.  He signed the fatal contract, and gave it hastily into\nthe evil Spirit's hands, whose eyes, as He received the gift, glared\nwith malicious rapture.\n\n'Take it!' said the God-abandoned; 'Now then save me!  Snatch me from\nhence!'\n\n'Hold!  Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and his Son?'\n\n'I do! I do!'\n\n'Do you make over your soul to me for ever?'\n\n'For ever!'\n\n'Without reserve or subterfuge?  Without future appeal to the divine\nmercy?'\n\nThe last Chain fell from the door of the prison:  The key was heard\nturning in the Lock:  Already the iron door grated heavily upon its\nrusty hinges.\n\n'I am yours for ever and irrevocably!' cried the Monk wild with terror:\n'I abandon all claim to salvation!  I own no power but yours!  Hark!\nHark!  They come!  Oh! save me!  Bear me away!'\n\n'I have triumphed!  You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil my\npromise.'\n\nWhile He spoke, the Door unclosed.  Instantly the Daemon grasped one of\nAmbrosio's arms, spread his broad pinions, and sprang with him into the\nair.  The roof opened as they soared upwards, and closed again when\nthey had quitted the Dungeon.\n\nIn the meanwhile, the Gaoler was thrown into the utmost surprize by the\ndisappearance of his Prisoner.  Though neither He nor the Archers were\nin time to witness the Monk's escape, a sulphurous smell prevailing\nthrough the prison sufficiently informed them by whose aid He had been\nliberated.  They hastened to make their report to the Grand Inquisitor.\nThe story, how a Sorcerer had been carried away by the Devil, was soon\nnoised about Madrid; and for some days the whole City was employed in\ndiscussing the subject.  Gradually it ceased to be the topic of\nconversation: Other adventures arose whose novelty engaged universal\nattention; and Ambrosio was soon forgotten as totally, as if He never\nhad existed.  While this was passing, the Monk supported by his\ninfernal guide, traversed the air with the rapidity of an arrow, and a\nfew moments placed him upon a Precipice's brink, the steepest in Sierra\nMorena.\n\nThough rescued from the Inquisition, Ambrosio as yet was insensible of\nthe blessings of liberty.  The damning contract weighed heavy upon his\nmind; and the scenes in which He had been a principal actor had left\nbehind them such impressions as rendered his heart the seat of anarchy\nand confusion.  The Objects now before his eyes, and which the full\nMoon sailing through clouds permitted him to examine, were\nill-calculated to inspire that calm, of which He stood so much in need.\nThe disorder of his imagination was increased by the wildness of the\nsurrounding scenery; By the gloomy Caverns and steep rocks, rising\nabove each other, and dividing the passing clouds; solitary clusters of\nTrees scattered here and there, among whose thick-twined branches the\nwind of night sighed hoarsely and mournfully; the shrill cry of\nmountain Eagles, who had built their nests among these lonely Desarts;\nthe stunning roar of torrents, as swelled by late rains they rushed\nviolently down tremendous precipices; and the dark waters of a silent\nsluggish stream which faintly reflected the moonbeams, and bathed the\nRock's base on which Ambrosio stood.  The Abbot cast round him a look\nof terror.  His infernal Conductor was still by his side, and eyed him\nwith a look of mingled malice, exultation, and contempt.\n\n'Whither have you brought me?' said the Monk at length in an hollow\ntrembling voice:  'Why am I placed in this melancholy scene?  Bear me\nfrom it quickly!  Carry me to Matilda!'\n\nThe Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence.\n\nAmbrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes, while\nthus spoke the Daemon:\n\n'I have him then in my power!  This model of piety!  This being without\nreproach!  This Mortal who placed his puny virtues on a level with\nthose of Angels.  He is mine!  Irrevocably, eternally mine!  Companions\nof my sufferings!  Denizens of hell!  How grateful will be my present!'\n\nHe paused; then addressed himself to the Monk----\n\n'Carry you to Matilda?' He continued, repeating Ambrosio's words:\n\n'Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place near her,\nfor hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself.\n\nHark, Ambrosio, while I unveil your crimes!  You have shed the blood of\ntwo innocents; Antonia and Elvira perished by your hand. That Antonia\nwhom you violated, was your Sister! That Elvira whom you murdered, gave\nyou birth! Tremble, abandoned Hypocrite! Inhuman Parricide! Incestuous\nRavisher!  Tremble at the extent of your offences!  And you it was who\nthought yourself proof against temptation, absolved from human\nfrailties, and free from error and vice!  Is pride then a virtue?  Is\ninhumanity no fault? Know, vain Man!  