The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk, by M. G. Lewis (2025)

PREFACE

IMITATION OF HORACE
Ep. 20.—B. 1.

M. G. L.

Hague,
Oct. 28, 1794.

ADVERTISEMENT

The first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the SantonBarsisa, related in The Guardian.—The Bleeding Nun is atradition still credited in many parts of Germany; and I have been told thatthe ruins of the Castle of Lauenstein, which She is supposed to haunt,may yet be seen upon the borders of Thuringia.—The Water-King,from the third to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment of an original DanishBallad—And Belerma and Durandarte is translated from some stanzasto be found in a collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also thepopular song of Gayferos and Melesindra, mentioned in DonQuixote.—I have now made a full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which Iam aware myself; but I doubt not, many more may be found, of which I am atpresent totally unconscious.

CHAPTER I.

——Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Scarcely had the Abbey Bell tolled for five minutes, and already was the Churchof the Capuchins thronged with Auditors. Do not encourage the idea that theCrowd was assembled either from motives of piety or thirst of information. Butvery few were influenced by those reasons; and in a city where superstitionreigns with such despotic sway as in Madrid, to seek for true devotion would bea fruitless attempt. The Audience now assembled in the Capuchin Church wascollected by various causes, but all of them were foreign to the ostensiblemotive. The Women came to show themselves, the Men to see the Women: Some wereattracted by curiosity to hear an Orator so celebrated; Some came because theyhad no better means of employing their time till the play began; Some, frombeing assured that it would be impossible to find places in the Church; and onehalf of Madrid was brought thither by expecting to meet the other half. Theonly persons truly anxious to hear the Preacher were a few antiquated devotees,and half a dozen rival Orators, determined to find fault with and ridicule thediscourse. As to the remainder of the Audience, the Sermon might have beenomitted altogether, certainly without their being disappointed, and veryprobably without their perceiving the omission.

Whatever was the occasion, it is at least certain that the Capuchin Church hadnever witnessed a more numerous assembly. Every corner was filled, every seatwas occupied. The very Statues which ornamented the long aisles were pressedinto the service. Boys suspended themselves upon the wings of Cherubims; St.Francis and St. Mark bore each a spectator on his shoulders; and St. Agathafound herself under the necessity of carrying double. The consequence was, thatin spite of all their hurry and expedition, our two newcomers, on entering theChurch, looked round in vain for places.

However, the old Woman continued to move forwards. In vain were exclamations ofdispleasure vented against her from all sides: In vain was She addressedwith—“I assure you, Segnora, there are no placeshere.”—“I beg, Segnora, that you will not crowd me sointolerably!”—“Segnora, you cannot pass this way. Bless me!How can people be so troublesome!”—The old Woman was obstinate, andon She went. By dint of perseverance and two brawny arms She made a passagethrough the Crowd, and managed to bustle herself into the very body of theChurch, at no great distance from the Pulpit. Her companion had followed herwith timidity and in silence, profiting by the exertions of her conductress.

“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the old Woman in a tone of disappointment,while She threw a glance of enquiry round her; “Holy Virgin! What heat!What a Crowd! I wonder what can be the meaning of all this. I believe we mustreturn: There is no such thing as a seat to be had, and nobody seems kindenough to accommodate us with theirs.”

This broad hint attracted the notice of two Cavaliers, who occupied stools onthe right hand, and were leaning their backs against the seventh column fromthe Pulpit. Both were young, and richly habited. Hearing this appeal to theirpoliteness pronounced in a female voice, they interrupted their conversation tolook at the speaker. She had thrown up her veil in order to take a clearer lookround the Cathedral. Her hair was red, and She squinted. The Cavaliers turnedround, and renewed their conversation.

“By all means,” replied the old Woman’s companion; “Byall means, Leonella, let us return home immediately; The heat is excessive, andI am terrified at such a crowd.”

These words were pronounced in a tone of unexampled sweetness. The Cavaliersagain broke off their discourse, but for this time they were not contented withlooking up: Both started involuntarily from their seats, and turned themselvestowards the Speaker.

The voice came from a female, the delicacy and elegance of whose figureinspired the Youths with the most lively curiosity to view the face to which itbelonged. This satisfaction was denied them. Her features were hidden by athick veil; But struggling through the crowd had deranged it sufficiently todiscover a neck which for symmetry and beauty might have vied with the MediceanVenus. It was of the most dazzling whiteness, and received additional charmsfrom being shaded by the tresses of her long fair hair, which descended inringlets to her waist. Her figure was rather below than above the middle size:It was light and airy as that of an Hamadryad. Her bosom was carefully veiled.Her dress was white; it was fastened by a blue sash, and just permitted to peepout from under it a little foot of the most delicate proportions. A chaplet oflarge grains hung upon her arm, and her face was covered with a veil of thickblack gauze. Such was the female, to whom the youngest of the Cavaliers nowoffered his seat, while the other thought it necessary to pay the sameattention to her companion.

The old Lady with many expressions of gratitude, but without much difficulty,accepted the offer, and seated herself: The young one followed her example, butmade no other compliment than a simple and graceful reverence. Don Lorenzo(such was the Cavalier’s name, whose seat She had accepted) placedhimself near her; But first He whispered a few words in his Friend’s ear,who immediately took the hint, and endeavoured to draw off the oldWoman’s attention from her lovely charge.

“You are doubtless lately arrived at Madrid,” said Lorenzo to hisfair Neighbour; “It is impossible that such charms should have longremained unobserved; and had not this been your first public appearance, theenvy of the Women and adoration of the Men would have rendered you alreadysufficiently remarkable.”

He paused, in expectation of an answer. As his speech did not absolutelyrequire one, the Lady did not open her lips: After a few moments He resumed hisdiscourse:

“Am I wrong in supposing you to be a Stranger to Madrid?”

The Lady hesitated; and at last, in so low a voice as to be scarcelyintelligible, She made shift to answer,—“No, Segnor.”

“Do you intend making a stay of any length?”

“Yes, Segnor.”

“I should esteem myself fortunate, were it in my power to contribute tomaking your abode agreeable. I am well known at Madrid, and my Family has someinterest at Court. If I can be of any service, you cannot honour or oblige memore than by permitting me to be of use toyou.”—“Surely,” said He to himself, “She cannotanswer that by a monosyllable; now She must say something to me.”

Lorenzo was deceived, for the Lady answered only by a bow.

By this time He had discovered that his Neighbour was not very conversible; Butwhether her silence proceeded from pride, discretion, timidity, or idiotism, Hewas still unable to decide.

After a pause of some minutes—“It is certainly from your being aStranger,” said He, “and as yet unacquainted with our customs, thatyou continue to wear your veil. Permit me to remove it.”

At the same time He advanced his hand towards the Gauze: The Lady raised hersto prevent him.

“I never unveil in public, Segnor.”

“And where is the harm, I pray you?” interrupted her Companionsomewhat sharply; “Do not you see that the other Ladies have all laidtheir veils aside, to do honour no doubt to the holy place in which we are? Ihave taken off mine already; and surely if I expose my features to generalobservation, you have no cause to put yourself in such a wonderful alarm!Blessed Maria! Here is a fuss and a bustle about a chit’s face! Come,come, Child! Uncover it; I warrant you that nobody will run away with it fromyou—”

“Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.”

“Murcia, indeed! Holy St. Barbara, what does that signify? You are alwaysputting me in mind of that villainous Province. If it is the custom in Madrid,that is all that we ought to mind, and therefore I desire you to take off yourveil immediately. Obey me this moment Antonia, for you know that I cannot bearcontradiction—”

Her niece was silent, but made no further opposition to Don Lorenzo’sefforts, who, armed with the Aunt’s sanction hastened to remove theGauze. What a Seraph’s head presented itself to his admiration! Yet itwas rather bewitching than beautiful; It was not so lovely from regularity offeatures as from sweetness and sensibility of Countenance. The several parts ofher face considered separately, many of them were far from handsome; but whenexamined together, the whole was adorable. Her skin though fair was notentirely without freckles; Her eyes were not very large, nor their lashesparticularly long. But then her lips were of the most rosy freshness; Her fairand undulating hair, confined by a simple ribband, poured itself below herwaist in a profusion of ringlets; Her throat was full and beautiful in theextreme; Her hand and arm were formed with the most perfect symmetry; Her mildblue eyes seemed an heaven of sweetness, and the crystal in which they movedsparkled with all the brilliance of Diamonds: She appeared to be scarcelyfifteen; An arch smile, playing round her mouth, declared her to be possessedof liveliness, which excess of timidity at present represt; She looked roundher with a bashful glance; and whenever her eyes accidentally metLorenzo’s, She dropt them hastily upon her Rosary; Her cheek wasimmediately suffused with blushes, and She began to tell her beads; though hermanner evidently showed that She knew not what She was about.

Lorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but the Auntthought it necessary to apologize for Antonia’s mauvaise honte.

“’Tis a young Creature,” said She, “who is totallyignorant of the world. She has been brought up in an old Castle in Murcia; withno other Society than her Mother’s, who, God help her! has no more sense,good Soul, than is necessary to carry her Soup to her mouth. Yet She is my ownSister, both by Father and Mother.”

“And has so little sense?” said Don Christoval with feignedastonishment; “How very Extraordinary!”

“Very true, Segnor; Is it not strange? However, such is the fact; and yetonly to see the luck of some people! A young Nobleman, of the very firstquality, took it into his head that Elvira had some pretensions toBeauty—As to pretensions, in truth, She had always enough of THEM; But asto Beauty....! If I had only taken half the pains to set myself off which Shedid....! But this is neither here nor there. As I was saying, Segnor, a youngNobleman fell in love with her, and married her unknown to his Father. Theirunion remained a secret near three years, But at last it came to the ears ofthe old Marquis, who, as you may well suppose, was not much pleased with theintelligence. Away He posted in all haste to Cordova, determined to seizeElvira, and send her away to some place or other, where She would never beheard of more. Holy St. Paul! How He stormed on finding that She had escapedhim, had joined her Husband, and that they had embarked together for theIndies. He swore at us all, as if the Evil Spirit had possessed him; He threwmy Father into prison, as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker as any in Cordova;and when He went away, He had the cruelty to take from us my Sister’slittle Boy, then scarcely two years old, and whom in the abruptness of herflight, She had been obliged to leave behind her. I suppose, that the poorlittle Wretch met with bitter bad treatment from him, for in a few monthsafter, we received intelligence of his death.”

“Why, this was a most terrible old Fellow, Segnora!”

“Oh! shocking! and a Man so totally devoid of taste! Why, would youbelieve it, Segnor? When I attempted to pacify him, He cursed me for a Witch,and wished that to punish the Count, my Sister might become as ugly as myself!Ugly indeed! I like him for that.”

“Ridiculous”, cried Don Christoval; “Doubtless the Countwould have thought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange the oneSister for the other.”

“Oh! Christ! Segnor, you are really too polite. However, I am heartilyglad that the Condé was of a different way of thinking. A mighty pretty pieceof business, to be sure, Elvira has made of it! After broiling and stewing inthe Indies for thirteen long years, her Husband dies, and She returns to Spain,without an House to hide her head, or money to procure her one! This Antoniawas then but an Infant, and her only remaining Child. She found that herFather-in-Law had married again, that he was irreconcileable to the Condé, andthat his second Wife had produced him a Son, who is reported to be a very fineyoung Man. The old Marquis refused to see my Sister or her Child; But sent herword that on condition of never hearing any more of her, He would assign her asmall pension, and She might live in an old Castle which He possessed inMurcia; This had been the favourite habitation of his eldest Son; But since hisflight from Spain, the old Marquis could not bear the place, but let it fall toruin and confusion—My Sister accepted the proposal; She retired toMurcia, and has remained there till within the last Month.”

“And what brings her now to Madrid?” enquired Don Lorenzo, whomadmiration of the young Antonia compelled to take a lively interest in thetalkative old Woman’s narration.

“Alas! Segnor, her Father-in-Law being lately dead, the Steward of hisMurcian Estates has refused to pay her pension any longer.

With the design of supplicating his Son to renew it, She is now come to Madrid;But I doubt, that She might have saved herself the trouble! You young Noblemenhave always enough to do with your money, and are not very often disposed tothrow it away upon old Women. I advised my Sister to send Antonia with herpetition; But She would not hear of such a thing. She is so obstinate! Well!She will find herself the worse for not following my counsels: the Girl has agood pretty face, and possibly might have done much.”

“Ah! Segnora,” interrupted Don Christoval, counterfeiting apassionate air; “If a pretty face will do the business, why has not yourSister recourse to you?”

“Oh! Jesus! my Lord, I swear you quite overpower me with your gallantry!But I promise you that I am too well aware of the danger of such Expeditions totrust myself in a young Nobleman’s power! No, no; I have as yet preservedmy reputation without blemish or reproach, and I always knew how to keep theMen at a proper distance.”

“Of that, Segnora, I have not the least doubt. But permit me to ask you;Have you then any aversion to Matrimony?”

“That is an home question. I cannot but confess, that if an amiableCavalier was to present himself....”

Here She intended to throw a tender and significant look upon Don Christoval;But, as She unluckily happened to squint most abominably, the glance felldirectly upon his Companion: Lorenzo took the compliment to himself, andanswered it by a profound bow.

“May I enquire,” said He, “the name of the Marquis?”

“The Marquis de las Cisternas.”

“I know him intimately well. He is not at present in Madrid, but isexpected here daily. He is one of the best of Men; and if the lovely Antoniawill permit me to be her Advocate with him, I doubt not my being able to make afavourable report of her cause.”

Antonia raised her blue eyes, and silently thanked him for the offer by a smileof inexpressible sweetness. Leonella’s satisfaction was much more loudand audible: Indeed, as her Niece was generally silent in her company, Shethought it incumbent upon her to talk enough for both: This She managed withoutdifficulty, for She very seldom found herself deficient in words.

“Oh! Segnor!” She cried; “You will lay our whole family underthe most signal obligations! I accept your offer with all possible gratitude,and return you a thousand thanks for the generosity of your proposal. Antonia,why do not you speak, Child? While the Cavalier says all sorts of civil thingsto you, you sit like a Statue, and never utter a syllable of thanks, eitherbad, good, or indifferent!”

“My dear Aunt, I am very sensible that....”

“Fye, Niece! How often have I told you, that you never should interrupt aPerson who is speaking!? When did you ever know me do such a thing? Are theseyour Murcian manners? Mercy on me! I shall never be able to make this Girl anything like a Person of good breeding. But pray, Segnor,” She continued,addressing herself to Don Christoval, “inform me, why such a Crowd isassembled today in this Cathedral?”

“Can you possibly be ignorant, that Ambrosio, Abbot of this Monastery,pronounces a Sermon in this Church every Thursday? All Madrid rings with hispraises. As yet He has preached but thrice; But all who have heard him are sodelighted with his eloquence, that it is as difficult to obtain a place atChurch, as at the first representation of a new Comedy. His fame certainly musthave reached your ears—”

“Alas! Segnor, till yesterday I never had the good fortune to see Madrid;and at Cordova we are so little informed of what is passing in the rest of theworld, that the name of Ambrosio has never been mentioned in itsprecincts.”

“You will find it in every one’s mouth at Madrid. He seems to havefascinated the Inhabitants; and not having attended his Sermons myself, I amastonished at the Enthusiasm which He has excited. The adoration paid him bothby Young and Old, by Man and Woman is unexampled. The Grandees load him withpresents; Their Wives refuse to have any other Confessor, and he is knownthrough all the city by the name of the ‘Man of Holiness’.”

“Undoubtedly, Segnor, He is of noble origin—”

“That point still remains undecided. The late Superior of the Capuchinsfound him while yet an Infant at the Abbey door. All attempts to discover whohad left him there were vain, and the Child himself could give no account ofhis Parents. He was educated in the Monastery, where He has remained eversince. He early showed a strong inclination for study and retirement, and assoon as He was of a proper age, He pronounced his vows. No one has everappeared to claim him, or clear up the mystery which conceals his birth; andthe Monks, who find their account in the favour which is shewn to theirestablishment from respect to him, have not hesitated to publish that He is apresent to them from the Virgin. In truth the singular austerity of his lifegives some countenance to the report. He is now thirty years old, every hour ofwhich period has been passed in study, total seclusion from the world, andmortification of the flesh. Till these last three weeks, when He was chosensuperior of the Society to which He belongs, He had never been on the outsideof the Abbey walls: Even now He never quits them except on Thursdays, when Hedelivers a discourse in this Cathedral which all Madrid assembles to hear. Hisknowledge is said to be the most profound, his eloquence the most persuasive.In the whole course of his life He has never been known to transgress a singlerule of his order; The smallest stain is not to be discovered upon hischaracter; and He is reported to be so strict an observer of Chastity, that Heknows not in what consists the difference of Man and Woman. The common Peopletherefore esteem him to be a Saint.”

“Does that make a Saint?” enquired Antonia; “Bless me! Thenam I one?”

“Holy St. Barbara!” exclaimed Leonella; “What a question!Fye, Child, Fye! These are not fit subjects for young Women to handle. Youshould not seem to remember that there is such a thing as a Man in the world,and you ought to imagine every body to be of the same sex with yourself. Ishould like to see you give people to understand, that you know that a Man hasno breasts, and no hips, and no ...”.

Luckily for Antonia’s ignorance which her Aunt’s lecture would soonhave dispelled, an universal murmur through the Church announced thePreacher’s arrival. Donna Leonella rose from her seat to take a betterview of him, and Antonia followed her example.

He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature was lofty, andhis features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was aquiline, his eyes large blackand sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined together. His complexion was ofa deep but clear Brown; Study and watching had entirely deprived his cheek ofcolour. Tranquillity reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content,expressed upon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquaintedwith cares and crimes. He bowed himself with humility to the audience: Stillthere was a certain severity in his look and manner that inspired universalawe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once fiery and penetrating.Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and surnamed, “The Man ofHoliness”.

Antonia, while She gazed upon him eagerly, felt a pleasure fluttering in herbosom which till then had been unknown to her, and for which She in vainendeavoured to account. She waited with impatience till the Sermon shouldbegin; and when at length the Friar spoke, the sound of his voice seemed topenetrate into her very soul. Though no other of the Spectators felt suchviolent sensations as did the young Antonia, yet every one listened withinterest and emotion. They who were insensible to Religion’s merits, werestill enchanted with Ambrosio’s oratory. All found their attentionirresistibly attracted while He spoke, and the most profound silence reignedthrough the crowded Aisles.

Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia was seated nearhim, and listened to the Preacher with undivided attention.

In language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on the beauties ofReligion. He explained some abstruse parts of the sacred writings in a stylethat carried with it universal conviction. His voice at once distinct and deepwas fraught with all the terrors of the Tempest, while He inveighed against thevices of humanity, and described the punishments reserved for them in a futurestate. Every Hearer looked back upon his past offences, and trembled: TheThunder seemed to roll, whose bolt was destined to crush him, and the abyss ofeternal destruction to open before his feet. But when Ambrosio, changing histheme, spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience, of the gloriousprospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted with reproach, and ofthe recompense which awaited it in the regions of everlasting glory, HisAuditors felt their scattered spirits insensibly return. They threw themselveswith confidence upon the mercy of their Judge; They hung with delight upon theconsoling words of the Preacher; and while his full voice swelled into melody,They were transported to those happy regions which He painted to theirimaginations in colours so brilliant and glowing.

The discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded, the Audiencegrieved that it had not lasted longer. Though the Monk had ceased to speak,enthusiastic silence still prevailed through the Church: At length the charmgradually dissolving, the general admiration was expressed in audible terms. AsAmbrosio descended from the Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round him, loaded himwith blessings, threw themselves at his feet, and kissed the hem of hisGarment. He passed on slowly with his hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, tothe door opening into the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to receivehim. He ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his Followers, addressedto them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation. While He spoke, his Rosary,composed of large grains of amber, fell from his hand, and dropped among thesurrounding multitude. It was seized eagerly, and immediately divided amidstthe Spectators. Whoever became possessor of a Bead, preserved it as a sacredrelique; and had it been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed St. Francis himself, itcould not have been disputed with greater vivacity. The Abbot, smiling at theireagerness, pronounced his benediction, and quitted the Church, while humilitydwelt upon every feature. Dwelt She also in his heart?

Antonia’s eyes followed him with anxiety. As the Door closed after him,it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to her happiness. A tearstole in silence down her cheek.

“He is separated from the world!” said She to herself;“Perhaps, I shall never see him more!”

As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action.

“Are you satisfied with our Orator?” said He; “Or do youthink that Madrid overrates his talents?”

Antonia’s heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that Sheeagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him: Besides, as She now nolonger considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger, She was less embarrassed byher excessive timidity.

“Oh! He far exceeds all my expectations,” answered She; “Tillthis moment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence. But when He spoke, hisvoice inspired me with such interest, such esteem, I might almost say suchaffection for him, that I am myself astonished at the acuteness of myfeelings.”

Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions.

“You are young and just entering into life,” said He; “Yourheart, new to the world and full of warmth and sensibility, receives its firstimpressions with eagerness. Artless yourself, you suspect not others of deceit;and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth and innocence, youfancy all who surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity,that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that you must soondiscover the baseness of mankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures asagainst your Foes!”

“Alas! Segnor,” replied Antonia; “The misfortunes of myParents have already placed before me but too many sad examples of the perfidyof the world! Yet surely in the present instance the warmth of sympathy cannothave deceived me.”

“In the present instance, I allow that it has not. Ambrosio’scharacter is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed the whole ofhis life within the walls of a Convent cannot have found the opportunity to beguilty, even were He possessed of the inclination. But now, when, obliged bythe duties of his situation, He must enter occasionally into the world, and bethrown into the way of temptation, it is now that it behoves him to show thebrilliance of his virtue. The trial is dangerous; He is just at that period oflife when the passions are most vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; Hisestablished reputation will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim;Novelty will give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and eventhe Talents with which Nature has endowed him will contribute to his ruin, byfacilitating the means of obtaining his object. Very few would returnvictorious from a contest so severe.”

“Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.”

“Of that I have myself no doubt: By all accounts He is an exception tomankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for a blot upon hischaracter.”

“Segnor, you delight me by this assurance! It encourages me to indulge myprepossession in his favour; and you know not with what pain I should haverepressed the sentiment! Ah! dearest Aunt, entreat my Mother to choose him forour Confessor.”

“I entreat her?” replied Leonella; “I promise you that Ishall do no such thing. I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He has alook of severity about him that made me tremble from head to foot: Were He myConfessor, I should never have the courage to avow one half of my peccadilloes,and then I should be in a rare condition! I never saw such a stern-lookingMortal, and hope that I never shall see such another. His description of theDevil, God bless us! almost terrified me out of my wits, and when He spokeabout Sinners He seemed as if He was ready to eat them.”

“You are right, Segnora,” answered Don Christoval; “Too greatseverity is said to be Ambrosio’s only fault. Exempted himself from humanfailings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of others; and thoughstrictly just and disinterested in his decisions, his government of the Monkshas already shown some proofs of his inflexibility. But the crowd is nearlydissipated: Will you permit us to attend you home?”

“Oh! Christ! Segnor,” exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush;“I would not suffer such a thing for the Universe! If I came homeattended by so gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous that She wouldread me an hour’s lecture, and I should never hear the last of it.Besides, I rather wish you not to make your proposals just at present.”

“My proposals? I assure you, Segnora....”

“Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all verytrue; But really I must desire a little respite. It would not be quite sodelicate in me to accept your hand at first sight.”

“Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe....”

“Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall consideryour obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall hear from me tomorrow,and so farewell. But pray, Cavaliers, may I not enquire your names?”

“My Friend’s,” replied Lorenzo, “is the Condéd’Ossorio, and mine Lorenzo de Medina.”

“’Tis sufficient. Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sisterwith your obliging offer, and let you know the result with all expedition.Where may I send to you?”

“I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.”

“You may depend upon hearing from me. Farewell, Cavaliers. Segnor Condé,let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour of your passion: However,to prove to you that I am not displeased with you, and prevent your abandoningyourself to despair, receive this mark of my affection, and sometimes bestow athought upon the absent Leonella.”

As She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which her supposedAdmirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint so evident, that Lorenzowith difficulty repressed his inclination to laugh. Leonella then hastened toquit the Church; The lovely Antonia followed her in silence; but when Shereached the Porch, She turned involuntarily, and cast back her eyes towardsLorenzo. He bowed to her, as bidding her farewell; She returned the compliment,and hastily withdrew.

“So, Lorenzo!” said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone,“You have procured me an agreeable Intrigue! To favour your designs uponAntonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches which mean nothing to the Aunt,and at the end of an hour I find myself upon the brink of Matrimony! How willyou reward me for having suffered so grievously for your sake? What can repayme for having kissed the leathern paw of that confounded old Witch? Diavolo!She has left such a scent upon my lips that I shall smell of garlick for thismonth to come! As I pass along the Prado, I shall be taken for a walkingOmelet, or some large Onion running to seed!”

“I confess, my poor Count,” replied Lorenzo, “that yourservice has been attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it bepast all endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry on your amoursstill further.”

“From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made someimpression upon you.”

“I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her. Since myFather’s death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to me hiswishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his hints, and refused tounderstand them; But what I have seen this Evening....”

“Well? What have you seen this Evening? Why surely, Don Lorenzo, Youcannot be mad enough to think of making a Wife out of this Grand-daughter of‘as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker as any in Cordova’?”

“You forget, that She is also the Grand-daughter of the late Marquis delas Cisternas; But without disputing about birth and titles, I must assure you,that I never beheld a Woman so interesting as Antonia.”

“Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?”

“Why not, my dear Condé? I shall have wealth enough for both of us, andyou know that my Uncle thinks liberally upon the subject.

From what I have seen of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain that he willreadily acknowledge Antonia for his Niece. Her birth therefore will be noobjection to my offering her my hand. I should be a Villain could I think ofher on any other terms than marriage; and in truth She seems possessed of everyquality requisite to make me happy in a Wife. Young, lovely, gentle,sensible....”

“Sensible? Why, She said nothing but ‘Yes,’ and‘No’.”

“She did not say much more, I must confess—But then She always said‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ in the right place.”

“Did She so? Oh! your most obedient! That is using a right Lover’sargument, and I dare dispute no longer with so profound a Casuist. Suppose weadjourn to the Comedy?”

“It is out of my power. I only arrived last night at Madrid, and have notyet had an opportunity of seeing my Sister; You know that her Convent is inthis Street, and I was going thither when the Crowd which I saw thronging intothis Church excited my curiosity to know what was the matter. I shall nowpursue my first intention, and probably pass the Evening with my Sister at theParlour grate.”

“Your Sister in a Convent, say you? Oh! very true, I had forgotten. Andhow does Donna Agnes? I am amazed, Don Lorenzo, how you could possibly think ofimmuring so charming a Girl within the walls of a Cloister!”

“I think of it, Don Christoval? How can you suspect me of such barbarity?You are conscious that She took the veil by her own desire, and that particularcircumstances made her wish for a seclusion from the World. I used every meansin my power to induce her to change her resolution; The endeavour wasfruitless, and I lost a Sister!”

“The luckier fellow you; I think, Lorenzo, you were a considerable gainerby that loss: If I remember right, Donna Agnes had a portion of ten thousandpistoles, half of which reverted to your Lordship. By St. Jago! I wish that Ihad fifty Sisters in the same predicament. I should consent to losing themevery soul without much heart-burning—”

“How, Condé?” said Lorenzo in an angry voice; “Do you supposeme base enough to have influenced my Sister’s retirement? Do you supposethat the despicable wish to make myself Master of her fortune could....”

“Admirable! Courage, Don Lorenzo! Now the Man is all in a blaze. Godgrant that Antonia may soften that fiery temper, or we shall certainly cut eachother’s throat before the Month is over! However, to prevent such atragical Catastrophe for the present, I shall make a retreat, and leave youMaster of the field. Farewell, my Knight of Mount Aetna! Moderate thatinflammable disposition, and remember that whenever it is necessary to makelove to yonder Harridan, you may reckon upon my services.”

He said, and darted out of the Cathedral.

“How wild-brained!” said Lorenzo; “With so excellent anheart, what pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!”

The night was now fast advancing. The Lamps were not yet lighted. The faintbeams of the rising Moon scarcely could pierce through the gothic obscurity ofthe Church. Lorenzo found himself unable to quit the Spot. The void left in hisbosom by Antonia’s absence, and his Sister’s sacrifice which DonChristoval had just recalled to his imagination, created that melancholy ofmind which accorded but too well with the religious gloom surrounding him. Hewas still leaning against the seventh column from the Pulpit. A soft andcooling air breathed along the solitary Aisles: The Moonbeams darting into theChurch through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and massy pillars witha thousand various tints of light and colours:

Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the occasional closingof Doors in the adjoining Abbey.

The calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to nourishLorenzo’s disposition to melancholy. He threw himself upon a seat whichstood near him, and abandoned himself to the delusions of his fancy. He thoughtof his union with Antonia; He thought of the obstacles which might oppose hiswishes; and a thousand changing visions floated before his fancy, sad’tis true, but not unpleasing. Sleep insensibly stole over him, and thetranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while continued to influencehis slumbers.

He still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins; but it was nolonger dark and solitary. Multitudes of silver Lamps shed splendour from thevaulted Roof; Accompanied by the captivating chaunt of distant choristers, theOrgan’s melody swelled through the Church; The Altar seemed decorated asfor some distinguished feast; It was surrounded by a brilliant Company; andnear it stood Antonia arrayed in bridal white, and blushing with all the charmsof Virgin Modesty.

Half hoping, half fearing, Lorenzo gazed upon the scene before him. Suddenlythe door leading to the Abbey unclosed, and He saw, attended by a long train ofMonks, the Preacher advance to whom He had just listened with so muchadmiration. He drew near Antonia.

“And where is the Bridegroom?” said the imaginary Friar.

Antonia seemed to look round the Church with anxiety. Involuntarily the Youthadvanced a few steps from his concealment. She saw him; The blush of pleasureglowed upon her cheek; With a graceful motion of her hand She beckoned to himto advance. He disobeyed not the command; He flew towards her, and threwhimself at her feet.

She retreated for a moment; Then gazing upon him with unutterabledelight;—“Yes!” She exclaimed, “My Bridegroom! Mydestined Bridegroom!” She said, and hastened to throw herself into hisarms; But before He had time to receive her, an Unknown rushed between them.His form was gigantic; His complexion was swarthy, His eyes fierce andterrible; his Mouth breathed out volumes of fire; and on his forehead waswritten in legible characters—“Pride! Lust! Inhumanity!”

Antonia shrieked. The Monster clasped her in his arms, and springing with herupon the Altar, tortured her with his odious caresses. She endeavoured in vainto escape from his embrace. Lorenzo flew to her succour, but ere He had time toreach her, a loud burst of thunder was heard. Instantly the Cathedral seemedcrumbling into pieces; The Monks betook themselves to flight, shriekingfearfully; The Lamps were extinguished, the Altar sank down, and in its placeappeared an abyss vomiting forth clouds of flame. Uttering a loud and terriblecry the Monster plunged into the Gulph, and in his fall attempted to dragAntonia with him. He strove in vain. Animated by supernatural powers Shedisengaged herself from his embrace; But her white Robe was left in hispossession. Instantly a wing of brilliant splendour spread itself from eitherof Antonia’s arms. She darted upwards, and while ascending cried toLorenzo,

“Friend! we shall meet above!”

At the same moment the Roof of the Cathedral opened; Harmonious voices pealedalong the Vaults; and the glory into which Antonia was received was composed ofrays of such dazzling brightness, that Lorenzo was unable to sustain the gaze.His sight failed, and He sank upon the ground.

When He woke, He found himself extended upon the pavement of the Church: It wasIlluminated, and the chaunt of Hymns sounded from a distance. For a whileLorenzo could not persuade himself that what He had just witnessed had been adream, so strong an impression had it made upon his fancy. A littlerecollection convinced him of its fallacy: The Lamps had been lighted duringhis sleep, and the music which he heard was occasioned by the Monks, who werecelebrating their Vespers in the Abbey Chapel.

Lorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister’sConvent. His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his dream, He alreadydrew near the Porch, when his attention was attracted by perceiving a Shadowmoving upon the opposite wall. He looked curiously round, and soon descried aMan wrapped up in his Cloak, who seemed carefully examining whether his actionswere observed. Very few people are exempt from the influence of curiosity. TheUnknown seemed anxious to conceal his business in the Cathedral, and it wasthis very circumstance, which made Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about.

Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the secrets of thisunknown Cavalier.

“I will go,” said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was.

The shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from the Stranger,who continued to advance with caution. At length He drew a letter from beneathhis cloak, and hastily placed it beneath a Colossal Statue of St. Francis. Thenretiring with precipitation, He concealed himself in a part of the Church at aconsiderable distance from that in which the Image stood.

“So!” said Lorenzo to himself; “This is only some foolishlove affair. I believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good init.”

In truth till that moment it never came into his head that He could do any goodin it; But He thought it necessary to make some little excuse to himself forhaving indulged his curiosity. He now made a second attempt to retire from theChurch: For this time He gained the Porch without meeting with any impediment;But it was destined that He should pay it another visit that night. As Hedescended the steps leading into the Street, a Cavalier rushed against him withsuch violence, that Both were nearly overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo puthis hand to his sword.

“How now, Segnor?” said He; “What mean you by thisrudeness?”

“Ha! Is it you, Medina?” replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by hisvoice now recognized for Don Christoval; “You are the luckiest Fellow inthe Universe, not to have left the Church before my return. In, in! my dearLad! They will be here immediately!”

“Who will be here?”

“The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and then youshall know the whole History.”

Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed themselves behindthe Statue of St. Francis.

“And now,” said our Hero, “may I take the liberty of asking,what is the meaning of all this haste and rapture?”

“Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The Prioress of St.Clare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither. You are to know, that thepious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him for it!) will upon no account moveout of his own precincts: It being absolutely necessary for every fashionableConvent to have him for its Confessor, the Nuns are in consequence obliged tovisit him at the Abbey; since when the Mountain will not come to Mahomet,Mahomet must needs go to the Mountain. Now the Prioress of St. Clare, thebetter to escape the gaze of such impure eyes as belong to yourself and yourhumble Servant, thinks proper to bring her holy flock to confession in theDusk: She is to be admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door. ThePorteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular Friend ofmine, has just assured me of their being here in a few moments. There is newsfor you, you Rogue! We shall see some of the prettiest faces in Madrid!”

“In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are alwaysveiled.”

“No! No! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they ever takeoff their veils from respect to the Saint to whom ’tis dedicated. ButHark! They are coming! Silence, silence! Observe, and be convinced.”

“Good!” said Lorenzo to himself; “I may possibly discover towhom the vows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.”

Scarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the Domina of St. Clareappeared, followed by a long procession of Nuns. Each upon entering the Churchtook off her veil. The Prioress crossed her hands upon her bosom, and made aprofound reverence as She passed the Statue of St. Francis, the Patron of thisCathedral. The Nuns followed her example, and several moved onwards withouthaving satisfied Lorenzo’s curiosity. He almost began to despair ofseeing the mystery cleared up, when in paying her respects to St. Francis, oneof the Nuns happened to drop her Rosary. As She stooped to pick it up, thelight flashed full upon her face. At the same moment She dexterously removedthe letter from beneath the Image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened toresume her rank in the procession.

“Ha!” said Christoval in a low voice; “Here we have somelittle Intrigue, no doubt.”

“Agnes, by heaven!” cried Lorenzo.

“What, your Sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will have to payfor our peeping.”

“And shall pay for it without delay,” replied the incensed Brother.

The pious procession had now entered the Abbey; The Door was already closedupon it. The Unknown immediately quitted his concealment and hastened to leavethe Church: Ere He could effect his intention, He descried Medina stationed inhis passage. The Stranger hastily retreated, and drew his Hat over his eyes.

“Attempt not to fly me!” exclaimed Lorenzo; “I will know whoyou are, and what were the contents of that Letter.”

“Of that Letter?” repeated the Unknown. “And by what title doyou ask the question?”

“By a title of which I am now ashamed; But it becomes not you to questionme. Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or answer me with yourSword.”

“The latter method will be the shortest,” rejoined the Other,drawing his Rapier; “Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!”

Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: The Antagonists had alreadyexchanged several passes before Christoval, who at that moment had more sensethan either of them, could throw himself between their weapons.

“Hold! Hold! Medina!” He exclaimed; “Remember theconsequences of shedding blood on consecrated ground!”

The Stranger immediately dropped his Sword.

“Medina?” He cried; “Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, haveyou quite forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?”

Lorenzo’s astonishment increased with every succeeding moment. Raymondadvanced towards him, but with a look of suspicion He drew back his hand, whichthe Other was preparing to take.

“You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You engaged in aclandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose affections....”

“Have ever been, and still are mine. But this is no fit place for anexplanation. Accompany me to my Hotel, and you shall know every thing. Who isthat with you?”

“One whom I believe you to have seen before,” replied DonChristoval, “though probably not at Church.”

“The Condé d’Ossorio?”

“Exactly so, Marquis.”

“I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am sure thatI may depend upon your silence.”

“Then your opinion of me is better than my own, and therefore I must begleave to decline your confidence. Do you go your own way, and I shall go mine.Marquis, where are you to be found?”

“As usual, at the Hotel de las Cisternas; But remember, that I amincognito, and that if you wish to see me, you must ask for Alphonsod’Alvarada.”

“Good! Good! Farewell, Cavaliers!” said Don Christoval, andinstantly departed.

“You, Marquis,” said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; “You,Alphonso d’Alvarada?”

“Even so, Lorenzo: But unless you have already heard my story from yourSister, I have much to relate that will astonish you. Follow me, therefore, tomy Hotel without delay.”

At this moment the Porter of the Capuchins entered the Cathedral to lock up thedoors for the night. The two Noblemen instantly withdrew, and hastened with allspeed to the Palace de las Cisternas.

“Well, Antonia!” said the Aunt, as soon as She had quitted theChurch; “What think you of our Gallants? Don Lorenzo really seems a veryobliging good sort of young Man: He paid you some attention, and nobody knowswhat may come of it. But as to Don Christoval, I protest to you, He is the veryPhoenix of politeness. So gallant! so well-bred! So sensible, and so pathetic!Well! If ever Man can prevail upon me to break my vow never to marry, it willbe that Don Christoval. You see, Niece, that every thing turns out exactly as Itold you: The very moment that I produced myself in Madrid, I knew that Ishould be surrounded by Admirers. When I took off my veil, did you see,Antonia, what an effect the action had upon the Condé? And when I presented himmy hand, did you observe the air of passion with which He kissed it? If ever Iwitnessed real love, I then saw it impressed upon Don Christoval’scountenance!”

Now Antonia had observed the air, with which Don Christoval had kissed thissame hand; But as She drew conclusions from it somewhat different from herAunt’s, She was wise enough to hold her tongue. As this is the onlyinstance known of a Woman’s ever having done so, it was judged worthy tobe recorded here.

The old Lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same strain, till theygained the Street in which was their Lodging. Here a Crowd collected beforetheir door permitted them not to approach it; and placing themselves on theopposite side of the Street, they endeavoured to make out what had drawn allthese people together. After some minutes the Crowd formed itself into aCircle; And now Antonia perceived in the midst of it a Woman of extraordinaryheight, who whirled herself repeatedly round and round, using all sorts ofextravagant gestures. Her dress was composed of shreds of various-colouredsilks and Linens fantastically arranged, yet not entirely without taste. Herhead was covered with a kind of Turban, ornamented with vine leaves and wildflowers. She seemed much sun-burnt, and her complexion was of a deep olive: Hereyes looked fiery and strange; and in her hand She bore a long black Rod, withwhich She at intervals traced a variety of singular figures upon the ground,round about which She danced in all the eccentric attitudes of folly anddelirium. Suddenly She broke off her dance, whirled herself round thrice withrapidity, and after a moment’s pause She sang the following Ballad.

THE GYPSY’S SONG

“Dear Aunt!” said Antonia when the Stranger had finished, “IsShe not mad?”

“Mad? Not She, Child; She is only wicked. She is a Gypsy, a sort ofVagabond, whose sole occupation is to run about the country telling lyes, andpilfering from those who come by their money honestly. Out upon such Vermin! IfI were King of Spain, every one of them should be burnt alive who was found inmy dominions after the next three weeks.”

These words were pronounced so audibly that they reached the Gypsy’sears. She immediately pierced through the Crowd and made towards the Ladies.She saluted them thrice in the Eastern fashion, and then addressed herself toAntonia.

THE GYPSY

“Lady! gentle Lady! Know,
I your future fate can show;
Give your hand, and do not fear;
Lady! gentle Lady! hear!”

“Dearest Aunt!” said Antonia, “Indulge me this once! Let mehave my fortune told me!”

“Nonsense, Child! She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.”

“No matter; Let me at least hear what She has to say. Do, my dear Aunt!Oblige me, I beseech you!”

“Well, well! Antonia, since you are so bent upon the thing, ... Here,good Woman, you shall see the hands of both of us. There is money for you, andnow let me hear my fortune.”

As She said this, She drew off her glove, and presented her hand; The Gypsylooked at it for a moment, and then made this reply.

THE GYPSY

“Your fortune? You are now so old,
Good Dame, that ’tis already told:
Yet for your money, in a trice
I will repay you in advice.
Astonished at your childish vanity,
Your Friends all tax you with insanity,
And grieve to see you use your art
To catch some youthful Lover’s heart.
Believe me, Dame, when all is done,
Your age will still be fifty one;
And Men will rarely take an hint
Of love, from two grey eyes that squint.
Take then my counsels; Lay aside
Your paint and patches, lust and pride,
And on the Poor those sums bestow,
Which now are spent on useless show.
Think on your Maker, not a Suitor;
Think on your past faults, not on future;
And think Time’s Scythe will quickly mow
The few red hairs, which deck your brow.

The audience rang with laughter during the Gypsy’s address;and—“fifty one,”—“squinting eyes,”“red hair,”—“paint and patches,” &c. werebandied from mouth to mouth. Leonella was almost choaked with passion, andloaded her malicious Adviser with the bitterest reproaches. The swarthyProphetess for some time listened to her with a contemptuous smile: at lengthShe made her a short answer, and then turned to Antonia.

THE GYPSY

“Peace, Lady! What I said was true;
And now, my lovely Maid, to you;
Give me your hand, and let me see
Your future doom, and heaven’s decree.”

In imitation of Leonella, Antonia drew off her glove, and presented her whitehand to the Gypsy, who having gazed upon it for some time with a mingledexpression of pity and astonishment, pronounced her Oracle in the followingwords.

THE GYPSY

“Jesus! what a palm is there!
Chaste, and gentle, young and fair,
Perfect mind and form possessing,
You would be some good Man’s blessing:
But Alas! This line discovers,
That destruction o’er you hovers;
Lustful Man and crafty Devil
Will combine to work your evil;
And from earth by sorrows driven,
Soon your Soul must speed to heaven.
Yet your sufferings to delay,
Well remember what I say.
When you One more virtuous see
Than belongs to Man to be,
One, whose self no crimes assailing,
Pities not his Neighbour’s Failing,
Call the Gypsy’s words to mind:
Though He seem so good and kind,
Fair Exteriors oft will hide
Hearts, that swell with lust and pride!
Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you!
Let not my prediction grieve you;
Rather with submission bending
Calmly wait distress impending,
And expect eternal bliss
In a better world than this.

Having said this, the Gypsy again whirled herself round thrice, and thenhastened out of the Street with frantic gesture. The Crowd followed her; andElvira’s door being now unembarrassed Leonella entered the House out ofhumour with the Gypsy, with her Niece, and with the People; In short with everybody, but herself and her charming Cavalier. The Gypsy’s predictions hadalso considerably affected Antonia; But the impression soon wore off, and in afew hours She had forgotten the adventure as totally as had it never takenplace.

CHAPTER II.

Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta
La millésima parte délle giòje,
Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,
Diresti ripentita sospirando,
Perduto è tutto il tempo
Ché in amar non si spènde.

TASSO.

Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part
Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,
Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,
Lost is the time which is not past in love.

The monks having attended their Abbot to the door of his Cell, He dismissedthem with an air of conscious superiority in which Humility’s semblancecombated with the reality of pride.

He was no sooner alone, than He gave free loose to the indulgence of hisvanity. When He remembered the Enthusiasm which his discourse had excited, hisheart swelled with rapture, and his imagination presented him with splendidvisions of aggrandizement. He looked round him with exultation, and Pride toldhim loudly that He was superior to the rest of his fellow-Creatures.

“Who,” thought He; “Who but myself has passed the ordeal ofYouth, yet sees no single stain upon his conscience? Who else has subdued theviolence of strong passions and an impetuous temperament, and submitted evenfrom the dawn of life to voluntary retirement? I seek for such a Man in vain. Isee no one but myself possessed of such resolution. Religion cannot boastAmbrosio’s equal! How powerful an effect did my discourse produce uponits Auditors! How they crowded round me! How they loaded me with benedictions,and pronounced me the sole uncorrupted Pillar of the Church! What then now isleft for me to do? Nothing, but to watch as carefully over the conduct of myBrothers as I have hitherto watched over my own. Yet hold! May I not be temptedfrom those paths which till now I have pursued without one moment’swandering? Am I not a Man, whose nature is frail, and prone to error? I mustnow abandon the solitude of my retreat; The fairest and noblest Dames of Madridcontinually present themselves at the Abbey, and will use no other Confessor.

I must accustom my eyes to Objects of temptation, and expose myself to theseduction of luxury and desire. Should I meet in that world which I amconstrained to enter some lovely Female, lovely ... as yon Madona....!”

As He said this, He fixed his eyes upon a picture of the Virgin, which wassuspended opposite to him: This for two years had been the Object of hisincreasing wonder and adoration. He paused, and gazed upon it with delight.

“What Beauty in that countenance!” He continued after a silence ofsome minutes; “How graceful is the turn of that head! What sweetness, yetwhat majesty in her divine eyes! How softly her cheek reclines upon her hand!Can the Rose vie with the blush of that cheek? Can the Lily rival the whitenessof that hand? Oh! if such a Creature existed, and existed but for me! Were Ipermitted to twine round my fingers those golden ringlets, and press with mylips the treasures of that snowy bosom! Gracious God, should I then resist thetemptation? Should I not barter for a single embrace the reward of mysufferings for thirty years? Should I not abandon.... Fool that I am! Whitherdo I suffer my admiration of this picture to hurry me? Away, impure ideas! Letme remember that Woman is for ever lost to me. Never was Mortal formed soperfect as this picture. But even did such exist, the trial might be too mightyfor a common virtue, but Ambrosio’s is proof against temptation.Temptation, did I say? To me it would be none. What charms me, when ideal andconsidered as a superior Being, would disgust me, become Woman and tainted withall the failings of Mortality. It is not the Woman’s beauty that fills mewith such enthusiasm; It is the Painter’s skill that I admire, it is theDivinity that I adore! Are not the passions dead in my bosom? Have I not freedmyself from the frailty of Mankind? Fear not, Ambrosio! Take confidence in thestrength of your virtue. Enter boldly into a world to whose failings you aresuperior; Reflect that you are now exempted from Humanity’s defects, anddefy all the arts of the Spirits of Darkness. They shall know you for what youare!”

Here his Reverie was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door of his Cell.With difficulty did the Abbot awake from his delirium. The knocking wasrepeated.

“Who is there?” said Ambrosio at length.

“It is only Rosario,” replied a gentle voice.

“Enter! Enter, my Son!”

The Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a small basket inhis hand.

Rosario was a young Novice belonging to the Monastery, who in three Monthsintended to make his profession. A sort of mystery enveloped this Youth whichrendered him at once an object of interest and curiosity. His hatred ofsociety, his profound melancholy, his rigid observation of the duties of hisorder, and his voluntary seclusion from the world at his age so unusual,attracted the notice of the whole fraternity. He seemed fearful of beingrecognised, and no one had ever seen his face. His head was continually muffledup in his Cowl; Yet such of his features as accident discovered, appeared themost beautiful and noble. Rosario was the only name by which He was known inthe Monastery.

No one knew from whence He came, and when questioned in the subject Hepreserved a profound silence. A Stranger, whose rich habit and magnificentequipage declared him to be of distinguished rank, had engaged the Monks toreceive a Novice, and had deposited the necessary sums. The next day Hereturned with Rosario, and from that time no more had been heard of him.

The Youth had carefully avoided the company of the Monks: He answered theircivilities with sweetness, but reserve, and evidently showed that hisinclination led him to solitude. To this general rule the Superior was the onlyexception. To him He looked up with a respect approaching idolatry: He soughthis company with the most attentive assiduity, and eagerly seized every meansto ingratiate himself in his favour. In the Abbot’s society his Heartseemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety pervaded his whole manners anddiscourse. Ambrosio on his side did not feel less attracted towards the Youth;With him alone did He lay aside his habitual severity. When He spoke to him, Heinsensibly assumed a tone milder than was usual to him; and no voice sounded sosweet to him as did Rosario’s. He repayed the Youth’s attentions byinstructing him in various sciences; The Novice received his lessons withdocility; Ambrosio was every day more charmed with the vivacity of his Genius,the simplicity of his manners, and the rectitude of his heart: In short Heloved him with all the affection of a Father. He could not help sometimesindulging a desire secretly to see the face of his Pupil; But his rule ofself-denial extended even to curiosity, and prevented him from communicatinghis wishes to the Youth.

“Pardon my intrusion, Father,” said Rosario, while He placed hisbasket upon the Table; “I come to you a Suppliant. Hearing that a dearFriend is dangerously ill, I entreat your prayers for his recovery. Ifsupplications can prevail upon heaven to spare him, surely yours must beefficacious.”

“Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command.

What is your Friend’s name?”

“Vincentio della Ronda.”

“’Tis sufficient. I will not forget him in my prayers, and may ourthrice-blessed St. Francis deign to listen to my intercession!—What haveyou in your basket, Rosario?”

“A few of those flowers, reverend Father, which I have observed to bemost acceptable to you. Will you permit my arranging them in yourchamber?”

“Your attentions charm me, my Son.”

While Rosario dispersed the contents of his Basket in small Vases placed forthat purpose in various parts of the room, the Abbot thus continued theconversation.

“I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.”

“Yet I was present, Father. I am too grateful for your protection to losean opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.”

“Alas! Rosario, I have but little cause to triumph: The Saint spoke by mymouth; To him belongs all the merit. It seems then you were contented with mydiscourse?”

“Contented, say you? Oh! you surpassed yourself! Never did I hear sucheloquence ... save once!”

Here the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh.

“When was that once?” demanded the Abbot.

“When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our lateSuperior.”

“I remember it: That is more than two years ago. And were you present? Iknew you not at that time, Rosario.”

“’Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I beheldthat day! What sufferings, what sorrows should I have escaped!”

“Sufferings at your age, Rosario?”

“Aye, Father; Sufferings, which if known to you, would equally raise youranger and compassion! Sufferings, which form at once the torment and pleasureof my existence! Yet in this retreat my bosom would feel tranquil, were it notfor the tortures of apprehension. Oh God! Oh God! how cruel is a life offear!—Father! I have given up all; I have abandoned the world and itsdelights for ever: Nothing now remains, Nothing now has charms for me, but yourfriendship, but your affection. If I lose that, Father! Oh! if I lose that,tremble at the effects of my despair!”

“You apprehend the loss of my friendship? How has my conduct justifiedthis fear? Know me better, Rosario, and think me worthy of your confidence.What are your sufferings? Reveal them to me, and believe that if ’tis inmy power to relieve them....”

“Ah! ’tis in no one’s power but yours. Yet I must not let youknow them. You would hate me for my avowal! You would drive me from yourpresence with scorn and ignominy!”

“My Son, I conjure you! I entreat you!”

“For pity’s sake, enquire no further! I must not ... I dare not...Hark! The Bell rings for Vespers! Father, your benediction, and I leaveyou!”

As He said this, He threw himself upon his knees and received the blessingwhich He demanded. Then pressing the Abbot’s hand to his lips, He startedfrom the ground and hastily quitted the apartment. Soon after Ambrosiodescended to Vespers (which were celebrated in a small chapel belonging to theAbbey), filled with surprise at the singularity of the Youth’s behaviour.

Vespers being over, the Monks retired to their respective Cells. The Abbotalone remained in the Chapel to receive the Nuns of St. Clare. He had not beenlong seated in the confessional chair before the Prioress made her appearance.Each of the Nuns was heard in her turn, while the Others waited with the Dominain the adjoining Vestry. Ambrosio listened to the confessions with attention,made many exhortations, enjoined penance proportioned to each offence, and forsome time every thing went on as usual: till at last one of the Nuns,conspicuous from the nobleness of her air and elegance of her figure,carelessly permitted a letter to fall from her bosom. She was retiring,unconscious of her loss. Ambrosio supposed it to have been written by some oneof her Relations, and picked it up intending to restore it to her.

“Stay, Daughter,” said He; “You have let fall....”

At this moment, the paper being already open, his eye involuntarily read thefirst words. He started back with surprise! The Nun had turned round on hearinghis voice: She perceived her letter in his hand, and uttering a shriek ofterror, flew hastily to regain it.

“Hold!” said the Friar in a tone of severity; “Daughter, Imust read this letter.”

“Then I am lost!” She exclaimed clasping her hands together wildly.

All colour instantly faded from her face; she trembled with agitation, and wasobliged to fold her arms round a Pillar of the Chapel to save herself fromsinking upon the floor. In the meanwhile the Abbot read the following lines:

“All is ready for your escape, my dearest Agnes. At twelve tomorrow nightI shall expect to find you at the Garden door: I have obtained the Key, and afew hours will suffice to place you in a secure asylum. Let no mistakenscruples induce you to reject the certain means of preserving yourself and theinnocent Creature whom you nourish in your bosom. Remember that you hadpromised to be mine, long ere you engaged yourself to the church; that yoursituation will soon be evident to the prying eyes of your Companions; and thatflight is the only means of avoiding the effects of their malevolentresentment. Farewell, my Agnes! my dear and destined Wife! Fail not to be atthe Garden door at twelve!”

As soon as He had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry upon theimprudent Nun.

“This letter must to the Prioress!” said He, and passed her.

His words sounded like thunder to her ears: She awoke from her torpidity onlyto be sensible of the dangers of her situation. She followed him hastily, anddetained him by his garment.

“Stay! Oh! stay!” She cried in the accents of despair, while Shethrew herself at the Friar’s feet, and bathed them with her tears.“Father, compassionate my youth! Look with indulgence on a Woman’sweakness, and deign to conceal my frailty! The remainder of my life shall beemployed in expiating this single fault, and your lenity will bring back a soulto heaven!”

“Amazing confidence! What! Shall St. Clare’s Convent become theretreat of Prostitutes? Shall I suffer the Church of Christ to cherish in itsbosom debauchery and shame? Unworthy Wretch! such lenity would make me youraccomplice. Mercy would here be criminal. You have abandoned yourself to aSeducer’s lust; You have defiled the sacred habit by your impurity; andstill dare you think yourself deserving my compassion? Hence, nor detain melonger! Where is the Lady Prioress?” He added, raising his voice.

“Hold! Father, Hold! Hear me but for one moment! Tax me not withimpurity, nor think that I have erred from the warmth of temperament. Longbefore I took the veil, Raymond was Master of my heart: He inspired me with thepurest, the most irreproachable passion, and was on the point of becoming mylawful husband. An horrible adventure, and the treachery of a Relation,separated us from each other: I believed him for ever lost to me, and threwmyself into a Convent from motives of despair. Accident again united us; Icould not refuse myself the melancholy pleasure of mingling my tears with his:We met nightly in the Gardens of St. Clare, and in an unguarded moment Iviolated my vows of Chastity. I shall soon become a Mother: Reverend Ambrosio,take compassion on me; take compassion on the innocent Being whose existence isattached to mine. If you discover my imprudence to the Domina, both of us arelost: The punishment which the laws of St. Clare assign to Unfortunates likemyself is most severe and cruel. Worthy, worthy Father! Let not your ownuntainted conscience render you unfeeling towards those less able to withstandtemptation! Let not mercy be the only virtue of which your heart isunsusceptible! Pity me, most reverend! Restore my letter, nor doom me toinevitable destruction!”

“Your boldness confounds me! Shall I conceal your crime, Iwhom you have deceived by your feigned confession? No, Daughter, no! I willrender you a more essential service. I will rescue you from perdition in spiteof yourself; Penance and mortification shall expiate your offence, and Severityforce you back to the paths of holiness. What; Ho! Mother St. Agatha!”

“Father! By all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, Isupplicate, I entreat....”

“Release me! I will not hear you. Where is the Domina? Mother St. Agatha,where are you?”

The door of the Vestry opened, and the Prioress entered the Chapel, followed byher Nuns.

“Cruel! Cruel!” exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold.

Wild and desperate, She threw herself upon the ground, beating her bosom andrending her veil in all the delirium of despair. The Nuns gazed withastonishment upon the scene before them. The Friar now presented the fatalpaper to the Prioress, informed her of the manner in which he had found it, andadded, that it was her business to decide, what penance the delinquent merited.

While She perused the letter, the Domina’s countenance grew inflamed withpassion. What! Such a crime committed in her Convent, and made known toAmbrosio, to the Idol of Madrid, to the Man whom She was most anxious toimpress with the opinion of the strictness and regularity of her House! Wordswere inadequate to express her fury. She was silent, and darted upon theprostrate Nun looks of menace and malignity.

“Away with her to the Convent!” said She at length to some of herAttendants.

Two of the oldest Nuns now approaching Agnes, raised her forcibly from theground, and prepared to conduct her from the Chapel.

“What!” She exclaimed suddenly shaking off their hold withdistracted gestures; “Is all hope then lost? Already do you drag me topunishment? Where are you, Raymond? Oh! save me! save me!”

Then casting upon the Abbot a frantic look, “Hear me!” Shecontinued; “Man of an hard heart! Hear me, Proud, Stern, and Cruel! Youcould have saved me; you could have restored me to happiness and virtue, butwould not! You are the destroyer of my Soul; You are my Murderer, and on youfall the curse of my death and my unborn Infant’s! Insolent in youryet-unshaken virtue, you disdained the prayers of a Penitent; But God will showmercy, though you show none. And where is the merit of your boasted virtue?What temptations have you vanquished? Coward! you have fled from it, notopposed seduction. But the day of Trial will arrive! Oh! then when you yield toimpetuous passions! when you feel that Man is weak, and born to err; Whenshuddering you look back upon your crimes, and solicit with terror the mercy ofyour God, Oh! in that fearful moment think upon me! Think upon your Cruelty!Think upon Agnes, and despair of pardon!”

As She uttered these last words, her strength was exhausted, and She sankinanimate upon the bosom of a Nun who stood near her. She was immediatelyconveyed from the Chapel, and her Companions followed her.

Ambrosio had not listened to her reproaches without emotion. A secret pang athis heart made him feel, that He had treated this Unfortunate with too greatseverity. He therefore detained the Prioress and ventured to pronounce somewords in favour of the Delinquent.

“The violence of her despair,” said He, “proves, that atleast Vice is not become familiar to her. Perhaps by treating her with somewhatless rigour than is generally practised, and mitigating in some degree theaccustomed penance....”

“Mitigate it, Father?” interrupted the Lady Prioress; “Not I,believe me. The laws of our order are strict and severe; they have fallen intodisuse of late, But the crime of Agnes shows me the necessity of their revival.I go to signify my intention to the Convent, and Agnes shall be the first tofeel the rigour of those laws, which shall be obeyed to the very letter.Father, Farewell.”

Thus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel.

“I have done my duty,” said Ambrosio to himself.

Still did He not feel perfectly satisfied by this reflection. To dissipate theunpleasant ideas which this scene had excited in him, upon quitting the ChapelHe descended into the Abbey Garden.

In all Madrid there was no spot more beautiful or better regulated. It was laidout with the most exquisite taste. The choicest flowers adorned it in theheight of luxuriance, and though artfully arranged, seemed only planted by thehand of Nature: Fountains, springing from basons of white Marble, cooled theair with perpetual showers; and the Walls were entirely covered by Jessamine,vines, and Honeysuckles. The hour now added to the beauty of the scene. Thefull Moon, ranging through a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees atrembling lustre, and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam:A gentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the Alleys; andthe Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur from the shelter of anartificial wilderness. Thither the Abbot bent his steps.

In the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed in imitation ofan Hermitage. The walls were constructed of roots of trees, and the intersticesfilled up with Moss and Ivy. Seats of Turf were placed on either side, and anatural Cascade fell from the Rock above. Buried in himself the Monk approachedthe spot. The universal calm had communicated itself to his bosom, and avoluptuous tranquillity spread languor through his soul.

He reached the Hermitage, and was entering to repose himself, when He stoppedon perceiving it to be already occupied. Extended upon one of the Banks lay aman in a melancholy posture.

His head was supported upon his arm, and He seemed lost in mediation. The Monkdrew nearer, and recognised Rosario: He watched him in silence, and entered notthe Hermitage. After some minutes the Youth raised his eyes, and fixed themmournfully upon the opposite Wall.

“Yes!” said He with a deep and plaintive sigh; “I feel allthe happiness of thy situation, all the misery of my own! Happy were I, could Ithink like Thee! Could I look like Thee with disgust upon Mankind, could burymyself for ever in some impenetrable solitude, and forget that the world holdsBeings deserving to be loved! Oh God! What a blessing would Misanthropy be tome!”

“That is a singular thought, Rosario,” said the Abbot, entering theGrotto.

“You here, reverend Father?” cried the Novice.

At the same time starting from his place in confusion, He drew his Cowl hastilyover his face. Ambrosio seated himself upon the Bank, and obliged the Youth toplace himself by him.

“You must not indulge this disposition to melancholy,” said He;“What can possibly have made you view in so desirable a light,Misanthropy, of all sentiments the most hateful?”

“The perusal of these Verses, Father, which till now had escaped myobservation. The Brightness of the Moonbeams permitted my reading them; and Oh!how I envy the feelings of the Writer!”

As He said this, He pointed to a marble Tablet fixed against the opposite Wall:On it were engraved the following lines.

INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE

“Were it possible” said the Friar, “for Man to be so totallywrapped up in himself as to live in absolute seclusion from human nature, andcould yet feel the contented tranquillity which these lines express, I allowthat the situation would be more desirable, than to live in a world so pregnantwith every vice and every folly. But this never can be the case. Thisinscription was merely placed here for the ornament of the Grotto, and thesentiments and the Hermit are equally imaginary. Man was born for society.However little He may be attached to the World, He never can wholly forget it,or bear to be wholly forgotten by it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity ofMankind, the Misanthrope flies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, andburies himself in the Cavern of some gloomy Rock. While Hate inflames hisbosom, possibly He may feel contented with his situation: But when his passionsbegin to cool; when Time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed those woundswhich He bore with him to his solitude, think you that Content becomes hisCompanion? Ah! no, Rosario. No longer sustained by the violence of hispassions, He feels all the monotony of his way of living, and his heart becomesthe prey of Ennui and weariness. He looks round, and finds himself alone in theUniverse: The love of society revives in his bosom, and He pants to return tothat world which He has abandoned. Nature loses all her charms in his eyes: Noone is near him to point out her beauties, or share in his admiration of herexcellence and variety. Propped upon the fragment of some Rock, He gazes uponthe tumbling waterfall with a vacant eye, He views without emotion the glory ofthe setting Sun. Slowly He returns to his Cell at Evening, for no one there isanxious for his arrival; He has no comfort in his solitary unsavoury meal: Hethrows himself upon his couch of Moss despondent and dissatisfied, and wakesonly to pass a day as joyless, as monotonous as the former.”

“You amaze me, Father! Suppose that circumstances condemned you tosolitude; Would not the duties of Religion and the consciousness of a life wellspent communicate to your heart that calm which....”

“I should deceive myself, did I fancy that they could. I am convinced ofthe contrary, and that all my fortitude would not prevent me from yielding tomelancholy and disgust. After consuming the day in study, if you knew mypleasure at meeting my Brethren in the Evening! After passing many a long hourin solitude, if I could express to you the joy which I feel at once morebeholding a fellow-Creature! ’Tis in this particular that I place theprincipal merit of a Monastic Institution. It secludes Man from the temptationsof Vice; It procures that leisure necessary for the proper service of theSupreme; It spares him the mortification of witnessing the crimes of theworldly, and yet permits him to enjoy the blessings of society. And do you,Rosario, do you envy an Hermit’s life? Can you be thus blind to thehappiness of your situation? Reflect upon it for a moment. This Abbey is becomeyour Asylum: Your regularity, your gentleness, your talents have rendered youthe object of universal esteem: You are secluded from the world which youprofess to hate; yet you remain in possession of the benefits of society, andthat a society composed of the most estimable of Mankind.”

“Father! Father! ’tis that which causes my Torment! Happy had itbeen for me, had my life been passed among the vicious and abandoned! Had Inever heard pronounced the name of Virtue! ’Tis my unbounded adoration ofreligion; ’Tis my soul’s exquisite sensibility of the beauty offair and good, that loads me with shame! that hurries me to perdition! Oh! thatI had never seen these Abbey walls!”

“How, Rosario? When we last conversed, you spoke in a different tone. Ismy friendship then become of such little consequence? Had you never seen theseAbbey walls, you never had seen me: Can that really be your wish?”

“Had never seen you?” repeated the Novice, starting from the Bank,and grasping the Friar’s hand with a frantic air; “You? You? Wouldto God, that lightning had blasted them, before you ever met my eyes! Would toGod! that I were never to see you more, and could forget that I had ever seenyou!”

With these words He flew hastily from the Grotto. Ambrosio remained in hisformer attitude, reflecting on the Youth’s unaccountable behaviour. Hewas inclined to suspect the derangement of his senses: yet the general tenor ofhis conduct, the connexion of his ideas, and calmness of his demeanour till themoment of his quitting the Grotto, seemed to discountenance this conjecture.After a few minutes Rosario returned. He again seated himself upon the Bank: Hereclined his cheek upon one hand, and with the other wiped away the tears whichtrickled from his eyes at intervals.

The Monk looked upon him with compassion, and forbore to interrupt hismeditations. Both observed for some time a profound silence. The Nightingalehad now taken her station upon an Orange Tree fronting the Hermitage, andpoured forth a strain the most melancholy and melodious. Rosario raised hishead, and listened to her with attention.

“It was thus,” said He, with a deep-drawn sigh; “It was thus,that during the last month of her unhappy life, my Sister used to sit listeningto the Nightingale. Poor Matilda! She sleeps in the Grave, and her broken heartthrobs no more with passion.”

“You had a Sister?”

“You say right, that I HAD; Alas! I have one no longer. She sunk beneaththe weight of her sorrows in the very spring of life.”

“What were those sorrows?”

“They will not excite your pity: you know not the power of thoseirresistible, those fatal sentiments, to which her Heart was a prey. Father,She loved unfortunately. A passion for One endowed with every virtue, for aMan, Oh! rather let me say, for a divinity, proved the bane of her existence.His noble form, his spotless character, his various talents, his wisdom solid,wonderful, and glorious, might have warmed the bosom of the most insensible. MySister saw him, and dared to love though She never dared to hope.”

“If her love was so well bestowed, what forbad her to hope the obtainingof its object?”

“Father, before He knew her, Julian had already plighted his vows to aBride most fair, most heavenly! Yet still my Sister loved, and for theHusband’s sake She doted upon the Wife. One morning She found means toescape from our Father’s House: Arrayed in humble weeds She offeredherself as a Domestic to the Consort of her Beloved, and was accepted. She wasnow continually in his presence: She strove to ingratiate herself into hisfavour: She succeeded. Her attentions attracted Julian’s notice; Thevirtuous are ever grateful, and He distinguished Matilda above the rest of herCompanions.”

“And did not your Parents seek for her? Did they submit tamely to theirloss, nor attempt to recover their wandering Daughter?”

“Ere they could find her, She discovered herself. Her love grew tooviolent for concealment; Yet She wished not for Julian’s person, Sheambitioned but a share of his heart. In an unguarded moment She confessed heraffection. What was the return? Doating upon his Wife, and believing that alook of pity bestowed upon another was a theft from what He owed to her, Hedrove Matilda from his presence. He forbad her ever again appearing before him.His severity broke her heart: She returned to her Father’s, and in a fewMonths after was carried to her Grave.”

“Unhappy Girl! Surely her fate was too severe, and Julian was toocruel.”

“Do you think so, Father?” cried the Novice with vivacity;“Do you think that He was cruel?”

“Doubtless I do, and pity her most sincerely.”

“You pity her? You pity her? Oh! Father! Father! Then pity me!”

The Friar started; when after a moment’s pause Rosario added with afaltering voice,—“for my sufferings are still greater. My Sisterhad a Friend, a real Friend, who pitied the acuteness of her feelings, norreproached her with her inability to repress them. I ...! I have no Friend! Thewhole wide world cannot furnish an heart that is willing to participate in thesorrows of mine!”

As He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly. The Friar was affected. He tookRosario’s hand, and pressed it with tenderness.

“You have no Friend, say you? What then am I? Why will you not confide inme, and what can you fear? My severity? Have I ever used it with you? Thedignity of my habit? Rosario, I lay aside the Monk, and bid you consider me asno other than your Friend, your Father. Well may I assume that title, for neverdid Parent watch over a Child more fondly than I have watched over you. Fromthe moment in which I first beheld you, I perceived sensations in my bosom tillthen unknown to me; I found a delight in your society which no one’s elsecould afford; and when I witnessed the extent of your genius and information, Irejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son. Then lay aside yourfears; Speak to me with openness: Speak to me, Rosario, and say that you willconfide in me. If my aid or my pity can alleviate your distress....”

“Yours can! Yours only can! Ah! Father, how willingly would I unveil toyou my heart! How willingly would I declare the secret which bows me down withits weight! But Oh! I fear! I fear!”

“What, my Son?”

“That you should abhor me for my weakness; That the reward of myconfidence should be the loss of your esteem.”

“How shall I reassure you? Reflect upon the whole of my past conduct,upon the paternal tenderness which I have ever shown you. Abhor you, Rosario?It is no longer in my power. To give up your society would be to deprive myselfof the greatest pleasure of my life. Then reveal to me what afflicts you, andbelieve me while I solemnly swear....”

“Hold!” interrupted the Novice; “Swear, that whatever be mysecret, you will not oblige me to quit the Monastery till my Noviciate shallexpire.”

“I promise it faithfully, and as I keep my vows to you, may Christ keephis to Mankind. Now then explain this mystery, and rely upon myindulgence.”

“I obey you. Know then.... Oh! how I tremble to name the word! Listen tome with pity, revered Ambrosio! Call up every latent spark of human weaknessthat may teach you compassion for mine! Father!” continued He throwinghimself at the Friar’s feet, and pressing his hand to his lips witheagerness, while agitation for a moment choaked his voice;“Father!” continued He in faltering accents, “I am aWoman!”

The Abbot started at this unexpected avowal. Prostrate on the ground lay thefeigned Rosario, as if waiting in silence the decision of his Judge.Astonishment on the one part, apprehension on the other, for some minuteschained them in the same attitudes, as had they been touched by the Rod of someMagician. At length recovering from his confusion, the Monk quitted the Grotto,and sped with precipitation towards the Abbey. His action did not escape theSuppliant. She sprang from the ground; She hastened to follow him, overtookhim, threw herself in his passage, and embraced his knees. Ambrosio strove invain to disengage himself from her grasp.

“Do not fly me!” She cried; “Leave me not abandoned to theimpulse of despair! Listen, while I excuse my imprudence; while I acknowledgemy Sister’s story to be my own! I am Matilda; You are her Beloved.”

If Ambrosio’s surprise was great at her first avowal, upon hearing hersecond it exceeded all bounds. Amazed, embarrassed, and irresolute He foundhimself incapable of pronouncing a syllable, and remained in silence gazingupon Matilda: This gave her opportunity to continue her explanation as follows.

“Think not, Ambrosio, that I come to rob your Bride of your affections.No, believe me: Religion alone deserves you; and far is it from Matilda’swish to draw you from the paths of virtue. What I feel for you is love, notlicentiousness; I sigh to be possessor of your heart, not lust for theenjoyment of your person. Deign to listen to my vindication: A few moments willconvince you that this holy retreat is not polluted by my presence, and thatyou may grant me your compassion without trespassing against yourvows.”—She seated herself: Ambrosio, scarcely conscious of what Hedid, followed her example, and She proceeded in her discourse.

“I spring from a distinguished family: My Father was Chief of the nobleHouse of Villanegas. He died while I was still an Infant, and left me soleHeiress of his immense possessions. Young and wealthy, I was sought in marriageby the noblest Youths of Madrid; But no one succeeded in gaining my affections.I had been brought up under the care of an Uncle possessed of the most solidjudgment and extensive erudition. He took pleasure in communicating to me someportion of his knowledge. Under his instructions my understanding acquired morestrength and justness than generally falls to the lot of my sex: The ability ofmy Preceptor being aided by natural curiosity, I not only made a considerableprogress in sciences universally studied, but in others, revealed but to few,and lying under censure from the blindness of superstition. But while myGuardian laboured to enlarge the sphere of my knowledge, He carefullyinculcated every moral precept: He relieved me from the shackles of vulgarprejudice; He pointed out the beauty of Religion; He taught me to look withadoration upon the pure and virtuous, and, woe is me! I have obeyed him but toowell!

“With such dispositions, Judge whether I could observe with any othersentiment than disgust the vice, dissipation, and ignorance, which disgrace ourSpanish Youth. I rejected every offer with disdain. My heart remained without aMaster till chance conducted me to the Cathedral of the Capuchins. Oh! surelyon that day my Guardian Angel slumbered neglectful of his charge! Then was itthat I first beheld you: You supplied the Superior’s place, absent fromillness. You cannot but remember the lively enthusiasm which your discoursecreated. Oh! how I drank your words! How your eloquence seemed to steal me frommyself! I scarcely dared to breathe, fearing to lose a syllable; and while youspoke, Methought a radiant glory beamed round your head, and your countenanceshone with the majesty of a God. I retired from the Church, glowing withadmiration. From that moment you became the idol of my heart, thenever-changing object of my Meditations. I enquired respecting you. The reportswhich were made me of your mode of life, of your knowledge, piety, andself-denial riveted the chains imposed on me by your eloquence. I was consciousthat there was no longer a void in my heart; That I had found the Man whom Ihad sought till then in vain. In expectation of hearing you again, every day Ivisited your Cathedral: You remained secluded within the Abbey walls, and Ialways withdrew, wretched and disappointed. The Night was more propitious tome, for then you stood before me in my dreams; You vowed to me eternalfriendship; You led me through the paths of virtue, and assisted me to supportthe vexations of life. The Morning dispelled these pleasing visions; I woke,and found myself separated from you by Barriers which appeared insurmountable.Time seemed only to increase the strength of my passion: I grew melancholy anddespondent; I fled from society, and my health declined daily. At length nolonger able to exist in this state of torture, I resolved to assume thedisguise in which you see me. My artifice was fortunate: I was received intothe Monastery, and succeeded in gaining your esteem.

“Now then I should have felt compleatly happy, had not my quiet beendisturbed by the fear of detection. The pleasure which I received from yoursociety, was embittered by the idea that perhaps I should soon be deprived ofit: and my heart throbbed so rapturously at obtaining the marks of yourfriendship, as to convince me that I never should survive its loss. I resolved,therefore, not to leave the discovery of my sex to chance, to confess the wholeto you, and throw myself entirely on your mercy and indulgence. Ah! Ambrosio,can I have been deceived? Can you be less generous than I thought you? I willnot suspect it. You will not drive a Wretch to despair; I shall still bepermitted to see you, to converse with you, to adore you! Your virtues shall bemy example through life; and when we expire, our bodies shall rest in the sameGrave.”

She ceased. While She spoke, a thousand opposing sentiments combated inAmbrosio’s bosom. Surprise at the singularity of this adventure,Confusion at her abrupt declaration, Resentment at her boldness in entering theMonastery, and Consciousness of the austerity with which it behoved him toreply, such were the sentiments of which He was aware; But there were othersalso which did not obtain his notice. He perceived not, that his vanity wasflattered by the praises bestowed upon his eloquence and virtue; that He felt asecret pleasure in reflecting that a young and seemingly lovely Woman had forhis sake abandoned the world, and sacrificed every other passion to that whichHe had inspired: Still less did He perceive that his heart throbbed withdesire, while his hand was pressed gently by Matilda’s ivory fingers.

By degrees He recovered from his confusion. His ideas became less bewildered:He was immediately sensible of the extreme impropriety, should Matilda bepermitted to remain in the Abbey after this avowal of her sex. He assumed anair of severity, and drew away his hand.

“How, Lady!” said He; “Can you really hope for my permissionto remain amongst us? Even were I to grant your request, what good could youderive from it? Think you that I ever can reply to an affection,which...”

“No, Father, No! I expect not to inspire you with a love like mine. Ionly wish for the liberty to be near you, to pass some hours of the day in yoursociety; to obtain your compassion, your friendship and esteem. Surely myrequest is not unreasonable.”

“But reflect, Lady! Reflect only for a moment on the impropriety of myharbouring a Woman in the Abbey; and that too a Woman, who confesses that Sheloves me. It must not be. The risque of your being discovered is too great, andI will not expose myself to so dangerous a temptation.”

“Temptation, say you? Forget that I am a Woman, and it no longer exists:Consider me only as a Friend, as an Unfortunate, whose happiness, whose lifedepends upon your protection. Fear not lest I should ever call to yourremembrance that love the most impetuous, the most unbounded, has induced me todisguise my sex; or that instigated by desires, offensive to your vowsand my own honour, I should endeavour to seduce you from the path of rectitude.No, Ambrosio, learn to know me better. I love you for your virtues: Lose them,and with them you lose my affections. I look upon you as a Saint; Prove to methat you are no more than Man, and I quit you with disgust. Is it then from methat you fear temptation? From me, in whom the world’s dazzling pleasurescreated no other sentiment than contempt? From me, whose attachment is groundedon your exemption from human frailty? Oh! dismiss such injurious apprehensions!Think nobler of me, think nobler of yourself. I am incapable of seducing you toerror; and surely your Virtue is established on a basis too firm to be shakenby unwarranted desires. Ambrosio, dearest Ambrosio! drive me not from yourpresence; Remember your promise, and authorize my stay!”

“Impossible, Matilda; your interest commands me to refuse your prayer,since I tremble for you, not for myself. After vanquishing the impetuousebullitions of Youth; After passing thirty years in mortification and penance,I might safely permit your stay, nor fear your inspiring me with warmersentiments than pity. But to yourself, remaining in the Abbey can produce nonebut fatal consequences. You will misconstrue my every word and action; You willseize every circumstance with avidity, which encourages you to hope the returnof your affection; Insensibly your passions will gain a superiority over yourreason; and far from these being repressed by my presence, every moment whichwe pass together, will only serve to irritate and excite them. Believe me,unhappy Woman! you possess my sincere compassion. I am convinced that you havehitherto acted upon the purest motives; But though you are blind to theimprudence of your conduct, in me it would be culpable not to open your eyes. Ifeel that Duty obliges my treating you with harshness: I must reject yourprayer, and remove every shadow of hope which may aid to nourish sentiments sopernicious to your repose. Matilda, you must from hence tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, Ambrosio? Tomorrow? Oh! surely you cannot mean it!

You cannot resolve on driving me to despair! You cannot have thecruelty....”

“You have heard my decision, and it must be obeyed. The Laws of our Orderforbid your stay: It would be perjury to conceal that a Woman is within theseWalls, and my vows will oblige me to declare your story to the Community. Youmust from hence!—I pity you, but can do no more!”

He pronounced these words in a faint and trembling voice: Then rising from hisseat, He would have hastened towards the Monastery. Uttering a loud shriek,Matilda followed, and detained him.

“Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio! Hear me yet speak one word!”

“I dare not listen! Release me! You know my resolution!”

“But one word! But one last word, and I have done!”

“Leave me! Your entreaties are in vain! You must from hencetomorrow!”

“Go then, Barbarian! But this resource is still left me.”

As She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard: She rent open her garment, andplaced the weapon’s point against her bosom.

“Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!”

“Hold! Hold, Matilda! What would you do?”

“You are determined, so am I: The Moment that you leave me, I plunge thisSteel in my heart.”

“Holy St. Francis! Matilda, have you your senses? Do you know theconsequences of your action? That Suicide is the greatest of crimes? That youdestroy your Soul? That you lose your claim to salvation? That you prepare foryourself everlasting torments?”

“I care not! I care not!” She replied passionately; “Eitheryour hand guides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! Speak to me,Ambrosio! Tell me that you will conceal my story, that I shall remain yourFriend and your Companion, or this poignard drinks my blood!”

As She uttered these last words, She lifted her arm, and made a motion as if tostab herself. The Friar’s eyes followed with dread the course of thedagger. She had torn open her habit, and her bosom was half exposed. Theweapon’s point rested upon her left breast: And Oh! that was such abreast! The Moonbeams darting full upon it enabled the Monk to observe itsdazzling whiteness. His eye dwelt with insatiable avidity upon the beauteousOrb. A sensation till then unknown filled his heart with a mixture of anxietyand delight: A raging fire shot through every limb; The blood boiled in hisveins, and a thousand wild wishes bewildered his imagination.

“Hold!” He cried in an hurried faultering voice; “I canresist no longer! Stay, then, Enchantress; Stay for my destruction!”

He said, and rushing from the place, hastened towards the Monastery: Heregained his Cell and threw himself upon his Couch, distracted irresolute andconfused.

He found it impossible for some time to arrange his ideas. The scene in whichHe had been engaged had excited such a variety of sentiments in his bosom, thatHe was incapable of deciding which was predominant. He was irresolute whatconduct He ought to hold with the disturber of his repose. He was consciousthat prudence, religion, and propriety necessitated his obliging her to quitthe Abbey: But on the other hand such powerful reasons authorized her stay thatHe was but too much inclined to consent to her remaining. He could not avoidbeing flattered by Matilda’s declaration, and at reflecting that He hadunconsciously vanquished an heart which had resisted the attacks ofSpain’s noblest Cavaliers: The manner in which He had gained heraffections was also the most satisfactory to his vanity: He remembered the manyhappy hours which He had passed in Rosario’s society, and dreaded thatvoid in his heart which parting with him would occasion. Besides all this, Heconsidered, that as Matilda was wealthy, her favour might be of essentialbenefit to the Abbey.

“And what do I risque,” said He to himself, “by authorizingher stay? May I not safely credit her assertions? Will it not be easy for me toforget her sex, and still consider her as my Friend and my disciple? Surely herlove is as pure as She describes. Had it been the offspring of merelicentiousness, would She so long have concealed it in her own bosom? Would Shenot have employed some means to procure its gratification? She has done quitethe contrary: She strove to keep me in ignorance of her sex; and nothing butthe fear of detection, and my instances, would have compelled her to reveal thesecret. She has observed the duties of religion not less strictly than myself.She has made no attempts to rouze my slumbering passions, nor has She everconversed with me till this night on the subject of Love. Had She been desirousto gain my affections, not my esteem, She would not have concealed from me hercharms so carefully: At this very moment I have never seen her face: Yetcertainly that face must be lovely, and her person beautiful, to judge by her... by what I have seen.”

As this last idea passed through his imagination, a blush spread itself overhis cheek. Alarmed at the sentiments which He was indulging, He betook himselfto prayer; He started from his Couch, knelt before the beautiful Madona, andentreated her assistance in stifling such culpable emotions. He then returnedto his Bed, and resigned himself to slumber.

He awoke, heated and unrefreshed. During his sleep his inflamed imagination hadpresented him with none but the most voluptuous objects. Matilda stood beforehim in his dreams, and his eyes again dwelt upon her naked breast. She repeatedher protestations of eternal love, threw her arms round his neck, and loadedhim with kisses: He returned them; He clasped her passionately to his bosom,and ... the vision was dissolved. Sometimes his dreams presented the image ofhis favourite Madona, and He fancied that He was kneeling before her: As Heoffered up his vows to her, the eyes of the Figure seemed to beam on him withinexpressible sweetness. He pressed his lips to hers, and found them warm: Theanimated form started from the Canvas, embraced him affectionately, and hissenses were unable to support delight so exquisite. Such were the scenes, onwhich his thoughts were employed while sleeping: His unsatisfied Desires placedbefore him the most lustful and provoking Images, and he rioted in joys tillthen unknown to him.

He started from his Couch, filled with confusion at the remembrance of hisdreams. Scarcely was He less ashamed, when He reflected on his reasons of theformer night which induced him to authorize Matilda’s stay. The cloud wasnow dissipated which had obscured his judgment: He shuddered when He beheld hisarguments blazoned in their proper colours, and found that He had been a slaveto flattery, to avarice, and self-love. If in one hour’s conversationMatilda had produced a change so remarkable in his sentiments, what had He notto dread from her remaining in the Abbey? Become sensible of his danger,awakened from his dream of confidence, He resolved to insist on her departingwithout delay. He began to feel that He was not proof against temptation; andthat however Matilda might restrain herself within the bounds of modesty, Hewas unable to contend with those passions, from which He falsely thoughthimself exempted.

“Agnes! Agnes!” He exclaimed, while reflecting on hisembarrassments, “I already feel thy curse!”

He quitted his Cell, determined upon dismissing the feigned Rosario. Heappeared at Matins; But his thoughts were absent, and He paid them but littleattention. His heart and brain were both of them filled with worldly objects,and He prayed without devotion. The service over, He descended into the Garden.He bent his steps towards the same spot where, on the preceding night, He hadmade this embarrassing discovery. He doubted not but that Matilda would seekhim there: He was not deceived. She soon entered the Hermitage, and approachedthe Monk with a timid air. After a few minutes during which both were silent,She appeared as if on the point of speaking; But the Abbot, who during thistime had been summoning up all his resolution, hastily interrupted her. Thoughstill unconscious how extensive was its influence, He dreaded the melodiousseduction of her voice.

“Seat yourself by my side, Matilda,” said He, assuming a look offirmness, though carefully avoiding the least mixture of severity;“Listen to me patiently, and believe, that in what I shall say, I am notmore influenced by my own interest than by yours: Believe, that I feel for youthe warmest friendship, the truest compassion, and that you cannot feel moregrieved than I do, when I declare to you that we must never meet again.”

“Ambrosio!” She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surpriseand sorrow.

“Be calm, my Friend! My Rosario! Still let me call you by that name sodear to me! Our separation is unavoidable; I blush to own, how sensibly itaffects me.— But yet it must be so. I feel myself incapable of treatingyou with indifference, and that very conviction obliges me to insist upon yourdeparture. Matilda, you must stay here no longer.”

“Oh! where shall I now seek for probity? Disgusted with a perfidiousworld, in what happy region does Truth conceal herself? Father, I hoped thatShe resided here; I thought that your bosom had been her favourite shrine. Andyou too prove false? Oh God! And you too can betray me?”

“Matilda!”

“Yes, Father, Yes! ’Tis with justice that I reproach you. Oh! whereare your promises? My Noviciate is not expired, and yet will you compell me toquit the Monastery? Can you have the heart to drive me from you? And have I notreceived your solemn oath to the contrary?”

“I will not compell you to quit the Monastery: You have received mysolemn oath to the contrary. But yet when I throw myself upon your generosity,when I declare to you the embarrassments in which your presence involves me,will you not release me from that oath? Reflect upon the danger of a discovery,upon the opprobrium in which such an event would plunge me: Reflect that myhonour and reputation are at stake, and that my peace of mind depends on yourcompliance. As yet my heart is free; I shall separate from you with regret, butnot with despair. Stay here, and a few weeks will sacrifice my happiness on thealtar of your charms. You are but too interesting, too amiable! I should loveyou, I should doat on you! My bosom would become the prey of desires whichHonour and my profession forbid me to gratify. If I resisted them, theimpetuosity of my wishes unsatisfied would drive me to madness: If I yielded tothe temptation, I should sacrifice to one moment of guilty pleasure myreputation in this world, my salvation in the next. To you then I fly fordefence against myself. Preserve me from losing the reward of thirty years ofsufferings! Preserve me from becoming the Victim of Remorse! your heart hasalready felt the anguish of hopeless love; Oh! then if you really value me,spare mine that anguish! Give me back my promise; Fly from these walls. Go, andyou bear with you my warmest prayers for your happiness, my friendship, myesteem and admiration: Stay, and you become to me the source of danger, ofsufferings, of despair! Answer me, Matilda; What is yourresolve?”—She was silent—“Will you not speak, Matilda?Will you not name your choice?”

“Cruel! Cruel!” She exclaimed, wringing her hands in agony;“You know too well that you offer me no choice! You know too well that Ican have no will but yours!”

“I was not then deceived! Matilda’s generosity equals myexpectations.”

“Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a decreewhich cuts me to the very heart. Take back your promise. I will quit theMonastery this very day. I have a Relation, Abbess of a Covent in Estramadura:To her will I bend my steps, and shut myself from the world for ever. Yet tellme, Father, shall I bear your good wishes with me to my solitude? Will yousometimes abstract your attention from heavenly objects to bestow a thoughtupon me?”

“Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for myrepose!”

“Then I have nothing more to wish for, save that we may meet in heaven.Farewell, my Friend! my Ambrosio!— And yet methinks, I would fain bearwith me some token of your regard!”

“What shall I give you?”

“Something.—Any thing.—One of those flowers will besufficient.” (Here She pointed to a bush of Roses, planted at the door ofthe Grotto.) “I will hide it in my bosom, and when I am dead, the Nunsshall find it withered upon my heart.”

The Friar was unable to reply: With slow steps, and a soul heavy withaffliction, He quitted the Hermitage. He approached the Bush, and stooped topluck one of the Roses. Suddenly He uttered a piercing cry, started backhastily, and let the flower, which He already held, fall from his hand. Matildaheard the shriek, and flew anxiously towards him.

“What is the matter?” She cried; “Answer me, for God’ssake! What has happened?”

“I have received my death!” He replied in a faint voice;“Concealed among the Roses ... A Serpent....”

Here the pain of his wound became so exquisite, that Nature was unable to bearit: His senses abandoned him, and He sank inanimate into Matilda’s arms.

Her distress was beyond the power of description. She rent her hair, beat herbosom, and not daring to quit Ambrosio, endeavoured by loud cries to summon theMonks to her assistance. She at length succeeded. Alarmed by her shrieks,Several of the Brothers hastened to the spot, and the Superior was conveyedback to the Abbey. He was immediately put to bed, and the Monk who officiatedas Surgeon to the Fraternity prepared to examine the wound. By this timeAmbrosio’s hand had swelled to an extraordinary size; The remedies whichhad been administered to him, ’tis true, restored him to life, but not tohis senses; He raved in all the horrors of delirium, foamed at the mouth, andfour of the strongest Monks were scarcely able to hold him in his bed.

Father Pablos, such was the Surgeon’s name, hastened to examine thewounded hand. The Monks surrounded the Bed, anxiously waiting for the decision:Among these the feigned Rosario appeared not the most insensible to theFriar’s calamity. He gazed upon the Sufferer with inexpressible anguish;and the groans which every moment escaped from his bosom sufficiently betrayedthe violence of his affliction.

Father Pablos probed the wound. As He drew out his Lancet, its point was tingedwith a greenish hue. He shook his head mournfully, and quitted the bedside.

“’Tis as I feared!” said He; “There is no hope.”

“No hope?” exclaimed the Monks with one voice; “Say you, nohope?”

“From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by acientipedoro:[1] The venom whichyou see upon my Lancet confirms my idea: He cannot live three days.”

[1]The cientipedoro is supposed to be a native of Cuba, and to have been broughtinto Spain from that island in the vessel of Columbus.

“And can no possible remedy be found?” enquired Rosario.

“Without extracting the poison, He cannot recover; and how to extract itis to me still a secret. All that I can do is to apply such herbs to the woundas will relieve the anguish: The Patient will be restored to his senses; Butthe venom will corrupt the whole mass of his blood, and in three days He willexist no longer.”

Excessive was the universal grief at hearing this decision. Pablos, as He hadpromised, dressed the wound, and then retired, followed by his Companions:Rosario alone remained in the Cell, the Abbot at his urgent entreaty havingbeen committed to his care. Ambrosio’s strength worn out by the violenceof his exertions, He had by this time fallen into a profound sleep. So totallywas He overcome by weariness, that He scarcely gave any signs of life; He wasstill in this situation, when the Monks returned to enquire whether any changehad taken place. Pablos loosened the bandage which concealed the wound, morefrom a principle of curiosity than from indulging the hope of discovering anyfavourable symptoms. What was his astonishment at finding, that theinflammation had totally subsided! He probed the hand; His Lancet came out pureand unsullied; No traces of the venom were perceptible; and had not the orificestill been visible, Pablos might have doubted that there had ever been a wound.

He communicated this intelligence to his Brethren; their delight was onlyequalled by their surprize. From the latter sentiment, however, they were soonreleased by explaining the circumstance according to their own ideas: They wereperfectly convinced that their Superior was a Saint, and thought, that nothingcould be more natural than for St. Francis to have operated a miracle in hisfavour. This opinion was adopted unanimously: They declared it so loudly, andvociferated,—“A miracle! a miracle!”—with such fervour,that they soon interrupted Ambrosio’s slumbers.

The Monks immediately crowded round his Bed, and expressed their satisfactionat his wonderful recovery. He was perfectly in his senses, and free from everycomplaint except feeling weak and languid. Pablos gave him a strengtheningmedicine, and advised his keeping his bed for the two succeeding days: He thenretired, having desired his Patient not to exhaust himself by conversation, butrather to endeavour at taking some repose. The other Monks followed hisexample, and the Abbot and Rosario were left without Observers.

For some minutes Ambrosio regarded his Attendant with a look of mingledpleasure and apprehension. She was seated upon the side of the Bed, her headbending down, and as usual enveloped in the Cowl of her Habit.

“And you are still here, Matilda?” said the Friar at length.“Are you not satisfied with having so nearly effected my destruction,that nothing but a miracle could have saved me from the Grave? Ah! surelyHeaven sent that Serpent to punish....”

Matilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with an air ofgaiety.

“Hush! Father, Hush! You must not talk!”

“He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the subjects onwhich I wish to speak.”

“But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command. I am appointedyour Nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.”

“You are in spirits, Matilda!”

“Well may I be so: I have just received a pleasure unexampled through mywhole life.”

“What was that pleasure?”

“What I must conceal from all, but most from you.”

“But most from me? Nay then, I entreat you, Matilda....”

“Hush, Father! Hush! You must not talk. But as you do not seem inclinedto sleep, shall I endeavour to amuse you with my Harp?”

“How? I knew not that you understood Music.”

“Oh! I am a sorry Performer! Yet as silence is prescribed you for eightand forty hours, I may possibly entertain you, when wearied of your ownreflections. I go to fetch my Harp.”

She soon returned with it.

“Now, Father; What shall I sing? Will you hear the Ballad which treats ofthe gallant Durandarte, who died in the famous battle of Roncevalles?”

“What you please, Matilda.”

“Oh! call me not Matilda! Call me Rosario, call me your Friend! Those arethe names, which I love to hear from your lips. Now listen!”

She then tuned her harp, and afterwards preluded for some moments with suchexquisite taste as to prove her a perfect Mistress of the Instrument. The airwhich She played was soft and plaintive:

Ambrosio, while He listened, felt his uneasiness subside, and a pleasingmelancholy spread itself into his bosom. Suddenly Matilda changed the strain:With an hand bold and rapid She struck a few loud martial chords, and thenchaunted the following Ballad to an air at once simple and melodious.

DURANDARTE AND BELERMA

While She sung, Ambrosio listened with delight: Never had He heard a voice moreharmonious; and He wondered how such heavenly sounds could be produced by anybut Angels. But though He indulged the sense of hearing, a single lookconvinced him that He must not trust to that of sight. The Songstress sat at alittle distance from his Bed. The attitude in which She bent over her harp, waseasy and graceful: Her Cowl had fallen backwarder than usual: Two coral lipswere visible, ripe, fresh, and melting, and a Chin in whose dimples seemed tolurk a thousand Cupids. Her Habit’s long sleeve would have swept alongthe Chords of the Instrument: To prevent this inconvenience She had drawn itabove her elbow, and by this means an arm was discovered formed in the mostperfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose skin might have contended with snow inwhiteness. Ambrosio dared to look on her but once: That glance sufficed toconvince him, how dangerous was the presence of this seducing Object. He closedhis eyes, but strove in vain to banish her from his thoughts. There She stillmoved before him, adorned with all those charms which his heated imaginationcould supply: Every beauty which He had seen, appeared embellished, and thosestill concealed Fancy represented to him in glowing colours. Still, however,his vows and the necessity of keeping to them were present to his memory. Hestruggled with desire, and shuddered when He beheld how deep was the precipicebefore him.

Matilda ceased to sing. Dreading the influence of her charms, Ambrosio remainedwith his eyes closed, and offered up his prayers to St. Francis to assist himin this dangerous trial! Matilda believed that He was sleeping. She rose fromher seat, approached the Bed softly, and for some minutes gazed upon himattentively.

“He sleeps!” said She at length in a low voice, but whose accentsthe Abbot distinguished perfectly; “Now then I may gaze upon him withoutoffence! I may mix my breath with his; I may doat upon his features, and Hecannot suspect me of impurity and deceit!—He fears my seducing him to theviolation of his vows! Oh! the Unjust! Were it my wish to excite desire, shouldI conceal my features from him so carefully? Those features, of which I dailyhear him....”

She stopped, and was lost in her reflections.

“It was but yesterday!” She continued; “But a few short hourshave past, since I was dear to him! He esteemed me, and my heart was satisfied!Now!... Oh! now how cruelly is my situation changed! He looks on me withsuspicion! He bids me leave him, leave him for ever! Oh! You, my Saint! myIdol! You, holding the next place to God in my breast! Yet two days, and myheart will be unveiled to you.—Could you know my feelings, when I beheldyour agony! Could you know, how much your sufferings have endeared you to me!But the time will come, when you will be convinced that my passion is pure anddisinterested. Then you will pity me, and feel the whole weight of thesesorrows!”

As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She bent overAmbrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek.

“Ah! I have disturbed him!” cried Matilda, and retreated hastily.

Her alarm was ungrounded. None sleep so profoundly, as those who are determinednot to wake. The Friar was in this predicament: He still seemed buried in arepose, which every succeeding minute rendered him less capable of enjoying.The burning tear had communicated its warmth to his heart.

“What affection! What purity!” said He internally; “Ah! sincemy bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love?”

Matilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from the Bed.Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes, and to cast them upon her fearfully. Herface was turned from him. She rested her head in a melancholy posture upon herHarp, and gazed on the picture which hung opposite to the Bed.

“Happy, happy Image!” Thus did She address the beautiful Madona;“’Tis to you that He offers his prayers! ’Tis on you that Hegazes with admiration! I thought you would have lightened my sorrows; You haveonly served to increase their weight: You have made me feel that had I knownhim ere his vows were pronounced, Ambrosio and happiness might have been mine.With what pleasure He views this picture! With what fervour He addresses hisprayers to the insensible Image! Ah! may not his sentiments be inspired by somekind and secret Genius, Friend to my affection? May it not be Man’snatural instinct which informs him... Be silent, idle hopes! Let me notencourage an idea which takes from the brilliance of Ambrosio’s virtue.’Tis Religion, not Beauty which attracts his admiration; ’Tis notto the Woman, but the Divinity that He kneels. Would He but address to me theleast tender expression which He pours forth to this Madona! Would He but saythat were He not already affianced to the Church, He would not have despisedMatilda! Oh! let me nourish that fond idea! Perhaps He may yet acknowledge thatHe feels for me more than pity, and that affection like mine might well havedeserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye on my deathbed! Hethen need not fear to infringe his vows, and the confession of his regard willsoften the pangs of dying. Would I were sure of this! Oh! how earnestly shouldI sigh for the moment of dissolution!”

Of this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in which Shepronounced these last words pierced to his heart. Involuntarily He raisedhimself from his pillow.

“Matilda!” He said in a troubled voice; “Oh! myMatilda!”

She started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily. The suddenness of hermovement made her Cowl fall back from her head; Her features became visible tothe Monk’s enquiring eye. What was his amazement at beholding the exactresemblance of his admired Madona? The same exquisite proportion of features,the same profusion of golden hair, the same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, andmajesty of countenance adorned Matilda! Uttering an exclamation of surprize,Ambrosio sank back upon his pillow, and doubted whether the Object before himwas mortal or divine.

Matilda seemed penetrated with confusion. She remained motionless in her place,and supported herself upon her Instrument. Her eyes were bent upon the earth,and her fair cheeks overspread with blushes. On recovering herself, her firstaction was to conceal her features. She then in an unsteady and troubled voiceventured to address these words to the Friar.

“Accident has made you Master of a secret, which I never would haverevealed but on the Bed of death. Yes, Ambrosio; In Matilda de Villanegas yousee the original of your beloved Madona. Soon after I conceived my unfortunatepassion, I formed the project of conveying to you my Picture: Crowds ofAdmirers had persuaded me that I possessed some beauty, and I was anxious toknow what effect it would produce upon you. I caused my Portrait to be drawn byMartin Galuppi, a celebrated Venetian at that time resident in Madrid. Theresemblance was striking: I sent it to the Capuchin Abbey as if for sale, andthe Jew from whom you bought it was one of my Emissaries. You purchased it.Judge of my rapture, when informed that you had gazed upon it with delight, orrather with adoration; that you had suspended it in your Cell, and that youaddressed your supplications to no other Saint. Will this discovery make mestill more regarded as an object of suspicion? Rather should it convince youhow pure is my affection, and engage you to suffer me in your society andesteem. I heard you daily extol the praises of my Portrait: I was an eyewitnessof the transports, which its beauty excited in you: Yet I forbore to useagainst your virtue those arms, with which yourself had furnished me. Iconcealed those features from your sight, which you loved unconsciously. Istrove not to excite desire by displaying my charms, or to make myself Mistressof your heart through the medium of your senses. To attract your notice bystudiously attending to religious duties, to endear myself to you by convincingyou that my mind was virtuous and my attachment sincere, such was my only aim.I succeeded; I became your companion and your Friend. I concealed my sex fromyour knowledge; and had you not pressed me to reveal my secret, had I not beentormented by the fear of a discovery, never had you known me for any other thanRosario. And still are you resolved to drive me from you? The few hours of lifewhich yet remain for me, may I not pass them in your presence? Oh! speak,Ambrosio, and tell me that I may stay!”

This speech gave the Abbot an opportunity of recollecting himself. He wasconscious that in the present disposition of his mind, avoiding her society washis only refuge from the power of this enchanting Woman.

“You declaration has so much astonished me,” said He, “that Iam at present incapable of answering you. Do not insist upon a reply, Matilda;Leave me to myself; I have need to be alone.”

“I obey you—But before I go, promise not to insist upon my quittingthe Abbey immediately.”

“Matilda, reflect upon your situation; Reflect upon the consequences ofyour stay. Our separation is indispensable, and we must part.”

“But not to-day, Father! Oh! in pity not today!”

“You press me too hard, but I cannot resist that tone of supplication.Since you insist upon it, I yield to your prayer: I consent to your remaininghere a sufficient time to prepare in some measure the Brethren for yourdeparture. Stay yet two days; But on the third,” ... (He sighedinvoluntarily)—“Remember, that on the third we must part forever!”

She caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips.

“On the third?” She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity;“You are right, Father! You are right! On the third we must part forever!”

There was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these words, whichpenetrated the Friar’s soul with horror: Again She kissed his hand, andthen fled with rapidity from the chamber.

Anxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest, yet conscious thather stay was infringing the laws of his order, Ambrosio’s bosom becamethe Theatre of a thousand contending passions. At length his attachment to thefeigned Rosario, aided by the natural warmth of his temperament, seemed likelyto obtain the victory: The success was assured, when that presumption whichformed the groundwork of his character came to Matilda’s assistance. TheMonk reflected that to vanquish temptation was an infinitely greater merit thanto avoid it: He thought that He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunitygiven him of proving the firmness of his virtue. St. Anthony had withstood allseductions to lust; Then why should not He? Besides, St. Anthony was tempted bythe Devil, who put every art into practice to excite his passions: Whereas,Ambrosio’s danger proceeded from a mere mortal Woman, fearful and modest,whose apprehensions of his yielding were not less violent than his own.

“Yes,” said He; “The Unfortunate shall stay; I have nothingto fear from her presence. Even should my own prove too weak to resist thetemptation, I am secured from danger by the innocence of Matilda.”

Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice is evermost dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.

He found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos visited himagain at night, He entreated permission to quit his chamber on the dayfollowing. His request was granted. Matilda appeared no more that evening,except in company with the Monks when they came in a body to enquire after theAbbot’s health. She seemed fearful of conversing with him in private, andstayed but a few minutes in his room. The Friar slept well; But the dreams ofthe former night were repeated, and his sensations of voluptuousness were yetmore keen and exquisite. The same lust-exciting visions floated before hiseyes: Matilda, in all the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious, claspedhim to her bosom, and lavished upon him the most ardent caresses. He returnedthem as eagerly, and already was on the point of satisfying his desires, whenthe faithless form disappeared, and left him to all the horrors of shame anddisappointment.

The Morning dawned. Fatigued, harassed, and exhausted by his provoking dreams,He was not disposed to quit his Bed. He excused himself from appearing atMatins: It was the first morning in his life that He had ever missed them. Herose late. During the whole of the day He had no opportunity of speaking toMatilda without witnesses. His Cell was thronged by the Monks, anxious toexpress their concern at his illness; And He was still occupied in receivingtheir compliments on his recovery, when the Bell summoned them to theRefectory.

After dinner the Monks separated, and dispersed themselves in various parts ofthe Garden, where the shade of trees or retirement of some Grotto presented themost agreeable means of enjoying the Siesta. The Abbot bent his steps towardsthe Hermitage: A glance of his eye invited Matilda to accompany him.

She obeyed, and followed him thither in silence. They entered the Grotto, andseated themselves. Both seemed unwilling to begin the conversation, and tolabour under the influence of mutual embarrassment. At length the Abbot spoke:He conversed only on indifferent topics, and Matilda answered him in the sametone. She seemed anxious to make him forget that the Person who sat by him wasany other than Rosario. Neither of them dared, or indeed wished to make anallusion, to the subject which was most at the hearts of both.

Matilda’s efforts to appear gay were evidently forced: Her spirits wereoppressed by the weight of anxiety, and when She spoke her voice was low andfeeble. She seemed desirous of finishing a conversation which embarrassed her;and complaining that She was unwell, She requested Ambrosio’s permissionto return to the Abbey. He accompanied her to the door of her cell; and whenarrived there, He stopped her to declare his consent to her continuing thePartner of his solitude so long as should be agreeable to herself.

She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this intelligence, though onthe preceding day She had been so anxious to obtain the permission.

“Alas! Father,” She said, waving her head mournfully; “Yourkindness comes too late! My doom is fixed. We must separate for ever. Yetbelieve, that I am grateful for your generosity, for your compassion of anUnfortunate who is but too little deserving of it!”

She put her handkerchief to her eyes. Her Cowl was only half drawn over herface. Ambrosio observed that She was pale, and her eyes sunk and heavy.

“Good God!” He cried; “You are very ill, Matilda! I shallsend Father Pablos to you instantly.”

“No; Do not. I am ill, ’tis true; But He cannot cure my malady.Farewell, Father! Remember me in your prayers tomorrow, while I shall rememberyou in heaven!”

She entered her cell, and closed the door.

The Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a moment, and waitedhis report impatiently. But Father Pablos soon returned, and declared that hiserrand had been fruitless. Rosario refused to admit him, and had positivelyrejected his offers of assistance. The uneasiness which this account gaveAmbrosio was not trifling: Yet He determined that Matilda should have her ownway for that night: But that if her situation did not mend by the morning, hewould insist upon her taking the advice of Father Pablos.

He did not find himself inclined to sleep. He opened his casement, and gazedupon the moonbeams as they played upon the small stream whose waters bathed thewalls of the Monastery. The coolness of the night breeze and tranquillity ofthe hour inspired the Friar’s mind with sadness. He thought uponMatilda’s beauty and affection; Upon the pleasures which He might haveshared with her, had He not been restrained by monastic fetters. He reflected,that unsustained by hope her love for him could not long exist; That doubtlessShe would succeed in extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in thearms of One more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence wouldleave in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony of a Convent, andbreathed a sigh towards that world from which He was for ever separated. Suchwere the reflections which a loud knocking at his door interrupted. The Bell ofthe Church had already struck Two. The Abbot hastened to enquire the cause ofthis disturbance. He opened the door of his Cell, and a Lay-Brother entered,whose looks declared his hurry and confusion.

“Hasten, reverend Father!” said He; “Hasten to the youngRosario.

He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.”

“Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him? Oh! Ifear! I fear!”

“Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He says that Hesuspects the Youth to be poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Oh! The Unfortunate! It is then as I suspected! But let me notlose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save her!”

He said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice. Several Monks were already inthe chamber. Father Pablos was one of them, and held a medicine in his handwhich He was endeavouring to persuade Rosario to swallow. The Others wereemployed in admiring the Patient’s divine countenance, which They now sawfor the first time. She looked lovelier than ever. She was no longer pale orlanguid; A bright glow had spread itself over her cheeks; her eyes sparkledwith a serene delight, and her countenance was expressive of confidence andresignation.

“Oh! torment me no more!” was She saying to Pablos, when theterrified Abbot rushed hastily into the Cell; “My disease is far beyondthe reach of your skill, and I wish not to be cured of it”—Thenperceiving Ambrosio,— “Ah! ’tis He!” She cried;“I see him once again, before we part for ever! Leave me, my Brethren;Much have I to tell this holy Man in private.”

The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained together.