That I long have marked you for\nmy prey:  I watched the movements of your heart; I saw that you were\nvirtuous from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit moment of\nseduction.  I observed your blind idolatry of the Madona's picture.  I\nbad a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar form, and you\neagerly yielded to the blandishments of Matilda. Your pride was\ngratified by her flattery; Your lust only needed an opportunity to\nbreak forth; You ran into the snare blindly, and scrupled not to commit\na crime which you blamed in another with unfeeling severity.  It was I\nwho threw Matilda in your way; It was I who gave you entrance to\nAntonia's chamber; It was I who caused the dagger to be given you which\npierced your Sister's bosom; and it was I who warned Elvira in dreams\nof your designs upon her Daughter, and thus, by preventing your\nprofiting by her sleep, compelled you to add rape as well as incest to\nthe catalogue of your crimes.  Hear, hear, Ambrosio!  Had you resisted\nme one minute longer, you had saved your body and soul. The guards whom\nyou heard at your prison door came to signify your pardon.  But I had\nalready triumphed:  My plots had already succeeded.  Scarcely could I\npropose crimes so quick as you performed them.  You are mine, and\nHeaven itself cannot rescue you from my power.  Hope not that your\npenitence will make void our contract. Here is your bond signed with\nyour blood; You have given up your claim to mercy, and nothing can\nrestore to you the rights which you have foolishly resigned.  Believe\nyou that your secret thoughts escaped me?  No, no, I read them all!\nYou trusted that you should still have time for repentance.  I saw your\nartifice, knew its falsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the deceiver!\nYou are mine beyond reprieve:  I burn to possess my right, and alive\nyou quit not these mountains.'\n\nDuring the Daemon's speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror and\nsurprize.  This last declaration rouzed him.\n\n'Not quit these mountains alive?' He exclaimed: 'Perfidious, what mean\nyou?  Have you forgotten our contract?'\n\nThe Fiend answered by a malicious laugh:\n\n'Our contract?  Have I not performed my part?  What more did I promise\nthan to save you from your prison?  Have I not done so? Are you not\nsafe from the Inquisition--safe from all but from me?  Fool that you\nwere to confide yourself to a Devil!  Why did you not stipulate for\nlife, and power, and pleasure?  Then all would have been granted:  Now,\nyour reflections come too late. Miscreant, prepare for death; You have\nnot many hours to live!'\n\nOn hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the devoted\nWretch!  He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands towards heaven.\nThe Fiend read his intention and prevented it--\n\n'What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury:  'Dare you still\nimplore the Eternal's mercy?  Would you feign penitence, and again act\nan Hypocrite's part?  Villain, resign your hopes of pardon.  Thus I\nsecure my prey!'\n\nAs He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He\nsprang with him from the rock.  The Caves and mountains rang with\nAmbrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a\ndreadful height, He released the sufferer.  Headlong fell the Monk\nthrough the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He\nrolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested\non the river's banks.  Life still existed in his miserable frame: He\nattempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs\nrefused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where\nHe had first fallen.  The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching\nbeams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner.  Myriads of\ninsects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which\ntrickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from\nhim, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his\nbody, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures\nthe most exquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his\nflesh piecemeal, and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks.  A\nburning thirst tormented him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled\nbeside him, but strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound.\nBlind, maimed, helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy\nand curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of death\ndestined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable days did\nthe Villain languish.  On the Seventh a violent storm arose: The winds\nin fury rent up rocks and forests:  The sky was now black with clouds,\nnow sheeted with fire:  The rain fell in torrents; It swelled the\nstream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where\nAmbrosio lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the\nCorse of the despairing Monk."