“What have you done, imprudent Woman!” exclaimed the Latter, assoon as they were left alone; “Tell me; Are my suspicions just? Am Iindeed to lose you? Has your own hand been the instrument of yourdestruction?”

She smiled, and grasped his hand.

“In what have I been imprudent, Father? I have sacrificed a pebble, andsaved a diamond: My death preserves a life valuable to the world, and more dearto me than my own. Yes, Father; I am poisoned; But know that the poison oncecirculated in your veins.”

“Matilda!”

“What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the bed ofdeath: That moment is now arrived. You cannot have forgotten the day already,when your life was endangered by the bite of a Cientipedoro. The Physician gaveyou over, declaring himself ignorant how to extract the venom: I knew but ofone means, and hesitated not a moment to employ it. I was left alone with you:You slept; I loosened the bandage from your hand; I kissed the wound, and drewout the poison with my lips. The effect has been more sudden than I expected. Ifeel death at my heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.”

“Almighty God!” exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless uponthe Bed.

After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and gazed upon Matildawith all the wildness of despair.

“And you have sacrificed yourself for me! You die, and die to preserveAmbrosio! And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda? And is there indeed no hope?Speak to me, Oh! speak to me! Tell me, that you have still the means oflife!”

“Be comforted, my only Friend! Yes, I have still the means of life in mypower: But ’tis a means which I dare not employ. It is dangerous! It isdreadful! Life would be purchased at too dear a rate, ... unless it werepermitted me to live for you.”

“Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!”— (Hecaught her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)—“Rememberour late conversations; I now consent to every thing: Remember in what livelycolours you described the union of souls; Be it ours to realize those ideas.Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world’s prejudices,and only consider each other as Brother and Friend. Live then, Matilda! Oh!live for me!”

“Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both you andmyself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the lingering torments ofunsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last conversed together, a dreadful veil hasbeen rent from before my eyes. I love you no longer with the devotion which ispaid to a Saint: I prize you no more for the virtues of your soul; I lust forthe enjoyment of your person. The Woman reigns in my bosom, and I am become aprey to the wildest of passions. Away with friendship! ’tis a coldunfeeling word. My bosom burns with love, with unutterable love, and love mustbe its return. Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If Ilive, your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in sufferings,all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no longer be able to combatmy passions, shall seize every opportunity to excite your desires, and labourto effect your dishonour and my own. No, no, Ambrosio; I must not live! I amconvinced with every moment, that I have but one alternative; I feel with everyheart-throb, that I must enjoy you, or die.”

“Amazement!—Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?”

He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud shriek, andraising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms round the Friar to detainhim.

“Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a few hoursI shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from this disgracefulpassion.”

“Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot ... I must not ... Butlive, Matilda! Oh! live!”

“You do not reflect on what you ask. What? Live to plunge myself ininfamy? To become the Agent of Hell? To work the destruction both of you and ofMyself? Feel this heart, Father!”

She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew it not,and felt her heart throb under it.

“Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, andchastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest crimes. Oh!let me then die today! Let me die, while I yet deserve the tears of thevirtuous! Thus will expire!”—(She reclined her head upon hisshoulder; Her golden Hair poured itself over his Chest.)— “Foldedin your arms, I shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my eyes for ever,and your lips receive my dying breath. And will you not sometimes think of me?Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my Tomb? Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! That kissis my assurance!”

The hour was night. All was silence around. The faint beams of a solitary Lampdarted upon Matilda’s figure, and shed through the chamber a dimmysterious light. No prying eye, or curious ear was near the Lovers: Nothingwas heard but Matilda’s melodious accents. Ambrosio was in the fullvigour of Manhood. He saw before him a young and beautiful Woman, the preserverof his life, the Adorer of his person, and whom affection for him had reducedto the brink of the Grave. He sat upon her Bed; His hand rested upon her bosom;Her head reclined voluptuously upon his breast. Who then can wonder, if Heyielded to the temptation? Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to thosewhich sought them: His kisses vied with Matilda’s in warmth and passion.He clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his vows, his sanctity, andhis fame: He remembered nothing but the pleasure and opportunity.

“Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!” sighed Matilda.

“Thine, ever thine!” murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom.

CHAPTER III

——These are the Villains
Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.
————Some of them are Gentlemen
Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth
Thrust from the company of awful Men.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

The Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence. The Former employedhimself in calling every circumstance to his mind, which related might giveLorenzo’s the most favourable idea of his connexion with Agnes. TheLatter, justly alarmed for the honour of his family, felt embarrassed by thepresence of the Marquis: The adventure which He had just witnessed forbad histreating him as a Friend; and Antonia’s interests being entrusted to hismediation, He saw the impolicy of treating him as a Foe. He concluded fromthese reflections, that profound silence would be the wisest plan, and waitedwith impatience for Don Raymond’s explanation.

They arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas. The Marquis immediately conductedhim to his apartment, and began to express his satisfaction at finding him atMadrid. Lorenzo interrupted him.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” said He with a distant air, “if I replysomewhat coldly to your expressions of regard. A Sister’s honour isinvolved in this affair: Till that is established, and the purport of yourcorrespondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot consider you as my Friend. I amanxious to hear the meaning of your conduct, and hope that you will not delaythe promised explanation.”

“First give me your word, that you will listen with patience andindulgence.”

“I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this moment Ipossessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself. I will also confess, that yourhaving it in your power to oblige me in a business which I have much at heart,makes me very anxious to find you still deserving my esteem.”

“Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me, than anopportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.”

“Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour, and thereis no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be obliged.”

“Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name ofAlphonso d’Alvarada?”

“Never. Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal,circumstances have prevented us from being much together. While yet a Child Shewas consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had married a German Nobleman. Athis Castle She remained till two years since, when She returned to Spain,determined upon secluding herself from the world.”

“Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove not to makeher change it?”

“Marquis, you wrong me. The intelligence, which I received at Naples,shocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid for the expresspurpose of preventing the sacrifice. The moment that I arrived, I flew to theConvent of St. Clare, in which Agnes had chosen to perform her Noviciate. Irequested to see my Sister. Conceive my surprise when She sent me a refusal;She declared positively, that apprehending my influence over her mind, Shewould not trust herself in my society till the day before that on which She wasto receive the Veil. I supplicated the Nuns; I insisted upon seeing Agnes, andhesitated not to avow my suspicions that her being kept from me was against herown inclinations. To free herself from the imputation of violence, the Prioressbrought me a few lines written in my Sister’s well-known hand, repeatingthe message already delivered. All future attempts to obtain a moment’sconversation with her were as fruitless as the first. She was inflexible, and Iwas not permitted to see her till the day preceding that on which She enteredthe Cloister never to quit it more. This interview took place in the presenceof our principal Relations. It was for the first time since her childhood thatI saw her, and the scene was most affecting. She threw herself upon my bosom,kissed me, and wept bitterly. By every possible argument, by tears, by prayers,by kneeling, I strove to make her abandon her intention. I represented to herall the hardships of a religious life; I painted to her imagination all thepleasures which She was going to quit, and besought her to disclose to me, whatoccasioned her disgust to the world. At this last question She turned pale, andher tears flowed yet faster. She entreated me not to press her on that subject;That it sufficed me to know that her resolution was taken, and that a Conventwas the only place where She could now hope for tranquillity. She persevered inher design, and made her profession. I visited her frequently at the Grate, andevery moment that I passed with her, made me feel more affliction at her loss.I was shortly after obliged to quit Madrid; I returned but yesterday evening,and since then have not had time to call at St. Clare’s Convent.”

“Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonsod’Alvarada?”

“Pardon me: my Aunt wrote me word that an Adventurer so called had foundmeans to get introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg; That He had insinuatedhimself into my Sister’s good graces, and that She had even consented toelope with him. However, before the plan could be executed, the Cavalierdiscovered that the estates which He believed Agnes to possess in Hispaniola,in reality belonged to me. This intelligence made him change his intention; Hedisappeared on the day that the elopement was to have taken place, and Agnes,in despair at his perfidy and meanness, had resolved upon seclusion in aConvent. She added, that as this adventurer had given himself out to be aFriend of mine, She wished to know whether I had any knowledge of him. Ireplied in the negative. I had then very little idea, that Alphonsod’Alvarada and the Marquis de las Cisternas were one and the same person:The description given me of the first by no means tallied with what I knew ofthe latter.”

“In this I easily recognize Donna Rodolpha’s perfidious character.Every word of this account is stamped with marks of her malice, of herfalsehood, of her talents for misrepresenting those whom She wishes to injure.Forgive me, Medina, for speaking so freely of your Relation. The mischief whichShe has done me authorises my resentment, and when you have heard my story, youwill be convinced that my expressions have not been too severe.”

He then began his narrative in the following manner:—

HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND,
MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS

Long experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous is your nature:I waited not for your declaration of ignorance respecting your Sister’sadventures to suppose that they had been purposely concealed from you. Had theyreached your knowledge, from what misfortunes should both Agnes and myself haveescaped! Fate had ordained it otherwise! You were on your Travels when I firstbecame acquainted with your Sister; and as our Enemies took care to concealfrom her your direction, it was impossible for her to implore by letter yourprotection and advice.

On leaving Salamanca, at which University as I have since heard, you remained ayear after I quitted it, I immediately set out upon my Travels. My Fathersupplied me liberally with money; But He insisted upon my concealing my rank,and presenting myself as no more than a private Gentleman. This command wasissued by the counsels of his Friend, the Duke of Villa Hermosa, a Nobleman forwhose abilities and knowledge of the world I have ever entertained the mostprofound veneration.

“Believe me,” said He, “my dear Raymond, you will hereafterfeel the benefits of this temporary degradation. ’Tis true, that as theCondé de las Cisternas you would have been received with open arms; and youryouthful vanity might have felt gratified by the attentions showered upon youfrom all sides. At present, much will depend upon yourself: You have excellentrecommendations, but it must be your own business to make them of use to you.You must lay yourself out to please; You must labour to gain the approbation ofthose, to whom you are presented: They who would have courted the friendship ofthe Condé de las Cisternas will have no interest in finding out the merits, orbearing patiently with the faults, of Alphonso d’Alvarada. Consequently,when you find yourself really liked, you may safely ascribe it to your goodqualities, not your rank, and the distinction shown you will be infinitely moreflattering. Besides, your exalted birth would not permit your mixing with thelower classes of society, which will now be in your power, and from which, inmy opinion, you will derive considerable benefit. Do not confine yourself tothe Illustrious of those Countries through which you pass. Examine the mannersand customs of the multitude: Enter into the Cottages; and by observing how theVassals of Foreigners are treated, learn to diminish the burthens and augmentthe comforts of your own. According to my ideas, of those advantages which aYouth destined to the possession of power and wealth may reap from travel, Heshould not consider as the least essential, the opportunity of mixing with theclasses below him, and becoming an eyewitness of the sufferings of thePeople.”

Forgive me, Lorenzo, if I seem tedious in my narration. The close connexionwhich now exists between us, makes me anxious that you should know everyparticular respecting me; and in my fear of omitting the least circumstancewhich may induce you to think favourably of your Sister and myself, I maypossibly relate many which you may think uninteresting.

I followed the Duke’s advice; I was soon convinced of its wisdom.

I quitted Spain, calling myself by the assumed title of Don Alphonsod’Alvarada, and attended by a single Domestic of approved fidelity. Pariswas my first station. For some time I was enchanted with it, as indeed must beevery Man who is young, rich, and fond of pleasure. Yet among all its gaieties,I felt that something was wanting to my heart. I grew sick of dissipation: Idiscovered, that the People among whom I lived, and whose exterior was sopolished and seducing, were at bottom frivolous, unfeeling and insincere. Iturned from the Inhabitants of Paris with disgust, and quitted that Theatre ofLuxury without heaving one sigh of regret.

I now bent my course towards Germany, intending to visit most of the principalcourts: Prior to this expedition, I meant to make some little stay atStrasbourg. On quitting my Chaise at Luneville to take some refreshment, Iobserved a splendid Equipage, attended by four Domestics in rich liveries,waiting at the door of the Silver Lion. Soon after as I looked out of thewindow, I saw a Lady of noble presence, followed by two female Attendants, stepinto the Carriage, which drove off immediately.

I enquired of the Host, who the Lady was, that had just departed.

“A German Baroness, Monsieur, of great rank and fortune. She has beenupon a visit to the Duchess of Longueville, as her Servants informed me; She isgoing to Strasbourg, where She will find her Husband, and then both return totheir Castle in Germany.”

I resumed my journey, intending to reach Strasbourg that night. My hopes,however were frustrated by the breaking down of my Chaise. The accidenthappened in the middle of a thick Forest, and I was not a little embarrassed asto the means of proceeding.

It was the depth of winter: The night was already closing round us; andStrasbourg, which was the nearest Town, was still distant from us severalleagues. It seemed to me that my only alternative to passing the night in theForest, was to take my Servant’s Horse and ride on to Strasbourg, anundertaking at that season very far from agreeable. However, seeing no otherresource, I was obliged to make up my mind to it. Accordingly I communicated mydesign to the Postillion, telling him that I would send People to assist him assoon as I reached Strasbourg. I had not much confidence in his honesty; ButStephano being well-armed, and the Driver to all appearance considerablyadvanced in years, I believed I ran no danger of losing my Baggage.

Luckily, as I then thought, an opportunity presented itself of passing thenight more agreeably than I expected. On mentioning my design of proceeding bymyself to Strasbourg, the Postillion shook his head in disapprobation.

“It is a long way,” said He; “You will find it a difficultmatter to arrive there without a Guide. Besides, Monsieur seems unaccustomed tothe season’s severity, and ’tis possible that unable to sustain theexcessive cold....”

“What use is there to present me with all these objections?” saidI, impatiently interrupting him; “I have no other resource: I run stillgreater risque of perishing with cold by passing the night in theForest.”

“Passing the night in the Forest?” He replied; “Oh! by St.Denis! We are not in quite so bad a plight as that comes to yet. If I am notmistaken, we are scarcely five minutes walk from the Cottage of my old Friend,Baptiste. He is a Wood-cutter, and a very honest Fellow. I doubt not but Hewill shelter you for the night with pleasure. In the meantime I can take thesaddle-Horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be back with proper people to mend yourCarriage by break of day.”

“And in the name of God,” said I, “How could you leave me solong in suspense? Why did you not tell me of this Cottage sooner? Whatexcessive stupidity!”

“I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept....”

“Absurd! Come, come! Say no more, but conduct us without delay to theWood-man’s Cottage.”

He obeyed, and we moved onwards: The Horses contrived with some difficulty todrag the shattered vehicle after us. My Servant was become almost speechless,and I began to feel the effects of the cold myself, before we reached thewished-for Cottage. It was a small but neat Building: As we drew near it, Irejoiced at observing through the window the blaze of a comfortable fire. OurConductor knocked at the door: It was some time before any one answered; ThePeople within seemed in doubt whether we should be admitted.

“Come! Come, Friend Baptiste!” cried the Driver with impatience;“What are you about? Are you asleep? Or will you refuse a night’slodging to a Gentleman, whose Chaise has just broken down in the Forest?”

“Ah! is it you, honest Claude?” replied a Man’s voice fromwithin; “Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.”

Soon after the bolts were drawn back. The door was unclosed, and a Manpresented himself to us with a Lamp in his hand. He gave the Guide an heartyreception, and then addressed himself to me.

“Walk in, Monsieur; Walk in, and welcome! Excuse me for not admitting youat first: But there are so many Rogues about this place, that saving yourpresence, I suspected you to be one.”

Thus saying, He ushered me into the room, where I had observed the fire: I wasimmediately placed in an Easy Chair, which stood close to the Hearth. A Female,whom I supposed to be the Wife of my Host, rose from her seat upon my entrance,and received me with a slight and distant reverence. She made no answer to mycompliment, but immediately re-seating herself, continued the work on which Shehad been employed. Her Husband’s manners were as friendly as hers wereharsh and repulsive.

“I wish, I could lodge you more conveniently, Monsieur,” said He;“But we cannot boast of much spare room in this hovel. However, a chamberfor yourself, and another for your Servant, I think, we can make shift tosupply. You must content yourself with sorry fare; But to what we have, believeme, you are heartily welcome.” ——Then turning to hiswife—“Why, how you sit there, Marguerite, with as much tranquillityas if you had nothing better to do! Stir about, Dame! Stir about! Get somesupper; Look out some sheets; Here, here; throw some logs upon the fire, forthe Gentleman seems perished with cold.”

The wife threw her work hastily upon the Table, and proceeded to execute hiscommands with every mark of unwillingness. Her countenance had displeased me onthe first moment of my examining it. Yet upon the whole her features werehandsome unquestionably; But her skin was sallow, and her person thin andmeagre; A louring gloom over-spread her countenance; and it bore such visiblemarks of rancour and ill-will, as could not escape being noticed by the mostinattentive Observer. Her every look and action expressed discontent andimpatience, and the answers which She gave Baptiste, when He reproached hergood-humouredly for her dissatisfied air, were tart, short, and cutting. Infine, I conceived at first sight equal disgust for her, and prepossession infavour of her Husband, whose appearance was calculated to inspire esteem andconfidence. His countenance was open, sincere, and friendly; his manners hadall the Peasant’s honesty unaccompanied by his rudeness; His cheeks werebroad, full, and ruddy; and in the solidity of his person He seemed to offer anample apology for the leanness of his Wife’s. From the wrinkles on hisbrow I judged him to be turned of sixty; But He bore his years well, and seemedstill hearty and strong: The Wife could not be more than thirty, but in spiritsand vivacity She was infinitely older than the Husband.

However, in spite of her unwillingness, Marguerite began to prepare the supper,while the Wood-man conversed gaily on different subjects. The Postillion, whohad been furnished with a bottle of spirits, was now ready to set out forStrasbourg, and enquired, whether I had any further commands.

“For Strasbourg?” interrupted Baptiste; “You are not goingthither tonight?”

“I beg your pardon: If I do not fetch Workmen to mend the Chaise, How isMonsieur to proceed tomorrow?”

“That is true, as you say; I had forgotten the Chaise. Well, but Claude;You may at least eat your supper here? That can make you lose very little time,and Monsieur looks too kind-hearted to send you out with an empty stomach onsuch a bitter cold night as this is.”

To this I readily assented, telling the Postillion that my reaching Strasbourgthe next day an hour or two later would be perfectly immaterial. He thanked me,and then leaving the Cottage with Stephano, put up his Horses in theWood-man’s Stable. Baptiste followed them to the door, and looked outwith anxiety.

“’Tis a sharp biting wind!” said He; “I wonder, whatdetains my Boys so long! Monsieur, I shall show you two of the finest Lads,that ever stept in shoe of leather. The eldest is three and twenty, the seconda year younger: Their Equals for sense, courage, and activity, are not to befound within fifty miles of Strasbourg. Would They were back again! I begin tofeel uneasy about them.”

Marguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth.

“And are you equally anxious for the return of your Sons?” said Ito her.

“Not I!” She replied peevishly; “They are no children ofmine.”

“Come! Come, Marguerite!” said the Husband; “Do not be out ofhumour with the Gentleman for asking a simple question. Had you not looked socross, He would never have thought you old enough to have a Son of three andtwenty: But you see how many years ill-temper adds to you!—Excuse myWife’s rudeness, Monsieur. A little thing puts her out, and She issomewhat displeased at your not thinking her to be under thirty. That is thetruth, is it not, Marguerite? You know, Monsieur, that Age is always a ticklishsubject with a Woman. Come! come! Marguerite, clear up a little. If you havenot Sons as old, you will some twenty years hence, and I hope, that we shalllive to see them just such Lads as Jacques and Robert.”

Marguerite clasped her hands together passionately.

“God forbid!” said She; “God forbid! If I thought it, I wouldstrangle them with my own hands!”

She quitted the room hastily, and went up stairs.

I could not help expressing to the Wood-man how much I pitied him for beingchained for life to a Partner of such ill-humour.

“Ah! Lord! Monsieur, Every one has his share of grievances, andMarguerite has fallen to mine. Besides, after all She is only cross, and notmalicious. The worst is, that her affection for two children by a formerHusband makes her play the Step-mother with my two Sons. She cannot bear thesight of them, and by her good-will they would never set a foot within my door.But on this point I always stand firm, and never will consent to abandon thepoor Lads to the world’s mercy, as She has often solicited me to do. Inevery thing else I let her have her own way; and truly She manages a familyrarely, that I must say for her.”

We were conversing in this manner, when our discourse was interrupted by a loudhalloo, which rang through the Forest.

“My Sons, I hope!” exclaimed the Wood-man, and ran to open thedoor.

The halloo was repeated: We now distinguished the trampling of Horses, and soonafter a Carriage, attended by several Cavaliers stopped at the Cottage door.One of the Horsemen enquired how far they were still from Strasbourg. As Headdressed himself to me, I answered in the number of miles which Claude hadtold me; Upon which a volley of curses was vented against the Drivers forhaving lost their way. The Persons in the Coach were now informed of thedistance of Strasbourg, and also that the Horses were so fatigued as to beincapable of proceeding further. A Lady, who appeared to be the principal,expressed much chagrin at this intelligence; But as there was no remedy, one ofthe Attendants asked the Wood-man, whether He could furnish them with lodgingfor the night.

He seemed much embarrassed, and replied in the negative; Adding that a SpanishGentleman and his Servant were already in possession of the only spareapartments in his House. On hearing this, the gallantry of my nation would notpermit me to retain those accommodations, of which a Female was in want. Iinstantly signified to the Wood-man, that I transferred my right to the Lady;He made some objections; But I overruled them, and hastening to the Carriage,opened the door, and assisted the Lady to descend. I immediately recognized herfor the same person whom I had seen at the Inn at Luneville. I took anopportunity of asking one of her Attendants, what was her name?

“The Baroness Lindenberg,” was the answer.

I could not but remark how different a reception our Host had given thesenewcomers and myself. His reluctance to admit them was visibly expressed on hiscountenance, and He prevailed on himself with difficulty to tell the Lady thatShe was welcome. I conducted her into the House, and placed her in thearmed-chair, which I had just quitted. She thanked me very graciously; and madea thousand apologies for putting me to an inconvenience. Suddenly theWood-man’s countenance cleared up.

“At last I have arranged it!” said He, interrupting her excuses;“I can lodge you and your suite, Madam, and you will not be under thenecessity of making this Gentleman suffer for his politeness.

We have two spare chambers, one for the Lady, the other, Monsieur, for you: MyWife shall give up hers to the two Waiting-women; As for the Men-servants, theymust content themselves with passing the night in a large Barn, which stands ata few yards distance from the House. There they shall have a blazing fire, andas good a supper as we can make shift to give them.”

After several expressions of gratitude on the Lady’s part, and oppositionon mine to Marguerite’s giving up her bed, this arrangement was agreedto. As the Room was small, the Baroness immediately dismissed her MaleDomestics: Baptiste was on the point of conducting them to the Barn which Hehad mentioned when two young Men appeared at the door of the Cottage.

“Hell and Furies!” exclaimed the first starting back;“Robert, the House is filled with Strangers!”

“Ha! There are my Sons!” cried our Host. “Why, Jacques!Robert! whither are you running, Boys? There is room enough still foryou.”

Upon this assurance the Youths returned. The Father presented them to theBaroness and myself: After which He withdrew with our Domestics, while at therequest of the two Waiting-women, Marguerite conducted them to the roomdesigned for their Mistress.

The two new-comers were tall, stout, well-made young Men, hard-featured, andvery much sun-burnt. They paid their compliments to us in few words, andacknowledged Claude, who now entered the room, as an old acquaintance. Theythen threw aside their cloaks in which they were wrapped up, took off aleathern belt to which a large Cutlass was suspended, and each drawing a braceof pistols from his girdle laid them upon a shelf.

“You travel well-armed,” said I.

“True, Monsieur;” replied Robert. “We left Strasbourg latethis Evening, and ’tis necessary to take precautions at passing throughthis Forest after dark. It does not bear a good repute, I promise you.”

“How?” said the Baroness; “Are there Robbershereabout?”

“So it is said, Madame; For my own part, I have travelled through thewood at all hours, and never met with one of them.”

Here Marguerite returned. Her Stepsons drew her to the other end of the room,and whispered her for some minutes. By the looks which they cast towards us atintervals, I conjectured them to be enquiring our business in the Cottage.

In the meanwhile the Baroness expressed her apprehensions, that her Husbandwould be suffering much anxiety upon her account. She had intended to send onone of her Servants to inform the Baron of her delay; But the account which theyoung Men gave of the Forest rendered this plan impracticable. Claude relievedher from her embarrassment. He informed her that He was under the necessity ofreaching Strasbourg that night, and that would She trust him with a letter, Shemight depend upon its being safely delivered.

“And how comes it,” said I, “that you are under noapprehension of meeting these Robbers?”

“Alas! Monsieur, a poor Man with a large family must not lose certainprofit because ’tis attended with a little danger, and perhaps my Lordthe Baron may give me a trifle for my pains. Besides, I have nothing to loseexcept my life, and that will not be worth the Robbers taking.”

I thought his arguments bad, and advised his waiting till the Morning; But asthe Baroness did not second me, I was obliged to give up the point. TheBaroness Lindenberg, as I found afterwards, had long been accustomed tosacrifice the interests of others to her own, and her wish to send Claude toStrasbourg blinded her to the danger of the undertaking. Accordingly, it wasresolved that He should set out without delay. The Baroness wrote her letter toher Husband, and I sent a few lines to my Banker, apprising him that I shouldnot be at Strasbourg till the next day. Claude took our letters, and left theCottage.

The Lady declared herself much fatigued by her journey: Besides having comefrom some distance, the Drivers had contrived to lose their way in the Forest.She now addressed herself to Marguerite, desiring to be shown to her chamber,and permitted to take half an hour’s repose. One of the Waiting-women wasimmediately summoned; She appeared with a light, and the Baroness followed herup stairs. The cloth was spreading in the chamber where I was, and Margueritesoon gave me to understand that I was in her way. Her hints were too broad tobe easily mistaken; I therefore desired one of the young Men to conduct me tothe chamber where I was to sleep, and where I could remain till supper wasready.

“Which chamber is it, Mother?” said Robert.

“The One with green hangings,” She replied; “I have just beenat the trouble of getting it ready, and have put fresh sheets upon the Bed; Ifthe Gentleman chooses to lollop and lounge upon it, He may make it againhimself for me.”

“You are out of humour, Mother, but that is no novelty. Have the goodnessto follow me, Monsieur.”

He opened the door, and advanced towards a narrow staircase.

“You have got no light!” said Marguerite; “Is it your ownneck or the Gentleman’s that you have a mind to break?”

She crossed by me, and put a candle into Robert’s hand, having receivedwhich, He began to ascend the staircase. Jacques was employed in laying thecloth, and his back was turned towards me.

Marguerite seized the moment, when we were unobserved. She caught my hand, andpressed it strongly.

“Look at the Sheets!” said She as She passed me, and immediatelyresumed her former occupation.

Startled by the abruptness of her action, I remained as if petrified.Robert’s voice, desiring me to follow him, recalled me to myself. Iascended the staircase. My conductor ushered me into a chamber, where anexcellent wood-fire was blazing upon the hearth. He placed the light upon theTable, enquired whether I had any further commands, and on my replying in thenegative, He left me to myself. You may be certain that the moment when I foundmyself alone was that on which I complied with Marguerite’s injunction. Itook the candle, hastily approached the Bed, and turned down the Coverture.What was my astonishment, my horror, at finding the sheets crimsoned withblood!

At that moment a thousand confused ideas passed before my imagination. TheRobbers who infested the Wood, Marguerite’s exclamation respecting herChildren, the arms and appearance of the two young Men, and the variousAnecdotes which I had heard related, respecting the secret correspondence whichfrequently exists between Banditti and Postillions, all these circumstancesflashed upon my mind, and inspired me with doubt and apprehension. I ruminatedon the most probable means of ascertaining the truth of my conjectures.Suddenly I was aware of Someone below pacing hastily backwards and forwards.Every thing now appeared to me an object of suspicion. With precaution I drewnear the window, which, as the room had been long shut up, was left open inspite of the cold. I ventured to look out. The beams of the Moon permitted meto distinguish a Man, whom I had no difficulty to recognize for my Host. Iwatched his movements.

He walked swiftly, then stopped, and seemed to listen: He stamped upon theground, and beat his stomach with his arms as if to guard himself from theinclemency of the season. At the least noise, if a voice was heard in the lowerpart of the House, if a Bat flitted past him, or the wind rattled amidst theleafless boughs, He started, and looked round with anxiety.

“Plague take him!” said He at length with impatience; “Whatcan He be about!”

He spoke in a low voice; but as He was just below my window, I had nodifficulty to distinguish his words.

I now heard the steps of one approaching. Baptiste went towards the sound; Hejoined a man, whom his low stature and the Horn suspended from his neck,declared to be no other than my faithful Claude, whom I had supposed to bealready on his way to Strasbourg. Expecting their discourse to throw some lightupon my situation, I hastened to put myself in a condition to hear it withsafety. For this purpose I extinguished the candle, which stood upon a tablenear the Bed: The flame of the fire was not strong enough to betray me, and Iimmediately resumed my place at the window.

The objects of my curiosity had stationed themselves directly under it. Isuppose that during my momentary absence the Wood-man had been blaming Claudefor tardiness, since when I returned to the window, the latter was endeavouringto excuse his fault.

“However,” added He, “my diligence at present shall make upfor my past delay.”

“On that condition,” answered Baptiste, “I shall readilyforgive you. But in truth as you share equally with us in our prizes, your owninterest will make you use all possible diligence. ’Twould be a shame tolet such a noble booty escape us! You say, that this Spaniard is rich?”

“His Servant boasted at the Inn, that the effects in his Chaise wereworth above two thousand Pistoles.”

Oh! how I cursed Stephano’s imprudent vanity!

“And I have been told,” continued the Postillion, “that thisBaroness carries about her a casket of jewels of immense value.”

“May be so, but I had rather She had stayed away. The Spaniard was asecure prey. The Boys and myself could easily have mastered him and hisServant, and then the two thousand Pistoles would have been shared between usfour. Now we must let in the Band for a share, and perhaps the whole Covey mayescape us. Should our Friends have betaken themselves to their different postsbefore you reach the Cavern, all will be lost. The Lady’s Attendants aretoo numerous for us to overpower them: Unless our Associates arrive in time, wemust needs let these Travellers set out tomorrow without damage or hurt.”

“’Tis plaguy unlucky that my Comrades who drove the Coach should bethose unacquainted with our Confederacy! But never fear, Friend Baptiste. Anhour will bring me to the Cavern; It is now but ten o’clock, and bytwelve you may expect the arrival of the Band. By the bye, take care of yourWife: You know how strong is her repugnance to our mode of life, and She mayfind means to give information to the Lady’s Servants of ourdesign.”

“Oh! I am secure of her silence; She is too much afraid of me, and fondof her children, to dare to betray my secret. Besides, Jacques and Robert keepa strict eye over her, and She is not permitted to set a foot out of theCottage. The Servants are safely lodged in the Barn; I shall endeavour to keepall quiet till the arrival of our Friends. Were I assured of your finding them,the Strangers should be dispatched this instant; But as it is possible for youto miss the Banditti, I am fearful of being summoned to produce them by theirDomestics in the Morning.”

“And suppose either of the Travellers should discover your design?”

“Then we must poignard those in our power, and take our chance aboutmastering the rest. However, to avoid running such a risque, hasten to theCavern: The Banditti never leave it before eleven, and if you use diligence,you may reach it in time to stop them.”

“Tell Robert that I have taken his Horse: My own has broken his bridle,and escaped into the Wood. What is the watch-word?”

“The reward of Courage.”

“’Tis sufficient. I hasten to the Cavern.”

“And I to rejoin my Guests, lest my absence should create suspicion.Farewell, and be diligent.”

These worthy Associates now separated: The One bent his course towards theStable, while the Other returned to the House.

You may judge, what must have been my feelings during this conversation, ofwhich I lost not a single syllable. I dared not trust myself to my reflections,nor did any means present itself to escape the dangers which threatened me.Resistance, I knew to be vain; I was unarmed, and a single Man against Three:However, I resolved at least to sell my life as dearly as I could. Dreadinglest Baptiste should perceive my absence, and suspect me to have overheard themessage with which Claude was dispatched, I hastily relighted my candle andquitted the chamber. On descending, I found the Table spread for six Persons.The Baroness sat by the fireside: Marguerite was employed in dressing a sallad,and her Step-sons were whispering together at the further end of the room.Baptiste having the round of the Garden to make, ere He could reach the Cottagedoor, was not yet arrived. I seated myself quietly opposite to the Baroness.

A glance upon Marguerite told her that her hint had not been thrown away uponme. How different did She now appear to me! What before seemed gloom andsullenness, I now found to be disgust at her Associates, and compassion for mydanger. I looked up to her as to my only resource; Yet knowing her to bewatched by her Husband with a suspicious eye, I could place but little relianceon the exertions of her good-will.

In spite of all my endeavours to conceal it, my agitation was but too visiblyexpressed upon my countenance. I was pale, and both my words and actions weredisordered and embarrassed. The young Men observed this, and enquired thecause. I attributed it to excess of fatigue, and the violent effect produced onme by the severity of the season. Whether they believed me or not, I will notpretend to say: They at least ceased to embarrass me with their questions. Istrove to divert my attention from the perils which surrounded me, byconversing on different subjects with the Baroness. I talked of Germany,declaring my intention of visiting it immediately: God knows, that I littlethought at that moment of ever seeing it! She replied to me with great ease andpoliteness, professed that the pleasure of making my acquaintance amplycompensated for the delay in her journey, and gave me a pressing invitation tomake some stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. As She spoke thus, the Youthsexchanged a malicious smile, which declared that She would be fortunate if Sheever reached that Castle herself. This action did not escape me; But Iconcealed the emotion which it excited in my breast. I continued to conversewith the Lady; But my discourse was so frequently incoherent, that as She hassince informed me, She began to doubt whether I was in my right senses. Thefact was, that while my conversation turned upon one subject, my thoughts wereentirely occupied by another. I meditated upon the means of quitting theCottage, finding my way to the Barn, and giving the Domestics information ofour Host’s designs. I was soon convinced, how impracticable was theattempt. Jacques and Robert watched my every movement with an attentive eye,and I was obliged to abandon the idea. All my hopes now rested uponClaude’s not finding the Banditti: In that case, according to what I hadoverheard, we should be permitted to depart unhurt.

I shuddered involuntarily as Baptiste entered the room. He made many apologiesfor his long absence, but “He had been detained by affairs impossible tobe delayed.” He then entreated permission for his family to sup at thesame table with us, without which, respect would not authorize his taking sucha liberty. Oh! how in my heart I cursed the Hypocrite! How I loathed hispresence, who was on the point of depriving me of an existence, at that timeinfinitely dear! I had every reason to be satisfied with life; I had youth,wealth, rank, and education; and the fairest prospects presented themselvesbefore me. I saw those prospects on the point of closing in the most horriblemanner: Yet was I obliged to dissimulate, and to receive with a semblance ofgratitude the false civilities of him who held the dagger to my bosom.

The permission which our Host demanded, was easily obtained. We seatedourselves at the Table. The Baroness and myself occupied one side: The Sonswere opposite to us with their backs to the door. Baptiste took his seat by theBaroness at the upper end, and the place next to him was left for his Wife. Shesoon entered the room, and placed before us a plain but comfortablePeasant’s repast. Our Host thought it necessary to apologize for thepoorness of the supper: “He had not been apprized of our coming; He couldonly offer us such fare as had been intended for his own family:”

“But,” added He, “should any accident detain my noble Guestslonger than they at present intend, I hope to give them a bettertreatment.”

The Villain! I well knew the accident to which He alluded; I shuddered at thetreatment which He taught us to expect!

My Companion in danger seemed entirely to have got rid of her chagrin at beingdelayed. She laughed, and conversed with the family with infinite gaiety. Istrove but in vain to follow her example. My spirits were evidently forced, andthe constraint which I put upon myself escaped not Baptiste’sobservation.

“Come, come, Monsieur, cheer up!” said He; “You seem notquite recovered from your fatigue. To raise your spirits, what say you to aglass of excellent old wine which was left me by my Father? God rest his soul,He is in a better world! I seldom produce this wine; But as I am not honouredwith such Guests every day, this is an occasion which deserves a Bottle.”

He then gave his Wife a Key, and instructed her where to find the wine of whichHe spoke. She seemed by no means pleased with the commission; She took the Keywith an embarrassed air, and hesitated to quit the Table.

“Did you hear me?” said Baptiste in an angry tone.

Marguerite darted upon him a look of mingled anger and fear, and left thechamber. His eyes followed her suspiciously, till She had closed the door.

She soon returned with a bottle sealed with yellow wax. She placed it upon thetable, and gave the Key back to her Husband. I suspected that this liquor wasnot presented to us without design, and I watched Marguerite’s movementswith inquietude. She was employed in rinsing some small horn Goblets. As Sheplaced them before Baptiste, She saw that my eye was fixed upon her; and at themoment when She thought herself unobserved by the Banditti, She motioned to mewith her head not to taste the liquor, She then resumed her place.

In the mean while our Host had drawn the Cork, and filling two of the Goblets,offered them to the Lady and myself. She at first made some objections, but theinstances of Baptiste were so urgent, that She was obliged to comply. Fearingto excite suspicion, I hesitated not to take the Goblet presented to me. By itssmell and colour I guessed it to be Champagne; But some grains of powderfloating upon the top convinced me that it was not unadulterated. However, Idared not to express my repugnance to drinking it; I lifted it to my lips, andseemed to be swallowing it: Suddenly starting from my chair, I made the best ofmy way towards a Vase of water at some distance, in which Marguerite had beenrinsing the Goblets. I pretended to spit out the wine with disgust, and took anopportunity unperceived of emptying the liquor into the Vase.

The Banditti seemed alarmed at my action. Jacques half rose from his chair, puthis hand into his bosom, and I discovered the haft of a dagger. I returned tomy seat with tranquillity, and affected not to have observed their confusion.

“You have not suited my taste, honest Friend,” said I, addressingmyself to Baptiste. “I never can drink Champagne without its producing aviolent illness. I swallowed a few mouthfuls ere I was aware of its quality,and fear that I shall suffer for my imprudence.”

Baptiste and Jacques exchanged looks of distrust.

“Perhaps,” said Robert, “the smell may be disagreeable toyou.”

He quitted his chair, and removed the Goblet. I observed, that He examined,whether it was nearly empty.

“He must have drank sufficient,” said He to his Brother in a lowvoice, while He reseated himself.

Marguerite looked apprehensive, that I had tasted the liquor: A glance from myeye reassured her.

I waited with anxiety for the effects which the Beverage would produce upon theLady. I doubted not but the grains which I had observed were poisonous, andlamented that it had been impossible for me to warn her of the danger. But afew minutes had elapsed before I perceived her eyes grow heavy; Her head sankupon her shoulder, and She fell into a deep sleep. I affected not to attend tothis circumstance, and continued my conversation with Baptiste, with all theoutward gaiety in my power to assume. But He no longer answered me withoutconstraint. He eyed me with distrust and astonishment, and I saw that theBanditti were frequently whispering among themselves. My situation became everymoment more painful; I sustained the character of confidence with a worse gracethan ever. Equally afraid of the arrival of their Accomplices and of theirsuspecting my knowledge of their designs, I knew not how to dissipate thedistrust which the Banditti evidently entertained for me. In this new dilemmathe friendly Marguerite again assisted me. She passed behind the Chairs of herStepsons, stopped for a moment opposite to me, closed her eyes, and reclinedher head upon her shoulder. This hint immediately dispelled my incertitude. Ittold me, that I ought to imitate the Baroness, and pretend that the liquor hadtaken its full effect upon me. I did so, and in a few minutes seemed perfectlyovercome with slumber.

“So!” cried Baptiste, as I fell back in my chair; “At last Hesleeps! I began to think that He had scented our design, and that we shouldhave been forced to dispatch him at all events.”

“And why not dispatch him at all events?” enquired the ferociousJacques. “Why leave him the possibility of betraying our secret?Marguerite, give me one of my Pistols: A single touch of the trigger willfinish him at once.”

“And supposing,” rejoined the Father, “Supposing that ourFriends should not arrive tonight, a pretty figure we should make when theServants enquire for him in the Morning! No, no, Jacques; We must wait for ourAssociates. If they join us, we are strong enough to dispatch the Domestics aswell as their Masters, and the booty is our own; If Claude does not find theTroop, we must take patience, and suffer the prey to slip through our fingers.Ah! Boys, Boys, had you arrived but five minutes sooner, the Spaniard wouldhave been done for, and two thousand Pistoles our own. But you are always outof the way when you are most wanted.

You are the most unlucky Rogues!”

“Well, well, Father!” answered Jacques; “Had you been of mymind, all would have been over by this time. You, Robert, Claude, and myself,why the Strangers were but double the number, and I warrant you we might havemastered them. However, Claude is gone; ’Tis too late to think of it now.We must wait patiently for the arrival of the Gang; and if the Travellersescape us tonight, we must take care to waylay them tomorrow.”

“True! True!” said Baptiste; “Marguerite, have you given thesleeping-draught to the Waiting-women?”

She replied in the affirmative.

“All then is safe. Come, come, Boys; Whatever falls out, we have noreason to complain of this adventure. We run no danger, may gain much, and canlose nothing.”

At this moment I heard a trampling of Horses. Oh! how dreadful was the sound tomy ears. A cold sweat flowed down my forehead, and I felt all the terrors ofimpending death. I was by no means reassured by hearing the compassionateMarguerite exclaim in the accents of despair,

“Almighty God! They are lost!”

Luckily the Wood-man and his Sons were too much occupied by the arrival oftheir Associates to attend to me, or the violence of my agitation would haveconvinced them that my sleep was feigned.

“Open! Open!” exclaimed several voices on the outside of theCottage.

“Yes! Yes!” cried Baptiste joyfully; “They are our Friendssure enough! Now then our booty is certain. Away! Lads, Away! Lead them to theBarn; You know what is to be done there.”

Robert hastened to open the door of the Cottage.

“But first,” said Jacques, taking up his arms; “first let medispatch these Sleepers.”

“No, no, no!” replied his Father; “Go you to the Barn, whereyour presence is wanted. Leave me to take care of these and the Womenabove.”

Jacques obeyed, and followed his Brother. They seemed to converse with theNew-Comers for a few minutes: After which I heard the Robbers dismount, and asI conjectured, bend their course towards the Barn.

“So! That is wisely done!” muttered Baptiste; “They havequitted their Horses, that They may fall upon the Strangers by surprise. Good!Good! and now to business.”

I heard him approach a small Cupboard which was fixed up in a distant part ofthe room, and unlock it. At this moment I felt myself shaken gently.

“Now! Now!” whispered Marguerite.

I opened my eyes. Baptiste stood with his back towards me. No one else was inthe room save Marguerite and the sleeping Lady. The Villain had taken a daggerfrom the Cupboard and seemed examining whether it was sufficiently sharp. I hadneglected to furnish myself with arms; But I perceived this to be my onlychance of escaping, and resolved not to lose the opportunity. I sprang from myseat, darted suddenly upon Baptiste, and clasping my hands round his throat,pressed it so forcibly as to prevent his uttering a single cry. You mayremember that I was remarkable at Salamanca for the power of my arm: It nowrendered me an essential service. Surprised, terrified, and breathless, theVillain was by no means an equal Antagonist. I threw him upon the ground; Igrasped him still tighter; and while I fixed him without motion upon the floor,Marguerite, wresting the dagger from his hand, plunged it repeatedly in hisheart till He expired.

No sooner was this horrible but necessary act perpetrated than Margueritecalled on me to follow her.

“Flight is our only refuge!” said She; “Quick! Quick!Away!”

I hesitated not to obey her: but unwilling to leave the Baroness a victim tothe vengeance of the Robbers, I raised her in my arms still sleeping, andhastened after Marguerite. The Horses of the Banditti were fastened near thedoor: My Conductress sprang upon one of them. I followed her example, placedthe Baroness before me, and spurred on my Horse. Our only hope was to reachStrasbourg, which was much nearer than the perfidious Claude had assured me.Marguerite was well acquainted with the road, and galloped on before me. Wewere obliged to pass by the Barn, where the Robbers were slaughtering ourDomestics. The door was open: We distinguished the shrieks of the dying andimprecations of the Murderers! What I felt at that moment language is unable todescribe!

Jacques heard the trampling of our Horses as we rushed by the Barn. He flew tothe Door with a burning Torch in his hand, and easily recognised the Fugitives.

“Betrayed! Betrayed!” He shouted to his Companions.

Instantly they left their bloody work, and hastened to regain their Horses. Weheard no more. I buried my spurs in the sides of my Courser, and Margueritegoaded on hers with the poignard, which had already rendered us such goodservice. We flew like lightning, and gained the open plains. Already wasStrasbourg’s Steeple in sight, when we heard the Robbers pursuing us.Marguerite looked back, and distinguished our followers descending a small Hillat no great distance. It was in vain that we urged on our Horses; The noiseapproached nearer with every moment.

“We are lost!” She exclaimed; “The Villains gain uponus!”

“On! On!” replied I; “I hear the trampling of Horses comingfrom the Town.”

We redoubled our exertions, and were soon aware of a numerous band ofCavaliers, who came towards us at full speed. They were on the point of passingus.

“Stay! Stay!” shrieked Marguerite; “Save us! For God’ssake, save us!”

The Foremost, who seemed to act as Guide, immediately reined in his Steed.

“’Tis She! ’Tis She!” exclaimed He, springing upon theground; “Stop, my Lord, stop! They are safe! ’Tis my Mother!”

At the same moment Marguerite threw herself from her Horse, clasped him in herarms, and covered him with Kisses. The other Cavaliers stopped at theexclamation.

“The Baroness Lindenberg?” cried another of the Strangers eagerly;“Where is She? Is She not with you?”

He stopped on beholding her lying senseless in my arms. Hastily He caught herfrom me. The profound sleep in which She was plunged made him at first tremblefor her life; but the beating of her heart soon reassured him.

“God be thanked!” said He; “She has escaped unhurt.”

I interrupted his joy by pointing out the Brigands, who continued to approach.No sooner had I mentioned them than the greatest part of the Company, whichappeared to be chiefly composed of soldiers, hastened forward to meet them. TheVillains stayed not to receive their attack: Perceiving their danger theyturned the heads of their Horses, and fled into the wood, whither they werefollowed by our Preservers. In the mean while the Stranger, whom I guessed tobe the Baron Lindenberg, after thanking me for my care of his Lady, proposedour returning with all speed to the Town. The Baroness, on whom the effects ofthe opiate had not ceased to operate, was placed before him; Marguerite and herSon remounted their Horses; the Baron’s Domestics followed, and we soonarrived at the Inn, where He had taken his apartments.

This was at the Austrian Eagle, where my Banker, whom before my quitting ParisI had apprised of my intention to visit Strasbourg, had prepared Lodgings forme. I rejoiced at this circumstance. It gave me an opportunity of cultivatingthe Baron’s acquaintance, which I foresaw would be of use to me inGermany. Immediately upon our arrival the Lady was conveyed to bed; A Physicianwas sent for, who prescribed a medicine likely to counteract the effects of thesleepy potion, and after it had been poured down her throat, She was committedto the care of the Hostess. The Baron then addressed himself to me, andentreated me to recount the particulars of this adventure. I complied with hisrequest instantaneously; for in pain respecting Stephano’s fate, whom Ihad been compelled to abandon to the cruelty of the Banditti, I found itimpossible for me to repose, till I had some news of him. I received but toosoon the intelligence, that my trusty Servant had perished. The Soldiers whohad pursued the Brigands returned while I was employed in relating my adventureto the Baron. By their account I found that the Robbers had been overtaken:Guilt and true courage are incompatible; They had thrown themselves at the feetof their Pursuers, had surrendered themselves without striking a blow, haddiscovered their secret retreat, made known their signals by which the rest ofthe Gang might be seized, and in short had betrayed ever mark of cowardice andbaseness. By this means the whole of the Band, consisting of near sixtypersons, had been made Prisoners, bound, and conducted to Strasbourg. Some ofthe Soldiers hastened to the Cottage, One of the Banditti serving them asGuide. Their first visit was to the fatal Barn, where they were fortunateenough to find two of the Baron’s Servants still alive, thoughdesperately wounded. The rest had expired beneath the swords of the Robbers,and of these my unhappy Stephano was one.

Alarmed at our escape, the Robbers in their haste to overtake us, had neglectedto visit the Cottage. In consequence, the Soldiers found the two Waiting-womenunhurt, and buried in the same death-like slumber which had overpowered theirMistress. There was nobody else found in the Cottage, except a child not abovefour years old, which the Soldiers brought away with them. We were busyingourselves with conjectures respecting the birth of this little unfortunate,when Marguerite rushed into the room with the Baby in her arms. She fell at thefeet of the Officer who was making us this report, and blessed him a thousandtimes for the preservation of her Child.

When the first burst of maternal tenderness was over, I besought her todeclare, by what means She had been united to a Man whose principles seemed sototally discordant with her own. She bent her eyes downwards, and wiped a fewtears from her cheek.

“Gentlemen,” said She after a silence of some minutes, “Iwould request a favour of you: You have a right to know on whom you confer anobligation. I will not therefore stifle a confession which covers me withshame; But permit me to comprise it in as few words as possible.

“I was born in Strasbourg of respectable Parents; Their names I must atpresent conceal: My Father still lives, and deserves not to be involved in myinfamy; If you grant my request, you shall be informed of my family name. AVillain made himself Master of my affections, and to follow him I quitted myFather’s House. Yet though my passions overpowered my virtue, I sank notinto that degeneracy of vice, but too commonly the lot of Women who make thefirst false step. I loved my Seducer; dearly loved him! I was true to his Bed;this Baby, and the Youth who warned you, my Lord Baron, of your Lady’sdanger, are the pledges of our affection. Even at this moment I lament hisloss, though ’tis to him that I owe all the miseries of my existence.

“He was of noble birth, but He had squandered away his paternalinheritance. His Relations considered him as a disgrace to their name, andutterly discarded him. His excesses drew upon him the indignation of thePolice. He was obliged to fly from Strasbourg, and saw no other resource frombeggary than an union with the Banditti who infested the neighbouring Forest,and whose Troop was chiefly composed of Young Men of family in the samepredicament with himself. I was determined not to forsake him. I followed himto the Cavern of the Brigands, and shared with him the misery inseparable froma life of pillage. But though I was aware that our existence was supported byplunder, I knew not all the horrible circumstances attached to my Lover’sprofession. These He concealed from me with the utmost care; He was consciousthat my sentiments were not sufficiently depraved to look without horror uponassassination: He supposed, and with justice, that I should fly withdetestation from the embraces of a Murderer. Eight years of possession had notabated his love for me; and He cautiously removed from my knowledge everycircumstance, which might lead me to suspect the crimes in which He but toooften participated. He succeeded perfectly: It was not till after mySeducer’s death, that I discovered his hands to have been stained withthe blood of innocence.

“One fatal night He was brought back to the Cavern covered with wounds:He received them in attacking an English Traveller, whom his Companionsimmediately sacrificed to their resentment. He had only time to entreat mypardon for all the sorrows which He had caused me: He pressed my hand to hislips, and expired. My grief was inexpressible. As soon as its violence abated,I resolved to return to Strasbourg, to throw myself with my two Children at myFather’s feet, and implore his forgiveness, though I little hoped toobtain it. What was my consternation when informed that no one entrusted withthe secret of their retreat was ever permitted to quit the troop of theBanditti; That I must give up all hopes of ever rejoining society, and consentinstantly to accepting one of their Band for my Husband! My prayers andremonstrances were vain. They cast lots to decide to whose possession I shouldfall; I became the property of the infamous Baptiste. A Robber, who had oncebeen a Monk, pronounced over us a burlesque rather than a religious Ceremony: Iand my Children were delivered into the hands of my new Husband, and Heconveyed us immediately to his home.

“He assured me that He had long entertained for me the most ardentregard; But that Friendship for my deceased Lover had obliged him to stifle hisdesires. He endeavoured to reconcile me to my fate, and for some time treatedme with respect and gentleness: At length finding that my aversion ratherincreased than diminished, He obtained those favours by violence, which Ipersisted to refuse him. No resource remained for me but to bear my sorrowswith patience; I was conscious that I deserved them but too well. Flight wasforbidden: My Children were in the power of Baptiste, and He had sworn that ifI attempted to escape, their lives should pay for it. I had had too manyopportunities of witnessing the barbarity of his nature to doubt his fulfillinghis oath to the very letter. Sad experience had convinced me of the horrors ofmy situation: My first Lover had carefully concealed them from me; Baptisterather rejoiced in opening my eyes to the cruelties of his profession, andstrove to familiarise me with blood and slaughter.

“My nature was licentious and warm, but not cruel: My conduct had beenimprudent, but my heart was not unprincipled. Judge then what I must have feltat being a continual witness of crimes the most horrible and revolting! Judgehow I must have grieved at being united to a Man who received the unsuspectingGuest with an air of openness and hospitality, at the very moment that Hemeditated his destruction. Chagrin and discontent preyed upon my constitution:The few charms bestowed on me by nature withered away, and the dejection of mycountenance denoted the sufferings of my heart. I was tempted a thousand timesto put an end to my existence; But the remembrance of my Children held my hand.I trembled to leave my dear Boys in my Tyrant’s power, and trembled yetmore for their virtue than their lives. The Second was still too young tobenefit by my instructions; But in the heart of my Eldest I labouredunceasingly to plant those principles, which might enable him to avoid thecrimes of his Parents. He listened to me with docility, or rather witheagerness. Even at his early age, He showed that He was not calculated for thesociety of Villains; and the only comfort which I enjoyed among my sorrows, wasto witness the dawning virtues of my Theodore.

“Such was my situation, when the perfidy of Don Alphonso’spostillion conducted him to the Cottage. His youth, air, and manners interestedme most forcibly in his behalf. The absence of my Husband’s Sons gave mean opportunity which I had long wished to find, and I resolved to risque everything to preserve the Stranger. The vigilance of Baptiste prevented me fromwarning Don Alphonso of his danger: I knew that my betraying the secret wouldbe immediately punished with death; and however embittered was my life bycalamities, I wanted courage to sacrifice it for the sake of preserving that ofanother Person. My only hope rested upon procuring succour from Strasbourg: Atthis I resolved to try; and should an opportunity offer of warning Don Alphonsoof his danger unobserved, I was determined to seize it with avidity. ByBaptiste’s orders I went upstairs to make the Stranger’s Bed: Ispread upon it Sheets in which a Traveller had been murdered but a few nightsbefore, and which still were stained with blood. I hoped that these marks wouldnot escape the vigilance of our Guest, and that He would collect from them thedesigns of my perfidious Husband. Neither was this the only step which I tookto preserve the Stranger. Theodore was confined to his bed by illness. I stoleinto his room unobserved by my Tyrant, communicated to him my project, and Heentered into it with eagerness. He rose in spite of his malady, and dressedhimself with all speed. I fastened one of the Sheets round his arms, andlowered him from the Window. He flew to the Stable, took Claude’s Horse,and hastened to Strasbourg. Had He been accosted by the Banditti, He was tohave declared himself sent upon a message by Baptiste, but fortunately Hereached the Town without meeting any obstacle. Immediately upon his arrival atStrasbourg, He entreated assistance from the Magistrature: His Story passedfrom mouth to mouth, and at length came to the knowledge of my Lord the Baron.Anxious for the safety of his Lady, whom He knew would be upon the road thatEvening, it struck him that She might have fallen into the power of theRobbers. He accompanied Theodore who guided the Soldiers towards the Cottage,and arrived just in time to save us from falling once more into the hands ofour Enemies.”

Here I interrupted Marguerite to enquire why the sleepy potion had beenpresented to me. She said that Baptiste supposed me to have arms about me, andwished to incapacitate me from making resistance: It was a precaution which Healways took, since as the Travellers had no hopes of escaping, Despair wouldhave incited them to sell their lives dearly.

The Baron then desired Marguerite to inform him, what were her present plans. Ijoined him in declaring my readiness to show my gratitude to her for thepreservation of my life.

“Disgusted with a world,” She replied, “in which I have metwith nothing but misfortunes, my only wish is to retire into a Convent. Butfirst I must provide for my Children. I find that my Mother is no more,probably driven to an untimely grave by my desertion! My Father is stillliving; He is not an hard Man; Perhaps, Gentlemen, in spite of my ingratitudeand imprudence, your intercessions may induce him to forgive me, and to takecharge of his unfortunate Grand-sons. If you obtain this boon for me, you willrepay my services a thousand-fold!”

Both the Baron and myself assured Marguerite, that we would spare no pains toobtain her pardon: and that even should her Father be inflexible, She need beunder no apprehensions respecting the fate of her Children. I engaged myself toprovide for Theodore, and the Baron promised to take the youngest under hisprotection.

The grateful Mother thanked us with tears for what She called generosity, butwhich in fact was no more than a proper sense of our obligations to her. Shethen left the room to put her little Boy to bed, whom fatigue and sleep hadcompleatly overpowered.

The Baroness, on recovering and being informed from what dangers I had rescuedher, set no bounds to the expressions of her gratitude. She was joined sowarmly by her Husband in pressing me to accompany them to their Castle inBavaria, that I found it impossible to resist their entreaties. During a weekwhich we passed at Strasbourg, the interests of Marguerite were not forgotten:In our application to her Father we succeeded as amply as we could wish. Thegood old Man had lost his Wife: He had no Children but this unfortunateDaughter, of whom He had received no news for almost fourteen years. He wassurrounded by distant Relations, who waited with impatience for his decease inorder to get possession of his money. When therefore Marguerite appeared againso unexpectedly, He considered her as a gift from heaven: He received her andher Children with open arms, and insisted upon their establishing themselves inhis House without delay. The disappointed Cousins were obliged to give place.The old Man would not hear of his Daughter’s retiring into a Convent: Hesaid that She was too necessary to his happiness, and She was easily persuadedto relinquish her design. But no persuasions could induce Theodore to give upthe plan which I had at first marked out for him. He had attached himself to memost sincerely during my stay at Strasbourg; and when I was on the point ofleaving it, He besought me with tears to take him into my service: He set forthall his little talents in the most favourable colours, and tried to convince methat I should find him of infinite use to me upon the road. I was unwilling tocharge myself with a Lad but scarcely turned of thirteen, whom I knew couldonly be a burthen to me: However, I could not resist the entreaties of thisaffectionate Youth, who in fact possessed a thousand estimable qualities. Withsome difficulty He persuaded his relations to let him follow me, and thatpermission once obtained, He was dubbed with the title of my Page. Havingpassed a week at Strasbourg, Theodore and myself set out for Bavaria in companywith the Baron and his Lady. These Latter as well as myself had forcedMarguerite to accept several presents of value, both for herself, and heryoungest Son: On leaving her, I promised his Mother faithfully that I wouldrestore Theodore to her within the year.

I have related this adventure at length, Lorenzo, that you might understand themeans by which “The Adventurer, Alphonso d’Alvarada got introducedinto the Castle of Lindenberg.” Judge from this specimen how much faithshould be given to your Aunt’s assertions!

CHAPTER IV.

Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery hence!

MACBETH.

Continuation of the History of Don Raymond.

My journey was uncommonly agreeable: I found the Baron a Man of some sense, butlittle knowledge of the world. He had past a great part of his life withoutstirring beyond the precincts of his own domains, and consequently his mannerswere far from being the most polished: But He was hearty, good-humoured, andfriendly. His attention to me was all that I could wish, and I had every reasonto be satisfied with his behaviour. His ruling passion was Hunting, which Hehad brought himself to consider as a serious occupation; and when talking oversome remarkable chace, He treated the subject with as much gravity as it hadbeen a Battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending. I happened to bea tolerable Sportsman: Soon after my arrival at Lindenberg I gave some proofsof my dexterity. The Baron immediately marked me down for a Man of Genius, andvowed to me an eternal friendship.

That friendship was become to me by no means indifferent. At the Castle ofLindenberg I beheld for the first time your Sister, the lovely Agnes. For mewhose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved at the void, to see her and to loveher were the same. I found in Agnes all that was requisite to secure myaffection. She was then scarcely sixteen; Her person light and elegant wasalready formed; She possessed several talents in perfection, particularly thoseof Music and drawing: Her character was gay, open, and good-humoured; and thegraceful simplicity of her dress and manners formed an advantageous contrast tothe art and studied Coquetry of the Parisian Dames, whom I had just quitted.From the moment that I beheld her, I felt the most lively interest in her fate.I made many enquiries respecting her of the Baroness.

“She is my Niece,” replied that Lady; “You are stillignorant, Don Alphonso, that I am your Countrywoman. I am Sister to the Duke ofMedina Celi: Agnes is the Daughter of my second Brother, Don Gaston: She hasbeen destined to the Convent from her cradle, and will soon make her professionat Madrid.”

(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of surprise.

“Intended for the Convent from her cradle?” said He; “Byheaven, this is the first word that I ever heard of such a design!”

“I believe it, my dear Lorenzo,” answered Don Raymond; “Butyou must listen to me with patience. You will not be less surprised, when Irelate some particulars of your family still unknown to you, and which I havelearnt from the mouth of Agnes herself.”

He then resumed his narrative as follows.)

You cannot but be aware that your Parents were unfortunately Slaves to thegrossest superstition: When this foible was called into play, their every othersentiment, their every other passion yielded to its irresistible strength.While She was big with Agnes, your Mother was seized by a dangerous illness,and given over by her Physicians. In this situation, Donna Inesilla vowed, thatif She recovered from her malady, the Child then living in her bosom if a Girlshould be dedicated to St. Clare, if a Boy to St. Benedict. Her prayers wereheard; She got rid of her complaint; Agnes entered the world alive, and wasimmediately destined to the service of St. Clare.

Don Gaston readily chimed in with his Lady’s wishes: But knowing thesentiments of the Duke, his Brother, respecting a Monastic life, it wasdetermined that your Sister’s destination should be carefully concealedfrom him. The better to guard the secret, it was resolved that Agnes shouldaccompany her Aunt, Donna Rodolpha into Germany, whither that Lady was on thepoint of following her new-married Husband, Baron Lindenberg. On her arrival atthat Estate, the young Agnes was put into a Convent, situated but a few milesfrom the Castle. The Nuns to whom her education was confided performed theircharge with exactitude: They made her a perfect Mistress of many talents, andstrove to infuse into her mind a taste for the retirement and tranquilpleasures of a Convent. But a secret instinct made the young Recluse sensiblethat She was not born for solitude: In all the freedom of youth and gaiety, Shescrupled not to treat as ridiculous many ceremonies which the Nuns regardedwith awe; and She was never more happy than when her lively imaginationinspired her with some scheme to plague the stiff Lady Abbess, or the uglyill-tempered old Porteress. She looked with disgust upon the prospect beforeher: However no alternative was offered to her, and She submitted to the decreeof her Parents, though not without secret repining.

That repugnance She had not art enough to conceal long: Don Gaston was informedof it. Alarmed, Lorenzo, lest your affection for her should oppose itself tohis projects, and lest you should positively object to your Sister’smisery, He resolved to keep the whole affair from your knowledge as wellas the Duke’s, till the sacrifice should be consummated. The season ofher taking the veil was fixed for the time when you should be upon yourtravels: In the meanwhile no hint was dropped of Donna Inesilla’s fatalvow. Your Sister was never permitted to know your direction. All your letterswere read before She received them, and those parts effaced, which were likelyto nourish her inclination for the world: Her answers were dictated either byher Aunt, or by Dame Cunegonda, her Governess. These particulars I learntpartly from Agnes, partly from the Baroness herself.

I immediately determined upon rescuing this lovely Girl from a fate so contraryto her inclinations, and ill-suited to her merit. I endeavoured to ingratiatemyself into her favour: I boasted of my friendship and intimacy with you. Shelistened to me with avidity; She seemed to devour my words while I spoke inyour praise, and her eyes thanked me for my affection to her Brother. Myconstant and unremitted attention at length gained me her heart, and withdifficulty I obliged her to confess that She loved me. When however, I proposedher quitting the Castle of Lindenberg, She rejected the idea in positive terms.

“Be generous, Alphonso,” She said; “You possess my heart, butuse not the gift ignobly. Employ not your ascendancy over me in persuading meto take a step, at which I should hereafter have to blush. I am young anddeserted: My Brother, my only Friend, is separated from me, and my otherRelations act with me as my Enemies. Take pity on my unprotected situation.Instead of seducing me to an action which would cover me with shame, striverather to gain the affections of those who govern me. The Baron esteems you. MyAunt, to others ever harsh proud and contemptuous, remembers that you rescuedher from the hands of Murderers, and wears with you alone the appearance ofkindness and benignity. Try then your influence over my Guardians. If theyconsent to our union my hand is yours: From your account of my Brother, Icannot doubt your obtaining his approbation: And when they find theimpossibility of executing their design, I trust that my Parents will excuse mydisobedience, and expiate by some other sacrifice my Mother’s fatalvow.”

From the first moment that I beheld Agnes, I had endeavoured to conciliate thefavour of her Relations. Authorised by the confession of her regard, Iredoubled my exertions. My principal Battery was directed against the Baroness;It was easy to discover that her word was law in the Castle: Her Husband paidher the most absolute submission, and considered her as a superior Being. Shewas about forty: In her youth She had been a Beauty; But her charms had beenupon that large scale which can but ill sustain the shock of years: However Shestill possessed some remains of them. Her understanding was strong andexcellent when not obscured by prejudice, which unluckily was but seldom thecase. Her passions were violent: She spared no pains to gratify them, andpursued with unremitting vengeance those who opposed themselves to her wishes.The warmest of Friends, the most inveterate of Enemies, such was the BaronessLindenberg.

I laboured incessantly to please her: Unluckily I succeeded but too well. Sheseemed gratified by my attention, and treated me with a distinction accorded byher to no one else. One of my daily occupations was reading to her for severalhours: Those hours I should much rather have past with Agnes; But as I wasconscious that complaisance for her Aunt would advance our union, I submittedwith a good grace to the penance imposed upon me. Donna Rodolpha’sLibrary was principally composed of old Spanish Romances: These were herfavourite studies, and once a day one of these unmerciful Volumes was putregularly into my hands. I read the wearisome adventures of“Perceforest,” “Tirante the White,” “Palmerin ofEngland,” and “the Knight of the Sun,” till the Book was onthe point of falling from my hands through Ennui. However, the increasingpleasure which the Baroness seemed to take in my society, encouraged me topersevere; and latterly She showed for me a partiality so marked, that Agnesadvised me to seize the first opportunity of declaring our mutual passion toher Aunt.

One Evening, I was alone with Donna Rodolpha in her own apartment. As ourreadings generally treated of love, Agnes was never permitted to assist atthem. I was just congratulating myself on having finished “The Loves ofTristan and the Queen Iseult——”

“Ah! The Unfortunates!” cried the Baroness; “How say you,Segnor? Do you think it possible for Man to feel an attachment so disinterestedand sincere?”

“I cannot doubt it,” replied I; “My own heart furnishes mewith the certainty. Ah! Donna Rodolpha, might I but hope for your approbationof my love! Might I but confess the name of my Mistress without incurring yourresentment!”

She interrupted me.

“Suppose, I were to spare you that confession? Suppose I were toacknowledge that the object of your desires is not unknown to me? Suppose Iwere to say that She returns your affection, and laments not less sincerelythan yourself the unhappy vows which separate her from you?”

“Ah! Donna Rodolpha!” I exclaimed, throwing myself upon my kneesbefore her, and pressing her hand to my lips, “You have discovered mysecret! What is your decision? Must I despair, or may I reckon upon yourfavour?”

She withdrew not the hand which I held; But She turned from me, and covered herface with the other.

“How can I refuse it you?” She replied; “Ah! Don Alphonso, Ihave long perceived to whom your attentions were directed, but till now Iperceived not the impression which they made upon my heart.

At length I can no longer hide my weakness either from myself or from you. Iyield to the violence of my passion, and own that I adore you! For three longmonths I stifled my desires; But grown stronger by resistance, I submit totheir impetuosity. Pride, fear, and honour, respect for myself, and myengagements to the Baron, all are vanquished. I sacrifice them to my love foryou, and it still seems to me that I pay too mean a price for yourpossession.”

She paused for an answer.—Judge, my Lorenzo, what must have been myconfusion at this discovery. I at once saw all the magnitude of this obstacle,which I had raised myself to my happiness. The Baroness had placed thoseattentions to her own account, which I had merely paid her for the sake ofAgnes: And the strength of her expressions, the looks which accompanied them,and my knowledge of her revengeful disposition made me tremble for myself andmy Beloved. I was silent for some minutes. I knew not how to reply to herdeclaration: I could only resolve to clear up the mistake without delay, andfor the present to conceal from her knowledge the name of my Mistress. Nosooner had She avowed her passion than the transports which before were evidentin my features gave place to consternation and constraint. I dropped her hand,and rose from my knees. The change in my countenance did not escape herobservation.

“What means this silence?” said She in a trembling voice;“Where is that joy which you led me to expect?”

“Forgive me, Segnora,” I answered, “if what necessity forcesfrom me should seem harsh and ungrateful: To encourage you in an error, which,however it may flatter myself, must prove to you the source of disappointment,would make me appear criminal in every eye. Honour obliges me to inform youthat you have mistaken for the solicitude of Love what was only the attentionof Friendship. The latter sentiment is that which I wished to excite in yourbosom: To entertain a warmer, respect for you forbids me, and gratitude for theBaron’s generous treatment. Perhaps these reasons would not be sufficientto shield me from your attractions, were it not that my affections are alreadybestowed upon another. You have charms, Segnora, which might captivate the mostinsensible; No heart unoccupied could resist them. Happy is it for me that mineis no longer in my possession; or I should have to reproach myself for everwith having violated the Laws of Hospitality. Recollect yourself, noble Lady;Recollect what is owed by you to honour, by me to the Baron, and replace byesteem and friendship those sentiments which I never can return.”

The Baroness turned pale at this unexpected and positive declaration: Shedoubted whether She slept or woke. At length recovering from her surprise,consternation gave place to rage, and the blood rushed back into her cheekswith violence.

“Villain!” She cried; “Monster of deceit! Thus is the avowalof my love received? Is it thus that.... But no, no! It cannot, it shall notbe! Alphonso, behold me at your feet! Be witness of my despair! Look with pityon a Woman who loves you with sincere affection! She who possesses your heart,how has She merited such a treasure? What sacrifice has She made to you?

What raises her above Rodolpha?”

I endeavoured to lift her from her Knees.

“For God’s sake, Segnora, restrain these transports: They disgraceyourself and me. Your exclamations may be heard, and your secret divulged toyour Attendants. I see that my presence only irritates you: permit me toretire.”

I prepared to quit the apartment: The Baroness caught me suddenly by the arm.

“And who is this happy Rival?” said She in a menacing tone;“I will know her name, and when I know it.... ! She is someone in mypower; You entreated my favour, my protection! Let me but find her, let me butknow who dares to rob me of your heart, and She shall suffer every tormentwhich jealousy and disappointment can inflict! Who is She? Answer me thismoment. Hope not to conceal her from my vengeance! Spies shall be set over you;every step, every look shall be watched; Your eyes will discover my Rival; Ishall know her, and when She is found, tremble, Alphonso for her and foryourself!”

As She uttered these last words her fury mounted to such a pitch as to stop herpowers of respiration. She panted, groaned, and at length fainted away. As Shewas falling I caught her in my arms, and placed her upon a Sopha. Thenhastening to the door, I summoned her Women to her assistance; I committed herto their care, and seized the opportunity of escaping.

Agitated and confused beyond expression I bent my steps towards the Garden. Thebenignity with which the Baroness had listened to me at first raised my hopesto the highest pitch: I imagined her to have perceived my attachment for herNiece, and to approve of it. Extreme was my disappointment at understanding thetrue purport of her discourse. I knew not what course to take: The superstitionof the Parents of Agnes, aided by her Aunt’s unfortunate passion, seemedto oppose such obstacles to our union as were almost insurmountable.

As I past by a low parlour, whose windows looked into the Garden, through thedoor which stood half open I observed Agnes seated at a Table. She was occupiedin drawing, and several unfinished sketches were scattered round her. Ientered, still undetermined whether I should acquaint her with the declarationof the Baroness.

“Oh! is it only you?” said She, raising her head; “You are noStranger, and I shall continue my occupation without ceremony. Take a Chair,and seat yourself by me.”

I obeyed, and placed myself near the Table. Unconscious what I was doing, andtotally occupied by the scene which had just passed, I took up some of thedrawings, and cast my eye over them. One of the subjects struck me from itssingularity. It represented the great Hall of the Castle of Lindenberg. A doorconducting to a narrow staircase stood half open. In the foreground appeared aGroupe of figures, placed in the most grotesque attitudes; Terror was expressedupon every countenance.

Here was One upon his knees with his eyes cast up to heaven, and praying mostdevoutly; There Another was creeping away upon all fours. Some hid their facesin their cloaks or the laps of their Companions; Some had concealed themselvesbeneath a Table, on which the remnants of a feast were visible; While Otherswith gaping mouths and eyes wide-stretched pointed to a Figure, supposed tohave created this disturbance. It represented a Female of more than humanstature, clothed in the habit of some religious order. Her face was veiled; Onher arm hung a chaplet of beads; Her dress was in several places stained withthe blood which trickled from a wound upon her bosom. In one hand She held aLamp, in the other a large Knife, and She seemed advancing towards the irongates of the Hall.

“What does this mean, Agnes?” said I; “Is this some inventionof your own?”

She cast her eye upon the drawing.

“Oh! no,” She replied; “’Tis the invention of muchwiser heads than mine. But can you possibly have lived at Lindenberg for threewhole Months without hearing of the Bleeding Nun?”

“You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me. Pray, who may theLady be?”

“That is more than I can pretend to tell you. All my knowledge of herHistory comes from an old tradition in this family, which has been handed downfrom Father to Son, and is firmly credited throughout the Baron’sdomains. Nay, the Baron believes it himself; and as for my Aunt who has anatural turn for the marvellous, She would sooner doubt the veracity of theBible, than of the Bleeding Nun. Shall I tell you this History?”

I answered that She would oblige me much by relating it: She resumed herdrawing, and then proceeded as follows in a tone of burlesqued gravity.

“It is surprising that in all the Chronicles of past times, thisremarkable Personage is never once mentioned. Fain would I recount to you herlife; But unluckily till after her death She was never known to have existed.Then first did She think it necessary to make some noise in the world, and withthat intention She made bold to seize upon the Castle of Lindenberg. Having agood taste, She took up her abode in the best room of the House: and onceestablished there, She began to amuse herself by knocking about the tables andchairs in the middle of the night. Perhaps She was a bad Sleeper, but this Ihave never been able to ascertain. According to the tradition, thisentertainment commenced about a Century ago. It was accompanied with shrieking,howling, groaning, swearing, and many other agreeable noises of the same kind.But though one particular room was more especially honoured with her visits,She did not entirely confine herself to it. She occasionally ventured into theold Galleries, paced up and down the spacious Halls, or sometimes stopping atthe doors of the Chambers, She wept and wailed there to the universal terror ofthe Inhabitants. In these nocturnal excursions She was seen by differentPeople, who all describe her appearance as you behold it here, traced by thehand of her unworthy Historian.”

The singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention.

“Did She never speak to those who met her?” said I.

“Not She. The specimens indeed, which She gave nightly of her talents forconversation, were by no means inviting. Sometimes the Castle rung with oathsand execrations: A Moment after She repeated her Paternoster: Now She howledout the most horrible blasphemies, and then chaunted De Profundis, as orderlyas if still in the Choir. In short She seemed a mighty capricious Being: Butwhether She prayed or cursed, whether She was impious or devout, She alwayscontrived to terrify her Auditors out of their senses. The Castle becamescarcely habitable; and its Lord was so frightened by these midnight Revels,that one fine morning He was found dead in his bed. This success seemed toplease the Nun mightily, for now She made more noise than ever. But the nextBaron proved too cunning for her. He made his appearance with a celebratedExorciser in his hand, who feared not to shut himself up for a night in thehaunted Chamber. There it seems that He had an hard battle with the Ghost,before She would promise to be quiet. She was obstinate, but He was more so,and at length She consented to let the Inhabitants of the Castle take a goodnight’s rest. For some time after no news was heard of her. But at theend of five years the Exorciser died, and then the Nun ventured to peep abroadagain. However, She was now grown much more tractable and well-behaved. Shewalked about in silence, and never made her appearance above once in fiveyears. This custom, if you will believe the Baron, She still continues. He isfully persuaded, that on the fifth of May of every fifth year, as soon as theClock strikes One, the Door of the haunted Chamber opens. (Observe, that thisroom has been shut up for near a Century.) Then out walks the Ghostly Nun withher Lamp and dagger: She descends the staircase of the Eastern Tower; andcrosses the great Hall! On that night the Porter always leaves the Gates of theCastle open, out of respect to the Apparition: Not that this is thought by anymeans necessary, since She could easily whip through the Keyhole if She choseit; But merely out of politeness, and to prevent her from making her exit in away so derogatory to the dignity of her Ghost-ship.”

“And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?”

“To Heaven, I hope; But if She does, the place certainly is not to hertaste, for She always returns after an hour’s absence. The Lady thenretires to her chamber, and is quiet for another five years.”

“And you believe this, Agnes?”

“How can you ask such a question? No, no, Alphonso! I have too muchreason to lament superstition’s influence to be its Victim myself.However I must not avow my incredulity to the Baroness: She entertains not adoubt of the truth of this History. As to Dame Cunegonda, my Governess, Sheprotests that fifteen years ago She saw the Spectre with her own eyes. Sherelated to me one evening how She and several other Domestics had beenterrified while at Supper by the appearance of the Bleeding Nun, as the Ghostis called in the Castle: ’Tis from her account that I drew this sketch,and you may be certain that Cunegonda was not omitted. There She is! I shallnever forget what a passion She was in, and how ugly She looked while Shescolded me for having made her picture so like herself!”

Here She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an attitude ofterror.

In spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help smiling at theplayful imagination of Agnes: She had perfectly preserved DameCunegonda’s resemblance, but had so much exaggerated every fault, andrendered every feature so irresistibly laughable, that I could easily conceivethe Duenna’s anger.

“The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessedsuch talents for the ridiculous.”

“Stay a moment,” She replied; “I will show you a figure stillmore ridiculous than Dame Cunegonda’s. If it pleases you, you may disposeof it as seems best to yourself.”

She rose, and went to a Cabinet at some little distance. Unlocking a drawer,She took out a small case, which She opened, and presented to me.

“Do you know the resemblance?” said She smiling.

It was her own.

Transported at the gift, I pressed the portrait to my lips with passion: Ithrew myself at her feet, and declared my gratitude in the warmest and mostaffectionate terms. She listened to me with complaisance, and assured me thatShe shared my sentiments: When suddenly She uttered a loud shriek, disengagedthe hand which I held, and flew from the room by a door which opened to theGarden. Amazed at this abrupt departure, I rose hastily from my knees. I beheldwith confusion the Baroness standing near me glowing with jealousy, and almostchoaked with rage. On recovering from her swoon, She had tortured herimagination to discover her concealed Rival. No one appeared to deserve hersuspicions more than Agnes. She immediately hastened to find her Niece, tax herwith encouraging my addresses, and assure herself whether her conjectures werewell-grounded. Unfortunately She had already seen enough to need no otherconfirmation. She arrived at the door of the room at the precise moment, whenAgnes gave me her Portrait. She heard me profess an everlasting attachment toher Rival, and saw me kneeling at her feet. She advanced to separate us; Wewere too much occupied by each other to perceive her approach, and were notaware of it, till Agnes beheld her standing by my side.

Rage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for some time keptus both silent. The Lady recovered herself first.

“My suspicions then were just,” said She; “The Coquetry of myNiece has triumphed, and ’tis to her that I am sacrificed. In one respecthowever I am fortunate: I shall not be the only one who laments a disappointedpassion. You too shall know, what it is to love without hope! I daily expectorders for restoring Agnes to her Parents. Immediately upon her arrival inSpain, She will take the veil, and place an insuperable barrier to your union.You may spare your supplications.” She continued, perceiving me on thepoint of speaking; “My resolution is fixed and immoveable. Your Mistressshall remain a close Prisoner in her chamber till She exchanges this Castle forthe Cloister. Solitude will perhaps recall her to a sense of her duty: But toprevent your opposing that wished event, I must inform you, Don Alphonso, thatyour presence here is no longer agreeable either to the Baron or Myself. It wasnot to talk nonsense to my Niece that your Relations sent you to Germany: Yourbusiness was to travel, and I should be sorry to impede any longer so excellenta design. Farewell, Segnor; Remember, that tomorrow morning we meet for thelast time.”

Having said this, She darted upon me a look of pride, contempt, and malice, andquitted the apartment. I also retired to mine, and consumed the night inplanning the means of rescuing Agnes from the power of her tyrannical Aunt.

After the positive declaration of its Mistress, it was impossible for me tomake a longer stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. Accordingly I the next dayannounced my immediate departure. The Baron declared that it gave him sincerepain; and He expressed himself in my favour so warmly, that I endeavoured towin him over to my interest. Scarcely had I mentioned the name of Agnes when Hestopped me short, and said, that it was totally out of his power to interferein the business. I saw that it was in vain to argue; The Baroness governed herHusband with despotic sway, and I easily perceived that She had prejudiced himagainst the match. Agnes did not appear: I entreated permission to take leaveof her, but my prayer was rejected. I was obliged to depart without seeing her.

At quitting him the Baron shook my hand affectionately, and assured me that assoon as his Niece was gone, I might consider his House as my own.

“Farewell, Don Alphonso!” said the Baroness, and stretched out herhand to me.

I took it, and offered to carry it to my lips. She prevented me.

Her Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing.

“Take care of yourself,” She continued; “My love is becomehatred, and my wounded pride shall not be unatoned. Go where you will, myvengeance shall follow you!”

She accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me tremble. Ianswered not, but hastened to quit the Castle.

As my Chaise drove out of the Court, I looked up to the windows of yourSister’s chamber. Nobody was to be seen there: I threw myself backdespondent in my Carriage. I was attended by no other servants than a Frenchmanwhom I had hired at Strasbourg in Stephano’s room, and my little Pagewhom I before mentioned to you. The fidelity, intelligence, and good temper ofTheodore had already made him dear to me; But He now prepared to lay anobligation on me, which made me look upon him as a Guardian Genius. Scarcelyhad we proceeded half a mile from the Castle, when He rode up to theChaise-door.

“Take courage, Segnor!” said He in Spanish, which He had alreadylearnt to speak with fluency and correctness. “While you were with theBaron, I watched the moment when Dame Cunegonda was below stairs, and mountedinto the chamber over that of Donna Agnes. I sang as loud as I could a littleGerman air well-known to her, hoping that She would recollect my voice. I wasnot disappointed, for I soon heard her window open. I hastened to let down astring with which I had provided myself: Upon hearing the casement closedagain, I drew up the string, and fastened to it I found this scrap ofpaper.”

He then presented me with a small note addressed to me. I opened it withimpatience: It contained the following words written in pencil:

“Conceal yourself for the next fortnight in some neighbouring Village. My Auntwill believe you to have quitted Lindenberg, and I shall be restored toliberty. I will be in the West Pavilion at twelve on the night of thethirtieth. Fail not to be there, and we shall have an opportunity of concertingour future plans. Adieu.

“AGNES.”

At perusing these lines my transports exceeded all bounds; Neither did I setany to the expressions of gratitude which I heaped upon Theodore. In fact hisaddress and attention merited my warmest praise. You will readily believe thatI had not entrusted him with my passion for Agnes; But the arch Youth had toomuch discernment not to discover my secret, and too much discretion not toconceal his knowledge of it. He observed in silence what was going on, norstrove to make himself an Agent in the business till my interests required hisinterference. I equally admired his judgment, his penetration, his address, andhis fidelity. This was not the first occasion in which I had found him ofinfinite use, and I was every day more convinced of his quickness and capacity.During my short stay at Strasbourg, He had applied himself diligently tolearning the rudiments of Spanish: He continued to study it, and with so muchsuccess that He spoke it with the same facility as his native language. He pastthe greatest part of his time in reading; He had acquired much information forhis Age; and united the advantages of a lively countenance and prepossessingfigure to an excellent understanding and the very best of hearts. He is nowfifteen; He is still in my service, and when you see him, I am sure that Hewill please you. But excuse this digression: I return to the subject which Iquitted.

I obeyed the instructions of Agnes. I proceeded to Munich. There I left myChaise under the care of Lucas, my French Servant, and then returned onHorseback to a small Village about four miles distant from the Castle ofLindenberg. Upon arriving there a story was related to the Host at whose Inn Idescended, which prevented his wondering at my making so long a stay in hisHouse. The old Man fortunately was credulous and incurious: He believed all Isaid, and sought to know no more than what I thought proper to tell him. Nobodywas with me but Theodore; Both were disguised, and as we kept ourselves close,we were not suspected to be other than what we seemed. In this manner thefortnight passed away. During that time I had the pleasing conviction thatAgnes was once more at liberty. She past through the Village with DameCunegonda: She seemed in health and spirits, and talked to her Companionwithout any appearance of constraint.

“Who are those Ladies?” said I to my Host, as the Carriage past.

“Baron Lindenberg’s Niece with her Governess,” He replied;“She goes regularly every Friday to the Convent of St. Catharine, inwhich She was brought up, and which is situated about a mile from hence.”

You may be certain that I waited with impatience for the ensuing Friday. Iagain beheld my lovely Mistress. She cast her eyes upon me, as She passed theInn-door. A blush which overspread her cheek told me that in spite of mydisguise I had been recognised. I bowed profoundly. She returned the complimentby a slight inclination of the head as if made to one inferior, and lookedanother way till the Carriage was out of sight.

The long-expected, long-wished for night arrived. It was calm, and the Moon wasat the full. As soon as the Clock struck eleven I hastened to my appointment,determined not to be too late. Theodore had provided a Ladder; I ascended theGarden wall without difficulty; The Page followed me, and drew the Ladder afterus. I posted myself in the West Pavilion, and waited impatiently for theapproach of Agnes. Every breeze that whispered, every leaf that fell, Ibelieved to be her footstep, and hastened to meet her. Thus was I obliged topass a full hour, every minute of which appeared to me an age. The Castle Bellat length tolled twelve, and scarcely could I believe the night to be nofurther advanced. Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and I heard the lightfoot of my Mistress approaching the Pavilion with precaution. I flew to receiveher, and conducted her to a seat. I threw myself at her feet, and wasexpressing my joy at seeing her, when She thus interrupted me.

“We have no time to lose, Alphonso: The moments are precious, for thoughno more a Prisoner, Cunegonda watches my every step. An express is arrived frommy Father; I must depart immediately for Madrid, and ’tis with difficultythat I have obtained a week’s delay. The superstition of my Parents,supported by the representations of my cruel Aunt, leaves me no hope ofsoftening them to compassion. In this dilemma I have resolved to commit myselfto your honour: God grant that you may never give me cause to repent myresolution! Flight is my only resource from the horrors of a Convent, and myimprudence must be excused by the urgency of the danger. Now listen to the planby which I hope to effect my escape.

“We are now at the thirtieth of April. On the fifth day from this theVisionary Nun is expected to appear. In my last visit to the Convent I providedmyself with a dress proper for the character: A Friend, whom I have left thereand to whom I made no scruple to confide my secret, readily consented to supplyme with a religious habit. Provide a carriage, and be with it at a littledistance from the great Gate of the Castle. As soon as the Clock strikes“one,” I shall quit my chamber, drest in the same apparel as theGhost is supposed to wear. Whoever meets me will be too much terrified tooppose my escape. I shall easily reach the door, and throw myself under yourprotection. Thus far success is certain: But Oh! Alphonso, should you deceiveme! Should you despise my imprudence and reward it with ingratitude, the Worldwill not hold a Being more wretched than myself! I feel all the dangers towhich I shall be exposed. I feel that I am giving you a right to treat me withlevity: But I rely upon your love, upon your honour! The step which I am on thepoint of taking, will incense my Relations against me: Should you desert me,should you betray the trust reposed in you, I shall have no friend to punishyour insult, or support my cause. On yourself alone rests all my hope, and ifyour own heart does not plead in my behalf, I am undone for ever!”

The tone in which She pronounced these words was so touching, that in spite ofmy joy at receiving her promise to follow me, I could not help being affected.I also repined in secret at not having taken the precaution to provide aCarriage at the Village, in which case I might have carried off Agnes that verynight. Such an attempt was now impracticable: Neither Carriage or Horses wereto be procured nearer than Munich, which was distant from Lindenberg two gooddays journey. I was therefore obliged to chime in with her plan, which in truthseemed well arranged: Her disguise would secure her from being stopped inquitting the Castle, and would enable her to step into the Carriage at the veryGate without difficulty or losing time.

Agnes reclined her head mournfully upon my shoulder, and by the light of theMoon I saw tears flowing down her cheek. I strove to dissipate her melancholy,and encouraged her to look forward to the prospect of happiness. I protested inthe most solemn terms that her virtue and innocence would be safe in mykeeping, and that till the church had made her my lawful Wife, her honourshould be held by me as sacred as a Sister’s. I told her that my firstcare should be to find you out, Lorenzo, and reconcile you to our union; and Iwas continuing to speak in the same strain, when a noise without alarmed me.Suddenly the door of the Pavilion was thrown open, and Cunegonda stood beforeus. She had heard Agnes steal out of her chamber, followed her into the Garden,and perceived her entering the Pavilion. Favoured by the Trees which shaded it,and unperceived by Theodore who waited at a little distance, She had approachedin silence, and overheard our whole conversation.

“Admirable!” cried Cunegonda in a voice shrill with passion, whileAgnes uttered a loud shriek; “By St. Barbara, young Lady, you have anexcellent invention! You must personate the Bleeding Nun, truly? What impiety!What incredulity! Marry, I have a good mind to let you pursue your plan: Whenthe real Ghost met you, I warrant, you would be in a pretty condition! DonAlphonso, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for seducing a young ignorantCreature to leave her family and Friends: However, for this time at least Ishall mar your wicked designs. The noble Lady shall be informed of the wholeaffair, and Agnes must defer playing the Spectre till a better opportunity.Farewell, Segnor— Donna Agnes, let me have the honour of conducting yourGhost-ship back to your apartment.”

She approached the Sopha on which her trembling Pupil was seated, took her bythe hand, and prepared to lead her from the Pavilion.

I detained her, and strove by entreaties, soothing, promises, and flattery towin her to my party: But finding all that I could say of no avail, I abandonedthe vain attempt.

“Your obstinacy must be its own punishment,” said I; “But oneresource remains to save Agnes and myself, and I shall not hesitate to employit.”

Terrified at this menace, She again endeavoured to quit the Pavilion; But Iseized her by the wrist, and detained her forcibly. At the same momentTheodore, who had followed her into the room, closed the door, and preventedher escape. I took the veil of Agnes: I threw it round the Duenna’s head,who uttered such piercing shrieks that in spite of our distance from theCastle, I dreaded their being heard. At length I succeeded in gagging her socompleatly that She could not produce a single sound. Theodore and myself withsome difficulty next contrived to bind her hands and feet with ourhandkerchiefs; And I advised Agnes to regain her chamber with all diligence. Ipromised that no harm should happen to Cunegonda, bad her remember that on thefifth of May I should be in waiting at the Great Gate of the Castle, and tookof her an affectionate farewell. Trembling and uneasy She had scarce powerenough to signify her consent to my plans, and fled back to her apartment indisorder and confusion.

In the meanwhile Theodore assisted me in carrying off my antiquated Prize. Shewas hoisted over the wall, placed before me upon my Horse like a Portmanteau,and I galloped away with her from the Castle of Lindenberg. The unlucky Duennanever had made a more disagreeable journey in her life: She was jolted andshaken till She was become little more than an animated Mummy; not to mentionher fright when we waded through a small River through which it was necessaryto pass in order to regain the Village. Before we reached the Inn, I hadalready determined how to dispose of the troublesome Cunegonda. We entered theStreet in which the Inn stood, and while the page knocked, I waited at a littledistance. The Landlord opened the door with a Lamp in his hand.

“Give me the light!” said Theodore; “My Master iscoming.”

He snatched the Lamp hastily, and purposely let it fall upon the ground: TheLandlord returned to the Kitchen to re-light the Lamp, leaving the door open. Iprofited by the obscurity, sprang from my Horse with Cunegonda in my arms,darted up stairs, reached my chamber unperceived, and unlocking the door of aspacious Closet, stowed her within it, and then turned the Key. The Landlordand Theodore soon after appeared with lights: The Former expressed himself alittle surprised at my returning so late, but asked no impertinent questions.He soon quitted the room, and left me to exult in the success of myundertaking.

I immediately paid a visit to my Prisoner. I strove to persuade her submittingwith patience to her temporary confinement. My attempt was unsuccessful. Unableto speak or move, She expressed her fury by her looks, and except at meals Inever dared to unbind her, or release her from the Gag. At such times I stoodover her with a drawn sword, and protested, that if She uttered a single cry, Iwould plunge it in her bosom. As soon as She had done eating, the Gag wasreplaced. I was conscious that this proceeding was cruel, and could only bejustified by the urgency of circumstances: As to Theodore, He had no scruplesupon the subject. Cunegonda’s captivity entertained him beyond measure.During his abode in the Castle, a continual warfare had been carried on betweenhim and the Duenna; and now that He found his Enemy so absolutely in his power,He triumphed without mercy. He seemed to think of nothing but how to find outnew means of plaguing her: Sometimes He affected to pity her misfortune, thenlaughed at, abused, and mimicked her; He played her a thousand tricks, eachmore provoking than the other, and amused himself by telling her that herelopement must have occasioned much surprise at the Baron’s. This was infact the case. No one except Agnes could imagine what was become of DameCunegonda: Every hole and corner was searched for her; The Ponds were dragged,and the Woods underwent a thorough examination. Still no Dame Cunegonda madeher appearance. Agnes kept the secret, and I kept the Duenna: The Baroness,therefore, remained in total ignorance respecting the old Woman’s fate,but suspected her to have perished by suicide. Thus past away five days, duringwhich I had prepared every thing necessary for my enterprise. On quittingAgnes, I had made it my first business to dispatch a Peasant with a letter toLucas at Munich, ordering him to take care that a Coach and four should arriveabout ten o’clock on the fifth of May at the Village of Rosenwald. Heobeyed my instructions punctually: The Equipage arrived at the time appointed.As the period of her Lady’s elopement drew nearer, Cunegonda’s rageincreased. I verily believe that spight and passion would have killed her, hadI not luckily discovered her prepossession in favour of Cherry Brandy. Withthis favourite liquor She was plentifully supplied, and Theodore alwaysremaining to guard her, the Gag was occasionally removed. The liquor seemed tohave a wonderful effect in softening the acrimony of her nature; and herconfinement not admitting of any other amusement, She got drunk regularly oncea day just by way of passing the time.

The fifth of May arrived, a period by me never to be forgotten! Before theClock struck twelve, I betook myself to the scene of action. Theodore followedme on horseback. I concealed the Carriage in a spacious Cavern of the Hill, onwhose brow the Castle was situated: This Cavern was of considerable depth, andamong the peasants was known by the name of Lindenberg Hole. The night was calmand beautiful: The Moonbeams fell upon the antient Towers of the Castle, andshed upon their summits a silver light. All was still around me: Nothing was tobe heard except the night breeze sighing among the leaves, the distant barkingof Village Dogs, or the Owl who had established herself in a nook of thedeserted Eastern Turret. I heard her melancholy shriek, and looked upwards. Shesat upon the ride of a window, which I recognized to be that of the hauntedRoom. This brought to my remembrance the story of the Bleeding Nun, and Isighed while I reflected on the influence of superstition and weakness of humanreason. Suddenly I heard a faint chorus steal upon the silence of the night.

“What can occasion that noise, Theodore?”

“A Stranger of distinction,” replied He, “passed through theVillage today in his way to the Castle: He is reported to be the Father ofDonna Agnes. Doubtless, the Baron has given an entertainment to celebrate hisarrival.”

The Castle Bell announced the hour of midnight: This was the usual signal forthe family to retire to Bed. Soon after I perceived lights in the Castle movingbackwards and forwards in different directions. I conjectured the company to beseparating. I could hear the heavy doors grate as they opened with difficulty,and as they closed again the rotten Casements rattled in their frames. Thechamber of Agnes was on the other side of the Castle. I trembled lest Sheshould have failed in obtaining the Key of the haunted Room: Through this itwas necessary for her to pass in order to reach the narrow Staircase by whichthe Ghost was supposed to descend into the great Hall. Agitated by thisapprehension, I kept my eyes constantly fixed upon the window, where I hoped toperceive the friendly glare of a Lamp borne by Agnes. I now heard the massyGates unbarred. By the candle in his hand I distinguished old Conrad, thePorter. He set the Portal doors wide open, and retired. The lights in theCastle gradually disappeared, and at length the whole Building was wrapt indarkness.

While I sat upon a broken ridge of the hill, the stillness of the sceneinspired me with melancholy ideas not altogether unpleasing. The Castle whichstood full in my sight, formed an object equally awful and picturesque. Itsponderous Walls tinged by the moon with solemn brightness, its old andpartly-ruined Towers lifting themselves into the clouds and seeming to frown onthe plains around them, its lofty battlements overgrown with ivy, and foldingGates expanding in honour of the Visionary Inhabitant, made me sensible of asad and reverential horror. Yet did not these sensations occupy me so fully, asto prevent me from witnessing with impatience the slow progress of time. Iapproached the Castle, and ventured to walk round it. A few rays of light stillglimmered in the chamber of Agnes. I observed them with joy. I was still gazingupon them, when I perceived a figure draw near the window, and the Curtain wascarefully closed to conceal the Lamp which burned there. Convinced by thisobservation that Agnes had not abandoned our plan, I returned with a lightheart to my former station.

The half-hour struck! The three-quarters struck! My bosom beat high with hopeand expectation. At length the wished-for sound was heard. The Bell tolled“One,” and the Mansion echoed with the noise loud and solemn. Ilooked up to the Casement of the haunted Chamber. Scarcely had five minuteselapsed, when the expected light appeared. I was now close to the Tower. Thewindow was not so far from the Ground but that I fancied I perceived a femalefigure with a Lamp in her hand moving slowly along the Apartment. The lightsoon faded away, and all was again dark and gloomy.

Occasional gleams of brightness darted from the Staircase windows as the lovelyGhost past by them. I traced the light through the Hall: It reached the Portal,and at length I beheld Agnes pass through the folding gates. She was habitedexactly as She had described the Spectre. A chaplet of Beads hung upon her arm;her head was enveloped in a long white veil; Her Nun’s dress was stainedwith blood, and She had taken care to provide herself with a Lamp and dagger.She advanced towards the spot where I stood. I flew to meet her, and claspedher in my arms.

“Agnes!” said I while I pressed her to my bosom,

Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine!
Agnes! Agnes! I am thine!
In my veins while blood shall roll,
Thou art mine!
I am thine!
Thine my body! Thine my soul!

Terrified and breathless She was unable to speak: She dropt her Lamp anddagger, and sank upon my bosom in silence. I raised her in my arms, andconveyed her to the Carriage. Theodore remained behind in order to release DameCunegonda. I also charged him with a letter to the Baroness explaining thewhole affair, and entreating her good offices in reconciling Don Gaston to myunion with his Daughter. I discovered to her my real name: I proved to her thatmy birth and expectations justified my pretending to her Niece, and assuredher, though it was out of my power to return her love, that I would striveunceasingly to obtain her esteem and friendship.

I stepped into the Carriage, where Agnes was already seated. Theodore closedthe door, and the Postillions drove away. At first I was delighted with therapidity of our progress; But as soon as we were in no danger of pursuit, Icalled to the Drivers, and bad them moderate their pace. They strove in vain toobey me. The Horses refused to answer the rein, and continued to rush on withastonishing swiftness. The Postillions redoubled their efforts to stop them,but by kicking and plunging the Beasts soon released themselves from thisrestraint. Uttering a loud shriek, the Drivers were hurled upon the ground.Immediately thick clouds obscured the sky: The winds howled around us, thelightning flashed, and the Thunder roared tremendously. Never did I behold sofrightful a Tempest! Terrified by the jar of contending elements, the Horsesseemed every moment to increase their speed. Nothing could interrupt theircareer; They dragged the Carriage through Hedges and Ditches, dashed down themost dangerous precipices, and seemed to vye in swiftness with the rapidity ofthe winds.

All this while my Companion lay motionless in my arms. Truly alarmed by themagnitude of the danger, I was in vain attempting to recall her to her senses;when a loud crash announced, that a stop was put to our progress in the mostdisagreeable manner. The Carriage was shattered to pieces. In falling I struckmy temple against a flint. The pain of the wound, the violence of the shock,and apprehension for the safety of Agnes combined to overpower me socompleatly, that my senses forsook me, and I lay without animation on theground.

I probably remained for some time in this situation, since when I opened myeyes, it was broad daylight. Several Peasants were standing round me, andseemed disputing whether my recovery was possible. I spoke German tolerablywell. As soon as I could utter an articulate sound, I enquired after Agnes.What was my surprise and distress, when assured by the Peasants, that nobodyhad been seen answering the description which I gave of her! They told me thatin going to their daily labour they had been alarmed by observing the fragmentsof my Carriage, and by hearing the groans of an Horse, the only one of the fourwhich remained alive: The other Three lay dead by my side. Nobody was near mewhen they came up, and much time had been lost, before they succeeded inrecovering me. Uneasy beyond expression respecting the fate of my Companion, Ibesought the Peasants to disperse themselves in search of her: I described herdress, and promised immense rewards to whoever brought me any intelligence. Asfor myself, it was impossible for me to join in the pursuit: I had broken twoof my ribs in the fall: My arm being dislocated hung useless by my side; and myleft leg was shattered so terribly, that I never expected to recover its use.

The Peasants complied with my request: All left me except Four, who made alitter of boughs and prepared to convey me to the neighbouring Town. I enquiredits name. It proved to be Ratisbon, and I could scarcely persuade myself that Ihad travelled to such a distance in a single night. I told the Countrymen thatat one o’clock that morning I had past through the Village of Rosenwald.They shook their heads wistfully, and made signs to each other that I mustcertainly be delirious. I was conveyed to a decent Inn and immediately put tobed. A Physician was sent for, who set my arm with success. He then examined myother hurts, and told me that I need be under no apprehension of theconsequences of any of them; But ordered me to keep myself quiet, and beprepared for a tedious and painful cure. I answered him that if He hoped tokeep me quiet, He must first endeavour to procure me some news of a Lady whohad quitted Rosenwald in my company the night before, and had been with me atthe moment when the Coach broke down. He smiled, and only replied by advisingme to make myself easy, for that all proper care should be taken of me. As Hequitted me, the Hostess met him at the door of the room.

“The Gentleman is not quite in his right senses;” I heard him sayto her in a low voice; “’Tis the natural consequence of his fall,but that will soon be over.”

One after another the Peasants returned to the Inn, and informed me that notraces had been discovered of my unfortunate Mistress.

Uneasiness now became despair. I entreated them to renew their search in themost urgent terms, doubling the promises which I had already made them. My wildand frantic manner confirmed the bye-standers in the idea of my beingdelirious. No signs of the Lady having appeared, they believed her to be acreature fabricated by my over-heated brain, and paid no attention to myentreaties. However, the Hostess assured me that a fresh enquiry should bemade, but I found afterwards that her promise was only given to quiet me. Nofurther steps were taken in the business.

Though my Baggage was left at Munich under the care of my French Servant,having prepared myself for a long journey, my purse was amply furnished:Besides my equipage proved me to be of distinction, and in consequence allpossible attention was paid me at the Inn. The day passed away: Still no newsarrived of Agnes. The anxiety of fear now gave place to despondency. I ceasedto rave about her and was plunged in the depth of melancholy reflections.Perceiving me to be silent and tranquil, my Attendants believed my delirium tohave abated, and that my malady had taken a favourable turn. According to thePhysician’s order I swallowed a composing medicine; and as soon as thenight shut in, my attendants withdrew and left me to repose.

That repose I wooed in vain. The agitation of my bosom chased away sleep.Restless in my mind, in spite of the fatigue of my body, I continued to tossabout from side to side, till the Clock in a neighbouring Steeple struck“One.” As I listened to the mournful hollow sound, and heard it dieaway in the wind, I felt a sudden chillness spread itself over my body. Ishuddered without knowing wherefore; Cold dews poured down my forehead, and myhair stood bristling with alarm. Suddenly I heard slow and heavy stepsascending the staircase. By an involuntary movement I started up in my bed, anddrew back the curtain. A single rush-light which glimmered upon the hearth sheda faint gleam through the apartment, which was hung with tapestry. The door wasthrown open with violence. A figure entered, and drew near my Bed with solemnmeasured steps. With trembling apprehension I examined this midnight Visitor.God Almighty! It was the Bleeding Nun! It was my lost Companion! Her face wasstill veiled, but She no longer held her Lamp and dagger. She lifted up herveil slowly. What a sight presented itself to my startled eyes! I beheld beforeme an animated Corse. Her countenance was long and haggard; Her cheeks and lipswere bloodless; The paleness of death was spread over her features, and hereyeballs fixed stedfastly upon me were lustreless and hollow.

I gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. My blood wasfrozen in my veins. I would have called for aid, but the sound expired ere itcould pass my lips. My nerves were bound up in impotence, and I remained in thesame attitude inanimate as a Statue.

The visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: There wassomething petrifying in her regard. At length in a low sepulchral voice Shepronounced the following words:

‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!
Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!
In thy veins while blood shall roll,
I am thine!
Thou art mine!
Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!——’

Breathless with fear, I listened while She repeated my own expressions. TheApparition seated herself opposite to me at the foot of the Bed, and wassilent. Her eyes were fixed earnestly upon mine: They seemed endowed with theproperty of the Rattlesnake’s, for I strove in vain to look off her. Myeyes were fascinated, and I had not the power of withdrawing them from theSpectre’s.

In this attitude She remained for a whole long hour without speaking or moving;nor was I able to do either. At length the Clock struck two. The Apparitionrose from her seat, and approached the side of the bed. She grasped with hericy fingers my hand which hung lifeless upon the Coverture, and pressing hercold lips to mine, again repeated,

‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!
Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.—’

She then dropped my hand, quitted the chamber with slow steps, and the Doorclosed after her. Till that moment the faculties of my body had been allsuspended; Those of my mind had alone been waking. The charm now ceased tooperate: The blood which had been frozen in my veins rushed back to my heartwith violence: I uttered a deep groan, and sank lifeless upon my pillow.

The adjoining room was only separated from mine by a thin partition: It wasoccupied by the Host and his Wife: The Former was rouzed by my groan, andimmediately hastened to my chamber: The Hostess soon followed him. With somedifficulty they succeeded in restoring me to my senses, and immediately sentfor the Physician, who arrived in all diligence. He declared my fever to bevery much increased, and that if I continued to suffer such violent agitation,He would not take upon him to ensure my life. Some medicines which He gave mein some degree tranquillized my spirits. I fell into a sort of slumber towardsdaybreak; But fearful dreams prevented me from deriving any benefit from myrepose. Agnes and the Bleeding Nun presented themselves by turns to my fancy,and combined to harass and torment me. I awoke fatigued and unrefreshed. Myfever seemed rather augmented than diminished; The agitation of my mind impededmy fractured bones from knitting: I had frequent fainting fits, and during thewhole day the Physician judged it expedient not to quit me for two hourstogether.

The singularity of my adventure made me determine to conceal it from every one,since I could not expect that a circumstance so strange should gain credit. Iwas very uneasy about Agnes. I knew not what She would think at not finding meat the rendezvous, and dreaded her entertaining suspicions of my fidelity.However, I depended upon Theodore’s discretion, and trusted that myletter to the Baroness would convince her of the rectitude of my intentions.These considerations somewhat lightened my inquietude upon her account: But theimpression left upon my mind by my nocturnal Visitor grew stronger with everysucceeding moment. The night drew near; I dreaded its arrival. Yet I strove topersuade myself that the Ghost would appear no more, and at all events Idesired that a Servant might sit up in my chamber.

The fatigue of my body from not having slept on the former night, co-operatingwith the strong opiates administered to me in profusion, at length procured methat repose of which I was so much in need. I sank into a profound and tranquilslumber, and had already slept for some hours, when the neighbouring Clockrouzed me by striking “One”. Its sound brought with it to my memoryall the horrors of the night before. The same cold shivering seized me. Istarted up in my bed, and perceived the Servant fast asleep in an armed-Chairnear me. I called him by his name: He made no answer. I shook him forcibly bythe arm, and strove in vain to wake him. He was perfectly insensible to myefforts. I now heard the heavy steps ascending the staircase; The Door wasthrown open, and again the Bleeding Nun stood before me. Once more my limbswere chained in second infancy. Once more I heard those fatal words repeated,

‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!
Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.——’

The scene which had shocked me so sensibly on the former night, was againpresented. The Spectre again pressed her lips to mine, again touched me withher rotting fingers, and as on her first appearance, quitted the chamber assoon as the Clock told “Two.”

Even night was this repeated. Far from growing accustomed to the Ghost, everysucceeding visit inspired me with greater horror. Her idea pursued mecontinually, and I became the prey of habitual melancholy. The constantagitation of my mind naturally retarded the re-establishment of my health.Several months elapsed before I was able to quit my bed; and when at length Iwas moved to a Sopha, I was so faint, spiritless, and emaciated, that I couldnot cross the room without assistance. The looks of my Attendants sufficientlydenoted the little hope, which they entertained of my recovery. The profoundsadness, which oppressed me without remission made the Physician consider me tobe an Hypochondriac. The cause of my distress I carefully concealed in my ownbosom, for I knew that no one could give me relief: The Ghost was not evenvisible to any eye but mine. I had frequently caused Attendants to sit up in myroom: But the moment that the Clock struck “One,” irresistibleslumber seized them, nor left them till the departure of the Ghost.

You may be surprized that during this time I made no enquiries after yourSister. Theodore, who with difficulty had discovered my abode, had quieted myapprehensions for her safety: At the same time He convinced me that allattempts to release her from captivity must be fruitless till I should be in acondition to return to Spain. The particulars of her adventure which I shallnow relate to you, were partly communicated to me by Theodore, and partly byAgnes herself.

On the fatal night when her elopement was to have taken place, accident had notpermitted her to quit her chamber at the appointed time. At length She venturedinto the haunted room, descended the staircase leading into the Hall, found theGates open as She expected, and left the Castle unobserved. What was hersurprize at not finding me ready to receive her! She examined the Cavern,ranged through every Alley of the neighbouring wood, and passed two full hoursin this fruitless enquiry. She could discover no traces either of me or of theCarriage. Alarmed and disappointed, her only resource was to return to theCastle before the Baroness missed her: But here She found herself in a freshembarrassment. The Bell had already tolled “Two:” The Ghostly hourwas past, and the careful Porter had locked the folding gates. After muchirresolution She ventured to knock softly. Luckily for her, Conrad was stillawake: He heard the noise and rose, murmuring at being called up a second time.No sooner had He opened one of the Doors, and beheld the supposed Apparitionwaiting there for admittance, than He uttered a loud cry, and sank upon hisknees. Agnes profited by his terror. She glided by him, flew to her ownapartment, and having thrown off her Spectre’s trappings, retired to bedendeavouring in vain to account for my disappearing.

In the mean while Theodore having seen my Carriage drive off with the falseAgnes, returned joyfully to the Village. The next morning He released Cunegondafrom her confinement, and accompanied her to the Castle. There He found theBaron, his Lady, and Don Gaston, disputing together upon the Porter’srelation. All of them agreed in believing the existence of Spectres: But theLatter contended, that for a Ghost to knock for admittance was a proceedingtill then unwitnessed, and totally incompatible with the immaterial nature of aSpirit. They were still discussing this subject when the Page appeared withCunegonda and cleared up the mystery. On hearing his deposition, it was agreedunanimously that the Agnes whom Theodore had seen step into my Carriage musthave been the Bleeding Nun, and that the Ghost who had terrified Conrad was noother than Don Gaston’s Daughter.

The first surprize which this discovery occasioned being over, the Baronessresolved to make it of use in persuading her Niece to take the veil. Fearinglest so advantageous an establishment for his Daughter should induce Don Gastonto renounce his resolution, She suppressed my letter, and continued torepresent me as a needy unknown Adventurer. A childish vanity had led me toconceal my real name even from my Mistress; I wished to be loved for myself,not for being the Son and Heir of the Marquis de las Cisternas. The consequencewas that my rank was known to no one in the Castle except the Baroness, and Shetook good care to confine the knowledge to her own breast. Don Gaston havingapproved his Sister’s design, Agnes was summoned to appear before them.She was taxed with having meditated an elopement, obliged to make a fullconfession, and was amazed at the gentleness with which it was received: Butwhat was her affliction, when informed that the failure of her project must beattributed to me! Cunegonda, tutored by the Baroness, told her that when Ireleased her, I had desired her to inform her Lady that our connexion was at anend, that the whole affair was occasioned by a false report, and that it by nomeans suited my circumstances to marry a Woman without fortune or expectations.

To this account my sudden disappearing gave but too great an air ofprobability. Theodore, who could have contradicted the story, by DonnaRodolpha’s order was kept out of her sight: What proved a still greaterconfirmation of my being an Impostor, was the arrival of a letter from yourselfdeclaring that you had no sort of acquaintance with Alphonso d’Alvarada.These seeming proofs of my perfidy, aided by the artful insinuations of herAunt, by Cunegonda’s flattery, and her Father’s threats and anger,entirely conquered your Sister’s repugnance to a Convent. Incensed at mybehaviour, and disgusted with the world in general, She consented to receivethe veil. She past another Month at the Castle of Lindenberg, during which mynon-appearance confirmed her in her resolution, and then accompanied Don Gastoninto Spain. Theodore was now set at liberty. He hastened to Munich, where I hadpromised to let him hear from me; But finding from Lucas that I had neverarrived there, He pursued his search with indefatigable perseverance, and atlength succeeded in rejoining me at Ratisbon.

So much was I altered, that scarcely could He recollect my features: Thedistress visible upon his sufficiently testified how lively was the interestwhich He felt for me. The society of this amiable Boy, whom I had alwaysconsidered rather as a Companion than a Servant, was now my only comfort. Hisconversation was gay yet sensible, and his observations shrewd andentertaining: He had picked up much more knowledge than is usual at his Age:But what rendered him most agreeable to me, was his having a delightful voice,and some skill in Music. He had also acquired some taste in poetry, and evenventured sometimes to write verses himself. He occasionally composed littleBallads in Spanish, his compositions were but indifferent, I must confess; yetthey were pleasing to me from their novelty, and hearing him sing them to hisguitar was the only amusement, which I was capable of receiving. Theodoreperceived well enough that something preyed upon my mind; But as I concealedthe cause of my grief even from him, Respect would not permit him to pry intomy secrets.

One Evening I was lying upon my Sopha, plunged in reflections very far fromagreeable: Theodore amused himself by observing from the window a Battlebetween two Postillions, who were quarrelling in the Inn-yard.

“Ha! Ha!” cried He suddenly; “Yonder is the GreatMogul.”

“Who?” said I.

“Only a Man who made me a strange speech at Munich.”

“What was the purport of it?”

“Now you put me in mind of it, Segnor, it was a kind of message to you;but truly it was not worth delivering. I believe the Fellow to be mad, for mypart. When I came to Munich in search of you, I found him living at “TheKing of the Romans,” and the Host gave me an odd account of him. By hisaccent He is supposed to be a Foreigner, but of what Country nobody can tell.He seemed to have no acquaintance in the Town, spoke very seldom, and never wasseen to smile. He had neither Servants or Baggage; But his Purse seemedwell-furnished, and He did much good in the Town. Some supposed him to be anArabian Astrologer, Others to be a Travelling Mountebank, and many declaredthat He was Doctor Faustus, whom the Devil had sent back to Germany. TheLandlord, however told me, that He had the best reasons to believe him to bethe Great Mogul incognito.”

“But the strange speech, Theodore.”

“True, I had almost forgotten the speech: Indeed for that matter, itwould not have been a great loss if I had forgotten it altogether. You are toknow, Segnor, that while I was enquiring about you of the Landlord, thisStranger passed by. He stopped, and looked at me earnestly.“Youth!” said He in a solemn voice, “He whom you seek, hasfound that which He would fain lose. My hand alone can dry up the blood: Bidyour Master wish for me when the Clock strikes, “One.”

“How?” cried I, starting from my Sopha. (The words which Theodorehad repeated, seemed to imply the Stranger’s knowledge of my secret)“Fly to him, my Boy! Entreat him to grant me one moment’sconversation!”

Theodore was surprised at the vivacity of my manner: However, He asked noquestions, but hastened to obey me. I waited his return impatiently. But ashort space of time had elapsed when He again appeared and ushered the expectedGuest into my chamber. He was a Man of majestic presence: His countenance wasstrongly marked, and his eyes were large, black, and sparkling: Yet there was asomething in his look which, the moment that I saw him, inspired me with asecret awe, not to say horror. He was drest plainly, his hair was unpowdered,and a band of black velvet which encircled his forehead spread over hisfeatures an additional gloom. His countenance wore the marks of profoundmelancholy; his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately, and solemn.

He saluted me with politeness; and having replied to the usual compliments ofintroduction, He motioned to Theodore to quit the chamber. The Page instantlywithdrew.

“I know your business,” said He, without giving me time to speak.

“I have the power of releasing you from your nightly Visitor; But thiscannot be done before Sunday. On the hour when the Sabbath Morning breaks,Spirits of darkness have least influence over Mortals. After Saturday the Nunshall visit you no more.”

“May I not enquire,” said I, “by what means you are inpossession of a secret which I have carefully concealed from the knowledge ofeveryone?”

“How can I be ignorant of your distress, when their cause at this momentstands beside you?”

I started. The Stranger continued.

“Though to you only visible for one hour in the twenty-four, neither dayor night does She ever quit you; Nor will She ever quit you till you havegranted her request.”

“And what is that request?”

“That She must herself explain: It lies not in my knowledge. Wait withpatience for the night of Saturday: All shall be then cleared up.”

I dared not press him further. He soon after changed the conversation andtalked of various matters. He named People who had ceased to exist for manyCenturies, and yet with whom He appeared to have been personally acquainted. Icould not mention a Country however distant which He had not visited, nor couldI sufficiently admire the extent and variety of his information. I remarked tohim that having travelled, seen, and known so much, must have given himinfinite pleasure. He shook his head mournfully.

“No one,” He replied, “is adequate to comprehending themisery of my lot! Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement: I am notpermitted to pass more than a fortnight in the same place. I have no Friend inthe world, and from the restlessness of my destiny I never can acquire one.Fain would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who enjoy the quietof the Grave: But Death eludes me, and flies from my embrace. In vain do Ithrow myself in the way of danger. I plunge into the Ocean; The Waves throw meback with abhorrence upon the shore: I rush into fire; The flames recoil at myapproach: I oppose myself to the fury of Banditti; Their swords become blunted,and break against my breast: The hungry Tiger shudders at my approach, and theAlligator flies from a Monster more horrible than itself. God has set his sealupon me, and all his Creatures respect this fatal mark!”

He put his hand to the velvet, which was bound round his forehead. There was inhis eyes an expression of fury, despair, and malevolence, that struck horror tomy very soul. An involuntary convulsion made me shudder. The Stranger perceivedit.

“Such is the curse imposed on me,” he continued: “I am doomedto inspire all who look on me with terror and detestation. You already feel theinfluence of the charm, and with every succeeding moment will feel it more. Iwill not add to your sufferings by my presence. Farewell till Saturday. As soonas the Clock strikes twelve, expect me at your chamber door.”

Having said this He departed, leaving me in astonishment at the mysterious turnof his manner and conversation.

His assurances that I should soon be relieved from the Apparition’svisits produced a good effect upon my constitution. Theodore, whom I rathertreated as an adopted Child than a Domestic, was surprized at his return toobserve the amendment in my looks. He congratulated me on this symptom ofreturning health, and declared himself delighted at my having received so muchbenefit from my conference with the Great Mogul. Upon enquiry I found that theStranger had already past eight days in Ratisbon: According to his own account,therefore, He was only to remain there six days longer. Saturday was still atthe distance of Three. Oh! with what impatience did I expect its arrival! Inthe interim, the Bleeding Nun continued her nocturnal visits; But hoping soonto be released from them altogether, the effects which they produced on mebecame less violent than before.

The wished-for night arrived. To avoid creating suspicion I retired to bed atmy usual hour: But as soon as my Attendants had left me, I dressed myselfagain, and prepared for the Stranger’s reception. He entered my room uponthe turn of midnight. A small Chest was in his hand, which He placed near theStove. He saluted me without speaking; I returned the compliment, observing anequal silence. He then opened his Chest. The first thing which He produced wasa small wooden Crucifix: He sank upon his knees, gazed upon it mournfully, andcast his eyes towards heaven. He seemed to be praying devoutly. At length Hebowed his head respectfully, kissed the Crucifix thrice, and quitted hiskneeling posture. He next drew from the Chest a covered Goblet: With the liquorwhich it contained, and which appeared to be blood, He sprinkled the floor, andthen dipping in it one end of the Crucifix, He described a circle in the middleof the room. Round about this He placed various reliques, sculls, thigh-bones&c; I observed, that He disposed them all in the forms of Crosses. LastlyHe took out a large Bible, and beckoned me to follow him into the Circle. Iobeyed.

“Be cautious not to utter a syllable!” whispered the Stranger;“Step not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not to lookupon my face!”

Holding the Crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, He seemed to readwith profound attention. The Clock struck “One”! As usual I heardthe Spectre’s steps upon the Staircase: But I was not seized with theaccustomed shivering. I waited her approach with confidence. She entered theroom, drew near the Circle, and stopped. The Stranger muttered some words, tome unintelligible. Then raising his head from the Book, and extending theCrucifix towards the Ghost, He pronounced in a voice distinct and solemn,

“Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!”

“What wouldst Thou?” replied the Apparition in a hollow falteringtone.

“What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this Youth?How can rest be restored to thy unquiet Spirit?”

“I dare not tell!—I must not tell!—Fain would I repose in myGrave, but stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!”

“Knowest Thou this blood? Knowest Thou in whose veins it flowed?

Beatrice! Beatrice! In his name I charge thee to answer me!”

“I dare not disobey my taskers.”

“Darest Thou disobey Me?”

He spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band from his forehead. Inspite of his injunctions to the contrary, Curiosity would not suffer me to keepmy eyes off his face: I raised them, and beheld a burning Cross impressed uponhis brow. For the horror with which this object inspired me I cannot account,but I never felt its equal! My senses left me for some moments; A mysteriousdread overcame my courage, and had not the Exorciser caught my hand, I shouldhave fallen out of the Circle.

When I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning Cross had produced aneffect no less violent upon the Spectre. Her countenance expressed reverence,and horror, and her visionary limbs were shaken by fear.

“Yes!” She said at length; “I tremble at thatmark!—respect it!—I obey you! Know then, that my bones lie stillunburied: They rot in the obscurity of Lindenberg Hole. None but this Youth hasthe right of consigning them to the Grave. His own lips have made over to mehis body and his soul: Never will I give back his promise, never shall He knowa night devoid of terror, unless He engages to collect my mouldering bones, anddeposit them in the family vault of his Andalusian Castle. Then let thirtyMasses be said for the repose of my Spirit, and I trouble this world no more.Now let me depart! Those flames are scorching!”

He let the hand drop slowly which held the Crucifix, and which till then He hadpointed towards her. The apparition bowed her head, and her form melted intoair. The Exorciser led me out of the Circle. He replaced the Bible &c. inthe Chest, and then addressed himself to me, who stood near him speechless fromastonishment.

“Don Raymond, you have heard the conditions on which repose is promisedyou. Be it your business to fulfil them to the letter. For me nothing moreremains than to clear up the darkness still spread over the Spectre’sHistory, and inform you that when living, Beatrice bore the name of lasCisternas. She was the great Aunt of your Grandfather: In quality of yourrelation, her ashes demand respect from you, though the enormity of her crimesmust excite your abhorrence. The nature of those crimes no one is more capableof explaining to you than myself: I was personally acquainted with the holy Manwho proscribed her nocturnal riots in the Castle of Lindenberg, and I hold thisnarrative from his own lips.

“Beatrice de las Cisternas took the veil at an early age, not by her ownchoice, but at the express command of her Parents. She was then too young toregret the pleasures of which her profession deprived her: But no sooner didher warm and voluptuous character begin to be developed than She abandonedherself freely to the impulse of her passions, and seized the first opportunityto procure their gratification. This opportunity was at length presented, aftermany obstacles which only added new force to her desires. She contrived toelope from the Convent, and fled to Germany with the Baron Lindenberg. Shelived at his Castle several months as his avowed Concubine: All Bavaria wasscandalized by her impudent and abandoned conduct. Her feasts vied in luxurywith Cleopatra’s, and Lindenberg became the Theatre of the most unbridleddebauchery. Not satisfied with displaying the incontinence of a Prostitute, Sheprofessed herself an Atheist: She took every opportunity to scoff at hermonastic vows, and loaded with ridicule the most sacred ceremonies of Religion.

“Possessed of a character so depraved, She did not long confine heraffections to one object. Soon after her arrival at the Castle, theBaron’s younger Brother attracted her notice by his strong-markedfeatures, gigantic Stature, and Herculean limbs. She was not of an humour tokeep her inclinations long unknown; But She found in Otto von Lindenberg herequal in depravity. He returned her passion just sufficiently to increase it;and when He had worked it up to the desired pitch, He fixed the price of hislove at his Brother’s murder. The Wretch consented to this horribleagreement. A night was pitched upon for perpetrating the deed. Otto, whoresided on a small Estate a few miles distant from the Castle, promised that atOne in the morning He would be waiting for her at Lindenberg Hole; that Hewould bring with him a party of chosen Friends, by whose aid He doubted notbeing able to make himself Master of the Castle; and that his next step shouldbe the uniting her hand to his. It was this last promise, which overruled everyscruple of Beatrice, since in spite of his affection for her, the Baron haddeclared positively that He never would make her his Wife.

“The fatal night arrived. The Baron slept in the arms of his perfidiousMistress, when the Castle-Bell struck “One.” Immediately Beatricedrew a dagger from underneath the pillow, and plunged it in herParamour’s heart. The Baron uttered a single dreadful groan, and expired.The Murderess quitted her bed hastily, took a Lamp in one hand, in the otherthe bloody dagger, and bent her course towards the cavern. The Porter dared notto refuse opening the Gates to one more dreaded in the Castle than its Master.Beatrice reached Lindenberg Hole unopposed, where according to promise Shefound Otto waiting for her. He received and listened to her narrative withtransport: But ere She had time to ask why He came unaccompanied, He convincedher that He wished for no witnesses to their interview. Anxious to conceal hisshare in the murder, and to free himself from a Woman, whose violent andatrocious character made him tremble with reason for his own safety, He hadresolved on the destruction of his wretched Agent. Rushing upon her suddenly,He wrested the dagger from her hand: He plunged it still reeking with hisBrother’s blood in her bosom, and put an end to her existence by repeatedblows.

“Otto now succeeded to the Barony of Lindenberg. The murder wasattributed solely to the fugitive Nun, and no one suspected him to havepersuaded her to the action. But though his crime was unpunished by Man,God’s justice permitted him not to enjoy in peace his blood-stainedhonours. Her bones lying still unburied in the Cave, the restless soul ofBeatrice continued to inhabit the Castle. Drest in her religious habit inmemory of her vows broken to heaven, furnished with the dagger which had drankthe blood of her Paramour, and holding the Lamp which had guided her flyingsteps, every night did She stand before the Bed of Otto. The most dreadfulconfusion reigned through the Castle; The vaulted chambers resounded withshrieks and groans; And the Spectre, as She ranged along the antique Galleries,uttered an incoherent mixture of prayers and blasphemies. Otto was unable towithstand the shock which He felt at this fearful Vision: Its horror increasedwith every succeeding appearance: His alarm at length became so insupportablethat his heart burst, and one morning He was found in his bed totally deprivedof warmth and animation. His death did not put an end to the nocturnal riots.The bones of Beatrice continued to lie unburied, and her Ghost continued tohaunt the Castle.

“The domains of Lindenberg now fell to a distant Relation. But terrifiedby the accounts given him of the Bleeding Nun (So was the Spectre called by themultitude), the new Baron called to his assistance a celebrated Exorciser. Thisholy Man succeeded in obliging her to temporary repose; But though Shediscovered to him her history, He was not permitted to reveal it to others, orcause her skeleton to be removed to hallowed ground. That Office was reservedfor you, and till your coming, her Ghost was doomed to wander about the Castleand lament the crime which She had there committed. However, the Exorciserobliged her to silence during his lifetime. So long as He existed, the hauntedchamber was shut up, and the Spectre was invisible. At his death which happenedin five years after, She again appeared, but only once on every fifth year, onthe same day and at the same hour when She plunged her Knife in the heart ofher sleeping Lover: She then visited the Cavern which held her moulderingskeleton, returned to the Castle as soon as the Clock struck “Two,”and was seen no more till the next five years had elapsed.

“She was doomed to suffer during the space of a Century. That period ispast. Nothing now remains but to consign to the Grave the ashes of Beatrice. Ihave been the means of releasing you from your visionary Tormentor; and amidstall the sorrows which oppress me, to think that I have been of use to you, issome consolation. Youth, farewell! May the Ghost of your Relation enjoy thatrest in the Tomb, which the Almighty’s vengeance has denied to me forever!”

Here the Stranger prepared to quit the apartment.

“Stay yet one moment!” said I; “You have satisfied mycuriosity with regard to the Spectre, but you leave me in prey to yet greaterrespecting yourself. Deign to inform me, to whom I am under such realobligations. You mention circumstances long past, and persons long dead: Youwere personally acquainted with the Exorciser, who by your own account has beendeceased near a Century. How am I to account for this? What means that burningCross upon your forehead, and why did the sight of it strike such horror to mysoul?”

On these points He for some time refused to satisfy me. At length overcome bymy entreaties, He consented to clear up the whole, on condition that I woulddefer his explanation till the next day. With this request I was obliged tocomply, and He left me. In the Morning my first care was to enquire after themysterious Stranger. Conceive my disappointment when informed that He hadalready quitted Ratisbon. I dispatched messengers in pursuit of him but invain. No traces of the Fugitive were discovered. Since that moment I never haveheard any more of him, and ’tis most probable that I never shall.”

(Lorenzo here interrupted his Friend’s narrative.

“How?” said He; “You have never discovered who He was, oreven formed a guess?”

“Pardon me,” replied the Marquis; “When I related thisadventure to my Uncle, the Cardinal-Duke, He told me that He had no doubt ofthis singular Man’s being the celebrated Character known universally bythe name of “the wandering Jew.” His not being permitted to passmore than fourteen days on the same spot, the burning Cross impressed upon hisforehead, the effect which it produced upon the Beholders, and many othercircumstances give this supposition the colour of truth. The Cardinal is fullypersuaded of it; and for my own part I am inclined to adopt the only solutionwhich offers itself to this riddle. I return to the narrative from which I havedigressed.”)

From this period I recovered my health so rapidly as to astonish my Physicians.The Bleeding Nun appeared no more, and I was soon able to set out forLindenberg. The Baron received me with open arms. I confided to him the sequelof my adventure; and He was not a little pleased to find that his Mansion wouldbe no longer troubled with the Phantom’s quiennial visits. I was sorry toperceive that absence had not weakened Donna Rodolpha’s imprudentpassion. In a private conversation which I had with her during my short stay atthe Castle, She renewed her attempts to persuade me to return her affection.Regarding her as the primary cause of all my sufferings, I entertained for herno other sentiment than disgust. The Skeleton of Beatrice was found in theplace which She had mentioned. This being all that I sought at Lindenberg, Ihastened to quit the Baron’s domains, equally anxious to perform theobsequies of the murdered Nun, and escape the importunity of a Woman whom Idetested. I departed, followed by Donna Rodolpha’s menaces that mycontempt should not be long unpunished.

I now bent my course towards Spain with all diligence. Lucas with my Baggagehad joined me during my abode at Lindenberg. I arrived in my native Countrywithout any accident, and immediately proceeded to my Father’s Castle inAndalusia. The remains of Beatrice were deposited in the family vault, all dueceremonies performed, and the number of Masses said which She had required.Nothing now hindered me from employing all my endeavours to discover theretreat of Agnes. The Baroness had assured me that her Niece had already takenthe veil: This intelligence I suspected to have been forged by jealousy, andhoped to find my Mistress still at liberty to accept my hand. I enquired afterher family; I found that before her Daughter could reach Madrid, Donna Inesillawas no more: You, my dear Lorenzo, were said to be abroad, but where I couldnot discover: Your Father was in a distant Province on a visit to the Duke deMedina, and as to Agnes, no one could or would inform me what was become ofher. Theodore, according to promise, had returned to Strasbourg, where He foundhis Grandfather dead, and Marguerite in possession of his fortune. All herpersuasions to remain with her were fruitless: He quitted her a second time,and followed me to Madrid. He exerted himself to the utmost in forwarding mysearch: But our united endeavours were unattended by success. The retreat whichconcealed Agnes remained an impenetrable mystery, and I began to abandon allhopes of recovering her.

About eight months ago I was returning to my Hotel in a melancholy humour,having past the evening at the Play-House. The Night was dark, and I wasunaccompanied. Plunged in reflections which were far from being agreeable, Iperceived not that three Men had followed me from the Theatre; till, on turninginto an unfrequented Street, they all attacked me at the same time with theutmost fury. I sprang back a few paces, drew my sword, and threw my cloak overmy left arm. The obscurity of the night was in my favour. For the most part theblows of the Assassins, being aimed at random, failed to touch me. I at lengthwas fortunate enough to lay one of my Adversaries at my feet; But before this Ihad already received so many wounds, and was so warmly pressed, that mydestruction would have been inevitable, had not the clashing of swords called aCavalier to my assistance. He ran towards me with his sword drawn: SeveralDomestics followed him with torches. His arrival made the combat equal: Yetwould not the Bravoes abandon their design till the Servants were on the pointof joining us. They then fled away, and we lost them in the obscurity.

The Stranger now addressed himself to me with politeness, and enquired whetherI was wounded. Faint with the loss of blood, I could scarcely thank him for hisseasonable aid, and entreat him to let some of his Servants convey me to theHotel de las Cisternas. I no sooner mentioned the name than He profest himselfan acquaintance of my Father’s, and declared that He would not permit mybeing transported to such a distance before my wounds had been examined. Headded that his House was hard by, and begged me to accompany him thither. Hismanner was so earnest, that I could not reject his offer, and leaning upon hisarm, a few minutes brought me to the Porch of a magnificent Hotel.

On entering the House, an old grey-headed Domestic came to welcome myConductor: He enquired when the Duke, his Master, meant to quit the Country,and was answered that He would remain there yet some months. My Deliverer thendesired the family Surgeon to be summoned without delay. His orders wereobeyed. I was seated upon a Sopha in a noble apartment; and my wounds beingexamined, they were declared to be very slight. The Surgeon, however, advisedme not to expose myself to the night air; and the Stranger pressed me soearnestly to take a bed in his House, that I consented to remain where I wasfor the present.

Being now left alone with my Deliverer, I took the opportunity of thanking himin more express terms, than I had done hitherto: But He begged me to be silentupon the subject.

“I esteem myself happy,” said He, “in having had it in mypower to render you this little service; and I shall think myself eternallyobliged to my Daughter for detaining me so late at the Convent of St. Clare.The high esteem in which I have ever held the Marquis de las Cisternas, thoughaccident has not permitted our being so intimate as I could wish, makes merejoice in the opportunity of making his Son’s acquaintance. I am certainthat my Brother in whose House you now are, will lament his not being at Madridto receive you himself: But in the Duke’s absence I am Master of thefamily, and may assure you in his name, that every thing in the Hotel de Medinais perfectly at your disposal.”

Conceive my surprize, Lorenzo, at discovering in the person of my Preserver DonGaston de Medina: It was only to be equalled by my secret satisfaction at theassurance that Agnes inhabited the Convent of St. Clare. This latter sensationwas not a little weakened, when in answer to my seemingly indifferent questionsHe told me that his Daughter had really taken the veil. I suffered not my griefat this circumstance to take root in my mind: I flattered myself with the ideathat my Uncle’s credit at the Court of Rome would remove this obstacle,and that without difficulty I should obtain for my Mistress a dispensation fromher vows. Buoyed up with this hope I calmed the uneasiness of my bosom; and Iredoubled my endeavours to appear grateful for the attention and pleased withthe society of Don Gaston.

A Domestic now entered the room, and informed me that the Bravo whom I hadwounded discovered some signs of life. I desired that He might be carried to myFather’s Hotel, and that as soon as He recovered his voice, I wouldexamine him respecting his reasons for attempting my life. I was answered thatHe was already able to speak, though with difficulty: Don Gaston’scuriosity made him press me to interrogate the Assassin in his presence, butthis curiosity I was by no means inclined to gratify. One reason was, thatdoubting from whence the blow came, I was unwilling to place before DonGaston’s eyes the guilt of a Sister: Another was, that I feared to berecognized for Alphonso d’Alvarada, and precautions taken in consequenceto keep me from the sight of Agnes. To avow my passion for his Daughter, andendeavour to make him enter into my schemes, what I knew of Don Gaston’scharacter convinced me would be an imprudent step: and considering it to beessential that He should know me for no other than the Condé de las Cisternas,I was determined not to let him hear the Bravo’s confession. I insinuatedto him, that as I suspected a Lady to be concerned in the Business, whose namemight accidentally escape from the Assassin, it was necessary for me to examinethe Man in private. Don Gaston’s delicacy would not permit his urging thepoint any longer, and in consequence the Bravo was conveyed to my Hotel.

The next Morning I took leave of my Host, who was to return to the Duke on thesame day. My wounds had been so trifling that, except being obliged to wear myarm in a sling for a short time, I felt no inconvenience from the night’sadventure. The Surgeon who examined the Bravo’s wound declared it to bemortal: He had just time to confess that He had been instigated to murder me bythe revengeful Donna Rodolpha, and expired in a few minutes after.

All my thoughts were now bent upon getting to the speech of my lovely Nun.Theodore set himself to work, and for this time with better success. Heattacked the Gardener of St. Clare so forcibly with bribes and promises thatthe Old Man was entirely gained over to my interests; and it was settled that Ishould be introduced into the Convent in the character of his Assistant. Theplan was put into execution without delay. Disguised in a common habit, and ablack patch covering one of my eyes, I was presented to the Lady Prioress, whocondescended to approve of the Gardener’s choice. I immediately enteredupon my employment. Botany having been a favourite study with me, I was by nomeans at a loss in my new station. For some days I continued to work in theConvent Garden without meeting the Object of my disguise: On the fourth MorningI was more successful. I heard the voice of Agnes, and was speeding towards thesound, when the sight of the Domina stopped me. I drew back with caution, andconcealed myself behind a thick clump of Trees.

The Prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a Bench at no greatdistance. I heard her in an angry tone blame her Companion’s continualmelancholy: She told her that to weep the loss of any Lover in her situationwas a crime; But that to weep the loss of a faithless one was folly andabsurdity in the extreme. Agnes replied in so low a voice that I could notdistinguish her words, but I perceived that She used terms of gentleness andsubmission. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a youngPensioner who informed the Domina that She was waited for in the Parlour. Theold Lady rose, kissed the cheek of Agnes, and retired. The newcomer remained.Agnes spoke much to her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, buther Auditor seemed highly delighted, and interested by the conversation. TheNun showed her several letters; the Other perused them with evident pleasure,obtained permission to copy them, and withdrew for that purpose to my greatsatisfaction.

No sooner was She out of sight, than I quitted my concealment. Fearing to alarmmy lovely Mistress, I drew near her gently, intending to discover myself bydegrees. But who for a moment can deceive the eyes of love? She raised her headat my approach, and recognised me in spite of my disguise at a single glance.She rose hastily from her seat with an exclamation of surprize, and attemptedto retire; But I followed her, detained her, and entreated to be heard.Persuaded of my falsehood She refused to listen to me, and ordered mepositively to quit the Garden. It was now my turn to refuse. I protested thathowever dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till She hadheard my justification. I assured her that She had been deceived by theartifices of her Relations; that I could convince her beyond the power of doubtthat my passion had been pure and disinterested; and I asked her what shouldinduce me to seek her in the Convent, were I influenced by the selfish motiveswhich my Enemies had ascribed to me.

My prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till She had promised tolisten to me, united to her fears lest the Nuns should see me with her, to hernatural curiosity, and to the affection which She still felt for me in spite ofmy supposed desertion, at length prevailed. She told me that to grant myrequest at that moment was impossible; But She engaged to be in the same spotat eleven that night, and to converse with me for the last time. Havingobtained this promise I released her hand, and She fled back with rapiditytowards the Convent.

I communicated my success to my Ally, the old Gardener: He pointed out anhiding place where I might shelter myself till night without fear of adiscovery. Thither I betook myself at the hour when I ought to have retiredwith my supposed Master, and waited impatiently for the appointed time. Thechillness of the night was in my favour, since it kept the other Nuns confinedto their Cells. Agnes alone was insensible of the inclemency of the Air, andbefore eleven joined me at the spot which had witnessed our former interview.Secure from interruption, I related to her the true cause of my disappearing onthe fatal fifth of May. She was evidently much affected by my narrative: Whenit was concluded, She confessed the injustice of her suspicions, and blamedherself for having taken the veil through despair at my ingratitude.

“But now it is too late to repine!” She added; “The die isthrown: I have pronounced my vows, and dedicated myself to the service ofheaven. I am sensible, how ill I am calculated for a Convent. My disgust at amonastic life increases daily: Ennui and discontent are my constant Companions;and I will not conceal from you that the passion which I formerly felt for oneso near being my Husband is not yet extinguished in my bosom. But we must part!Insuperable Barriers divide us from each other, and on this side the Grave wemust never meet again!”

I now exerted myself to prove that our union was not so impossible as Sheseemed to think it. I vaunted to her the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma’sinfluence at the Court of Rome: I assured her that I should easily obtain adispensation from her vows; and I doubted not but Don Gaston would coincidewith my views, when informed of my real name and long attachment. Agnes repliedthat since I encouraged such an hope, I could know but little of her Father.Liberal and kind in every other respect, Superstition formed the only stainupon his character. Upon this head He was inflexible; He sacrificed his dearestinterests to his scruples, and would consider it an insult to suppose himcapable of authorising his daughter to break her vows to heaven.

“But suppose,” said I interrupting her; “Suppose that Heshould disapprove of our union; Let him remain ignorant of my proceedings, tillI have rescued you from the prison in which you are now confined. Once my Wife,you are free from his authority: I need from him no pecuniary assistance; andwhen He sees his resentment to be unavailing, He will doubtless restore you tohis favour. But let the worst happen; Should Don Gaston be irreconcileable, myRelations will vie with each other in making you forget his loss: and you willfind in my Father a substitute for the Parent of whom I shall depriveyou.”

“Don Raymond,” replied Agnes in a firm and resolute voice, “Ilove my Father: He has treated me harshly in this one instance; but I havereceived from him in every other so many proofs of love that his affection isbecome necessary to my existence. Were I to quit the Convent, He never wouldforgive me; nor can I think that on his deathbed He would leave me his curse,without shuddering at the very idea. Besides, I am conscious myself, that myvows are binding: Wilfully did I contract my engagement with heaven; I cannotbreak it without a crime. Then banish from your mind the idea of our being everunited. I am devoted to religion; and however I may grieve at our separation, Iwould oppose obstacles myself, to what I feel would render me guilty.”

I strove to overrule these ill-grounded scruples: We were still disputing uponthe subject, when the Convent Bell summoned the Nuns to Matins. Agnes wasobliged to attend them; But She left me not till I had compelled her to promisethat on the following night She would be at the same place at the same hour.These meetings continued for several Weeks uninterrupted; and ’tis now,Lorenzo, that I must implore your indulgence. Reflect upon our situation, ouryouth, our long attachment: Weigh all the circumstances which attended ourassignations, and you will confess the temptation to have been irresistible;you will even pardon me when I acknowledge, that in an unguarded moment, thehonour of Agnes was sacrificed to my passion.”

(Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled with fury: A deep crimson spread itself over hisface. He started from his seat, and attempted to draw his sword. The Marquiswas aware of his movement, and caught his hand: He pressed it affectionately.

“My Friend! My Brother! Hear me to the conclusion! Till then restrainyour passion, and be at least convinced, that if what I have related iscriminal, the blame must fall upon me, and not upon your Sister.”

Lorenzo suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Don Raymond’sentreaties. He resumed his place, and listened to the rest of the narrativewith a gloomy and impatient countenance. The Marquis thus continued.)

“Scarcely was the first burst of passion past when Agnes, recoveringherself, started from my arms with horror. She called me infamous Seducer,loaded me with the bitterest reproaches, and beat her bosom in all the wildnessof delirium. Ashamed of my imprudence, I with difficulty found words to excusemyself. I endeavoured to console her; I threw myself at her feet, and entreatedher forgiveness. She forced her hand from me, which I had taken, and would haveprest to my lips.

“Touch me not!” She cried with a violence which terrified me;“Monster of perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in you! Ilooked upon you as my Friend, my Protector: I trusted myself in your hands withconfidence, and relying upon your honour, thought that mine ran no risque. And’tis by you, whom I adored, that I am covered with infamy! ’Tis byyou that I have been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that I am reduced toa level with the basest of my sex! Shame upon you, Villain, you shall never seeme more!”

She started from the Bank on which She was seated. I endeavoured to detain her;But She disengaged herself from me with violence, and took refuge in theConvent.

I retired, filled with confusion and inquietude. The next morning I failed notas usual to appear in the Garden; but Agnes was no where to be seen. At night Iwaited for her at the place where we generally met; I found no better success.Several days and nights passed away in the same manner. At length I saw myoffended Mistress cross the walk on whose borders I was working: She wasaccompanied by the same young Pensioner, on whose arm She seemed from weaknessobliged to support herself. She looked upon me for a moment, but instantlyturned her head away. I waited her return; But She passed on to the Conventwithout paying any attention to me, or the penitent looks with which I imploredher forgiveness.

As soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with a sorrowfulair.

“Segnor,” said He, “it grieves me to say, that I can be nolonger of use to you. The Lady whom you used to meet has just assured me thatif I admitted you again into the Garden, She would discover the whole businessto the Lady Prioress. She bade me tell you also, that your presence was aninsult, and that if you still possess the least respect for her, you will neverattempt to see her more. Excuse me then for informing you that I can favouryour disguise no longer. Should the Prioress be acquainted with my conduct, Shemight not be contented with dismissing me her service: Out of revenge She mightaccuse me of having profaned the Convent, and cause me to be thrown into thePrisons of the Inquisition.”

Fruitless were my attempts to conquer his resolution. He denied me all futureentrance into the Garden, and Agnes persevered in neither letting me see orhear from her. In about a fortnight after, a violent illness which had seizedmy Father obliged me to set out for Andalusia. I hastened thither, and as Iimagined, found the Marquis at the point of death. Though on its firstappearance his complaint was declared mortal, He lingered out several Months;during which my attendance upon him during his malady, and the occupation ofsettling his affairs after his decease, permitted not my quitting Andalusia.Within these four days I returned to Madrid, and on arriving at my Hotel, Ithere found this letter waiting for me.

(Here the Marquis unlocked the drawer of a Cabinet: He took out a folded paper,which He presented to his Auditor. Lorenzo opened it, and recognised hisSister’s hand. The contents were as follows:

“Into what an abyss of misery have you plunged me! Raymond, you force meto become as criminal as yourself. I had resolved never to see you more; ifpossible, to forget you; If not, only to remember you with hate. A Being forwhom I already feel a Mother’s tenderness, solicits me to pardon mySeducer, and apply to his love for the means of preservation. Raymond, yourchild lives in my bosom. I tremble at the vengeance of the Prioress; I tremblemuch for myself, yet more for the innocent Creature whose existence dependsupon mine. Both of us are lost, should my situation be discovered. Advise methen what steps to take, but seek not to see me. The Gardener, who undertakesto deliver this, is dismissed, and we have nothing to hope from that quarter:The Man engaged in his place is of incorruptible fidelity. The best means ofconveying to me your answer, is by concealing it under the great Statue of St.Francis, which stands in the Capuchin Cathedral. Thither I go every Thursday toconfession, and shall easily have an opportunity of securing your letter. Ihear that you are now absent from Madrid; Need I entreat you to write the verymoment of your return? I will not think it. Ah! Raymond! Mine is a cruelsituation! Deceived by my nearest Relations, compelled to embrace a professionthe duties of which I am ill-calculated to perform, conscious of the sanctityof those duties, and seduced into violating them by One whom I least suspectedof perfidy, I am now obliged by circumstances to chuse between death andperjury. Woman’s timidity, and maternal affection, permit me not tobalance in the choice. I feel all the guilt into which I plunge myself, when Iyield to the plan which you before proposed to me. My poor Father’s deathwhich has taken place since we met, has removed one obstacle. He sleeps in hisgrave, and I no longer dread his anger. But from the anger of God, Oh! Raymond!who shall shield me? Who can protect me against my conscience, against myself?I dare not dwell upon these thoughts; They will drive me mad. I have taken myresolution: Procure a dispensation from my vows; I am ready to fly with you.Write to me, my Husband! Tell me, that absence has not abated your love, tellme that you will rescue from death your unborn Child, and its unhappy Mother. Ilive in all the agonies of terror: Every eye which is fixed upon me seems toread my secret and my shame. And you are the cause of those agonies! Oh! Whenmy heart first loved you, how little did it suspect you of making it feel suchpangs!

“AGNES.”

Having perused the letter, Lorenzo restored it in silence. The Marquis replacedit in the Cabinet, and then proceeded.)

“Excessive was my joy at reading this intelligence so earnestly-desired,so little expected. My plan was soon arranged. When Don Gaston discovered to mehis Daughter’s retreat, I entertained no doubt of her readiness to quitthe Convent: I had, therefore, entrusted the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma with thewhole affair, who immediately busied himself in obtaining the necessary Bull.Fortunately I had afterwards neglected to stop his proceedings. Not long sinceI received a letter from him, stating that He expected daily to receive theorder from the Court of Rome. Upon this I would willingly have relyed: But theCardinal wrote me word, that I must find some means of conveying Agnes out ofthe Convent, unknown to the Prioress. He doubted not but this Latter would bemuch incensed by losing a Person of such high rank from her society, andconsider the renunciation of Agnes as an insult to her House. He representedher as a Woman of a violent and revengeful character, capable of proceeding tothe greatest extremities. It was therefore to be feared, lest by confiningAgnes in the Convent She should frustrate my hopes, and render the Pope’smandate unavailing. Influenced by this consideration, I resolved to carry offmy Mistress, and conceal her till the arrival of the expected Bull in theCardinal-Duke’s Estate. He approved of my design, and profest himselfready to give a shelter to the Fugitive. I next caused the new Gardener of St.Clare to be seized privately, and confined in my Hotel. By this means I becameMaster of the Key to the Garden door, and I had now nothing more to do thanprepare Agnes for the elopement. This was done by the letter, which you saw medeliver this Evening. I told her in it, that I should be ready to receive herat twelve tomorrow night, that I had secured the Key of the Garden, and thatShe might depend upon a speedy release.

You have now, Lorenzo, heard the whole of my long narrative. I have nothing tosay in my excuse, save that my intentions towards your Sister have been everthe most honourable: That it has always been, and still is my design to makeher my Wife: And that I trust, when you consider these circumstances, ouryouth, and our attachment, you will not only forgive our momentary lapse fromvirtue, but will aid me in repairing my faults to Agnes, and securing a lawfultitle to her person and her heart.

CHAPTER V.

O You! whom Vanity’s light bark conveys
On Fame’s mad voyage by the wind of praise,
With what a shifting gale your course you ply,
For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!
Who pants for glory finds but short repose,
A breath revives him, and a breath o’er-throws.

POPE.

Here the Marquis concluded his adventures. Lorenzo, before He could determineon his reply, past some moments in reflection. At length He broke silence.

“Raymond,” said He taking his hand, “strict honour wouldoblige me to wash off in your blood the stain thrown upon my family; But thecircumstances of your case forbid me to consider you as an Enemy. Thetemptation was too great to be resisted. ’Tis the superstition of myRelations which has occasioned these misfortunes, and they are more theOffenders than yourself and Agnes. What has past between you cannot berecalled, but may yet be repaired by uniting you to my Sister. You have everbeen, you still continue to be, my dearest and indeed my only Friend. I feelfor Agnes the truest affection, and there is no one on whom I would bestow hermore willingly than on yourself. Pursue then your design. I will accompany youtomorrow night, and conduct her myself to the House of the Cardinal. Mypresence will be a sanction for her conduct, and prevent her incurring blame byher flight from the Convent.”

The Marquis thanked him in terms by no means deficient in gratitude. Lorenzothen informed him that He had nothing more to apprehend from DonnaRodolpha’s enmity. Five Months had already elapsed since, in an excess ofpassion, She broke a blood-vessel and expired in the course of a few hours. Hethen proceeded to mention the interests of Antonia. The Marquis was muchsurprized at hearing of this new Relation: His Father had carried his hatred ofElvira to the Grave, and had never given the least hint that He knew what wasbecome of his eldest Son’s Widow. Don Raymond assured his friend that Hewas not mistaken in supposing him ready to acknowledge his Sister-in-law andher amiable Daughter. The preparations for the elopement would not permit hisvisiting them the next day; But in the meanwhile He desired Lorenzo to assurethem of his friendship, and to supply Elvira upon his account with any sumswhich She might want. This the Youth promised to do, as soon as her abodeshould be known to him: He then took leave of his future Brother, and returnedto the Palace de Medina.

The day was already on the point of breaking when the Marquis retired to hischamber. Conscious that his narrative would take up some hours, and wishing tosecure himself from interruption on returning to the Hotel, He ordered hisAttendants not to sit up for him. Consequently, He was somewhat surprised onentering his Antiroom, to find Theodore established there. The Page sat near aTable with a pen in his hand, and was so totally occupied by his employmentthat He perceived not his Lord’s approach. The Marquis stopped to observehim. Theodore wrote a few lines, then paused, and scratched out a part of thewriting: Then wrote again, smiled, and seemed highly pleased with what He hadbeen about. At last He threw down his pen, sprang from his chair, and clappedhis hands together joyfully.

“There it is!” cried He aloud: “Now they are charming!”

His transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, who suspected thenature of his employment.

“What is so charming, Theodore?”

The Youth started, and looked round. He blushed, ran to the Table, seized thepaper on which He had been writing, and concealed it in confusion.

“Oh! my Lord, I knew not that you were so near me. Can I be of use toyou? Lucas is already gone to bed.”

“I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of yourverses.”

“My verses, my Lord?”

“Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else couldhave kept you awake till this time of the morning. Where are they, Theodore? Ishall like to see your composition.”

Theodore’s cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to show hispoetry, but first chose to be pressed for it.

“Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.”

“Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming?

Come, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same. I promise that youshall find in me an indulgent Critic.”

The Boy produced his paper with seeming reluctance; but the satisfaction whichsparkled in his dark expressive eyes betrayed the vanity of his little bosom.The Marquis smiled while He observed the emotions of an heart as yet but littleskilled in veiling its sentiments. He seated himself upon a Sopha: Theodore,while Hope and fear contended on his anxious countenance, waited withinquietude for his Master’s decision, while the Marquis read thefollowing lines.

LOVE AND AGE

The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement.

“Your little poem pleases me much,” said He; “However, youmust not count my opinion for anything. I am no judge of verses, and for my ownpart, never composed more than six lines in my life: Those six produced sounlucky an effect that I am fully resolved never to compose another. But Iwander from my subject. I was going to say that you cannot employ your timeworse than in making verses. An Author, whether good or bad, or between both,is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to attack; For though All are notable to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. A badcomposition carries with it its own punishment, contempt and ridicule. A goodone excites envy, and entails upon its Author a thousand mortifications. Hefinds himself assailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man findsfault with the plan, Another with the style, a Third with the precept, which itstrives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault with theBook, employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author. They maliciously rake outfrom obscurity every little circumstance which may throw ridicule upon hisprivate character or conduct, and aim at wounding the Man, since They cannothurt the Writer. In short, to enter the lists of literature is wilfully toexpose yourself to the arrows of neglect, ridicule, envy, and disappointment.Whether you write well or ill, be assured that you will not escape from blame;Indeed this circumstance contains a young Author’s chief consolation: Heremembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had unjust and envious Critics, andHe modestly conceives himself to be exactly in their predicament. But I amconscious that all these sage observations are thrown away upon you. Authorshipis a mania to conquer which no reasons are sufficiently strong; and you mightas easily persuade me not to love, as I persuade you not to write. However, ifyou cannot help being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm, take atleast the precaution of communicating your verses to none but those whosepartiality for you secures their approbation.”

“Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?” saidTheodore with an humble and dejected air.

“You mistake my meaning. As I said before, they have pleased me much; Butmy regard for you makes me partial, and Others might judge them lessfavourably. I must still remark that even my prejudice in your favour does notblind me so much as to prevent my observing several faults. For instance, youmake a terrible confusion of metaphors; You are too apt to make the strength ofyour lines consist more in the words than sense; Some of the verses only seemintroduced in order to rhyme with others; and most of the best ideas areborrowed from other Poets, though possibly you are unconscious of the theftyourself. These faults may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But ashort Poem must be correct and perfect.”

“All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only write forpleasure.”

“Your defects are the less excusable. Their incorrectness may be forgivenin those who work for money, who are obliged to compleat a given task in agiven time, and are paid according to the bulk, not value of their productions.But in those whom no necessity forces to turn Author, who merely write forfame, and have full leisure to polish their compositions, faults areimpardonable, and merit the sharpest arrows of criticism.”

The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and melancholy,and this did not escape his Master’s observation.

“However” added He smiling, “I think that these lines do youno discredit. Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear seems to bejust. The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me much pleasure; andif it is not asking too great a favour, I shall be highly obliged to you for aCopy.”

The Youth’s countenance immediately cleared up. He perceived not thesmile, half approving, half ironical, which accompanied the request, and Hepromised the Copy with great readiness. The Marquis withdrew to his chamber,much amused by the instantaneous effect produced upon Theodore’s vanityby the conclusion of his Criticism. He threw himself upon his Couch; Sleep soonstole over him, and his dreams presented him with the most flattering picturesof happiness with Agnes.

On reaching the Hotel de Medina, Lorenzo’s first care was to enquire forLetters. He found several waiting for him; but that which He sought was notamongst them. Leonella had found it impossible to write that evening. However,her impatience to secure Don Christoval’s heart, on which She flatteredherself with having made no slight impression, permitted her not to passanother day without informing him where She was to be found. On her return fromthe Capuchin Church, She had related to her Sister with exultation howattentive an handsome Cavalier had been to her; as also how his Companion hadundertaken to plead Antonia’s cause with the Marquis de las Cisternas.Elvira received this intelligence with sensations very different from thosewith which it was communicated. She blamed her Sister’s imprudence inconfiding her history to an absolute Stranger, and expressed her fears lestthis inconsiderate step should prejudice the Marquis against her. The greatestof her apprehensions She concealed in her own breast. She had observed withinquietude that at the mention of Lorenzo, a deep blush spread itself over herDaughter’s cheek. The timid Antonia dared not to pronounce his name:Without knowing wherefore, She felt embarrassed when He was made the subject ofdiscourse, and endeavoured to change the conversation to Ambrosio. Elviraperceived the emotions of this young bosom: In consequence, She insisted uponLeonella’s breaking her promise to the Cavaliers. A sigh, which onhearing this order escaped from Antonia, confirmed the wary Mother in herresolution.

Through this resolution Leonella was determined to break: She conceived it tobe inspired by envy, and that her Sister dreaded her being elevated above her.Without imparting her design to anyone, She took an opportunity of dispatchingthe following note to Lorenzo; It was delivered to him as soon as he woke:

“Doubtless, Segnor Don Lorenzo, you have frequently accused me ofingratitude and forgetfulness: But on the word of a Virgin, it was out of mypower to perform my promise yesterday. I know not in what words to inform youhow strange a reception my Sister gave your kind wish to visit her. She is anodd Woman, with many good points about her; But her jealousy of me frequentlymakes her conceive notions quite unaccountable. On hearing that your Friend hadpaid some little attention to me, She immediately took the alarm: She blamed myconduct, and has absolutely forbidden me to let you know our abode. My strongsense of gratitude for your kind offers of service, and ... Shall I confess it?my desire to behold once more the too amiable Don Christoval, will not permitmy obeying her injunctions. I have therefore stolen a moment to inform you,that we lodge in the Strada di San Iago, four doors from the Palaced’Albornos, and nearly opposite to the Barber’s Miguel Coello.Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since in compliance with herFather-in-law’s order, my Sister continues to be called by her maidenname. At eight this evening you will be sure of finding us: But let not a worddrop which may raise a suspicion of my having written this letter. Should yousee the Condé d’Ossorio, tell him ... I blush while I declare it ... Tellhim that his presence will be but too acceptable to the sympathetic

LEONELLA.

The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes of hercheek, while She committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty.

Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in search of DonChristoval. Not being able to find him in the course of the day, He proceededto Donna Elvira’s alone, to Leonella’s infinite disappointment. TheDomestic by whom He sent up his name, having already declared his Lady to be athome, She had no excuse for refusing his visit: Yet She consented to receive itwith much reluctance. That reluctance was increased by the changes which hisapproach produced in Antonia’s countenance; nor was it by any meansabated when the Youth himself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animationof his features, and natural elegance of his manners and address, convincedElvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her Daughter. She resolved totreat him with distant politeness, to decline his services with gratitude forthe tender of them, and to make him feel, without offence, that his futurevisits would be far from acceptable.

On his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining upon a Sopha:Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, in a pastoral dress, held“Montemayor’s Diana.” In spite of her being the Motherof Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting to find in Elvira Leonella’strue Sister, and the Daughter of “as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker, asany in Cordova.” A single glance was sufficient to undeceive him. Hebeheld a Woman whose features, though impaired by time and sorrow, still borethe marks of distinguished beauty: A serious dignity reigned upon hercountenance, but was tempered by a grace and sweetness which rendered her trulyenchanting. Lorenzo fancied that She must have resembled her Daughter in heryouth, and readily excused the imprudence of the late Condé de las Cisternas.She desired him to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the Sopha.

Antonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her work: Hercheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to conceal her emotion byleaning over her embroidery frame. Her Aunt also chose to play off her airs ofmodesty; She affected to blush and tremble, and waited with her eyes cast downto receive, as She expected, the compliments of Don Christoval. Finding aftersome time that no sign of his approach was given, She ventured to look roundthe room, and perceived with vexation that Medina was unaccompanied. Impatiencewould not permit her waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo, who wasdelivering Raymond’s message, She desired to know what was become of hisFriend.

He, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good graces, strove toconsole her under her disappointment by committing a little violence upontruth.

“Ah! Segnora,” He replied in a melancholy voice “How grievedwill He be at losing this opportunity of paying you his respects! ARelation’s illness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste: But on hisreturn, He will doubtless seize the first moment with transport to throwhimself at your feet!”

As He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira: She punished his falsehoodsufficiently by darting at him a look expressive of displeasure and reproach.Neither did the deceit answer his intention. Vexed and disappointed Leonellarose from her seat, and retired in dudgeon to her own apartment.

Lorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in Elvira’sopinion. He related his conversation with the Marquis respecting her: Heassured her that Raymond was prepared to acknowledge her for hisBrother’s Widow; and that till it was in his power to pay his complimentsto her in person, Lorenzo was commissioned to supply his place. Thisintelligence relieved Elvira from an heavy weight of uneasiness: She had nowfound a Protector for the fatherless Antonia, for whose future fortunes She hadsuffered the greatest apprehensions. She was not sparing of her thanks to himwho had interfered so generously in her behalf; But still She gave him noinvitation to repeat his visit.

However, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to enquire afterher health occasionally, the polite earnestness of his manner, gratitude forhis services, and respect for his Friend the Marquis, would not admit of arefusal. She consented reluctantly to receive him: He promised not to abuse hergoodness, and quitted the House.

Antonia was now left alone with her Mother: A temporary silence ensued. Bothwished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither knew how to introduce it.The one felt a bashfulness which sealed up her lips, and for which She couldnot account: The other feared to find her apprehensions true, or to inspire herDaughter with notions to which She might be still a Stranger. At length Elvirabegan the conversation.

“That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him. WasHe long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?”

“He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He gave mehis seat, and was very obliging and attentive.”

“Indeed? Why then have you never mentioned his name to me? Your Auntlanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted Ambrosio’seloquence: But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo’s person andaccomplishments. Had not Leonella spoken of his readiness to undertake ourcause, I should not have known him to be in existence.”

She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent.

“Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do. In my opinion hisfigure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners engaging. Still Hemay have struck you differently: You may think him disagreeable, and...”.

“Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him so? Ishould be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his kindness yesterday, andvery blind if his merits had escaped me. His figure is so graceful, so noble!His manners so gentle, yet so manly! I never yet saw so many accomplishmentsunited in one person, and I doubt whether Madrid can produce his equal.”

“Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid?

Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you pleasure?”

“In truth, I know not: You ask me a question which I cannot resolvemyself. I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand times: His name wasconstantly upon my lips, but when I would have pronounced it, I wanted courageto execute my design. However, if I did not speak of him, it was not that Ithought of him the less.”

“That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage? It wasbecause, accustomed to confide to me your most secret thoughts, you knew nothow to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge, that your heart nourished asentiment which you were conscious I should disapprove. Come hither to me, myChild.”

Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees by theSopha, and hid her face in her Mother’s lap.

“Fear not, my sweet Girl! Consider me equally as your Friend and Parent,and apprehend no reproof from me. I have read the emotions of your bosom; youare yet ill-skilled in concealing them, and they could not escape my attentiveeye. This Lorenzo is dangerous to your repose; He has already made animpression upon your heart. ’Tis true that I perceive easily that youraffection is returned; But what can be the consequences of this attachment? Youare poor and friendless, my Antonia; Lorenzo is the Heir of the Duke of MedinaCeli. Even should Himself mean honourably, his Uncle never will consent to yourunion; Nor without that Uncle’s consent, will I. By sad experience I knowwhat sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling to receiveher. Then struggle with your affection: Whatever pains it may cost you, striveto conquer it. Your heart is tender and susceptible: It has already received astrong impression; But when once convinced that you should not encourage suchsentiments, I trust, that you have sufficient fortitude to drive them from yourbosom.”

Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira thencontinued.

“To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be needful toprohibit Lorenzo’s visits. The service which He has rendered me permitsnot my forbidding them positively; But unless I judge too favourably of hischaracter, He will discontinue them without taking offence, if I confess to himmy reasons, and throw myself entirely on his generosity. The next time that Isee him, I will honestly avow to him the embarrassment which his presenceoccasions. How say you, my Child? Is not this measure necessary?”

Antonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though not withoutregret. Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and retired to bed. Antoniafollowed her example, and vowed so frequently never more to think of Lorenzo,that till Sleep closed her eyes She thought of nothing else.

While this was passing at Elvira’s, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin theMarquis. Every thing was ready for the second elopement of Agnes; and at twelvethe two Friends with a Coach and four were at the Garden wall of the Convent.Don Raymond drew out his Key, and unlocked the door. They entered, and waitedfor some time in expectation of being joined by Agnes. At length the Marquisgrew impatient: Beginning to fear that his second attempt would succeed nobetter than the first, He proposed to reconnoitre the Convent. The Friendsadvanced towards it. Every thing was still and dark. The Prioress was anxiousto keep the story a secret, fearing lest the crime of one of its members shouldbring disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition of powerfulRelations should deprive her vengeance of its intended victim. She took caretherefore to give the Lover of Agnes no cause to suppose that his design wasdiscovered, and his Mistress on the point of suffering the punishment of herfault. The same reason made her reject the idea of arresting the unknownSeducer in the Garden; Such a proceeding would have created much disturbance,and the disgrace of her Convent would have been noised about Madrid. Shecontented herself with confining Agnes closely; As to the Lover, She left himat liberty to pursue his designs. What She had expected was the result. TheMarquis and Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day: They then retiredwithout noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, and ignorant of the causeof its ill-success.

The next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to see his Sister.The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a melancholy countenance: She informedhim that for several days Agnes had appeared much agitated; That She had beenprest by the Nuns in vain to reveal the cause, and apply to their tendernessfor advice and consolation; That She had obstinately persisted in concealingthe cause of her distress; But that on Thursday Evening it had produced soviolent an effect upon her constitution, that She had fallen ill, and wasactually confined to her bed. Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of thisaccount: He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to come to theGrate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell. The Prioress crossed herself! Shewas shocked at the very idea of a Man’s profane eye pervading theinterior of her holy Mansion, and professed herself astonished that Lorenzocould think of such a thing. She told him that his request could not begranted; But that if He returned the next day, She hoped that her belovedDaughter would then be sufficiently recovered to join him at the Parlour grate.

With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and trembling forhis Sister’s safety.

He returned the next morning at an early hour. “Agnes was worse; ThePhysician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She was ordered toremain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for her to receive herBrother’s visit.” Lorenzo stormed at this answer, but there was noresource. He raved, He entreated, He threatened: No means were left untried toobtain a sight of Agnes. His endeavours were as fruitless as those of the daybefore, and He returned in despair to the Marquis. On his side, the Latter hadspared no pains to discover what had occasioned his plot to fail: DonChristoval, to whom the affair was now entrusted, endeavoured to worm out thesecret from the Old Porteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed anacquaintance; But She was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her nointelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo felt scarcely lessinquietude. Both were convinced that the purposed elopement must have beendiscovered: They doubted not but the malady of Agnes was a pretence, But theyknew not by what means to rescue her from the hands of the Prioress.

Regularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly was He informedthat his Sister rather grew worse than better. Certain that her indispositionwas feigned, these accounts did not alarm him: But his ignorance of her fate,and of the motives which induced the Prioress to keep her from him, excited themost serious uneasiness. He was still uncertain what steps He ought to take,when the Marquis received a letter from the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma. It inclosedthe Pope’s expected Bull, ordering that Agnes should be released from hervows, and restored to her Relations. This essential paper decided at once theproceedings of her Friends: They resolved that Lorenzo should carry it to theDomina without delay, and demand that his Sister should be instantly given upto him. Against this mandate illness could not be pleaded: It gave her Brotherthe power of removing her instantly to the Palace de Medina, and He determinedto use that power on the following day.

His mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and his Spirits raisedby the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He now had time to give a fewmoments to love and to Antonia. At the same hour as on his former visit Herepaired to Donna Elvira’s: She had given orders for his admission. Assoon as He was announced, her Daughter retired with Leonella, and when Heentered the chamber, He found the Lady of the House alone. She received himwith less distance than before, and desired him to place himself near her uponthe Sopha. She then without losing time opened her business, as had been agreedbetween herself and Antonia.

“You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful howessential are the services which you have rendered me with the Marquis. I feelthe weight of my obligations; Nothing under the Sun should induce my taking thestep to which I am now compelled but the interest of my Child, of my belovedAntonia. My health is declining; God only knows how soon I may be summonedbefore his Throne. My Daughter will be left without Parents, and should Shelose the protection of the Cisternas family, without Friends.

She is young and artless, uninstructed in the world’s perfidy, and withcharms sufficient to render her an object of seduction. Judge then, how I musttremble at the prospect before her! Judge how anxious I must be to keep herfrom their society who may excite the yet dormant passions of her bosom. Youare amiable, Don Lorenzo: Antonia has a susceptible, a loving heart, and isgrateful for the favours conferred upon us by your interference with theMarquis. Your presence makes me tremble: I fear lest it should inspire her withsentiments which may embitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her tocherish hopes in her situation unjustifiable and futile. Pardon me when I avowmy terrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse. I cannot forbid you myHouse, for gratitude restrains me; I can only throw myself upon yourgenerosity, and entreat you to spare the feelings of an anxious, of a dotingMother. Believe me when I assure you that I lament the necessity of rejectingyour acquaintance; But there is no remedy, and Antonia’s interest obligesme to beg you to forbear your visits. By complying with my request, you willincrease the esteem which I already feel for you, and of which everythingconvinces me that you are truly deserving.”

“Your frankness charms me,” replied Lorenzo; “You shall findthat in your favourable opinion of me you were not deceived. Yet I hope thatthe reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade you to withdraw a requestwhich I cannot obey without infinite reluctance. I love your Daughter, love hermost sincerely: I wish for no greater happiness than to inspire her with thesame sentiments, and receive her hand at the Altar as her Husband. ’Tistrue, I am not rich myself; My Father’s death has left me but little inmy own possession; But my expectations justify my pretending to the Condé delas Cisternas’ Daughter.”

He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him.

“Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness of myorigin. You forget that I have now past fourteen years in Spain, disavowed bymy Husband’s family, and existing upon a stipend barely sufficient forthe support and education of my Daughter. Nay, I have even been neglected bymost of my own Relations, who out of envy affect to doubt the reality of mymarriage. My allowance being discontinued at my Father-in-law’s death, Iwas reduced to the very brink of want. In this situation I was found by mySister, who amongst all her foibles possesses a warm, generous, andaffectionate heart. She aided me with the little fortune which my Father lefther, persuaded me to visit Madrid, and has supported my Child and myself sinceour quitting Murcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the Condé dela Cisternas: Consider her as a poor and unprotected Orphan, as the Grand-childof the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as the needy Pensioner of thatTradesman’s Daughter. Reflect upon the difference between such asituation, and that of the Nephew and Heir of the potent Duke of Medina. Ibelieve your intentions to be honourable; But as there are no hopes that yourUncle will approve of the union, I foresee that the consequences of yourattachment must be fatal to my Child’s repose.”

“Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke ofMedina to resemble the generality of Men. His sentiments are liberal anddisinterested: He loves me well; and I have no reason to dread his forbiddingthe marriage when He perceives that my happiness depends upon Antonia. Butsupposing him to refuse his sanction, what have I still to fear? My Parents areno more; My little fortune is in my own possession: It will be sufficient tosupport Antonia, and I shall exchange for her hand Medina’s Dukedomwithout one sigh of regret.”

“You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain such ideas.But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses accompany an unequalalliance. I married the Condé de las Cisternas in opposition to the will of hisRelations; Many an heart-pang has punished me for the imprudent step. Whereeverwe bent our course, a Father’s execration pursued Gonzalvo. Povertyovertook us, and no Friend was near to relieve our wants. Still our mutualaffection existed, but alas! not without interruption.

Accustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support the transition todistress and indigence. He looked back with repining to the comforts which Heonce enjoyed. He regretted the situation which for my sake He had quitted; andin moments when Despair possessed his mind, has reproached me with having madehim the Companion of want and wretchedness! He has called me his bane! Thesource of his sorrows, the cause of his destruction! Ah God! He little knew howmuch keener were my own heart’s reproaches! He was ignorant that Isuffered trebly, for myself, for my Children, and for him! ’Tis true thathis anger seldom lasted long: His sincere affection for me soon revived in hisheart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made me shed torturedme even more than his reproaches. He would throw himself on the ground, imploremy forgiveness in the most frantic terms, and load himself with curses forbeing the Murderer of my repose. Taught by experience that an union contractedagainst the inclinations of families on either side must be unfortunate, I willsave my Daughter from those miseries which I have suffered. Without yourUncle’s consent, while I live, She never shall be yours. Undoubtedly Hewill disapprove of the union; His power is immense, and Antonia shall not beexposed to his anger and persecution.”

“His persecution? How easily may that be avoided! Let the worst happen,it is but quitting Spain. My wealth may easily be realised; The Indian Islandswill offer us a secure retreat; I have an estate, though not of value, inHispaniola: Thither will we fly, and I shall consider it to be my nativeCountry, if it gives me Antonia’s undisturbed possession.”

“Ah! Youth, this is a fond romantic vision. Gonzalvo thought the same. Hefancied that He could leave Spain without regret; But the moment of partingundeceived him. You know not yet what it is to quit your native land; to quitit, never to behold it more!

You know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have passed yourinfancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates! To be forgotten, utterlyeternally forgotten, by the Companions of your Youth! To see your dearestFriends, the fondest objects of your affection, perishing with diseasesincidental to Indian atmospheres, and find yourself unable to procure for themnecessary assistance! I have felt all this! My Husband and two sweet Babesfound their Graves in Cuba: Nothing would have saved my young Antonia but mysudden return to Spain. Ah! Don Lorenzo, could you conceive what I sufferedduring my absence! Could you know how sorely I regretted all that I leftbehind, and how dear to me was the very name of Spain! I envied the winds whichblew towards it: And when the Spanish Sailor chaunted some well-known air as Hepast my window, tears filled my eyes while I thought upon my native land.Gonzalvo too ... My Husband ...”.

Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face with herhandkerchief. After a short silence She rose from the Sopha, and proceeded.

“Excuse my quitting you for a few moments: The remembrance of what I havesuffered has much agitated me, and I need to be alone. Till I return perusethese lines. After my Husband’s death I found them among his papers; HadI known sooner that He entertained such sentiments, Grief would have killed me.He wrote these verses on his voyage to Cuba, when his mind was clouded bysorrow, and He forgot that He had a Wife and Children.

What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious: Gonzalvo was quittingSpain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to his eyes than all else whichthe World contained. Read them, Don Lorenzo; They will give you some idea ofthe feelings of a banished Man!”

Elvira put a paper into Lorenzo’s hand, and retired from the chamber. TheYouth examined the contents, and found them to be as follows.

THE EXILE

Lorenzo had scarcely time to read these lines, when Elvira returned to him: Thegiving a free course to her tears had relieved her, and her spirits hadregained their usual composure.

“I have nothing more to say, my Lord,” said She; “You haveheard my apprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat yourvisits. I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your honour: I am certainthat you will not prove my opinion of you to have been too favourable.”

“But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you. Should the Duke ofMedina approve my love, would my addresses be unacceptable to yourself and thefair Antonia?”

“I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo: There being little probability ofsuch an union taking place, I fear that it is desired but too ardently by myDaughter. You have made an impression upon her young heart, which gives me themost serious alarm: To prevent that impression from growing stronger, I amobliged to decline your acquaintance. For me, you may be sure that I shouldrejoice at establishing my Child so advantageously. Conscious that myconstitution, impaired by grief and illness, forbids me to expect a longcontinuance in this world, I tremble at the thought of leaving her under theprotection of a perfect Stranger. The Marquis de las Cisternas is totallyunknown to me:

He will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye of displeasure, anddeprive her of her only Friend. Should the Duke, your Uncle, give his consent,you need not doubt obtaining mine, and my Daughter’s: But without his,hope not for ours. At all events, what ever steps you may take, what ever maybe the Duke’s decision, till you know it let me beg your forbearing tostrengthen by your presence Antonia’s prepossession. If the sanction ofyour Relations authorises your addressing her as your Wife, my Doors fly opento you: If that sanction is refused, be satisfied to possess my esteem andgratitude, but remember, that we must meet no more.”

Lorenzo promised reluctantly to conform to this decree: But He added that Hehoped soon to obtain that consent which would give him a claim to the renewalof their acquaintance. He then explained to her why the Marquis had not calledin person, and made no scruple of confiding to her his Sister’s History.He concluded by saying that He hoped to set Agnes at liberty the next day; andthat as soon as Don Raymond’s fears were quieted upon this subject, Hewould lose no time in assuring Donna Elvira of his friendship and protection.

The Lady shook her head.

“I tremble for your Sister,” said She; “I have heard manytraits of the Domina of St. Clare’s character, from a Friend who waseducated in the same Convent with her. She reported her to be haughty,inflexible, superstitious, and revengeful. I have since heard that She isinfatuated with the idea of rendering her Convent the most regular in Madrid,and never forgave those whose imprudence threw upon it the slightest stain.Though naturally violent and severe, when her interests require it, She wellknows how to assume an appearance of benignity. She leaves no means untried topersuade young Women of rank to become Members of her Community: She isimplacable when once incensed, and has too much intrepidity to shrink at takingthe most rigorous measures for punishing the Offender. Doubtless, She willconsider your Sister’s quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown upon it:She will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of his Holiness, and Ishudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the hands of this dangerousWoman.”

Lorenzo now rose to take leave. Elvira gave him her hand at parting, which Hekissed respectfully; and telling her that He soon hoped for the permission tosalute that of Antonia, He returned to his Hotel. The Lady was perfectlysatisfied with the conversation which had past between them. She looked forwardwith satisfaction to the prospect of his becoming her Son-in-law; But Prudencebad her conceal from her Daughter’s knowledge the flattering hopes whichHerself now ventured to entertain.

Scarcely was it day, and already Lorenzo was at the Convent of St. Clare,furnished with the necessary mandate. The Nuns were at Matins. He waitedimpatiently for the conclusion of the service, and at length the Prioressappeared at the Parlour Grate. Agnes was demanded. The old Lady replied, with amelancholy air, that the dear Child’s situation grew hourly moredangerous; That the Physicians despaired of her life; But that they haddeclared the only chance for her recovery to consist in keeping her quiet, andnot to permit those to approach her whose presence was likely to agitate her.Not a word of all this was believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited theexpressions of grief and affection for Agnes, with which this account wasinterlarded. To end the business, He put the Pope’s Bull into the handsof the Domina, and insisted that, ill or in health, his Sister should bedelivered to him without delay.

The Prioress received the paper with an air of humility: But no sooner had hereye glanced over the contents, than her resentment baffled all the efforts ofHypocrisy. A deep crimson spread itself over her face, and She darted uponLorenzo looks of rage and menace.

“This order is positive,” said She in a voice of anger, which Shein vain strove to disguise; “Willingly would I obey it; But unfortunatelyit is out of my power.”

Lorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize.

“I repeat it, Segnor; to obey this order is totally out of my power. Fromtenderness to a Brother’s feelings, I would have communicated the sadevent to you by degrees, and have prepared you to hear it with fortitude. Mymeasures are broken through: This order commands me to deliver up to you theSister Agnes without delay; I am therefore obliged to inform you withoutcircumlocution, that on Friday last, She expired.”

Lorenzo started back with horror, and turned pale. A moment’srecollection convinced him that this assertion must be false, and it restoredhim to himself.

“You deceive me!” said He passionately; “But five minutespast since you assured me that though ill She was still alive. Produce her thisinstant! See her I must and will, and every attempt to keep her from me will beunavailing.”

“You forget yourself, Segnor; You owe respect to my age as well as myprofession. Your Sister is no more. If I at first concealed her death, it wasfrom dreading lest an event so unexpected should produce on you too violent aneffect. In truth, I am but ill repaid for my attention. And what interest, Ipray you, should I have in detaining her? To know her wish of quitting oursociety is a sufficient reason for me to wish her absence, and think her adisgrace to the Sisterhood of St. Clare: But She has forfeited my affection ina manner yet more culpable. Her crimes were great, and when you know the causeof her death, you will doubtless rejoice, Don Lorenzo, that such a Wretch is nolonger in existence. She was taken ill on Thursday last on returning fromconfession in the Capuchin Chapel. Her malady seemed attended with strangecircumstances; But She persisted in concealing its cause: Thanks to the Virgin,we were too ignorant to suspect it! Judge then what must have been ourconsternation, our horror, when She was delivered the next day of a stillbornChild, whom She immediately followed to the Grave. How, Segnor? Is it possiblethat your countenance expresses no surprize, no indignation? Is it possiblethat your Sister’s infamy was known to you, and that still She possessedyour affection? In that case, you have no need of my compassion. I can saynothing more, except repeat my inability of obeying the orders of his Holiness.Agnes is no more, and to convince you that what I say is true, I swear by ourblessed Saviour, that three days have past since She was buried.”

Here She kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle. She then rose fromher chair, and quitted the Parlour. As She withdrew, She cast upon Lorenzo ascornful smile.

“Farewell, Segnor,” said She; “I know no remedy for thisaccident: I fear that even a second Bull from the Pope will not procure yourSister’s resurrection.”

Lorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction: But Don Raymond’s atthe news of this event amounted to Madness. He would not be convinced thatAgnes was really dead, and continued to insist that the Walls of St. Clarestill confined her. No arguments could make him abandon his hopes of regainingher: Every day some fresh scheme was invented for procuring intelligence ofher, and all of them were attended with the same success.

On his part, Medina gave up the idea of ever seeing his Sister more: Yet Hebelieved that She had been taken off by unfair means. Under this persuasion, Heencouraged Don Raymond’s researches, determined, should He discover theleast warrant for his suspicions, to take a severe vengeance upon the unfeelingPrioress. The loss of his Sister affected him sincerely; Nor was it the leastcause of his distress that propriety obliged him for some time to defermentioning Antonia to the Duke. In the meanwhile his emissaries constantlysurrounded Elvira’s Door. He had intelligence of all the movements of hisMistress: As She never failed every Thursday to attend the Sermon in theCapuchin Cathedral, He was secure of seeing her once a week, though incompliance with his promise, He carefully shunned her observation. Thus twolong Months passed away. Still no information was procured of Agnes: All butthe Marquis credited her death; and now Lorenzo determined to disclose hissentiments to his Uncle. He had already dropt some hints of his intention tomarry; They had been as favourably received as He could expect, and Heharboured no doubt of the success of his application.

CHAPTER VI.

While in each other’s arms entranced They lay,
They blessed the night, and curst the coming day.

LEE.

The burst of transport was past: Ambrosio’s lust was satisfied; Pleasurefled, and Shame usurped her seat in his bosom. Confused and terrified at hisweakness, He drew himself from Matilda’s arms. His perjury presenteditself before him: He reflected on the scene which had just been acted, andtrembled at the consequences of a discovery. He looked forward with horror; Hisheart was despondent, and became the abode of satiety and disgust. He avoidedthe eyes of his Partner in frailty; A melancholy silence prevailed, duringwhich Both seemed busied with disagreeable reflections.

Matilda was the first to break it. She took his hand gently, and pressed it toher burning lips.

“Ambrosio!” She murmured in a soft and trembling voice.

The Abbot started at the sound. He turned his eyes upon Matilda’s: Theywere filled with tears; Her cheeks were covered with blushes, and hersupplicating looks seemed to solicit his compassion.

“Dangerous Woman!” said He; “Into what an abyss of miseryhave you plunged me! Should your sex be discovered, my honour, nay my life,must pay for the pleasure of a few moments. Fool that I was, to trust myself toyour seductions! What can now be done? How can my offence be expiated? Whatatonement can purchase the pardon of my crime? Wretched Matilda, you havedestroyed my quiet for ever!”

“To me these reproaches, Ambrosio? To me, who have sacrificed for you theworld’s pleasures, the luxury of wealth, the delicacy of sex, my Friends,my fortune, and my fame? What have you lost, which I preserved? Have Inot shared in your guilt? Have you not shared in mypleasure? Guilt, did I say? In what consists ours, unless in the opinion of anill-judging World? Let that World be ignorant of them, and our joys becomedivine and blameless! Unnatural were your vows of Celibacy; Man was not createdfor such a state; And were Love a crime, God never would have made it so sweet,so irresistible! Then banish those clouds from your brow, my Ambrosio! Indulgein those pleasures freely, without which life is a worthless gift: Cease toreproach me with having taught you what is bliss, and feel equal transportswith the Woman who adores you!”

As She spoke, her eyes were filled with a delicious languor. Her bosom panted:She twined her arms voluptuously round him, drew him towards her, and glewedher lips to his. Ambrosio again raged with desire: The die was thrown: His vowswere already broken; He had already committed the crime, and why should Herefrain from enjoying its reward? He clasped her to his breast with redoubledardour. No longer repressed by the sense of shame, He gave a loose to hisintemperate appetites. While the fair Wanton put every invention of lust inpractice, every refinement in the art of pleasure which might heighten thebliss of her possession, and render her Lover’s transports still moreexquisite, Ambrosio rioted in delights till then unknown to him: Swift fled thenight, and the Morning blushed to behold him still clasped in the embraces ofMatilda.

Intoxicated with pleasure, the Monk rose from the Syren’s luxuriousCouch. He no longer reflected with shame upon his incontinence, or dreaded thevengeance of offended heaven. His only fear was lest Death should rob him ofenjoyments, for which his long Fast had only given a keener edge to hisappetite. Matilda was still under the influence of poison, and the voluptuousMonk trembled less for his Preserver’s life than his Concubine’s.Deprived of her, He would not easily find another Mistress with whom He couldindulge his passions so fully, and so safely. He therefore pressed her withearnestness to use the means of preservation which She had declared to be inher possession.

“Yes!” replied Matilda; “Since you have made me feel thatLife is valuable, I will rescue mine at any rate. No dangers shall appall me: Iwill look upon the consequences of my action boldly, nor shudder at the horrorswhich they present. I will think my sacrifice scarcely worthy to purchase yourpossession, and remember that a moment past in your arms in this worldo’er-pays an age of punishment in the next. But before I take this step,Ambrosio, give me your solemn oath never to enquire by what means I shallpreserve myself.”

He did so in a manner the most binding.

“I thank you, my Beloved. This precaution is necessary, for though youknow it not, you are under the command of vulgar prejudices: The Business onwhich I must be employed this night, might startle you from its singularity,and lower me in your opinion. Tell me; Are you possessed of the Key of the lowdoor on the western side of the Garden?”

“The Door which opens into the burying-ground common to us and theSisterhood of St. Clare? I have not the Key, but can easily procure it.”

“You have only this to do. Admit me into the burying-ground at midnight;Watch while I descend into the vaults of St. Clare, lest some prying eye shouldobserve my actions; Leave me there alone for an hour, and that life is safewhich I dedicate to your pleasures. To prevent creating suspicion, do not visitme during the day. Remember the Key, and that I expect you before twelve. Hark!I hear steps approaching! Leave me; I will pretend to sleep.”

The Friar obeyed, and left the Cell. As He opened the door, Father Pablos madehis appearance.

“I come,” said the Latter, “to enquire after the health of myyoung Patient.”

“Hush!” replied Ambrosio, laying his finger upon his lip;“Speak softly; I am just come from him. He has fallen into a profoundslumber, which doubtless will be of service to him. Do not disturb him atpresent, for He wishes to repose.”

Father Pablos obeyed, and hearing the Bell ring, accompanied the Abbot toMatins. Ambrosio felt embarrassed as He entered the Chapel. Guilt was new tohim, and He fancied that every eye could read the transactions of the nightupon his countenance. He strove to pray; His bosom no longer glowed withdevotion; His thoughts insensibly wandered to Matilda’s secret charms.But what He wanted in purity of heart, He supplied by exterior sanctity. Thebetter to cloak his transgression, He redoubled his pretensions to thesemblance of virtue, and never appeared more devoted to Heaven as since He hadbroken through his engagements. Thus did He unconsciously add Hypocrisy toperjury and incontinence; He had fallen into the latter errors from yielding toseduction almost irresistible; But he was now guilty of a voluntary fault byendeavouring to conceal those into which Another had betrayed him.

The Matins concluded, Ambrosio retired to his Cell. The pleasures which He hadjust tasted for the first time were still impressed upon his mind. His brainwas bewildered, and presented a confused Chaos of remorse, voluptuousness,inquietude, and fear. He looked back with regret to that peace of soul, thatsecurity of virtue, which till then had been his portion. He had indulged inexcesses whose very idea but four and twenty hours before He had recoiled atwith horror. He shuddered at reflecting that a trifling indiscretion on hispart, or on Matilda’s, would overturn that fabric of reputation which ithad cost him thirty years to erect, and render him the abhorrence of thatPeople of whom He was then the Idol. Conscience painted to him in glaringcolours his perjury and weakness; Apprehension magnified to him the horrors ofpunishment, and He already fancied himself in the prisons of the Inquisition.To these tormenting ideas succeeded Matilda’s beauty, and those deliciouslessons which, once learnt, can never be forgotten. A single glance thrown uponthese reconciled him with himself. He considered the pleasures of the formernight to have been purchased at an easy price by the sacrifice of innocence andhonour. Their very remembrance filled his soul with ecstacy; He cursed hisfoolish vanity, which had induced him to waste in obscurity the bloom of life,ignorant of the blessings of Love and Woman. He determined at all events tocontinue his commerce with Matilda, and called every argument to his aid whichmight confirm his resolution. He asked himself, provided his irregularity wasunknown, in what would his fault consist, and what consequences He had toapprehend? By adhering strictly to every rule of his order save Chastity, Hedoubted not to retain the esteem of Men, and even the protection of heaven. Hetrusted easily to be forgiven so slight and natural a deviation from his vows:But He forgot that having pronounced those vows, Incontinence, in Laymen themost venial of errors, became in his person the most heinous of crimes.

Once decided upon his future conduct, his mind became more easy. He threwhimself upon his bed, and strove by sleeping to recruit his strength exhaustedby his nocturnal excesses. He awoke refreshed, and eager for a repetition ofhis pleasures. Obedient to Matilda’s order, He visited not her Cellduring the day. Father Pablos mentioned in the Refectory that Rosario had atlength been prevailed upon to follow his prescription; But that the medicinehad not produced the slightest effect, and that He believed no mortal skillcould rescue him from the Grave. With this opinion the Abbot agreed, andaffected to lament the untimely fate of a Youth, whose talents had appeared sopromising.

The night arrived. Ambrosio had taken care to procure from the Porter the Keyof the low door opening into the Cemetery. Furnished with this, when all wassilent in the Monastery, He quitted his Cell, and hastened to Matilda’s.She had left her bed, and was drest before his arrival.

“I have been expecting you with impatience,” said She; “Mylife depends upon these moments. Have you the Key?”

“I have.”

“Away then to the garden. We have no time to lose. Follow me!”

She took a small covered Basket from the Table. Bearing this in one hand, andthe Lamp, which was flaming upon the Hearth, in the other, She hastened fromthe Cell. Ambrosio followed her. Both maintained a profound silence. She movedon with quick but cautious steps, passed through the Cloisters, and reached theWestern side of the Garden. Her eyes flashed with a fire and wildness whichimpressed the Monk at once with awe and horror. A determined desperate couragereigned upon her brow. She gave the Lamp to Ambrosio; Then taking from him theKey, She unlocked the low Door, and entered the Cemetery. It was a vast andspacious Square planted with yew trees: Half of it belonged to the Abbey; Theother half was the property of the Sisterhood of St. Clare, and was protectedby a roof of Stone. The Division was marked by an iron railing, the wicket ofwhich was generally left unlocked.

Thither Matilda bent her course. She opened the wicket and sought for the doorleading to the subterraneous Vaults, where reposed the mouldering Bodies of theVotaries of St. Clare. The night was perfectly dark; Neither Moon or Stars werevisible. Luckily there was not a breath of Wind, and the Friar bore his Lamp infull security: By the assistance of its beams, the door of the Sepulchre wassoon discovered. It was sunk within the hollow of a wall, and almost concealedby thick festoons of ivy hanging over it. Three steps of rough-hewn Stoneconducted to it, and Matilda was on the point of descending them when Shesuddenly started back.

“There are People in the Vaults!” She whispered to the Monk;“Conceal yourself till they are past.

She took refuge behind a lofty and magnificent Tomb, erected in honour of theConvent’s Foundress. Ambrosio followed her example, carefully hiding hisLamp lest its beams should betray them. But a few moments had elapsed when theDoor was pushed open leading to the subterraneous Caverns. Rays of lightproceeded up the Staircase: They enabled the concealed Spectators to observetwo Females drest in religious habits, who seemed engaged in earnestconversation. The Abbot had no difficulty to recognize the Prioress of St.Clare in the first, and one of the elder Nuns in her Companion.

“Every thing is prepared,” said the Prioress; “Her fate shallbe decided tomorrow. All her tears and sighs will be unavailing. No! In fiveand twenty years that I have been Superior of this Convent, never did I witnessa transaction more infamous!”

“You must expect much opposition to your will;” the Other repliedin a milder voice; “Agnes has many Friends in the Convent, and inparticular the Mother St. Ursula will espouse her cause most warmly. In truth,She merits to have Friends; and I wish I could prevail upon you to consider heryouth, and her peculiar situation. She seems sensible of her fault; The excessof her grief proves her penitence, and I am convinced that her tears flow morefrom contrition than fear of punishment. Reverend Mother, would you bepersuaded to mitigate the severity of your sentence, would you but deign tooverlook this first transgression, I offer myself as the pledge of her futureconduct.”

“Overlook it, say you? Mother Camilla, you amaze me! What? Afterdisgracing me in the presence of Madrid’s Idol, of the very Man on whom Imost wished to impress an idea of the strictness of my discipline? Howdespicable must I have appeared to the reverend Abbot! No, Mother, No! I nevercan forgive the insult. I cannot better convince Ambrosio that I abhor suchcrimes, than by punishing that of Agnes with all the rigour of which our severelaws admit. Cease then your supplications; They will all be unavailing. Myresolution is taken: Tomorrow Agnes shall be made a terrible example of myjustice and resentment.”

The Mother Camilla seemed not to give up the point, but by this time the Nunswere out of hearing. The Prioress unlocked the door which communicated with St.Clare’s Chapel, and having entered with her Companion, closed it againafter them.

Matilda now asked, who was this Agnes with whom the Prioress was thus incensed,and what connexion She could have with Ambrosio. He related her adventure; andHe added, that since that time his ideas having undergone a thoroughrevolution, He now felt much compassion for the unfortunate Nun.

“I design,” said He, “to request an audience of the Dominatomorrow, and use every means of obtaining a mitigation of her sentence.”

“Beware of what you do!” interrupted Matilda; “Your suddenchange of sentiment may naturally create surprize, and may give birth tosuspicions which it is most our interest to avoid. Rather, redouble youroutward austerity, and thunder out menaces against the errors of others, thebetter to conceal your own. Abandon the Nun to her fate. Your interfering mightbe dangerous, and her imprudence merits to be punished: She is unworthy toenjoy Love’s pleasures, who has not wit enough to conceal them. But indiscussing this trifling subject I waste moments which are precious. The nightflies apace, and much must be done before morning. The Nuns are retired; All issafe. Give me the Lamp, Ambrosio. I must descend alone into these Caverns: Waithere, and if any one approaches, warn me by your voice; But as you value yourexistence, presume not to follow me. Your life would fall a victim to yourimprudent curiosity.”

Thus saying She advanced towards the Sepulchre, still holding her Lamp in onehand, and her little Basket in the other. She touched the door: It turnedslowly upon its grating hinges, and a narrow winding staircase of black marblepresented itself to her eyes. She descended it. Ambrosio remained above,watching the faint beams of the Lamp as they still proceeded up the stairs.They disappeared, and He found himself in total darkness.

Left to himself He could not reflect without surprize on the sudden change inMatilda’s character and sentiments. But a few days had past since Sheappeared the mildest and softest of her sex, devoted to his will, and lookingup to him as to a superior Being. Now She assumed a sort of courage andmanliness in her manners and discourse but ill-calculated to please him. Shespoke no longer to insinuate, but command: He found himself unable to cope withher in argument, and was unwillingly obliged to confess the superiority of herjudgment. Every moment convinced him of the astonishing powers of her mind: Butwhat She gained in the opinion of the Man, She lost with interest in theaffection of the Lover. He regretted Rosario, the fond, the gentle, andsubmissive: He grieved that Matilda preferred the virtues of his sex to thoseof her own; and when He thought of her expressions respecting the devoted Nun,He could not help blaming them as cruel and unfeminine. Pity is a sentiment sonatural, so appropriate to the female character, that it is scarcely a meritfor a Woman to possess it, but to be without it is a grievous crime. Ambrosiocould not easily forgive his Mistress for being deficient in this amiablequality. However, though he blamed her insensibility, He felt the truth of herobservations; and though He pitied sincerely the unfortunate Agnes, He resolvedto drop the idea of interposing in her behalf.

Near an hour had elapsed, since Matilda descended into the Caverns; Still Shereturned not. Ambrosio’s curiosity was excited. He drew near theStaircase. He listened. All was silent, except that at intervals He caught thesound of Matilda’s voice, as it wound along the subterraneous passages,and was re-echoed by the Sepulchre’s vaulted roofs. She was at too greata distance for him to distinguish her words, and ere they reached him they weredeadened into a low murmur. He longed to penetrate into this mystery. Heresolved to disobey her injunctions and follow her into the Cavern. He advancedto the Staircase; He had already descended some steps when his courage failedhim. He remembered Matilda’s menaces if He infringed her orders, and hisbosom was filled with a secret unaccountable awe. He returned up the stairs,resumed his former station, and waited impatiently for the conclusion of thisadventure.

Suddenly He was sensible of a violent shock: An earthquake rocked the ground.The Columns which supported the roof under which He stood were so stronglyshaken, that every moment menaced him with its fall, and at the same moment Heheard a loud and tremendous burst of thunder. It ceased, and his eyes beingfixed upon the Staircase, He saw a bright column of light flash along theCaverns beneath. It was seen but for an instant. No sooner did it disappear,than all was once more quiet and obscure. Profound Darkness again surroundedhim, and the silence of night was only broken by the whirring Bat, as Sheflitted slowly by him.

With every instant Ambrosio’s amazement increased. Another hour elapsed,after which the same light again appeared and was lost again as suddenly. Itwas accompanied by a strain of sweet but solemn Music, which as it stolethrough the Vaults below, inspired the Monk with mingled delight and terror. Ithad not long been hushed, when He heard Matilda’s steps upon theStaircase. She ascended from the Cavern; The most lively joy animated herbeautiful features.

“Did you see any thing?” She asked.

“Twice I saw a column of light flash up the Staircase.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

“The Morning is on the point of breaking. Let us retire to the Abbey,lest daylight should betray us.”

With a light step She hastened from the burying-ground. She regained her Cell,and the curious Abbot still accompanied her. She closed the door, anddisembarrassed herself of her Lamp and Basket.

“I have succeeded!” She cried, throwing herself upon his bosom:“Succeeded beyond my fondest hopes! I shall live, Ambrosio, shall livefor you! The step which I shuddered at taking proves to me a source of joysinexpressible! Oh! that I dared communicate those joys to you! Oh! that I werepermitted to share with you my power, and raise you as high above the level ofyour sex, as one bold deed has exalted me above mine!”

“And what prevents you, Matilda?” interrupted the Friar; “Whyis your business in the Cavern made a secret? Do you think me undeserving ofyour confidence? Matilda, I must doubt the truth of your affection, while youhave joys in which I am forbidden to share.”

“You reproach me with injustice. I grieve sincerely that I am obliged toconceal from you my happiness. But I am not to blame: The fault lies not in me,but in yourself, my Ambrosio! You are still too much the Monk. Your mind isenslaved by the prejudices of Education; And Superstition might make youshudder at the idea of that which experience has taught me to prize and value.At present you are unfit to be trusted with a secret of such importance: Butthe strength of your judgment; and the curiosity which I rejoice to seesparkling in your eyes, makes me hope that you will one day deserve myconfidence. Till that period arrives, restrain your impatience. Remember thatyou have given me your solemn oath never to enquire into this night’sadventures. I insist upon your keeping this oath: For though” She addedsmiling, while She sealed his lips with a wanton kiss; “Though I forgiveyour breaking your vows to heaven, I expect you to keep your vows to me.”

The Friar returned the embrace which had set his blood on fire. The luxuriousand unbounded excesses of the former night were renewed, and they separated nottill the Bell rang for Matins.

The same pleasures were frequently repeated. The Monks rejoiced in the feignedRosario’s unexpected recovery, and none of them suspected his real sex.The Abbot possessed his Mistress in tranquillity, and perceiving his frailtyunsuspected, abandoned himself to his passions in full security. Shame andremorse no longer tormented him. Frequent repetitions made him familiar withsin, and his bosom became proof against the stings of Conscience. In thesesentiments He was encouraged by Matilda; But She soon was aware that She hadsatiated her Lover by the unbounded freedom of her caresses. Her charmsbecoming accustomed to him, they ceased to excite the same desires which atfirst they had inspired. The delirium of passion being past, He had leisure toobserve every trifling defect: Where none were to be found, Satiety made himfancy them. The Monk was glutted with the fullness of pleasure: A Week hadscarcely elapsed before He was wearied of his Paramour: His warm constitutionstill made him seek in her arms the gratification of his lust: But when themoment of passion was over, He quitted her with disgust, and his humour,naturally inconstant, made him sigh impatiently for variety.

Possession, which cloys Man, only increases the affection of Woman. Matildawith every succeeding day grew more attached to the Friar. Since He hadobtained her favours, He was become dearer to her than ever, and She feltgrateful to him for the pleasures in which they had equally been Sharers.Unfortunately as her passion grew ardent, Ambrosio’s grew cold; The verymarks of her fondness excited his disgust, and its excess served to extinguishthe flame which already burned but feebly in his bosom. Matilda could not butremark that her society seemed to him daily less agreeable: He was inattentivewhile She spoke: her musical talents, which She possessed in perfection, hadlost the power of amusing him; Or if He deigned to praise them, his complimentswere evidently forced and cold. He no longer gazed upon her with affection, orapplauded her sentiments with a Lover’s partiality. This Matilda wellperceived, and redoubled her efforts to revive those sentiments which He oncehad felt. She could not but fail, since He considered as importunities thepains which She took to please him, and was disgusted by the very means whichShe used to recall the Wanderer. Still, however, their illicit Commercecontinued: But it was clear that He was led to her arms, not by love, but thecravings of brutal appetite. His constitution made a Woman necessary to him,and Matilda was the only one with whom He could indulge his passions safely: Inspite of her beauty, He gazed upon every other Female with more desire; Butfearing that his Hypocrisy should be made public, He confined his inclinationsto his own breast.

It was by no means his nature to be timid: But his education had impressed hismind with fear so strongly, that apprehension was now become part of hischaracter. Had his Youth been passed in the world, He would have shown himselfpossessed of many brilliant and manly qualities. He was naturally enterprizing,firm, and fearless: He had a Warrior’s heart, and He might have shonewith splendour at the head of an Army. There was no want of generosity in hisnature: The Wretched never failed to find in him a compassionate Auditor: Hisabilities were quick and shining, and his judgment, vast, solid, and decisive.With such qualifications He would have been an ornament to his Country: That Hepossessed them, He had given proofs in his earliest infancy, and his Parentshad beheld his dawning virtues with the fondest delight and admiration.Unfortunately, while yet a Child He was deprived of those Parents. He fell intothe power of a Relation whose only wish about him was never to hear of himmore; For that purpose He gave him in charge to his Friend, the former Superiorof the Capuchins. The Abbot, a very Monk, used all his endeavours to persuadethe Boy that happiness existed not without the walls of a Convent. He succeededfully. To deserve admittance into the order of St. Francis was Ambrosio’shighest ambition. His Instructors carefully repressed those virtues whosegrandeur and disinterestedness were ill-suited to the Cloister. Instead ofuniversal benevolence, He adopted a selfish partiality for his own particularestablishment: He was taught to consider compassion for the errors of Others asa crime of the blackest dye: The noble frankness of his temper was exchangedfor servile humility; and in order to break his natural spirit, the Monksterrified his young mind by placing before him all the horrors with whichSuperstition could furnish them: They painted to him the torments of the Damnedin colours the most dark, terrible, and fantastic, and threatened him at theslightest fault with eternal perdition. No wonder that his imaginationconstantly dwelling upon these fearful objects should have rendered hischaracter timid and apprehensive. Add to this, that his long absence from thegreat world, and total unacquaintance with the common dangers of life, made himform of them an idea far more dismal than the reality. While the Monks werebusied in rooting out his virtues and narrowing his sentiments, they allowedevery vice which had fallen to his share to arrive at full perfection. He wassuffered to be proud, vain, ambitious, and disdainful: He was jealous of hisEquals, and despised all merit but his own: He was implacable when offended,and cruel in his revenge. Still in spite of the pains taken to pervert them,his natural good qualities would occasionally break through the gloom cast overthem so carefully:

At such times the contest for superiority between his real and acquiredcharacter was striking and unaccountable to those unacquainted with hisoriginal disposition. He pronounced the most severe sentences upon Offenders,which, the moment after, Compassion induced him to mitigate: He undertook themost daring enterprizes, which the fear of their consequences soon obliged himto abandon: His inborn genius darted a brilliant light upon subjects the mostobscure; and almost instantaneously his Superstition replunged them in darknessmore profound than that from which they had just been rescued. His BrotherMonks, regarding him as a Superior Being, remarked not this contradiction intheir Idol’s conduct. They were persuaded that what He did must be right,and supposed him to have good reasons for changing his resolutions. The factwas, that the different sentiments with which Education and Nature had inspiredhim were combating in his bosom: It remained for his passions, which as yet noopportunity had called into play, to decide the victory. Unfortunately hispassions were the very worst Judges, to whom He could possibly have applied.His monastic seclusion had till now been in his favour, since it gave him noroom for discovering his bad qualities. The superiority of his talents raisedhim too far above his Companions to permit his being jealous of them: Hisexemplary piety, persuasive eloquence, and pleasing manners had secured himuniversal Esteem, and consequently He had no injuries to revenge: His Ambitionwas justified by his acknowledged merit, and his pride considered as no morethan proper confidence. He never saw, much less conversed with, the other sex:He was ignorant of the pleasures in Woman’s power to bestow, and if Heread in the course of his studies

“That men were fond, he smiled, and wondered how!”

For a time, spare diet, frequent watching, and severe penance cooled andreprest the natural warmth of his constitution: But no sooner did opportunitypresent itself, no sooner did He catch a glimpse of joys to which He was stilla Stranger, than Religion’s barriers were too feeble to resist theoverwhelming torrent of his desires. All impediments yielded before the forceof his temperament, warm, sanguine, and voluptuous in the excess.

As yet his other passions lay dormant; But they only needed to be onceawakened, to display themselves with violence as great and irresistible.

He continued to be the admiration of Madrid. The Enthusiasm created by hiseloquence seemed rather to increase than diminish.

Every Thursday, which was the only day when He appeared in public, the CapuchinCathedral was crowded with Auditors, and his discourse was always received withthe same approbation. He was named Confessor to all the chief families inMadrid; and no one was counted fashionable who was injoined penance by anyother than Ambrosio. In his resolution of never stirring out of his Convent, Hestill persisted. This circumstance created a still greater opinion of hissanctity and self-denial. Above all, the Women sang forth his praises loudly,less influenced by devotion than by his noble countenance, majestic air, andwell-turned, graceful figure. The Abbey door was thronged with Carriages frommorning to night; and the noblest and fairest Dames of Madrid confessed to theAbbot their secret peccadilloes.

The eyes of the luxurious Friar devoured their charms: Had his Penitentsconsulted those Interpreters, He would have needed no other means of expressinghis desires. For his misfortune, they were so strongly persuaded of hiscontinence, that the possibility of his harbouring indecent thoughts never onceentered their imaginations. The climate’s heat, ’tis well known,operates with no small influence upon the constitutions of the Spanish Ladies:But the most abandoned would have thought it an easier task to inspire withpassion the marble Statue of St. Francis than the cold and rigid heart of theimmaculate Ambrosio.

On his part, the Friar was little acquainted with the depravity of the world;He suspected not that but few of his Penitents would have rejected hisaddresses. Yet had He been better instructed on this head, the danger attendingsuch an attempt would have sealed up his lips in silence. He knew that it wouldbe difficult for a Woman to keep a secret so strange and so important as hisfrailty; and He even trembled lest Matilda should betray him. Anxious topreserve a reputation which was infinitely dear to him, He saw all the risqueof committing it to the power of some vain giddy Female; and as the Beauties ofMadrid affected only his senses without touching his heart, He forgot them assoon as they were out of his sight. The danger of discovery, the fear of beingrepulsed, the loss of reputation, all these considerations counselled him tostifle his desires: And though He now felt for it the most perfectindifference, He was necessitated to confine himself to Matilda’s person.

One morning, the confluence of Penitents was greater than usual. He wasdetained in the Confessional Chair till a late hour. At length the crowd wasdispatched, and He prepared to quit the Chapel, when two Females entered anddrew near him with humility. They threw up their veils, and the youngestentreated him to listen to her for a few moments. The melody of her voice, ofthat voice to which no Man ever listened without interest, immediately caughtAmbrosio’s attention. He stopped. The Petitioner seemed bowed down withaffliction: Her cheeks were pale, her eyes dimmed with tears, and her hair fellin disorder over her face and bosom. Still her countenance was so sweet, soinnocent, so heavenly, as might have charmed an heart less susceptible, thanthat which panted in the Abbot’s breast. With more than usual softness ofmanner He desired her to proceed, and heard her speak as follows with anemotion which increased every moment.

“Reverend Father, you see an Unfortunate, threatened with the loss of herdearest, of almost her only Friend! My Mother, my excellent Mother lies uponthe bed of sickness. A sudden and dreadful malady seized her last night; and sorapid has been its progress, that the Physicians despair of her life. Human aidfails me; Nothing remains for me but to implore the mercy of Heaven. Father,all Madrid rings with the report of your piety and virtue. Deign to remember myMother in your prayers: Perhaps they may prevail on the Almighty to spare her;and should that be the case, I engage myself every Thursday in the next threeMonths to illuminate the Shrine of St. Francis in his honour.”

“So!” thought the Monk; “Here we have a second Vincentiodella Ronda. Rosario’s adventure began thus,” and He wishedsecretly that this might have the same conclusion.

He acceded to the request. The Petitioner returned him thanks with every markof gratitude, and then continued.

“I have yet another favour to ask. We are Strangers in Madrid; My Motherneeds a Confessor, and knows not to whom She should apply. We understand thatyou never quit the Abbey, and Alas! my poor Mother is unable to come hither! Ifyou would have the goodness, reverend Father, to name a proper person, whosewise and pious consolations may soften the agonies of my Parent’sdeathbed, you will confer an everlasting favour upon hearts notungrateful.”

With this petition also the Monk complied. Indeed, what petition would He haverefused, if urged in such enchanting accents? The suppliant was so interesting!Her voice was so sweet, so harmonious! Her very tears became her, and heraffliction seemed to add new lustre to her charms. He promised to send to her aConfessor that same Evening, and begged her to leave her address. The Companionpresented him with a Card on which it was written, and then withdrew with thefair Petitioner, who pronounced before her departure a thousand benedictions onthe Abbot’s goodness. His eyes followed her out of the Chapel. It was nottill She was out of sight that He examined the Card, on which He read thefollowing words.

“Donna Elvira Dalfa, Strada di San Iago, four doors from the Palaced’Albornos.”

The Suppliant was no other than Antonia, and Leonella was her Companion. TheLatter had not consented without difficulty to accompany her Niece to theAbbey: Ambrosio had inspired her with such awe that She trembled at the verysight of him. Her fears had conquered even her natural loquacity, and while inhis presence She uttered not a single syllable.

The Monk retired to his Cell, whither He was pursued by Antonia’s image.He felt a thousand new emotions springing in his bosom, and He trembled toexamine into the cause which gave them birth. They were totally different fromthose inspired by Matilda, when She first declared her sex and her affection.He felt not the provocation of lust; No voluptuous desires rioted in his bosom;Nor did a burning imagination picture to him the charms which Modesty hadveiled from his eyes. On the contrary, what He now felt was a mingled sentimentof tenderness, admiration, and respect. A soft and delicious melancholy infuseditself into his soul, and He would not have exchanged it for the most livelytransports of joy. Society now disgusted him: He delighted in solitude, whichpermitted his indulging the visions of Fancy: His thoughts were all gentle,sad, and soothing, and the whole wide world presented him with no other objectthan Antonia.

“Happy Man!” He exclaimed in his romantic enthusiasm; “HappyMan, who is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl! What delicacy inher features! What elegance in her form! How enchanting was the timid innocenceof her eyes, and how different from the wanton expression, the wild luxuriousfire which sparkles in Matilda’s! Oh! sweeter must one kiss be snatchedfrom the rosy lips of the First, than all the full and lustful favours bestowedso freely by the Second. Matilda gluts me with enjoyment even to loathing,forces me to her arms, apes the Harlot, and glories in her prostitution.Disgusting! Did She know the inexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistiblyit enthralls the heart of Man, how firmly it chains him to the Throne ofBeauty, She never would have thrown it off. What would be too dear a price forthis lovely Girl’s affections? What would I refuse to sacrifice, could Ibe released from my vows, and permitted to declare my love in the sight ofearth and heaven? While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, withfriendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours roll away!Gracious God! To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine with timid fondness!To sit for days, for years listening to that gentle voice! To acquire the rightof obliging her, and hear the artless expressions of her gratitude! To watchthe emotions of her spotless heart! To encourage each dawning virtue! To sharein her joy when happy, to kiss away her tears when distrest, and to see her flyto my arms for comfort and support! Yes; If there is perfect bliss on earth,’tis his lot alone, who becomes that Angel’s Husband.”

While his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a disordered air.His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head reclined upon his shoulder; A tearrolled down his cheek, while He reflected that the vision of happiness for himcould never be realized.

“She is lost to me!” He continued; “By marriage She cannot bemine: And to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence reposed in me to workher ruin.... Oh! it would be a crime, blacker than yet the world everwitnessed! Fear not, lovely Girl! Your virtue runs no risque from me. Not forIndies would I make that gentle bosom know the tortures of remorse.”

Again He paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon thepicture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation from the wall:He threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with his foot.

“The Prostitute!”

Unfortunate Matilda! Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone She hadforfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for despising her was thatShe had loved him much too well.

He threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table. He saw the card withElvira’s address. He took it up, and it brought to his recollection hispromise respecting a Confessor. He passed a few minutes in doubt: ButAntonia’s Empire over him was already too much decided to permit hismaking a long resistance to the idea which struck him. He resolved to be theConfessor himself. He could leave the Abbey unobserved without difficulty: Bywrapping up his head in his Cowl He hoped to pass through the Streets withoutbeing recognised: By taking these precautions, and by recommending secrecy toElvira’s family, He doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He hadbroken his vow never to see the outside of the Abbey walls. Matilda was theonly person whose vigilance He dreaded: But by informing her at the Refectorythat during the whole of that day, Business would confine him to his Cell, Hethought himself secure from her wakeful jealousy. Accordingly, at the hourswhen the Spaniards are generally taking their Siesta, He ventured to quit theAbbey by a private door, the Key of which was in his possession. The Cowl ofhis habit was thrown over his face: From the heat of the weather the Streetswere almost totally deserted: The Monk met with few people, found the Strada diSan Iago, and arrived without accident at Donna Elvira’s door. He rang,was admitted, and immediately ushered into an upper apartment.

It was here that He ran the greatest risque of a discovery. Had Leonella beenat home, She would have recognized him directly: Her communicative dispositionwould never have permitted her to rest till all Madrid was informed thatAmbrosio had ventured out of the Abbey, and visited her Sister. Fortune herestood the Monk’s Friend. On Leonella’s return home, She found aletter instructing her that a Cousin was just dead, who had left what little Hepossessed between Herself and Elvira. To secure this bequest She was obliged toset out for Cordova without losing a moment. Amidst all her foibles her heartwas truly warm and affectionate, and She was unwilling to quit her Sister in sodangerous a state. But Elvira insisted upon her taking the journey, consciousthat in her Daughter’s forlorn situation no increase of fortune, howevertrifling, ought to be neglected. Accordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerelygrieved at her Sister’s illness, and giving some few sighs to the memoryof the amiable but inconstant Don Christoval. She was fully persuaded that atfirst She had made a terrible breach in his heart: But hearing nothing more ofhim, She supposed that He had quitted the pursuit, disgusted by the lowness ofher origin, and knowing upon other terms than marriage He had nothing to hopefrom such a Dragon of Virtue as She professed herself; Or else, that beingnaturally capricious and changeable, the remembrance of her charms had beeneffaced from the Condé’s heart by those of some newer Beauty. Whateverwas the cause of her losing him, She lamented it sorely. She strove in vain, asShe assured every body who was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his imagefrom her too susceptible heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick Virgin, andcarried them all to the most ridiculous excess. She heaved lamentable sighs,walked with her arms folded, uttered long soliloquies, and her discoursegenerally turned upon some forsaken Maid who expired of a broken heart! Herfiery locks were always ornamented with a garland of willow; Every evening Shewas seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet by Moonlight; and She declaredherself a violent Admirer of murmuring Streams and Nightingales;

“Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,
“Places which pale Passion loves!”

Such was the state of Leonella’s mind, when obliged to quit Madrid.Elvira was out of patience at all these follies, and endeavoured at persuadingher to act like a reasonable Woman. Her advice was thrown away: Leonellaassured her at parting that nothing could make her forget the perfidious DonChristoval. In this point She was fortunately mistaken. An honest Youth ofCordova, Journeyman to an Apothecary, found that her fortune would besufficient to set him up in a genteel Shop of his own: In consequence of thisreflection He avowed himself her Admirer. Leonella was not inflexible. Theardour of his sighs melted her heart, and She soon consented to make him thehappiest of Mankind. She wrote to inform her Sister of her marriage; But, forreasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never answered her letter.

Ambrosio was conducted into the Antichamber to that where Elvira was reposing.The Female Domestic who had admitted him left him alone while She announced hisarrival to her Mistress. Antonia, who had been by her Mother’s Bedside,immediately came to him.

“Pardon me, Father,” said She, advancing towards him; whenrecognizing his features, She stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy.“Is it possible!” She continued;

“Do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through hisresolution, that He may soften the agonies of the best of Women? What pleasurewill this visit give my Mother! Let me not delay for a moment the comfort whichyour piety and wisdom will afford her.”

Thus saying, She opened the chamber door, presented to her Mother herdistinguished Visitor, and having placed an armed-chair by the side of the Bed,withdrew into another department.

Elvira was highly gratified by this visit: Her expectations had been raisedhigh by general report, but She found them far exceeded. Ambrosio, endowed bynature with powers of pleasing, exerted them to the utmost while conversingwith Antonia’s Mother. With persuasive eloquence He calmed every fear,and dissipated every scruple: He bad her reflect on the infinite mercy of herJudge, despoiled Death of his darts and terrors, and taught her to view withoutshrinking the abyss of eternity, on whose brink She then stood. Elvira wasabsorbed in attention and delight: While She listened to his exhortations,confidence and comfort stole insensibly into her mind. She unbosomed to himwithout hesitation her cares and apprehensions. The latter respecting a futurelife He had already quieted: And He now removed the former, which She felt forthe concerns of this. She trembled for Antonia. She had none to whose care Shecould recommend her, save to the Marquis de las Cisternas and her SisterLeonella. The protection of the One was very uncertain; and as to the Other,though fond of her Niece, Leonella was so thoughtless and vain as to make heran improper person to have the sole direction of a Girl so young and ignorantof the World. The Friar no sooner learnt the cause of her alarms than He beggedher to make herself easy upon that head. He doubted not being able to securefor Antonia a safe refuge in the House of one of his Penitents, the Marchionessof Villa-Franca: This was a Lady of acknowledged virtue, remarkable for strictprinciples and extensive charity. Should accident deprive her of this resource,He engaged to procure Antonia a reception in some respectable Convent: That isto say, in quality of boarder; for Elvira had declared herself no Friend to amonastic life, and the Monk was either candid or complaisant enough to allowthat her disapprobation was not unfounded.

These proofs of the interest which He felt for her completely wonElvira’s heart. In thanking him She exhausted every expression whichGratitude could furnish, and protested that now She should resign herself withtranquillity to the Grave. Ambrosio rose to take leave: He promised to returnthe next day at the same hour, but requested that his visits might be keptsecret.

“I am unwilling” said He, “that my breaking through a ruleimposed by necessity should be generally known. Had I not resolved never toquit my Convent, except upon circumstances as urgent as that which hasconducted me to your door, I should be frequently summoned upon insignificantoccasions: That time would be engrossed by the Curious, the Unoccupied, and thefanciful, which I now pass at the Bedside of the Sick, in comforting theexpiring Penitent, and clearing the passage to Eternity from Thorns.”

Elvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising to concealcarefully the honour of his visits. The Monk then gave her his benediction, andretired from the chamber.

In the Antiroom He found Antonia: He could not refuse himself the pleasure ofpassing a few moments in her society. He bad her take comfort, for that herMother seemed composed and tranquil, and He hoped that She might yet do well.He enquired who attended her, and engaged to send the Physician of his Conventto see her, one of the most skilful in Madrid. He then launched out inElvira’s commendation, praised her purity and fortitude of mind, anddeclared that She had inspired him with the highest esteem and reverence.Antonia’s innocent heart swelled with gratitude: Joy danced in her eyes,where a tear still sparkled. The hopes which He gave her of her Mother’srecovery, the lively interest which He seemed to feel for her, and theflattering way in which She was mentioned by him, added to the report of hisjudgment and virtue, and to the impression made upon her by his eloquence,confirmed the favourable opinion with which his first appearance had inspiredAntonia. She replied with diffidence, but without restraint: She feared not torelate to him all her little sorrows, all her little fears and anxieties; andShe thanked him for his goodness with all the genuine warmth which favourskindle in a young and innocent heart. Such alone know how to estimate benefitsat their full value. They who are conscious of Mankind’s perfidy andselfishness, ever receive an obligation with apprehension and distrust: Theysuspect that some secret motive must lurk behind it: They express their thankswith restraint and caution, and fear to praise a kind action to its fullextent, aware that some future day a return may be required. Not so Antonia;She thought the world was composed only of those who resembled her, and thatvice existed, was to her still a secret. The Monk had been of service to her;He said that He wished her well; She was grateful for his kindness, and thoughtthat no terms were strong enough to be the vehicle of her thanks. With whatdelight did Ambrosio listen to the declaration of her artless gratitude! Thenatural grace of her manners, the unequalled sweetness of her voice, her modestvivacity, her unstudied elegance, her expressive countenance, and intelligenteyes united to inspire him with pleasure and admiration, While the solidity andcorrectness of her remarks received additional beauty from the unaffectedsimplicity of the language in which they were conveyed.

Ambrosio was at length obliged to tear himself from this conversation whichpossessed for him but too many charms. He repeated to Antonia his wishes thathis visits should not be made known, which desire She promised to observe. Hethen quitted the House, while his Enchantress hastened to her Mother, ignorantof the mischief which her Beauty had caused. She was eager to knowElvira’s opinion of the Man whom She had praised in such enthusiasticterms, and was delighted to find it equally favourable, if not even more so,than her own.

“Even before He spoke,” said Elvira, “I was prejudiced in hisfavour: The fervour of his exhortations, dignity of his manner, and closenessof his reasoning, were very far from inducing me to alter my opinion. His fineand full-toned voice struck me particularly; But surely, Antonia, I have heardit before. It seemed perfectly familiar to my ear. Either I must have known theAbbot in former times, or his voice bears a wonderful resemblance to that ofsome other, to whom I have often listened.

There were certain tones which touched my very heart, and made me feelsensations so singular, that I strive in vain to account for them.”

“My dearest Mother, it produced the same effect upon me: Yet certainlyneither of us ever heard his voice till we came to Madrid. I suspect that whatwe attribute to his voice, really proceeds from his pleasant manners, whichforbid our considering him as a Stranger. I know not why, but I feel more at myease while conversing with him than I usually do with people who are unknown tome. I feared not to repeat to him all my childish thoughts; and somehow I feltconfident that He would hear my folly with indulgence. Oh! I was not deceivedin him! He listened to me with such an air of kindness and attention! Heanswered me with such gentleness, such condescension! He did not call me anInfant, and treat me with contempt, as our cross old Confessor at the Castleused to do. I verily believe that if I had lived in Murcia a thousand years, Inever should have liked that fat old Father Dominic!”

“I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners in theworld; But He was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.”

“Ah! my dear Mother, those qualities are so common!”

“God grant, my Child, that Experience may not teach you to think themrare and precious: I have found them but too much so! But tell me, Antonia; Whyis it impossible for me to have seen the Abbot before?”

“Because since the moment when He entered the Abbey, He has never been onthe outside of its walls. He told me just now, that from his ignorance of theStreets, He had some difficulty to find the Strada di San Iago, though so nearthe Abbey.”

“All this is possible, and still I may have seen him BEFORE He enteredthe Abbey: In order to come out, it was rather necessary that He should firstgo in.”

“Holy Virgin! As you say, that is very true.—Oh! But might He nothave been born in the Abbey?”

Elvira smiled.

“Why, not very easily.”

“Stay, Stay! Now I recollect how it was. He was put into the Abbey quitea Child; The common People say that He fell from heaven, and was sent as apresent to the Capuchins by the Virgin.”

“That was very kind of her. And so He fell from heaven, Antonia?

He must have had a terrible tumble.”

“Many do not credit this, and I fancy, my dear Mother, that I must numberyou among the Unbelievers. Indeed, as our Landlady told my Aunt, the generalidea is that his Parents, being poor and unable to maintain him, left him justborn at the Abbey door. The late Superior from pure charity had him educated inthe Convent, and He proved to be a model of virtue, and piety, and learning,and I know not what else besides: In consequence, He was first received as aBrother of the order, and not long ago was chosen Abbot. However, whether thisaccount or the other is the true one, at least all agree that when the Monkstook him under their care, He could not speak: Therefore, you could not haveheard his voice before He entered the Monastery, because at that time He had novoice at all.”

“Upon my word, Antonia, you argue very closely! Your conclusions areinfallible! I did not suspect you of being so able a Logician.”

“Ah! You are mocking me! But so much the better. It delights me to seeyou in spirits: Besides you seem tranquil and easy, and I hope that you willhave no more convulsions. Oh! I was sure the Abbot’s visit would do yougood!”

“It has indeed done me good, my Child. He has quieted my mind upon somepoints which agitated me, and I already feel the effects of his attention. Myeyes grow heavy, and I think I can sleep a little. Draw the curtains, myAntonia: But if I should not wake before midnight, do not sit up with me, Icharge you.”

Antonia promised to obey her, and having received her blessing drew thecurtains of the Bed. She then seated herself in silence at her embroideryframe, and beguiled the hours with building Castles in the air. Her spiritswere enlivened by the evident change for the better in Elvira, and her fancypresented her with visions bright and pleasing. In these dreams Ambrosio madeno despicable figure. She thought of him with joy and gratitude; But for everyidea which fell to the Friar’s share, at least two were unconsciouslybestowed upon Lorenzo. Thus passed the time, till the Bell in the neighbouringSteeple of the Capuchin Cathedral announced the hour of midnight: Antoniaremembered her Mother’s injunctions, and obeyed them, though withreluctance. She undrew the curtains with caution. Elvira was enjoying aprofound and quiet slumber; Her cheek glowed with health’s returningcolours: A smile declared that her dreams were pleasant, and as Antonia bentover her, She fancied that She heard her name pronounced. She kissed herMother’s forehead softly, and retired to her chamber. There She kneltbefore a Statue of St. Rosolia, her Patroness; She recommended herself to theprotection of heaven, and as had been her custom from infancy, concluded herdevotions by chaunting the following Stanzas.

MIDNIGHT HYMN

Having finished her usual devotions, Antonia retired to bed. Sleep soon stoleover her senses; and for several hours She enjoyed that calm repose whichinnocence alone can know, and for which many a Monarch with pleasure wouldexchange his Crown.

CHAPTER VII.

——Ah! how dark
These long-extended realms and rueful wastes;
Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,
Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun
Was rolled together, or had tried its beams
Athwart the gloom profound!
The sickly Taper
By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,
Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,
Lets fall a supernumerary horror,
And only serves to make
Thy night more irksome!

BLAIR.

Returned undiscovered to the Abbey, Ambrosio’s mind was filled with themost pleasing images. He was wilfully blind to the danger of exposing himselfto Antonia’s charms: He only remembered the pleasure which her societyhad afforded him, and rejoiced in the prospect of that pleasure being repeated.He failed not to profit by Elvira’s indisposition to obtain a sight ofher Daughter every day. At first He bounded his wishes to inspire Antonia withfriendship: But no sooner was He convinced that She felt that sentiment in itsfullest extent, than his aim became more decided, and his attentions assumed awarmer colour. The innocent familiarity with which She treated him, encouragedhis desires: Grown used to her modesty, it no longer commanded the same respectand awe: He still admired it, but it only made him more anxious to deprive herof that quality which formed her principal charm. Warmth of passion, andnatural penetration, of which latter unfortunately both for himself and AntoniaHe possessed an ample share, supplied a knowledge of the arts of seduction. Heeasily distinguished the emotions which were favourable to his designs, andseized every means with avidity of infusing corruption into Antonia’sbosom. This He found no easy matter. Extreme simplicity prevented her fromperceiving the aim to which the Monk’s insinuations tended; But theexcellent morals which She owed to Elvira’s care, the solidity andcorrectness of her understanding, and a strong sense of what was rightimplanted in her heart by Nature, made her feel that his precepts must befaulty. By a few simple words She frequently overthrew the whole bulk of hissophistical arguments, and made him conscious how weak they were when opposedto Virtue and Truth. On such occasion He took refuge in his eloquence; Heoverpowered her with a torrent of Philosophical paradoxes, to which, notunderstanding them, it was impossible for her to reply; And thus though He didnot convince her that his reasoning was just, He at least prevented her fromdiscovering it to be false. He perceived that her respect for his judgmentaugmented daily, and doubted not with time to bring her to the point desired.

He was not unconscious that his attempts were highly criminal: He saw clearlythe baseness of seducing the innocent Girl: But his passion was too violent topermit his abandoning his design. He resolved to pursue it, let theconsequences be what they might. He depended upon finding Antonia in someunguarded moment; And seeing no other Man admitted into her society, norhearing any mentioned either by her or by Elvira, He imagined that her youngheart was still unoccupied. While He waited for the opportunity of satisfyinghis unwarrantable lust, every day increased his coldness for Matilda. Not alittle was this occasioned by the consciousness of his faults to her. To hidethem from her He was not sufficiently master of himself: Yet He dreaded lest,in a transport of jealous rage, She should betray the secret on which hischaracter and even his life depended. Matilda could not but remark hisindifference: He was conscious that She remarked it, and fearing herreproaches, shunned her studiously. Yet when He could not avoid her, hermildness might have convinced him that He had nothing to dread from herresentment. She had resumed the character of the gentle interesting Rosario:She taxed him not with ingratitude; But her eyes filled with involuntary tears,and the soft melancholy of her countenance and voice uttered complaints farmore touching than words could have conveyed. Ambrosio was not unmoved by hersorrow; But unable to remove its cause, He forbore to show that it affectedhim. As her conduct convinced him that He needed not fear her vengeance, Hecontinued to neglect her, and avoided her company with care. Matilda saw thatShe in vain attempted to regain his affections: Yet She stifled the impulse ofresentment, and continued to treat her inconstant Lover with her formerfondness and attention.

By degrees Elvira’s constitution recovered itself. She was no longertroubled with convulsions, and Antonia ceased to tremble for her Mother.Ambrosio beheld this reestablishment with displeasure. He saw thatElvira’s knowledge of the world would not be the Dupe of his sanctifieddemeanour, and that She would easily perceive his views upon her Daughter. Heresolved therefore, before She quitted her chamber, to try the extent of hisinfluence over the innocent Antonia.

One evening, when He had found Elvira almost perfectly restored to health, Hequitted her earlier than was his usual custom. Not finding Antonia in theAntichamber, He ventured to follow her to her own. It was only separated fromher Mother’s by a Closet, in which Flora, the Waiting-Woman, generallyslept. Antonia sat upon a Sopha with her back towards the door, and readattentively. She heard not his approach, till He had seated himself by her. Shestarted, and welcomed him with a look of pleasure: Then rising, She would haveconducted him to the sitting-room; But Ambrosio taking her hand, obliged her bygentle violence to resume her place. She complied without difficulty: She knewnot that there was more impropriety in conversing with him in one room thananother. She thought herself equally secure of his principles and her own, andhaving replaced herself upon the Sopha, She began to prattle to him with herusual ease and vivacity.

He examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now placed upon theTable. It was the Bible.

“How!” said the Friar to himself; “Antonia reads the Bible,and is still so ignorant?”

But, upon a further inspection, He found that Elvira had made exactly the sameremark. That prudent Mother, while She admired the beauties of the sacredwritings, was convinced that, unrestricted, no reading more improper could bepermitted a young Woman. Many of the narratives can only tend to excite ideasthe worst calculated for a female breast: Every thing is called plainly androundly by its name; and the annals of a Brothel would scarcely furnish agreater choice of indecent expressions. Yet this is the Book which young Womenare recommended to study; which is put into the hands of Children, able tocomprehend little more than those passages of which they had better remainignorant; and which but too frequently inculcates the first rudiments of vice,and gives the first alarm to the still sleeping passions. Of this was Elvira sofully convinced, that She would have preferred putting into herDaughter’s hands “Amadis de Gaul,” or “The ValiantChampion, Tirante the White;” and would sooner have authorised herstudying the lewd exploits of “Don Galaor,” or the lascivious jokesof the “Damsel Plazer di mi vida.” She had in consequence made tworesolutions respecting the Bible. The first was that Antonia should not read ittill She was of an age to feel its beauties, and profit by its morality: Thesecond, that it should be copied out with her own hand, and all improperpassages either altered or omitted. She had adhered to this determination, andsuch was the Bible which Antonia was reading: It had been lately delivered toher, and She perused it with an avidity, with a delight that was inexpressible.Ambrosio perceived his mistake, and replaced the Book upon the Table.

Antonia spoke of her Mother’s health with all the enthusiastic joy of ayouthful heart.

“I admire your filial affection,” said the Abbot; “It provesthe excellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a treasure to himwhom Heaven has destined to possess your affections. The Breast, so capable offondness for a Parent, what will it feel for a Lover? Nay, perhaps, what feelsit for one even now? Tell me, my lovely Daughter; Have you known what it is tolove? Answer me with sincerity: Forget my habit, and consider me only as aFriend.”

“What it is to love?” said She, repeating his question; “Oh!yes, undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.”

“That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt only forone. Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be your Husband?”

“Oh! No, indeed!”

This was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: She knew not thenature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never having seen him since his firstvisit to Elvira, with every day his Image grew less feebly impressed upon herbosom. Besides, She thought of an Husband with all a Virgin’s terror, andnegatived the Friar’s demand without a moment’s hesitation.

“And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia? Do you feel no void inyour heart which you fain would have filled up? Do you heave no sighs for theabsence of some one dear to you, but who that some one is, you know not?Perceive you not that what formerly could please, has charms for you no longer?That a thousand new wishes, new ideas, new sensations, have sprang in yourbosom, only to be felt, never to be described? Or while you fill every otherheart with passion, is it possible that your own remains insensible and cold?It cannot be! That melting eye, that blushing cheek, that enchanting voluptuousmelancholy which at times overspreads your features, all these marks belye yourwords. You love, Antonia, and in vain would hide it from me.”

“Father, you amaze me! What is this love of which you speak? I neitherknow its nature, nor if I felt it, why I should conceal the sentiment.”

“Have you seen no Man, Antonia, whom though never seen before, you seemedlong to have sought? Whose form, though a Stranger’s, was familiar toyour eyes? The sound of whose voice soothed you, pleased you, penetrated toyour very soul? In whose presence you rejoiced, for whose absence you lamented?With whom your heart seemed to expand, and in whose bosom with confidenceunbounded you reposed the cares of your own? Have you not felt all this,Antonia?”

“Certainly I have: The first time that I saw you, I felt it.”

Ambrosio started. Scarcely dared He credit his hearing.

“Me, Antonia?” He cried, his eyes sparkling with delight andimpatience, while He seized her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.“Me, Antonia? You felt these sentiments for me?”

“Even with more strength than you have described. The very moment that Ibeheld you, I felt so pleased, so interested! I waited so eagerly to catch thesound of your voice, and when I heard it, it seemed so sweet! It spoke to me alanguage till then so unknown! Methought, it told me a thousand things which Iwished to hear! It seemed as if I had long known you; as if I had a right toyour friendship, your advice, and your protection.

I wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should restore you tomy sight.”

“Antonia! my charming Antonia!” exclaimed the Monk, and caught herto his bosom; “Can I believe my senses? Repeat it to me, my sweet Girl!Tell me again that you love me, that you love me truly and tenderly!”

“Indeed, I do: Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no one moredear to me!”

At this frank avowal Ambrosio no longer possessed himself; Wild with desire, Heclasped the blushing Trembler in his arms. He fastened his lips greedily uponhers, sucked in her pure delicious breath, violated with his bold hand thetreasures of her bosom, and wound around him her soft and yielding limbs.Startled, alarmed, and confused at his action, surprize at first deprived herof the power of resistance. At length recovering herself, She strove to escapefrom his embrace.

“Father! .... Ambrosio!” She cried; “Release me, forGod’s sake!”

But the licentious Monk heeded not her prayers: He persisted in his design, andproceeded to take still greater liberties. Antonia prayed, wept, and struggled:Terrified to the extreme, though at what She knew not, She exerted all herstrength to repulse the Friar, and was on the point of shrieking for assistancewhen the chamber door was suddenly thrown open. Ambrosio had just sufficientpresence of mind to be sensible of his danger. Reluctantly He quitted his prey,and started hastily from the Couch. Antonia uttered an exclamation of joy, flewtowards the door, and found herself clasped in the arms of her Mother.

Alarmed at some of the Abbot’s speeches, which Antonia had innocentlyrepeated, Elvira resolved to ascertain the truth of her suspicions. She hadknown enough of Mankind not to be imposed upon by the Monk’s reputedvirtue. She reflected on several circumstances, which though trifling, on beingput together seemed to authorize her fears. His frequent visits, which as faras She could see, were confined to her family; His evident emotion, wheneverShe spoke of Antonia; His being in the full prime and heat of Manhood; andabove all, his pernicious philosophy communicated to her by Antonia, and whichaccorded but ill with his conversation in her presence, all these circumstancesinspired her with doubts respecting the purity of Ambrosio’s friendship.In consequence, She resolved, when He should next be alone with Antonia, toendeavour at surprizing him. Her plan had succeeded. ’Tis true, that whenShe entered the room, He had already abandoned his prey; But the disorder ofher Daughter’s dress, and the shame and confusion stamped upon theFriar’s countenance, sufficed to prove that her suspicions were but toowell-founded. However, She was too prudent to make those suspicions known. Shejudged that to unmask the Imposter would be no easy matter, the public being somuch prejudiced in his favour: and having but few Friends, She thought itdangerous to make herself so powerful an Enemy. She affected therefore not toremark his agitation, seated herself tranquilly upon the Sopha, assigned sometrifling reason for having quitted her room unexpectedly, and conversed onvarious subjects with seeming confidence and ease.

Reassured by her behaviour, the Monk began to recover himself. He strove toanswer Elvira without appearing embarrassed: But He was still too great anovice in dissimulation, and He felt that He must look confused and awkward. Hesoon broke off the conversation, and rose to depart. What was his vexation,when on taking leave, Elvira told him in polite terms, that being now perfectlyreestablished, She thought it an injustice to deprive Others of his company,who might be more in need of it! She assured him of her eternal gratitude, forthe benefit which during her illness She had derived from his society andexhortations: And She lamented that her domestic affairs, as well as themultitude of business which his situation must of necessity impose upon him,would in future deprive her of the pleasure of his visits. Though delivered inthe mildest language this hint was too plain to be mistaken. Still, He waspreparing to put in a remonstrance when an expressive look from Elvira stoppedhim short. He dared not press her to receive him, for her manner convinced himthat He was discovered: He submitted without reply, took an hasty leave, andretired to the Abbey, his heart filled with rage and shame, with bitterness anddisappointment.

Antonia’s mind felt relieved by his departure; Yet She could not helplamenting that She was never to see him more. Elvira also felt a secret sorrow;She had received too much pleasure from thinking him her Friend, not to regretthe necessity of changing her opinion: But her mind was too much accustomed tothe fallacy of worldly friendships to permit her present disappointment toweigh upon it long. She now endeavoured to make her Daughter aware of therisque which She had ran: But She was obliged to treat the subject withcaution, lest in removing the bandage of ignorance, the veil of innocenceshould be rent away. She therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to beupon her guard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits, neverto receive them but in company. With this injunction Antonia promised tocomply.

Ambrosio hastened to his Cell. He closed the door after him, and threw himselfupon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the stings of disappointment,the shame of detection, and the fear of being publicly unmasked, rendered hisbosom a scene of the most horrible confusion. He knew not what course topursue. Debarred the presence of Antonia, He had no hopes of satisfying thatpassion which was now become a part of his existence. He reflected that hissecret was in a Woman’s power: He trembled with apprehension when Hebeheld the precipice before him, and with rage, when He thought that had it notbeen for Elvira, He should now have possessed the object of his desires. Withthe direct imprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore that, costwhat it would, He still would possess Antonia. Starting from the Bed, He pacedthe chamber with disordered steps, howled with impotent fury, dashed himselfviolently against the walls, and indulged all the transports of rage andmadness.

He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when He heard agentle knock at the door of his Cell. Conscious that his voice must have beenheard, He dared not refuse admittance to the Importuner: He strove to composehimself, and to hide his agitation. Having in some degree succeeded, He drewback the bolt: The door opened, and Matilda appeared.

At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He could betterhave dispensed. He had not sufficient command over himself to conceal hisvexation. He started back, and frowned.

“I am busy,” said He in a stern and hasty tone; “Leaveme!”

Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then advanced towardshim with an air gentle and supplicating.

“Forgive me, Ambrosio,” said She; “For your own sake I mustnot obey you. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you with youringratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since your love can no longer bemine, I request the next best gift, your confidence and friendship. We cannotforce our inclinations; The little beauty which you once saw in me has perishedwith its novelty, and if it can no longer excite desire, mine is the fault, notyours. But why persist in shunning me? Why such anxiety to fly my presence? Youhave sorrows, but will not permit me to share them; You have disappointments,but will not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding yourpursuits. ’Tis of this which I complain, not of your indifference to myperson. I have given up the claims of the Mistress, but nothing shall prevailon me to give up those of the Friend.”

Her mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio’s feelings.

“Generous Matilda!” He replied, taking her hand, “How far doyou rise superior to the foibles of your sex! Yes, I accept your offer. I haveneed of an adviser, and a Confident: In you I find every needful qualityunited. But to aid my pursuits .... Ah! Matilda, it lies not in yourpower!”

“It lies in no one’s power but mine. Ambrosio, your secret is noneto me; Your every step, your every action has been observed by my attentiveeye. You love.”

“Matilda!”

“Why conceal it from me? Fear not the little jealousy which taints thegenerality of Women: My soul disdains so despicable a passion. You love,Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your flame. I know every circumstancerespecting your passion: Every conversation has been repeated to me. I havebeen informed of your attempt to enjoy Antonia’s person, yourdisappointment, and dismission from Elvira’s House. You now despair ofpossessing your Mistress; But I come to revive your hopes, and point out theroad to success.”

“To success? Oh! impossible!”

“To them who dare nothing is impossible. Rely upon me, and you may yet behappy. The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for your comfort andtranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my History, with which you arestill unacquainted. Listen, and do not interrupt me: Should my confessiondisgust you, remember that in making it my sole aim is to satisfy your wishes,and restore that peace to your heart which at present has abandoned it. Iformerly mentioned that my Guardian was a Man of uncommon knowledge: He tookpains to instil that knowledge into my infant mind. Among the various scienceswhich curiosity had induced him to explore, He neglected not that which by mostis esteemed impious, and by many chimerical. I speak of those arts which relateto the world of Spirits. His deep researches into causes and effects, hisunwearied application to the study of natural philosophy, his profound andunlimited knowledge of the properties and virtues of every gem which enrichesthe deep, of every herb which the earth produces, at length procured him thedistinction which He had sought so long, so earnestly. His curiosity was fullyslaked, his ambition amply gratified. He gave laws to the elements; He couldreverse the order of nature; His eye read the mandates of futurity, and theinfernal Spirits were submissive to his commands. Why shrink you from me? Iunderstand that enquiring look. Your suspicions are right, though your terrorsare unfounded. My Guardian concealed not from me his most precious acquisition.Yet, had I never seen you, I should never have exerted my power. Likeyou I shuddered at the thoughts of Magic: Like you I had formed a terrible ideaof the consequences of raising a daemon. To preserve that life which your lovehad taught me to prize, I had recourse to means which I trembled at employing.You remember that night which I past in St. Clare’s Sepulchre? Then wasit that, surrounded by mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic riteswhich summoned to my aid a fallen Angel. Judge what must have been my joy atdiscovering that my terrors were imaginary: I saw the Dæmon obedient to myorders, I saw him trembling at my frown, and found that, instead of selling mysoul to a Master, my courage had purchased for myself a slave.”

“Rash Matilda! What have you done? You have doomed yourself to endlessperdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternal happiness! If onwitchcraft depends the fruition of my desires, I renounce your aid mostabsolutely. The consequences are too horrible: I doat upon Antonia, but am notso blinded by lust as to sacrifice for her enjoyment my existence both in thisworld and the next.”

“Ridiculous prejudices! Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being subjected totheir dominion. Where is the risque of accepting my offers? What should inducemy persuading you to this step, except the wish of restoring you to happinessand quiet. If there is danger, it must fall upon me: It is I who invoke theministry of the Spirits; Mine therefore will be the crime, and yours theprofit. But danger there is none: The Enemy of Mankind is my Slave, not mySovereign. Is there no difference between giving and receiving laws, betweenserving and commanding? Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from youthese terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them for common Men,and dare to be happy! Accompany me this night to St. Clare’s Sepulchre,witness my incantations, and Antonia is your own.”

“To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then topersuade me, for I dare not employ Hell’s agency.

“You DARE not? How have you deceived me! That mind which I esteemed sogreat and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and grovelling, a slave tovulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman’s.”

“What? Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose myself tothe Seducer’s arts? Shall I renounce for ever my title to salvation?Shall my eyes seek a sight which I know will blast them? No, no, Matilda; Iwill not ally myself with God’s Enemy.”

“Are you then God’s Friend at present? Have you not broken yourengagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned yourself to theimpulse of your passions? Are you not planning the destruction of innocence,the ruin of a Creature whom He formed in the mould of Angels? If not ofDæmons, whose aid would you invoke to forward this laudable design? Will theSeraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to your arms, and sanction with theirministry your illicit pleasures? Absurd! But I am not deceived, Ambrosio! It isnot virtue which makes you reject my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you darenot. ’Tis not the crime which holds your hand, but the punishment;’Tis not respect for God which restrains you, but the terror of hisvengeance! Fain would you offend him in secret, but you tremble to professyourself his Foe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the courage eitherto be a firm Friend or open Enemy!”

“To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: In thisrespect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my passions have made medeviate from her laws, I still feel in my heart an innate love of virtue. Butit ill becomes you to tax me with my perjury: You, who first seduced me toviolate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleeping vices, made me feel theweight of Religion’s chains, and bad me be convinced that guilt hadpleasures. Yet though my principles have yielded to the force of temperament, Istill have sufficient grace to shudder at Sorcery, and avoid a crime somonstrous, so unpardonable!”

“Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of theAlmighty’s infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it? Receives Heno longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him, Ambrosio; You will always havetime to repent, and He have goodness to forgive. Afford him a gloriousopportunity to exert that goodness: The greater your crime, the greater hismerit in pardoning. Away then with these childish scruples: Be persuaded toyour good, and follow me to the Sepulchre.”

“Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious language,is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman’s. Let us drop aconversation which excites no other sentiments than horror and disgust. I willnot follow you to the Sepulchre, or accept the services of your infernalAgents. Antonia shall be mine, but mine by human means.”

“Then yours She will never be! You are banished her presence; Her Motherhas opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now upon her guard againstthem. Nay more, She loves another. A Youth of distinguished merit possesses herheart, and unless you interfere, a few days will make her his Bride. Thisintelligence was brought me by my invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse onfirst perceiving your indifference. They watched your every action, related tome all that past at Elvira’s, and inspired me with the idea of favouringyour designs. Their reports have been my only comfort. Though you shunned mypresence, all your proceedings were known to me: Nay, I was constantly with youin some degree, thanks to this precious gift!”

With these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of polished steel,the borders of which were marked with various strange and unknown characters.

“Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness, I wassustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman. On pronouncing certainwords, the Person appears in it on whom the Observer’s thoughts are bent:thus though I was exiled from your sight, you, Ambrosio, were everpresent to mine.”

The Friar’s curiosity was excited strongly.

“What you relate is incredible! Matilda, are you not amusing yourselfwith my credulity?”

“Be your own eyes the Judge.”

She put the Mirror into his hand. Curiosity induced him to take it, and Love,to wish that Antonia might appear. Matilda pronounced the magic words.Immediately, a thick smoke rose from the characters traced upon the borders,and spread itself over the surface. It dispersed again gradually; A confusedmixture of colours and images presented themselves to the Friar’s eyes,which at length arranging themselves in their proper places, He beheld inminiature Antonia’s lovely form.

The scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment. She was undressing tobathe herself. The long tresses of her hair were already bound up. The amorousMonk had full opportunity to observe the voluptuous contours and admirablesymmetry of her person. She threw off her last garment, and advancing to theBath prepared for her, She put her foot into the water. It struck cold, and Shedrew it back again. Though unconscious of being observed, an inbred sense ofmodesty induced her to veil her charms; and She stood hesitating upon thebrink, in the attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment a tame Linnetflew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, and nibbled them inwanton play. The smiling Antonia strove in vain to shake off the Bird, and atlength raised her hands to drive it from its delightful harbour. Ambrosio couldbear no more: His desires were worked up to phrenzy.

“I yield!” He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground:“Matilda, I follow you! Do with me what you will!”

She waited not to hear his consent repeated. It was already midnight. She flewto her Cell, and soon returned with her little basket and the Key of theCemetery, which had remained in her possession since her first visit to theVaults. She gave the Monk no time for reflection.

“Come!” She said, and took his hand; “Follow me, and witnessthe effects of your resolve!”

This said, She drew him hastily along. They passed into the Burying-groundunobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and found themselves at the headof the subterraneous Staircase. As yet the beams of the full Moon had guidedtheir steps, but that resource now failed them. Matilda had neglected toprovide herself with a Lamp. Still holding Ambrosio’s hand She descendedthe marble steps; But the profound obscurity with which they were overspreadobliged them to walk slow and cautiously.

“You tremble!” said Matilda to her Companion; “Fear not; Thedestined spot is near.”

They reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to proceed, feeling theirway along the Walls. On turning a corner suddenly, they descried faint gleamsof light which seemed burning at a distance. Thither they bent their steps: Therays proceeded from a small sepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly before theStatue of St. Clare. It tinged with dim and cheerless beams the massy Columnswhich supported the Roof, but was too feeble to dissipate the thick gloom inwhich the Vaults above were buried.

Matilda took the Lamp.

“Wait for me!” said She to the Friar; “In a few moments I amhere again.”

With these words She hastened into one of the passages which branched invarious directions from this spot, and formed a sort of Labyrinth. Ambrosio wasnow left alone: Darkness the most profound surrounded him, and encouraged thedoubts which began to revive in his bosom. He had been hurried away by thedelirium of the moment: The shame of betraying his terrors, while inMatilda’s presence, had induced him to repress them; But now that he wasabandoned to himself, they resumed their former ascendancy. He trembled at thescene which He was soon to witness. He knew not how far the delusions of Magicmight operate upon his mind, and possibly might force him to some deed whosecommission would make the breach between himself and Heaven irreparable. Inthis fearful dilemma, He would have implored God’s assistance, but wasconscious that He had forfeited all claim to such protection. Gladly would Hehave returned to the Abbey; But as He had past through innumerable Caverns andwinding passages, the attempt of regaining the Stairs was hopeless. His fatewas determined: No possibility of escape presented itself: He thereforecombated his apprehensions, and called every argument to his succour, whichmight enable him to support the trying scene with fortitude. He reflected thatAntonia would be the reward of his daring: He inflamed his imagination byenumerating her charms. He persuaded himself that (as Matilda had observed), Healways should have time sufficient for repentance, and that as He employed herassistance, not that of the Dæmons, the crime of Sorcery could not be laid tohis charge. He had read much respecting witchcraft: He understood that unless aformal Act was signed renouncing his claim to salvation, Satan would have nopower over him. He was fully determined not to execute any such act, whateverthreats might be used, or advantages held out to him.

Such were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They were interrupted by alow murmur which seemed at no great distance from him. He was startled. Helistened. Some minutes past in silence, after which the murmur was repeated. Itappeared to be the groaning of one in pain. In any other situation, thiscircumstance would only have excited his attention and curiosity:

In the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. His imaginationtotally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and Spirits, He fancied that someunquiet Ghost was wandering near him; or else that Matilda had fallen a Victimto her presumption, and was perishing under the cruel fangs of the Dæmons. Thenoise seemed not to approach, but continued to be heard at intervals. Sometimesit became more audible, doubtless as the sufferings of the person who utteredthe groans became more acute and insupportable. Ambrosio now and then thoughtthat He could distinguish accents; and once in particular He was almostconvinced that He heard a faint voice exclaim,

“God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!”

Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away gradually, and universalsilence again prevailed.

“What can this mean?” thought the bewildered Monk.

At that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost petrified him withhorror. He started, and shuddered at himself.

“Should it be possible!” He groaned involuntarily; “Should itbut be possible, Oh! what a Monster am I!”

He wished to resolve his doubts, and to repair his fault, if it were not toolate already: But these generous and compassionate sentiments were soon put toflight by the return of Matilda. He forgot the groaning Sufferer, andremembered nothing but the danger and embarrassment of his own situation. Thelight of the returning Lamp gilded the walls, and in a few moments afterMatilda stood beside him. She had quitted her religious habit: She was nowcloathed in a long sable Robe, on which was traced in gold embroidery a varietyof unknown characters: It was fastened by a girdle of precious stones, in whichwas fixed a poignard. Her neck and arms were uncovered. In her hand She bore agolden wand. Her hair was loose and flowed wildly upon her shoulders; Her eyessparkled with terrific expression; and her whole Demeanour was calculated toinspire the beholder with awe and admiration.

“Follow me!” She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice;“All is ready!”

His limbs trembled, while He obeyed her. She led him through various narrowpassages; and on every side as they past along, the beams of the Lamp displayednone but the most revolting objects; Skulls, Bones, Graves, and Images whoseeyes seemed to glare on them with horror and surprize. At length they reached aspacious Cavern, whose lofty roof the eye sought in vain to discover. Aprofound obscurity hovered through the void. Damp vapours struck cold to theFriar’s heart; and He listened sadly to the blast while it howled alongthe lonely Vaults. Here Matilda stopped. She turned to Ambrosio. His cheeks andlips were pale with apprehension. By a glance of mingled scorn and anger Shereproved his pusillanimity, but She spoke not. She placed the Lamp upon theground, near the Basket. She motioned that Ambrosio should be silent, and beganthe mysterious rites. She drew a circle round him, another round herself, andthen taking a small Phial from the Basket, poured a few drops upon the groundbefore her. She bent over the place, muttered some indistinct sentences, andimmediately a pale sulphurous flame arose from the ground. It increased bydegrees, and at length spread its waves over the whole surface, the circlesalone excepted in which stood Matilda and the Monk. It then ascended the hugeColumns of unhewn stone, glided along the roof, and formed the Cavern into animmense chamber totally covered with blue trembling fire. It emitted no heat:On the contrary, the extreme chillness of the place seemed to augment withevery moment. Matilda continued her incantations: At intervals She took variousarticles from the Basket, the nature and name of most of which were unknown tothe Friar: But among the few which He distinguished, He particularly observedthree human fingers, and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces. She threw themall into the flames which burned before her, and they were instantly consumed.

The Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity. Suddenly She uttered a loud andpiercing shriek. She appeared to be seized with an access of delirium; She toreher hair, beat her bosom, used the most frantic gestures, and drawing thepoignard from her girdle plunged it into her left arm. The blood gushed outplentifully, and as She stood on the brink of the circle, She took care that itshould fall on the outside. The flames retired from the spot on which the bloodwas pouring. A volume of dark clouds rose slowly from the ensanguined earth,and ascended gradually, till it reached the vault of the Cavern. At the sametime a clap of thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully along thesubterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet of theEnchantress.

It was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness. The solemn singularity ofthe charm had prepared him for something strange and horrible. He waited withfear for the Spirit’s appearance, whose coming was announced by thunderand earthquakes. He looked wildly round him, expecting that some dreadfulApparition would meet his eyes, the sight of which would drive him mad. A coldshivering seized his body, and He sank upon one knee, unable to supporthimself.

“He comes!” exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent.

Ambrosio started, and expected the Dæmon with terror. What was his surprize,when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious Music sounded inthe air. At the same time the cloud dispersed, and He beheld a Figure morebeautiful than Fancy’s pencil ever drew. It was a Youth seemingly scarceeighteen, the perfection of whose form and face was unrivalled. He wasperfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled upon his forehead; Two crimson wingsextended themselves from his shoulders; and his silken locks were confined by aband of many-coloured fires, which played round his head, formed themselvesinto a variety of figures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that ofprecious Stones. Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his arms and ankles,and in his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle. His form shonewith dazzling glory: He was surrounded by clouds of rose-coloured light, and atthe moment that He appeared, a refreshing air breathed perfumes through theCavern. Enchanted at a vision so contrary to his expectations, Ambrosio gazedupon the Spirit with delight and wonder: Yet however beautiful the Figure, Hecould not but remark a wildness in the Dæmon’s eyes, and a mysteriousmelancholy impressed upon his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, andinspiring the Spectators with secret awe.

The Music ceased. Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit: She spoke in alanguage unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered in the same. She seemedto insist upon something which the Dæmon was unwilling to grant. He frequentlydarted upon Ambrosio angry glances, and at such times the Friar’s heartsank within him. Matilda appeared to grow incensed. She spoke in a loud andcommanding tone, and her gestures declared that She was threatening him withher vengeance. Her menaces had the desired effect: The Spirit sank upon hisknee, and with a submissive air presented to her the branch of Myrtle. Nosooner had She received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloudspread itself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and totalobscurity reigned through the Cave. The Abbot moved not from his place: Hisfaculties were all bound up in pleasure, anxiety, and surprize. At length thedarkness dispersing, He perceived Matilda standing near him in her religioushabit, with the Myrtle in her hand. No traces of the incantation, and theVaults were only illuminated by the faint rays of the sepulchral Lamp.

“I have succeeded,” said Matilda, “though with moredifficulty than I expected. Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was atfirst unwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance I wasconstrained to have recourse to my strongest charms. They have produced thedesired effect, but I have engaged never more to invoke his agency in yourfavour. Beware then, how you employ an opportunity which never will return. Mymagic arts will now be of no use to you: In future you can only hope forsupernatural aid by invoking the Dæmons yourself, and accepting the conditionsof their service. This you will never do: You want strength of mind to forcethem to obedience, and unless you pay their established price, they will not beyour voluntary Servants. In this one instance they consent to obey you: I offeryou the means of enjoying your Mistress, and be careful not to lose theopportunity. Receive this constellated Myrtle: While you bear this in yourhand, every door will fly open to you. It will procure you access tomorrownight to Antonia’s chamber: Then breathe upon it thrice, pronounce hername, and place it upon her pillow. A death-like slumber will immediately seizeupon her, and deprive her of the power of resisting your attempts. Sleep willhold her till break of Morning. In this state you may satisfy your desireswithout danger of being discovered; since when daylight shall dispel theeffects of the enchantment, Antonia will perceive her dishonour, but beignorant of the Ravisher. Be happy then, my Ambrosio, and let this serviceconvince you that my friendship is disinterested and pure. The night must benear expiring: Let us return to the Abbey, lest our absence should createsurprize.”

The Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude. His ideas were too muchbewildered by the adventures of the night to permit his expressing his thanksaudibly, or indeed as yet to feel the whole value of her present. Matilda tookup her Lamp and Basket, and guided her Companion from the mysterious Cavern.She restored the Lamp to its former place, and continued her route in darkness,till She reached the foot of the Staircase. The first beams of the rising Sundarting down it facilitated the ascent. Matilda and the Abbot hastened out ofthe Sepulchre, closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey’swestern Cloister. No one met them, and they retired unobserved to theirrespective Cells.

The confusion of Ambrosio’s mind now began to appease. He rejoiced in thefortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtues of theMyrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in his power. Imagination retraced tohim those secret charms betrayed to him by the Enchanted Mirror, and He waitedwith impatience for the approach of midnight.

CHAPTER VIII.

The crickets sing, and Man’s o’er-laboured sense
Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened
The chastity He wounded—Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh Lily!
And whiter than the sheets!

CYMBELINE.

All the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: Agnes was lostto him for ever. Despair produced so violent an effect upon his constitution,that the consequence was a long and severe illness. This prevented him fromvisiting Elvira as He had intended; and She being ignorant of the cause of hisneglect, it gave her no trifling uneasiness. His Sister’s death hadprevented Lorenzo from communicating to his Uncle his designs respectingAntonia: The injunctions of her Mother forbad his presenting himself to herwithout the Duke’s consent; and as She heard no more of him or hisproposals, Elvira conjectured that He had either met with a better match, orhad been commanded to give up all thoughts of her Daughter. Every day made hermore uneasy respecting Antonia’s fate: While She retained theAbbot’s protection, She bore with fortitude the disappointment of herhopes with regard to Lorenzo and the Marquis. That resource now failed her. Shewas convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her Daughter’s ruin: And whenShe reflected that her death would leave Antonia friendless and unprotected ina world so base, so perfidious and depraved, her heart swelled with thebitterness of apprehension. At such times She would sit for hours gazing uponthe lovely Girl; and seeming to listen to her innocent prattle, while inreality her thoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into which a moment would sufficeto plunge her. Then She would clasp her in her arms suddenly, lean her headupon her Daughter’s bosom, and bedew it with her tears.

An event was in preparation which, had She known it, would have relieved herfrom her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for a favourable opportunity toinform the Duke of his intended marriage: However, a circumstance whichoccurred at this period, obliged him to delay his explanation for a few dayslonger.

Don Raymond’s malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was constantly at hisbedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal. Both the cause andeffects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the Brother of Agnes: yetTheodore’s grief was scarcely less sincere. That amiable Boy quitted nothis Master for a moment, and put every means in practice to console andalleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had conceived so rooted an affection forhis deceased Mistress, that it was evident to all that He never could surviveher loss: Nothing could have prevented him from sinking under his grief but thepersuasion of her being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Thoughconvinced of its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief whichformed his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions weremaking respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were invented recounting thevarious attempts made to get admittance into the Convent; and circumstanceswere related which, though they did not promise her absolute recovery, at leastwere sufficient to keep his hopes alive. The Marquis constantly fell into themost terrible excess of passion when informed of the failure of these supposedattempts. Still He would not credit that the succeeding ones would have thesame fate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.

Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master’sChimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering theConvent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligence of Agnes. Toexecute these schemes was the only inducement which could prevail on him toquit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing his shape every day; butall his metamorphoses were to very little purpose: He regularly returned to thePalace de las Cisternas without any intelligence to confirm his Master’shopes. One day He took it into his head to disguise himself as a Beggar. He puta patch over his left eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at theGate of the Convent.

“If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,” thought He,“and hears my voice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find meansto let me know that She is here.”

With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled daily at theGate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns were accustomed to distributeat twelve o’clock. All were provided with jugs or bowls to carry it away;But as Theodore had no utensil of this kind, He begged leave to eat his portionat the Convent door. This was granted without difficulty: His sweet voice, andin spite of his patched eye, his engaging countenance, won the heart of thegood old Porteress, who, aided by a Lay-Sister, was busied in serving to eachhis Mess. Theodore was bad to stay till the Others should depart, and promisedthat his request should then be granted. The Youth desired no better, since itwas not to eat Soup that He presented himself at the Convent. He thanked thePorteress for her permission, retired from the Door, and seating himself upon alarge stone, amused himself in tuning his Guitar while the Beggars were served.

As soon as the Crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the Gate, and desiredto come in. He obeyed with infinite readiness, but affected great respect atpassing the hallowed Threshold, and to be much daunted by the presence of theReverend Ladies. His feigned timidity flattered the vanity of the Nuns, whoendeavoured to reassure him. The Porteress took him into her awn littleParlour: In the meanwhile, the Lay-Sister went to the Kitchen, and soonreturned with a double portion of Soup, of better quality than what was givento the Beggars. His Hostess added some fruits and confections from her ownprivate store, and Both encouraged the Youth to dine heartily. To all theseattentions He replied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance of blessingsupon his benefactresses. While He ate, the Nuns admired the delicacy of hisfeatures, the beauty of his hair, and the sweetness and grace which accompaniedall his actions. They lamented to each other in whispers, that so charming aYouth should be exposed to the seductions of the World, and agreed, that Hewould be a worthy Pillar of the Catholic Church. They concluded theirconference by resolving that Heaven would be rendered a real service if theyentreated the Prioress to intercede with Ambrosio for the Beggar’sadmission into the order of Capuchins.

This being determined, the Porteress, who was a person of great influence inthe Convent, posted away in all haste to the Domina’s Cell. Here She madeso flaming a narrative of Theodore’s merits that the old Lady grewcurious to see him. Accordingly, the Porteress was commissioned to convey himto the Parlour grate. In the interim, the supposed Beggar was sifting theLay-Sister with respect to the fate of Agnes: Her evidence only corroboratedthe Domina’s assertions. She said that Agnes had been taken ill onreturning from confession, had never quitted her bed from that moment, and thatShe had herself been present at the Funeral. She even attested having seen herdead body, and assisted with her own hands in adjusting it upon the Bier. Thisaccount discouraged Theodore: Yet as He had pushed the adventure so far, Heresolved to witness its conclusion.

The Porteress now returned, and ordered him to follow her. He obeyed, and wasconducted into the Parlour, where the Lady Prioress was already posted at theGrate. The Nuns surrounded her, who all flocked with eagerness to a scene whichpromised some diversion. Theodore saluted them with profound respect, and hispresence had the power to smooth for a moment even the stern brow of theSuperior. She asked several questions respecting his Parents, his religion, andwhat had reduced him to a state of Beggary. To these demands his answers wereperfectly satisfactory and perfectly false. He was then asked his opinion of amonastic life: He replied in terms of high estimation and respect for it. Uponthis, the Prioress told him that his obtaining an entrance into a religiousorder was not impossible; that her recommendation would not permit his povertyto be an obstacle, and that if She found him deserving it, He might depend infuture upon her protection. Theodore assured her that to merit her favour wouldbe his highest ambition; and having ordered him to return next day, when Shewould talk with him further, the Domina quitted the Parlour.

The Nuns, whom respect for the Superior had till then kept silent, now crowdedall together to the Grate, and assailed the Youth with a multitude ofquestions. He had already examined each with attention: Alas! Agnes was notamongst them. The Nuns heaped question upon question so thickly that it wasscarcely possible for him to reply. One asked where He was born, since hisaccent declared him to be a Foreigner: Another wanted to know, why He wore apatch upon his left eye: Sister Helena enquired whether He had not a Sisterlike him, because She should like such a Companion; and Sister Rachael wasfully persuaded that the Brother would be the pleasanter Companion of the Two.Theodore amused himself with retailing to the credulous Nuns for truths all thestrange stories which his imagination could invent. He related to them hissupposed adventures, and penetrated every Auditor with astonishment, while Hetalked of Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, and Islands inhabited

“By anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders,”

with many other circumstances to the full as remarkable. He said, that He wasborn in Terra Incognita, was educated at an Hottentot University, and had pasttwo years among the Americans of Silesia.

“For what regards the loss of my eye” said He, “it was a justpunishment upon me for disrespect to the Virgin, when I made my secondpilgrimage to Loretto. I stood near the Altar in the miraculous Chapel: TheMonks were proceeding to array the Statue in her best apparel. The Pilgrimswere ordered to close their eyes during this ceremony: But though by natureextremely religious, curiosity was too powerful. At the moment ..... I shallpenetrate you with horror, reverend Ladies, when I reveal my crime! .... At themoment that the Monks were changing her shift, I ventured to open my left eye,and gave a little peep towards the Statue. That look was my last! The Glorywhich surrounded the Virgin was too great to be supported. I hastily shut mysacrilegious eye, and never have been able to unclose it since!”

At the relation of this miracle the Nuns all crossed themselves, and promisedto intercede with the blessed Virgin for the recovery of his sight. Theyexpressed their wonder at the extent of his travels, and at the strangeadventures which He had met with at so early an age. They now remarked hisGuitar, and enquired whether he was an adept in Music. He replied with modestythat it was not for him to decide upon his talents, but requested permission toappeal to them as Judges. This was granted without difficulty.

“But at least,” said the old Porteress, “take care not tosing any thing profane.”

“You may depend upon my discretion,” replied Theodore: “Youshall hear how dangerous it is for young Women to abandon themselves to theirpassions, illustrated by the adventure of a Damsel who fell suddenly in lovewith an unknown Knight.”

“But is the adventure true?” enquired the Porteress.

“Every word of it. It happened in Denmark, and the Heroine was thought sobeautiful that She was known by no other name but that of ‘the lovelyMaid’.”

“In Denmark, say you?” mumbled an old Nun; “Are not thePeople all Blacks in Denmark?”

“By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green withflame-coloured hair and whiskers.”

“Mother of God! Pea-green?” exclaimed Sister Helena; “Oh!’tis impossible!”

“Impossible?” said the Porteress with a look of contempt andexultation: “Not at all: When I was a young Woman, I remember seeingseveral of them myself.”

Theodore now put his instrument in proper order. He had read the story of aKing of England whose prison was discovered by a Minstrel; and He hoped thatthe same scheme would enable him to discover Agnes, should She be in theConvent. He chose a Ballad which She had taught him herself in the Castle ofLindenberg: She might possibly catch the sound, and He hoped to hear herreplying to some of the Stanzas. His Guitar was now in tune, and He prepared tostrike it.

“But before I begin,” said He “it is necessary to inform you,Ladies, that this same Denmark is terribly infested by Sorcerers, Witches, andEvil Spirits. Every element possesses its appropriate Dæmons. The Woods arehaunted by a malignant power, called ‘the Erl- or Oak-King:’ He itis who blights the Trees, spoils the Harvest, and commands the Imps andGoblins: He appears in the form of an old Man of majestic figure, with a goldenCrown and long white beard: His principal amusement is to entice young Childrenfrom their Parents, and as soon as He gets them into his Cave, He tears theminto a thousand pieces—The Rivers are governed by another Fiend, called‘the Water-King:’ His province is to agitate the deep, occasionship-wrecks, and drag the drowning Sailors beneath the waves: He wears theappearance of a Warrior, and employs himself in luring young Virgins into hissnare: What He does with them, when He catches them in the water, ReverendLadies, I leave for you to imagine—‘The Fire-King’ seems tobe a Man all formed of flames: He raises the Meteors and wandering lights whichbeguile Travellers into ponds and marshes, and He directs the lightning whereit may do most mischief—The last of these elementary Dæmons is called‘the Cloud-King;’ His figure is that of a beautiful Youth, and Heis distinguished by two large sable Wings: Though his outside is so enchanting,He is not a bit better disposed than the Others: He is continually employed inraising Storms, tearing up Forests by the roots, and blowing Castles andConvents about the ears of their Inhabitants. The First has a Daughter, who isQueen of the Elves and Fairies; The Second has a Mother, who is a powerfulEnchantress: Neither of these Ladies are worth more than the Gentlemen: I donot remember to have heard any family assigned to the two other Dæmons, but atpresent I have no business with any of them except the Fiend of the Waters. Heis the Hero of my Ballad; but I thought it necessary before I began, to giveyou some account of his proceedings—”

Theodore then played a short symphony; After which, stretching his voice to itsutmost extent to facilitate its reaching the ear of Agnes, He sang thefollowing Stanzas.

THE WATER-KING
A DANISH BALLAD

The Youth ceased to sing. The Nuns were delighted with the sweetness of hisvoice and masterly manner of touching the Instrument: But however acceptablethis applause would have been at any other time, at present it was insipid toTheodore. His artifice had not succeeded. He paused in vain between theStanzas: No voice replied to his, and He abandoned the hope of equallingBlondel.

The Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to assemble in theRefectory. They were obliged to quit the Grate; They thanked the Youth for theentertainment which his Music had afforded them, and charged him to return thenext day. This He promised: The Nuns, to give him the greater inclination tokeep his word, told him that He might always depend upon the Convent for hismeals, and each of them made him some little present. One gave him a box ofsweetmeats; Another, an Agnus Dei; Some brought reliques of Saints, waxenImages, and consecrated Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of thoseworks in which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificial flowers,lace, and needlework. All these He was advised to sell, in order to put himselfinto better case; and He was assured that it would be easy to dispose of them,since the Spaniards hold the performances of the Nuns in high estimation.Having received these gifts with seeming respect and gratitude, He remarkedthat, having no Basket, He knew not how to convey them away. Several of theNuns were hastening in search of one, when they were stopped by the return ofan elderly Woman, whom Theodore had not till then observed: Her mildcountenance, and respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour.

“Hah!” said the Porteress; “Here comes the Mother St. Ursulawith a Basket.”

The Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to Theodore: It was ofwillow, lined with blue satin, and upon the four sides were painted scenes fromthe legend of St. Genevieve.

“Here is my gift,” said She, as She gave it into his hand;“Good Youth, despise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it hasmany hidden virtues.”

She accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not lost uponTheodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the Grate as possible.

“Agnes!” She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. Theodore,however, caught the sound: He concluded that some mystery was concealed in theBasket, and his heart beat with impatience and joy. At this moment the Dominareturned. Her air was gloomy and frowning, and She looked if possible morestern than ever.

“Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.”

The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted.

“With me?” She replied in a faltering voice.

The Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired. The Mother St.Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell ringing a second time, theNuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore was left at liberty to carry off hisprize. Delighted that at length He had obtained some intelligence for theMarquis, He flew rather than ran, till He reached the Hotel de las Cisternas.In a few minutes He stood by his Master’s Bed with the Basket in hishand. Lorenzo was in the chamber, endeavouring to reconcile his Friend to amisfortune which He felt himself but too severely. Theodore related hisadventure, and the hopes which had been created by the Mother St.Ursula’s gift. The Marquis started from his pillow: That fire which sincethe death of Agnes had been extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and hiseyes sparkled with the eagerness of expectation. The emotions whichLorenzo’s countenance betrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited withinexpressible impatience for the solution of this mystery. Raymond caught thebasket from the hands of his Page: He emptied the contents upon the bed, andexamined them with minute attention. He hoped that a letter would be found atthe bottom; Nothing of the kind appeared. The search was resumed, and stillwith no better success. At length Don Raymond observed that one corner of theblue satin lining was unripped; He tore it open hastily, and drew forth a smallscrap of paper neither folded or sealed. It was addressed to the Marquis de lasCisternas, and the contents were as follows:

“Having recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines. Procurean order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, and that of the Domina;But let it not be executed till Friday at midnight. It is the Festival of St.Clare: There will be a procession of Nuns by torch-light, and I shall be amongthem. Beware not to let your intention be known: Should a syllable be dropt toexcite the Domina’s suspicions, you will never hear of me more. Becautious, if you prize the memory of Agnes, and wish to punish her Assassins. Ihave that to tell, will freeze your blood with horror.

“ST. URSULA.”

No sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon his pillowdeprived of sense or motion. The hope failed him which till now had supportedhis existence; and these lines convinced him but too positively that Agnes wasindeed no more. Lorenzo felt this circumstance less forcibly, since it hadalways been his idea that his Sister had perished by unfair means. When Hefound by the Mother St. Ursula’s letter how true were his suspicions, theconfirmation excited no other sentiment in his bosom than a wish to punish theMurderers as they deserved. It was no easy task to recall the Marquis tohimself. As soon as He recovered his speech, He broke out into execrationsagainst the Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them a signalvengeance. He continued to rave and torment himself with impotent passion tillhis constitution, enfeebled by grief and illness, could support itself nolonger, and He relapsed into insensibility. His melancholy situation sincerelyaffected Lorenzo, who would willingly have remained in the apartment of hisFriend; But other cares now demanded his presence. It was necessary to procurethe order for seizing the Prioress of St. Clare. For this purpose, havingcommitted Raymond to the care of the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted theHotel de las Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of theCardinal-Duke.

His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of State hadobliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province.

It wanted but five to Friday: Yet by travelling day and night, He hoped toreturn in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare. In this He succeeded. He foundthe Cardinal-Duke; and represented to him the supposed culpability of thePrioress, as also the violent effects which it had produced upon Don Raymond.He could have used no argument so forcible as this last. Of all his Nephews,the Marquis was the only one to whom the Cardinal-Duke was sincerely attached:He perfectly doated upon him, and the Prioress could have committed no greatercrime in his eyes than to have endangered the life of the Marquis.Consequently, He granted the order of arrest without difficulty: He also gaveLorenzo a letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition, desiring him to seehis mandate executed. Furnished with these papers, Medina hastened back toMadrid, which He reached on the Friday a few hours before dark. He found theMarquis somewhat easier, but so weak and exhausted that without great exertionHe could neither speak or more. Having past an hour by his Bedside, Lorenzoleft him to communicate his design to his Uncle, as also to give Don Ramirez deMello the Cardinal’s letter. The First was petrified with horror when Helearnt the fate of his unhappy Niece: He encouraged Lorenzo to punish herAssassins, and engaged to accompany him at night to St. Clare’s Convent.Don Ramirez promised his firmest support, and selected a band of trusty Archersto prevent opposition on the part of the Populace.

But while Lorenzo was anxious to unmask one religious Hypocrite, He wasunconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. Aided byMatilda’s infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon the innocentAntonia’s ruin. The moment destined to be so fatal to her arrived. Shehad taken leave of her Mother for the night.

As She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself into herbosom. She left her, and returned to her instantly, threw herself into hermaternal arms, and bathed her cheek with tears: She felt uneasy at quittingher, and a secret presentiment assured her that never must they meet again.Elvira observed, and tried to laugh her out of this childish prejudice: Shechid her mildly for encouraging such ungrounded sadness, and warned her howdangerous it was to encourage such ideas.

To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than,

“Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!”

Elvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great obstacle to herperfect reestablishment, was still labouring under the effects of her latesevere illness. She was this Evening more than usually indisposed, and retiredto bed before her accustomed hour. Antonia withdrew from her Mother’schamber with regret, and till the Door closed, kept her eyes fixed upon herwith melancholy expression. She retired to her own apartment; Her heart wasfilled with bitterness: It seemed to her that all her prospects were blasted,and the world contained nothing for which it was worth existing. She sank intoa Chair, reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with a vacantstare, while the most gloomy images floated before her fancy. She was still inthis state of insensibility when She was disturbed by hearing a strain of softMusic breathed beneath her window. She rose, drew near the Casement, and openedit to hear it more distinctly. Having thrown her veil over her face, Sheventured to look out. By the light of the Moon She perceived several Men belowwith Guitars and Lutes in their hands; and at a little distance from them stoodAnother wrapped in his cloak, whose stature and appearance bore a strongresemblance to Lorenzo’s. She was not deceived in this conjecture. It wasindeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to present himself to Antoniawithout his Uncle’s consent, endeavoured by occasional Serenades, toconvince his Mistress that his attachment still existed. His stratagem had notthe desired effect. Antonia was far from supposing that this nightly music wasintended as a compliment to her: She was too modest to think herself worthysuch attentions; and concluding them to be addressed to some neighbouring Lady,She grieved to find that they were offered by Lorenzo.

The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded with thestate of Antonia’s mind, and She listened with pleasure. After a symphonyof some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, and Antoniadistinguished the following words.

SERENADE

Chorus

Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre!
’Tis here that Beauty loves to rest:
Describe the pangs of fond desire,
Which rend a faithful Lover’s breast.

Song

Chorus

Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still!
Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire
With amorous thoughts thy visions fill,
Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre.

The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailed through theStreet. Antonia quitted the window with regret: She as usual recommendedherself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her accustomed prayers, andretired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and his presence relieved her fromher terrors and inquietude.

It was almost two o’clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend hissteps towards Antonia’s dwelling. It has been already mentioned that theAbbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago. He reached theHouse unobserved. Here He stopped, and hesitated for a moment. He reflected onthe enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and theprobability, after what had passed, of Elvira’s suspecting him to be herDaughter’s Ravisher: On the other hand it was suggested that She could dono more than suspect; that no proofs of his guilt could be produced; that itwould seem impossible for the rape to have been committed withoutAntonia’s knowing when, where, or by whom; and finally, He believed thathis fame was too firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusationsof two unknown Women. This latter argument was perfectly false: He knew not howuncertain is the air of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to makehim today the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol. The resultof the Monk’s deliberations was that He should proceed in his enterprize.He ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner did He touch the doorwith the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and presented him with a freepassage. He entered, and the door closed after him of its own accord.

Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow and cautioussteps. He looked round him every moment with apprehension and anxiety. He saw aSpy in every shadow, and heard a voice in every murmur of the night breeze.Consciousness of the guilty business on which He was employed appalled hisheart, and rendered it more timid than a Woman’s. Yet still He proceeded.He reached the door of Antonia’s chamber. He stopped, and listened. Allwas hushed within. The total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim wasretired to rest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened,and resisted his efforts: But no sooner was it touched by the Talisman, thanthe Bolt flew back. The Ravisher stept on, and found himself in the chamber,where slept the innocent Girl, unconscious how dangerous a Visitor was drawingnear her Couch. The door closed after him, and the Bolt shot again into itsfastening.

Ambrosio advanced with precaution. He took care that not a board should creakunder his foot, and held in his breath as He approached the Bed. His firstattention was to perform the magic ceremony, as Matilda had charged him: Hebreathed thrice upon the silver Myrtle, pronounced over it Antonia’sname, and laid it upon her pillow. The effects which it had already producedpermitted not his doubting its success in prolonging the slumbers of hisdevoted Mistress. No sooner was the enchantment performed than He consideredher to be absolutely in his power, and his eyes flamed with lust andimpatience. He now ventured to cast a glance upon the sleeping Beauty. A singleLamp, burning before the Statue of St. Rosolia, shed a faint light through theroom, and permitted him to examine all the charms of the lovely Object beforehim. The heat of the weather had obliged her to throw off part of theBed-cloathes: Those which still covered her, Ambrosio’s insolent handhastened to remove. She lay with her cheek reclining upon one ivory arm; TheOther rested on the side of the Bed with graceful indolence. A few tresses ofher hair had escaped from beneath the Muslin which confined the rest, and fellcarelessly over her bosom, as it heaved with slow and regular suspiration. Thewarm air had spread her cheek with higher colour than usual. A smileinexpressibly sweet played round her ripe and coral lips, from which every nowand then escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronounced sentence. An air ofenchanting innocence and candour pervaded her whole form; and there was a sortof modesty in her very nakedness which added fresh stings to the desires of thelustful Monk.

He remained for some moments devouring those charms with his eyes which soonwere to be subjected to his ill-regulated passions. Her mouth half-openedseemed to solicit a kiss: He bent over her; he joined his lips to hers, anddrew in the fragrance of her breath with rapture. This momentary pleasureincreased his longing for still greater. His desires were raised to thatfrantic height by which Brutes are agitated. He resolved not to delay for oneinstant longer the accomplishment of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tearoff those garments which impeded the gratification of his lust.

“Gracious God!” exclaimed a voice behind him; “Am I notdeceived?

Is not this an illusion?”

Terror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as they struckAmbrosio’s hearing. He started, and turned towards it. Elvira stood atthe door of the chamber, and regarded the Monk with looks of surprize anddetestation.

A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of a precipice.She saw her trembling on the brink: Every moment seemed to threaten her fall,and She heard her exclaim with shrieks, “Save me, Mother! Saveme!—Yet a moment, and it will be too late!” Elvira woke in terror.The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind, to permit herresting till assured of her Daughter’s safety. She hastily started fromher Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passing through the Closet in whichslept the Waiting-woman, She reached Antonia’s chamber just in time torescue her from the grasp of the Ravisher.

His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues both Elviraand the Monk: They remained gazing upon each other in silence. The Lady was thefirst to recover herself.

“It is no dream!” She cried; “It is really Ambrosio, whostands before me! It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I find atthis late hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! Monster of Hypocrisy! Ialready suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity to humanfrailty. Silence would now be criminal: The whole City shall be informed ofyour incontinence. I will unmask you, Villain, and convince the Church what aViper She cherishes in her bosom.”

Pale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her.

He would fain have extenuated his offence, but could find no apology for hisconduct: He could produce nothing but broken sentences, and excuses whichcontradicted each other. Elvira was too justly incensed to grant the pardonwhich He requested. She protested that She would raise the neighbourhood, andmake him an example to all future Hypocrites. Then hastening to the Bed, Shecalled to Antonia to wake; and finding that her voice had no effect, She tookher arm, and raised her forcibly from the pillow. The charm operated toopowerfully. Antonia remained insensible, and on being released by her Mother,sank back upon the pillow.

“This slumber cannot be natural!” cried the amazed Elvira, whoseindignation increased with every moment. “Some mystery is concealed init; But tremble, Hypocrite; all your villainy shall soon be unravelled! Help!Help!” She exclaimed aloud; “Within there! Flora! Flora!”

“Hear me for one moment, Lady!” cried the Monk, restored to himselfby the urgency of the danger; “By all that is sacred and holy, I swearthat your Daughter’s honour is still unviolated. Forgive mytransgression! Spare me the shame of a discovery, and permit me to regain theAbbey undisturbed. Grant me this request in mercy! I promise not only thatAntonia shall be secure from me in future, but that the rest of my life shallprove .....”

Elvira interrupted him abruptly.

“Antonia secure from you? I will secure her! You shall betray nolonger the confidence of Parents! Your iniquity shall be unveiled to the publiceye: All Madrid shall shudder at your perfidy, your hypocrisy and incontinence.What Ho! there! Flora! Flora, I say!”

While She spoke thus, the remembrance of Agnes struck upon his mind. Thus hadShe sued to him for mercy, and thus had He refused her prayer! It was now histurn to suffer, and He could not but acknowledge that his punishment was just.In the meanwhile Elvira continued to call Flora to her assistance; but hervoice was so choaked with passion that the Servant, who was buried in profoundslumber, was insensible to all her cries: Elvira dared not go towards theCloset in which Flora slept, lest the Monk should take that opportunity toescape. Such indeed was his intention: He trusted that could He reach the Abbeyunobserved by any other than Elvira, her single testimony would not suffice toruin a reputation so well established as his was in Madrid. With this idea Hegathered up such garments as He had already thrown off, and hastened towardsthe Door. Elvira was aware of his design; She followed him, and ere He coulddraw back the bolt, seized him by the arm, and detained him.

“Attempt not to fly!” said She; “You quit not this roomwithout Witnesses of your guilt.”

Ambrosio struggled in vain to disengage himself. Elvira quitted not her hold,but redoubled her cries for succour. The Friar’s danger grew more urgent.He expected every moment to hear people assembling at her voice; And worked upto madness by the approach of ruin, He adopted a resolution equally desperateand savage. Turning round suddenly, with one hand He grasped Elvira’sthroat so as to prevent her continuing her clamour, and with the other, dashingher violently upon the ground, He dragged her towards the Bed. Confused by thisunexpected attack, She scarcely had power to strive at forcing herself from hisgrasp: While the Monk, snatching the pillow from beneath her Daughter’shead, covering with it Elvira’s face, and pressing his knee upon herstomach with all his strength, endeavoured to put an end to her existence. Hesucceeded but too well. Her natural strength increased by the excess ofanguish, long did the Sufferer struggle to disengage herself, but in vain. TheMonk continued to kneel upon her breast, witnessed without mercy the convulsivetrembling of her limbs beneath him, and sustained with inhuman firmness thespectacle of her agonies, when soul and body were on the point of separating.Those agonies at length were over. She ceased to struggle for life. The Monktook off the pillow, and gazed upon her. Her face was covered with a frightfulblackness:

Her limbs moved no more; The blood was chilled in her veins; Her heart hadforgotten to beat, and her hands were stiff and frozen.

Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now become aCorse, cold, senseless and disgusting.

This horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar beheld the enormityof his crime. A cold dew flowed over his limbs; his eyes closed; He staggeredto a chair, and sank into it almost as lifeless as the Unfortunate who layextended at his feet. From this state He was rouzed by the necessity of flight,and the danger of being found in Antonia’s apartment. He had no desire toprofit by the execution of his crime. Antonia now appeared to him an object ofdisgust. A deadly cold had usurped the place of that warmth which glowed in hisbosom: No ideas offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt, ofpresent shame and future punishment. Agitated by remorse and fear He preparedfor flight: Yet his terrors did not so compleatly master his recollection, asto prevent his taking the precautions necessary for his safety. He replaced thepillow upon the bed, gathered up his garments, and with the fatal Talisman inhis hand, bent his unsteady steps towards the door. Bewildered by fear, Hefancied that his flight was opposed by Legions of Phantoms; Whereever Heturned, the disfigured Corse seemed to lie in his passage, and it was longbefore He succeeded in reaching the door. The enchanted Myrtle produced itsformer effect. The door opened, and He hastened down the staircase. He enteredthe Abbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his Cell, He abandoned hissoul to the tortures of unavailing remorse, and terrors of impending detection.

CHAPTER IX.

Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity
To those you left behind disclose the secret?
O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out,
What ’tis you are, and we must shortly be.
I’ve heard that Souls departed have sometimes
Fore-warned Men of their deaths:
’Twas kindly done
To knock, and give the alarum.

BLAIR.

Ambrosio shuddered at himself, when He reflected on his rapid advances ininiquity. The enormous crime which He had just committed filled him with realhorror. The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes, and his guilt wasalready punished by the agonies of his conscience. Time, however, considerablyweakened these impressions: One day passed away, another followed it, and stillnot the least suspicion was thrown upon him. Impunity reconciled him to hisguilt: He began to resume his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away,He paid less attention to the reproaches of remorse. Matilda exerted herself toquiet his alarms. At the first intelligence of Elvira’s death, She seemedgreatly affected, and joined the Monk in deploring the unhappy catastrophe ofhis adventure: But when She found his agitation to be somewhat calmed, andhimself better disposed to listen to her arguments, She proceeded to mentionhis offence in milder terms, and convince him that He was not so highlyculpable as He appeared to consider himself. She represented that He had onlyavailed himself of the rights which Nature allows to every one, those ofself-preservation: That either Elvira or himself must have perished, and thather inflexibility and resolution to ruin him had deservedly marked her out forthe Victim. She next stated, that as He had before rendered himself suspectedto Elvira, it was a fortunate event for him that her lips were closed by death;since without this last adventure, her suspicions if made public might haveproduced very disagreeable consequences. He had therefore freed himself from anEnemy, to whom the errors of his conduct were sufficiently known to make herdangerous, and who was the greatest obstacle to his designs upon Antonia. Thosedesigns She encouraged him not to abandon. She assured him that, no longerprotected by her Mother’s watchful eye, the Daughter would fall an easyconquest; and by praising and enumerating Antonia’s charms, She strove torekindle the desires of the Monk. In this endeavour She succeeded but too well.

As if the crimes into which his passion had seduced him had only increased itsviolence, He longed more eagerly than ever to enjoy Antonia. The same successin concealing his present guilt, He trusted would attend his future. He wasdeaf to the murmurs of conscience, and resolved to satisfy his desires at anyprice. He waited only for an opportunity of repeating his former enterprize;But to procure that opportunity by the same means was now impracticable. In thefirst transports of despair He had dashed the enchanted Myrtle into a thousandpieces: Matilda told him plainly that He must expect no further assistance fromthe infernal Powers unless He was willing to subscribe to their establishedconditions. This Ambrosio was determined not to do: He persuaded himself thathowever great might be his iniquity, so long as he preserved his claim tosalvation, He need not despair of pardon. He therefore resolutely refused toenter into any bond or compact with the Fiends; and Matilda finding himobstinate upon this point, forbore to press him further. She exerted herinvention to discover some means of putting Antonia into the Abbot’spower: Nor was it long before that means presented itself.

While her ruin was thus meditating, the unhappy Girl herself suffered severelyfrom the loss of her Mother. Every morning on waking, it was her first care tohasten to Elvira’s chamber. On that which followed Ambrosio’s fatalvisit, She woke later than was her usual custom: Of this She was convinced bythe Abbey Chimes. She started from her bed, threw on a few loose garmentshastily, and was speeding to enquire how her Mother had passed the night, whenher foot struck against something which lay in her passage. She looked down.What was her horror at recognizing Elvira’s livid Corse! She uttered aloud shriek, and threw herself upon the floor. She clasped the inanimate formto her bosom, felt that it was dead-cold, and with a movement of disgust, ofwhich She was not the Mistress, let it fall again from her arms. The cry hadalarmed Flora, who hastened to her assistance. The sight which She beheldpenetrated her with horror; but her alarm was more audible thanAntonia’s. She made the House ring with her lamentations, while herMistress, almost suffocated with grief, could only mark her distress by sobsand groans. Flora’s shrieks soon reached the ears of the Hostess, whoseterror and surprize were excessive on learning the cause of this disturbance. APhysician was immediately sent for: But on the first moment of beholding theCorse, He declared that Elvira’s recovery was beyond the power of art. Heproceeded therefore to give his assistance to Antonia, who by this time wastruly in need of it. She was conveyed to bed, while the Landlady busied herselfin giving orders for Elvira’s Burial. Dame Jacintha was a plain good kindof Woman, charitable, generous, and devout: But her intellects were weak, andShe was a Miserable Slave to fear and superstition. She shuddered at the ideaof passing the night in the same House with a dead Body: She was persuaded thatElvira’s Ghost would appear to her, and no less certain that such a visitwould kill her with fright. From this persuasion, She resolved to pass thenight at a Neighbour’s, and insisted that the Funeral should take placethe next day. St. Clare’s Cemetery being the nearest, it was determinedthat Elvira should be buried there. Dame Jacintha engaged to defray everyexpence attending the burial. She knew not in what circumstances Antonia wasleft, but from the sparing manner in which the Family had lived, She concludedthem to be indifferent.

Consequently, She entertained very little hope of ever being recompensed; Butthis consideration prevented her not from taking care that the Interment wasperformed with decency, and from showing the unfortunate Antonia all possiblerespect.

Nobody dies of mere grief; Of this Antonia was an instance. Aided by her youthand healthy constitution, She shook off the malady which her Mother’sdeath had occasioned; But it was not so easy to remove the disease of her mind.Her eyes were constantly filled with tears: Every trifle affected her, and Sheevidently nourished in her bosom a profound and rooted melancholy. Theslightest mention of Elvira, the most trivial circumstance recalling thatbeloved Parent to her memory, was sufficient to throw her into seriousagitation. How much would her grief have been increased, had She known theagonies which terminated her Mother’s existence! But of this no oneentertained the least suspicion. Elvira was subject to strong convulsions: Itwas supposed that, aware of their approach, She had dragged herself to herDaughter’s chamber in hopes of assistance; that a sudden access of herfits had seized her, too violent to be resisted by her already enfeebled stateof health; and that She had expired ere She had time to reach the medicinewhich generally relieved her, and which stood upon a shelf in Antonia’sroom. This idea was firmly credited by the few people, who interestedthemselves about Elvira: Her Death was esteemed a natural event, and soonforgotten by all save by her, who had but too much reason to deplore her loss.

In truth Antonia’s situation was sufficiently embarrassing andunpleasant. She was alone in the midst of a dissipated and expensive City; Shewas ill provided with money, and worse with Friends. Her aunt Leonella wasstill at Cordova, and She knew not her direction. Of the Marquis de lasCisternas She heard no news: As to Lorenzo, She had long given up the idea ofpossessing any interest in his bosom. She knew not to whom She could addressherself in her present dilemma. She wished to consult Ambrosio; But Sheremembered her Mother’s injunctions to shun him as much as possible, andthe last conversation which Elvira had held with her upon the subject had givenher sufficient lights respecting his designs to put her upon her guard againsthim in future. Still all her Mother’s warnings could not make her changeher good opinion of the Friar. She continued to feel that his friendship andsociety were requisite to her happiness: She looked upon his failings with apartial eye, and could not persuade herself that He really had intended herruin. However, Elvira had positively commanded her to drop his acquaintance,and She had too much respect for her orders to disobey them.

At length She resolved to address herself for advice and protection to theMarquis de las Cisternas, as being her nearest Relation. She wrote to him,briefly stating her desolate situation; She besought him to compassionate hisBrother’s Child, to continue to her Elvira’s pension, and toauthorise her retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till now had been herretreat. Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the trusty Flora, whoimmediately set out to execute her commission. But Antonia was born under anunlucky Star. Had She made her application to the Marquis but one day sooner,received as his Niece and placed at the head of his Family, She would haveescaped all the misfortunes with which She was now threatened. Raymond hadalways intended to execute this plan: But first, his hopes of making theproposal to Elvira through the lips of Agnes, and afterwards, hisdisappointment at losing his intended Bride, as well as the severe illnesswhich for some time had confined him to his Bed, made him defer from day to daythe giving an Asylum in his House to his Brother’s Widow. He hadcommissioned Lorenzo to supply her liberally with money: But Elvira, unwillingto receive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured him that She needed noimmediate pecuniary assistance. Consequently, the Marquis did not imagine thata trifling delay on his part could create any embarrassment; and the distressand agitation of his mind might well excuse his negligence.

Had He been informed that Elvira’s death had left her Daughter Friendlessand unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such measures, as would haveensured her from every danger: But Antonia was not destined to be so fortunate.The day on which She sent her letter to the Palace de las Cisternas was thatfollowing Lorenzo’s departure from Madrid. The Marquis was in the firstparoxysms of despair at the conviction that Agnes was indeed no more: He wasdelirious, and his life being in danger, no one was suffered to approach him.Flora was informed that He was incapable of attending to Letters, and thatprobably a few hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory answer Shewas obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself plunged intogreater difficulties than ever.

Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The Latter beggedher to make herself easy, for that as long as She chose to stay with her, Shewould treat her like her own Child. Antonia, finding that the good Woman hadtaken a real affection for her, was somewhat comforted by thinking that She hadat least one Friend in the World. A Letter was now brought to her, directed toElvira. She recognized Leonella’s writing, and opening it with joy, founda detailed account of her Aunt’s adventures at Cordova. She informed herSister that She had recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had receivedin exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, and tocome. She added that She should be at Madrid on the Tuesday night, and meant tohave the pleasure of presenting her Caro Sposo in form. Though her nuptialswere far from pleasing Antonia, Leonella’s speedy return gave her Niecemuch delight. She rejoiced in thinking that She should once more be under aRelation’s care. She could not but judge it to be highly improper, for ayoung Woman to be living among absolute Strangers, with no one to regulate herconduct, or protect her from the insults to which, in her defencelesssituation, She was exposed. She therefore looked forward with impatience to theTuesday night.

It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they rolled alongthe Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late without Leonella’sappearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up till her Aunt’s arrival, andin spite of all her remonstrances, Dame Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doingthe same. The hours passed on slow and tediously. Lorenzo’s departurefrom Madrid had put a stop to the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to hearthe usual sound of Guitars beneath her window. She took up her own, and strucka few chords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She soonreplaced the Instrument in its case. She seated herself at her embroideryframe, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the thread snapped everymoment, and the needles were so expert at falling that they seemed to beanimated. At length a flake of wax fell from the Taper which stood near herupon a favourite wreath of Violets: This compleatly discomposed her; She threwdown her needle, and quitted the frame. It was decreed that for that nightnothing should have the power of amusing her. She was the prey of Ennui, andemployed herself in making fruitless wishes for the arrival of her Aunt.

As She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the Door caught hereye conducting to that which had been her Mother’s. She remembered thatElvira’s little Library was arranged there, and thought that She mightpossibly find in it some Book to amuse her till Leonella should arrive.Accordingly She took her Taper from the table, passed through the littleCloset, and entered the adjoining apartment. As She looked around her, thesight of this room brought to her recollection a thousand painful ideas. It wasthe first time of her entering it since her Mother’s death. The totalsilence prevailing through the chamber, the Bed despoiled of its furniture, thecheerless hearth where stood an extinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants inthe window which, since Elvira’s loss, had been neglected, inspiredAntonia with a melancholy awe. The gloom of night gave strength to thissensation. She placed her light upon the Table, and sank into a large chair, inwhich She had seen her Mother seated a thousand and a thousand times. She wasnever to see her seated there again! Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek,and She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with every moment.

Ashamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat: She proceeded toseek for what had brought her to this melancholy scene. The small collection ofBooks was arranged upon several shelves in order. Antonia examined them withoutfinding any thing likely to interest her, till She put her hand upon a volumeof old Spanish Ballads. She read a few Stanzas of one of them: They excited hercuriosity. She took down the Book, and seated herself to peruse it with moreease. She trimmed the Taper, which now drew towards its end, and then read thefollowing Ballad.

ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE

The perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia’smelancholy. She had naturally a strong inclination to the marvellous; and herNurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions, had related to her when an Infant somany horrible adventures of this kind, that all Elvira’s attempts hadfailed to eradicate their impressions from her Daughter’s mind. Antoniastill nourished a superstitious prejudice in her bosom: She was oftensusceptible of terrors which, when She discovered their natural andinsignificant cause, made her blush at her own weakness. With such a turn ofmind, the adventure which She had just been reading sufficed to give herapprehensions the alarm. The hour and the scene combined to authorize them. Itwas the dead of night: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by herdeceased Mother. The weather was comfortless and stormy: The wind howled aroundthe House, the doors rattled in their frames, and the heavy rain patteredagainst the windows. No other sound was heard. The Taper, now burnt down to thesocket, sometimes flaring upwards shot a gleam of light through the room, thensinking again seemed upon the point of expiring. Antonia’s heart throbbedwith agitation: Her eyes wandered fearfully over the objects around her, as thetrembling flame illuminated them at intervals. She attempted to rise from herseat; But her limbs trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed. Shethen called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance: But agitationchoaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow murmurs.

She passed some minutes in this situation, after which her terrors began todiminish. She strove to recover herself, and acquire strength enough to quitthe room: Suddenly She fancied, that She heard a low sigh drawn near her. Thisidea brought back her former weakness. She had already raised herself from herseat, and was on the point of taking the Lamp from the Table. The imaginarynoise stopped her: She drew back her hand, and supported herself upon the backof a Chair. She listened anxiously, but nothing more was heard.

“Gracious God!” She said to herself; “What could be thatsound? Was I deceived, or did I really hear it?”

Her reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely audible: Itseemed as if somebody was whispering. Antonia’s alarm increased: Yet theBolt She knew to be fastened, and this idea in some degree reassured her.Presently the Latch was lifted up softly, and the Door moved with cautionbackwards and forwards. Excess of terror now supplied Antonia with thatstrength, of which She had till then been deprived. She started from her placeand made towards the Closet door, whence She might soon have reached thechamber where She expected to find Flora and Dame Jacintha. Scarcely had Shereached the middle of the room when the Latch was lifted up a second time. Aninvoluntary movement obliged her to turn her head. Slowly and gradually theDoor turned upon its hinges, and standing upon the Threshold She beheld a tallthin Figure, wrapped in a white shroud which covered it from head to foot.

This vision arrested her feet: She remained as if petrified in the middle ofthe apartment. The Stranger with measured and solemn steps drew near the Table.The dying Taper darted a blue and melancholy flame as the Figure advancedtowards it. Over the Table was fixed a small Clock; The hand of it was upon thestroke of three. The Figure stopped opposite to the Clock: It raised its rightarm, and pointed to the hour, at the same time looking earnestly upon Antonia,who waited for the conclusion of this scene, motionless and silent.

The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock struck. Whenthe sound had ceased, the Stranger advanced yet a few steps nearer Antonia.

“Yet three days,” said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral;“Yet three days, and we meet again!”

Antonia shuddered at the words.

“We meet again?” She pronounced at length with difficulty:“Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?”

The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the other raised theLinen which covered its face.

“Almighty God! My Mother!”

Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor.

Dame Jacintha who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was alarmed by thecry: Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch fresh oil for the Lamp, by whichthey had been sitting. Jacintha therefore hastened alone to Antonia’sassistance, and great was her amazement to find her extended upon the floor.She raised her in her arms, conveyed her to her apartment, and placed her uponthe Bed still senseless. She then proceeded to bathe her temples, chafe herhands, and use all possible means of bringing her to herself. With somedifficulty She succeeded. Antonia opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly.

“Where is She?” She cried in a trembling voice; “Is She gone?Am I safe? Speak to me! Comfort me! Oh! speak to me for God’ssake!”

“Safe from whom, my Child?” replied the astonished Jacintha;“What alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?”

“In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days! I heardher say it! I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this moment!”

She threw herself upon Jacintha’s bosom.

“You saw her? Saw whom?”

“My Mother’s Ghost!”

“Christ Jesus!” cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let fallAntonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of the room.

As She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them.

“Go to your Mistress, Flora,” said She; “Here are raredoings! Oh! I am the most unfortunate Woman alive! My House is filled withGhosts and dead Bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; Yet I am sure, nobodylikes such company less than I do. But go your way to Donna Antonia, Flora, andlet me go mine.”

Thus saying, She continued her course to the Street door, which She opened, andwithout allowing herself time to throw on her veil, She made the best of herway to the Capuchin Abbey. In the meanwhile, Flora hastened to her Lady’schamber, equally surprized and alarmed at Jacintha’s consternation. Shefound Antonia lying upon the bed insensible. She used the same means for herrecovery that Jacintha had already employed; But finding that her Mistress onlyrecovered from one fit to fall into another, She sent in all haste for aPhysician. While expecting his arrival, She undrest Antonia, and conveyed herto Bed.

Heedless of the storm, terrified almost out of her senses, Jacintha ran throughthe Streets, and stopped not till She reached the Gate of the Abbey. She rangloudly at the bell, and as soon as the Porter appeared, She desired permissionto speak to the Superior. Ambrosio was then conferring with Matilda upon themeans of procuring access to Antonia. The cause of Elvira’s deathremaining unknown, He was convinced that crimes were not so swiftly followed bypunishment, as his Instructors the Monks had taught him, and as till then Hehad himself believed. This persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia’sruin, for the enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only seemed tohave increased his passion. The Monk had already made one attempt to gainadmission to her presence; But Flora had refused him in such a manner as toconvince him that all future endeavours must be vain. Elvira had confided hersuspicions to that trusty Servant: She had desired her never to leave Ambrosioalone with her Daughter, and if possible to prevent their meeting altogether.Flora promised to obey her, and had executed her orders to the very letter.Ambrosio’s visit had been rejected that morning, though Antonia wasignorant of it. He saw that to obtain a sight of his Mistress by open means wasout of the question; and both Himself and Matilda had consumed the night, inendeavouring to invent some plan, whose event might be more successful. Suchwas their employment, when a Lay-Brother entered the Abbot’s Cell, andinformed him that a Woman calling herself Jacintha Zuniga requested audiencefor a few minutes.

Ambrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his Visitor. Herefused it positively, and bad the Lay-Brother tell the Stranger to return thenext day. Matilda interrupted him.

“See this Woman,” said She in a low voice; “I have myreasons.”

The Abbot obeyed her, and signified that He would go to the Parlourimmediately. With this answer the Lay-Brother withdrew. As soon as they werealone Ambrosio enquired why Matilda wished him to see this Jacintha.

“She is Antonia’s Hostess,” replied Matilda; “She maypossibly be of use to you: but let us examine her, and learn what brings herhither.”

They proceeded together to the Parlour, where Jacintha was already waiting forthe Abbot. She had conceived a great opinion of his piety and virtue; andsupposing him to have much influence over the Devil, thought that it must be aneasy matter for him to lay Elvira’s Ghost in the Red Sea. Filled withthis persuasion She had hastened to the Abbey. As soon as She saw the Monkenter the Parlour, She dropped upon her knees, and began her story as follows.

“Oh! Reverend Father! Such an accident! Such an adventure! I know notwhat course to take, and unless you can help me, I shall certainly godistracted. Well, to be sure, never was Woman so unfortunate, as myself! All inmy power to keep clear of such abomination have I done, and yet that all is toolittle. What signifies my telling my beads four times a day, and observingevery fast prescribed by the Calendar? What signifies my having made threePilgrimages to St. James of Compostella, and purchased as many pardons from thePope as would buy off Cain’s punishment? Nothing prospers with me! Allgoes wrong, and God only knows, whether any thing will ever go right again! Whynow, be your Holiness the Judge. My Lodger dies in convulsions; Out of purekindness I bury her at my own expence; (Not that she is any relation of mine,or that I shall be benefited a single pistole by her death: I got nothing byit, and therefore you know, reverend Father, that her living or dying was justthe same to me. But that is nothing to the purpose; To return to what I wassaying,) I took care of her funeral, had every thing performed decently andproperly, and put myself to expence enough, God knows! And how do you think theLady repays me for my kindness? Why truly by refusing to sleep quietly in hercomfortable deal Coffin, as a peaceable well-disposed Spirit ought to do, andcoming to plague me, who never wish to set eyes on her again. Forsooth, it wellbecomes her to go racketing about my House at midnight, popping into herDaughter’s room through the Keyhole, and frightening the poor Child outof her wits! Though She be a Ghost, She might be more civil than to bolt into aPerson’s House, who likes her company so little. But as for me, reverendFather, the plain state of the case is this: If She walks into my House, I mustwalk out of it, for I cannot abide such Visitors, not I! Thus you see, yourSanctity, that without your assistance I am ruined and undone for ever. I shallbe obliged to quit my House; Nobody will take it, when ’tis known thatShe haunts it, and then I shall find myself in a fine situation! MiserableWoman that I am! What shall I do! What will become of me!”

Here She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the Abbot’sopinion of her case.

“In truth, good Woman,” replied He, “It will be difficult forme to relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You haveforgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you want.”

“Let me die” cried Jacintha, “but your Sanctity is in theright! This then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately dead, avery good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as far as my knowledge ofher went, though that was not a great way:

She kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to be upon thehigh ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her, She had a look with herwhich always made me feel a little queerish, God forgive me for saying so.However, though She was more stately than needful, and affected to look downupon me (Though if I am well informed, I come of as good Parents as She coulddo for her ears, for her Father was a Shoe-maker at Cordova, and Mine was anHatter at Madrid, aye, and a very creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yetfor all her pride, She was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to havea better Lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping quietly inher Grave: But there is no trusting to people in this world! For my part, Inever saw her do amiss, except on the Friday before her death. To be sure, Iwas then much scandalized by seeing her eat the wing of a Chicken! ‘How,Madona Flora!’ quoth I; (Flora, may it please your Reverence, is the nameof the waiting Maid)—‘How, Madona Flora!’ quoth I;‘Does your Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! See the event,and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!’ These were myvery words, but Alas! I might as well have held my tongue! Nobody minded me;and Flora, who is somewhat pert and snappish, (More is the pity, say I) told methat there was no more harm in eating a Chicken than the egg from which itcame. Nay, She even declared that if her Lady added a slice of bacon, She wouldnot be an inch nearer Damnation, God protect us! A poor ignorant sinful soul! Iprotest to your Holiness, I trembled to hear her utter such blasphemies, andexpected every moment to see the ground open and swallow her up, Chicken andall! For you must know, worshipful Father, that while She talked thus, She heldthe plate in her hand, on which lay the identical roast Fowl. And a fine Birdit was, that I must say for it! Done to a turn, for I superintended the cookingof it myself: It was a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please yourHoliness, and the flesh was as white as an egg-shell, as indeed Donna Elviratold me herself. ‘Dame Jacintha,’ said She, very good-humouredly,though to say the truth, She was always very polite to me .....”

Here Ambrosio’s patience failed him. Eager to know Jacintha’sbusiness in which Antonia seemed to be concerned, He was almost distractedwhile listening to the rambling of this prosing old Woman. He interrupted her,and protested that if She did not immediately tell her story and have done withit, He should quit the Parlour, and leave her to get out of her difficulties byherself. This threat had the desired effect. Jacintha related her business inas few words as She could manage; But her account was still so prolix thatAmbrosio had need of his patience to bear him to the conclusion.

“And so, your Reverence,” said She, after relating Elvira’sdeath and burial, with all their circumstances; “And so, your Reverence,upon hearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away posted I to DonnaAntonia’s chamber. Finding nobody there, I past on to the next; But Imust own, I was a little timorous at going in, for this was the very room whereDonna Elvira used to sleep. However, in I went, and sure enough, there lay theyoung Lady at full length upon the floor, as cold as a stone, and as white as asheet. I was surprized at this, as your Holiness may well suppose; But Oh me!how I shook when I saw a great tall figure at my elbow whose head touched theceiling! The face was Donna Elvira’s, I must confess; But out of itsmouth came clouds of fire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which itrattled piteously, and every hair on its head was a Serpent as big as my arm!At this I was frightened enough, and began to say my Ave-Maria: But the Ghostinterrupting me uttered three loud groans, and roared out in a terrible voice,‘Oh! That Chicken’s wing! My poor soul suffers for it!’ Assoon as She had said this, the Ground opened, the Spectre sank down, I heard aclap of thunder, and the room was filled with a smell of brimstone. When Irecovered from my fright, and had brought Donna Antonia to herself, who told methat She had cried out upon seeing her Mother’s Ghost, (And well mightShe cry, poor Soul! Had I been in her place, I should have cried ten timeslouder) it directly came into my head, that if any one had power to quiet thisSpectre, it must be your Reverence. So hither I came in all diligence, to begthat you will sprinkle my House with holy water, and lay the Apparition in theRed Sea.”

Ambrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit.

“Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?” said He.

“As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!”

Ambrosio paused for a moment. Here was an opportunity offered him of gainingaccess to Antonia, but He hesitated to employ it. The reputation which Heenjoyed in Madrid was still dear to him; and since He had lost the reality ofvirtue, it appeared as if its semblance was become more valuable. He wasconscious that publicly to break through the rule never to quit the Abbeyprecincts, would derogate much from his supposed austerity. In visiting Elvira,He had always taken care to keep his features concealed from the Domestics.Except by the Lady, her Daughter, and the faithful Flora, He was known in theFamily by no other name than that of Father Jerome. Should He comply withJacintha’s request, and accompany her to her House, He knew that theviolation of his rule could not be kept a secret. However, his eagerness to seeAntonia obtained the victory: He even hoped, that the singularity of thisadventure would justify him in the eyes of Madrid: But whatever might be theconsequences, He resolved to profit by the opportunity which chance hadpresented to him. An expressive look from Matilda confirmed him in thisresolution.

“Good Woman,” said He to Jacintha, “what you tell me is soextraordinary that I can scarcely credit your assertions. However, I willcomply with your request. Tomorrow after Matins you may expect me at yourHouse: I will then examine into what I can do for you, and if it is in mypower, will free you from this unwelcome Visitor. Now then go home, and peacebe with you!”

“Home?” exclaimed Jacintha; “I go home? Not I by my troth!except under your protection, I set no foot of mine within the threshold. Godhelp me, the Ghost may meet me upon the Stairs, and whisk me away with her tothe devil! Oh! That I had accepted young Melchior Basco’s offer! Then Ishould have had somebody to protect me; But now I am a lone Woman, and meetwith nothing but crosses and misfortunes! Thank Heaven, it is not yet too lateto repent! There is Simon Gonzalez will have me any day of the week, and if Ilive till daybreak, I will marry him out of hand: An Husband I will have, thatis determined, for now this Ghost is once in my House, I shall be frightenedout of my wits to sleep alone. But for God’s sake, reverend Father, comewith me now. I shall have no rest till the House is purified, or the poor youngLady either. The dear Girl! She is in a piteous taking: I left her in strongconvulsions, and I doubt, She will not easily recover her fright.”

The Friar started, and interrupted her hastily.

“In convulsions, say you? Antonia in convulsions? Lead on, good Woman! Ifollow you this moment!”

Jacintha insisted upon his stopping to furnish himself with the vessel of holywater: With this request He complied. Thinking herself safe under hisprotection should a Legion of Ghosts attack her, the old Woman returned theMonk a profusion of thanks, and they departed together for the Strada di SanIago.

So strong an impression had the Spectre made upon Antonia, that for the firsttwo or three hours the Physician declared her life to be in danger. The fits atlength becoming less frequent induced him to alter his opinion. He said that tokeep her quiet was all that was necessary; and He ordered a medicine to beprepared which would tranquillize her nerves, and procure her that repose whichat present She much wanted. The sight of Ambrosio, who now appeared withJacintha at her Bedside, contributed essentially to compose her ruffledspirits. Elvira had not sufficiently explained herself upon the nature of hisdesigns, to make a Girl so ignorant of the world as her Daughter aware howdangerous was his acquaintance. At this moment, when penetrated with horror atthe scene which had just past, and dreading to contemplate the Ghost’sprediction, her mind had need of all the succours of friendship and religion,Antonia regarded the Abbot with an eye doubly partial. That strongprepossession in his favour still existed which She had felt for him at firstsight: She fancied, yet knew not wherefore, that his presence was a safeguardto her from every danger, insult, or misfortune.

She thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the adventure,which had alarmed her so seriously.

The Abbot strove to reassure her, and convince her that the whole had been adeception of her overheated fancy. The solitude in which She had passed theEvening, the gloom of night, the Book which She had been reading, and the Roomin which She sat, were all calculated to place before her such a vision. Hetreated the idea of Ghosts with ridicule, and produced strong arguments toprove the fallacy of such a system. His conversation tranquillized andcomforted her, but did not convince her. She could not believe that the Spectrehad been a mere creature of her imagination; Every circumstance was impressedupon her mind too forcibly, to permit her flattering herself with such an idea.She persisted in asserting that She had really seen her Mother’s Ghost,had heard the period of her dissolution announced and declared that She nevershould quit her bed alive. Ambrosio advised her against encouraging thesesentiments, and then quitted her chamber, having promised to repeat his visiton the morrow. Antonia received this assurance with every mark of joy: But theMonk easily perceived that He was not equally acceptable to her Attendant.Flora obeyed Elvira’s injunctions with the most scrupulous observance.She examined every circumstance with an anxious eye likely in the least toprejudice her young Mistress, to whom She had been attached for many years. Shewas a Native of Cuba, had followed Elvira to Spain, and loved the young Antoniawith a Mother’s affection. Flora quitted not the room for a moment whilethe Abbot remained there: She watched his every word, his every look, his everyaction. He saw that her suspicious eye was always fixed upon him, and consciousthat his designs would not bear inspection so minute, He felt frequentlyconfused and disconcerted. He was aware that She doubted the purity of hisintentions; that She would never leave him alone with Antonia, and his Mistressdefended by the presence of this vigilant Observer, He despaired of finding themeans to gratify his passion.

As He quitted the House, Jacintha met him, and begged that some Masses might besung for the repose of Elvira’s soul, which She doubted not was sufferingin Purgatory. He promised not to forget her request; But He perfectly gainedthe old Woman’s heart by engaging to watch during the whole of theapproaching night in the haunted chamber. Jacintha could find no termssufficiently strong to express her gratitude, and the Monk departed loaded withher benedictions.

It was broad day when He returned to the Abbey. His first care was tocommunicate what had past to his Confident. He felt too sincere a passion forAntonia to have heard unmoved the prediction of her speedy death, and Heshuddered at the idea of losing an object so dear to him. Upon this headMatilda reassured him. She confirmed the arguments which Himself had alreadyused: She declared Antonia to have been deceived by the wandering of her brain,by the Spleen which opprest her at the moment, and by the natural turn of hermind to superstition, and the marvellous. As to Jacintha’s account, theabsurdity refuted itself; The Abbot hesitated not to believe that She hadfabricated the whole story, either confused by terror, or hoping to make himcomply more readily with her request. Having overruled the Monk’sapprehensions, Matilda continued thus.

“The prediction and the Ghost are equally false; But it must be yourcare, Ambrosio, to verify the first. Antonia within three days must indeed bedead to the world; But She must live for you.

Her present illness, and this fancy which She has taken into her head, willcolour a plan which I have long meditated, but which was impracticable withoutyour procuring access to Antonia. She shall be yours, not for a single night,but for ever. All the vigilance of her Duenna shall not avail her: You shallriot unrestrained in the charms of your Mistress. This very day must the schemebe put in execution, for you have no time to lose. The Nephew of the Duke ofMedina Celi prepares to demand Antonia for his Bride: In a few days She will beremoved to the Palace of her Relation, the Marquis de las Cisternas, and thereShe will be secure from your attempts. Thus during your absence have I beeninformed by my Spies, who are ever employed in bringing me intelligence foryour service. Now then listen to me. There is a juice extracted from certainherbs, known but to few, which brings on the Person who drinks it the exactimage of Death. Let this be administered to Antonia: You may easily find meansto pour a few drops into her medicine. The effect will be throwing her intostrong convulsions for an hour: After which her blood will gradually cease toflow, and heart to beat; A mortal paleness will spread itself over herfeatures, and She will appear a Corse to every eye. She has no Friends abouther: You may charge yourself unsuspected with the superintendence of herfuneral, and cause her to be buried in the Vaults of St. Clare. Their solitudeand easy access render these Caverns favourable to your designs. Give Antoniathe soporific draught this Evening: Eight and forty hours after She has drankit, Life will revive to her bosom. She will then be absolutely in your power:She will find all resistance unavailing, and necessity will compel her toreceive you in her arms.”

“Antonia will be in my power!” exclaimed the Monk; “Matilda,you transport me! At length then, happiness will be mine, and that happinesswill be Matilda’s gift, will be the gift of friendship!

I shall clasp Antonia in my arms, far from every prying eye, from everytormenting Intruder! I shall sigh out my soul upon her bosom; Shall teach heryoung heart the first rudiments of pleasure, and revel uncontrouled in theendless variety of her charms! And shall this delight indeed by mine? Shall Igive the reins to my desires, and gratify every wild tumultuous wish? Oh!Matilda, how can I express to you my gratitude?”

“By profiting by my counsels. Ambrosio, I live but to serve you:

Your interest and happiness are equally mine. Be your person Antonia’s,but to your friendship and your heart I still assert my claim. Contributing toyours forms now my only pleasure. Should my exertions procure the gratificationof your wishes, I shall consider my trouble to be amply repaid. But let us loseno time. The liquor of which I spoke is only to be found in St. Clare’sLaboratory. Hasten then to the Prioress; Request of her admission to theLaboratory, and it will not be denied. There is a Closet at the lower end ofthe great Room, filled with liquids of different colours and qualities. TheBottle in question stands by itself upon the third shelf on the left. Itcontains a greenish liquor: Fill a small phial with it when you are unobserved,and Antonia is your own.”

The Monk hesitated not to adopt this infamous plan. His desires, but tooviolent before, had acquired fresh vigour from the sight of Antonia. As He satby her bedside, accident had discovered to him some of those charms which tillthen had been concealed from him: He found them even more perfect, than hisardent imagination had pictured them. Sometimes her white and polished arm wasdisplayed in arranging the pillow: Sometimes a sudden movement discovered partof her swelling bosom: But whereever the new-found charm presented itself,there rested the Friar’s gloting eyes. Scarcely could He master himselfsufficiently to conceal his desires from Antonia and her vigilant Duenna.Inflamed by the remembrance of these beauties, He entered into Matilda’sscheme without hesitation.

No sooner were Matins over than He bent his course towards the Convent of St.Clare: His arrival threw the whole Sisterhood into the utmost amazement. ThePrioress was sensible of the honour done her Convent by his paying it his firstvisit, and strove to express her gratitude by every possible attention. He wasparaded through the Garden, shown all the reliques of Saints and Martyrs, andtreated with as much respect and distinction as had He been the Pope himself.On his part, Ambrosio received the Domina’s civilities very graciously,and strove to remove her surprize at his having broken through his resolution.He stated, that among his penitents, illness prevented many from quitting theirHouses. These were exactly the People who most needed his advice and thecomforts of Religion: Many representations had been made to him upon thisaccount, and though highly repugnant to his own wishes, He had found itabsolutely necessary for the service of heaven to change his determination, andquit his beloved retirement. The Prioress applauded his zeal in his professionand his charity towards Mankind: She declared that Madrid was happy inpossessing a Man so perfect and irreproachable. In such discourse, the Friar atlength reached the Laboratory. He found the Closet: The Bottle stood in theplace which Matilda had described, and the Monk seized an opportunity to fillhis phial unobserved with the soporific liquor. Then having partaken of aCollation in the Refectory, He retired from the Convent pleased with thesuccess of his visit, and leaving the Nuns delighted by the honour conferredupon them.

He waited till Evening before He took the road to Antonia’s dwelling.Jacintha welcomed him with transport, and besought him not to forget hispromise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber: That promise He now repeated.He found Antonia tolerably well, but still harping upon the Ghost’sprediction. Flora moved not from her Lady’s Bed, and by symptoms yetstronger than on the former night testified her dislike to the Abbot’spresence. Still Ambrosio affected not to observe them. The Physician arrived,while He was conversing with Antonia. It was dark already; Lights were calledfor, and Flora was compelled to descend for them herself. However, as She lefta third Person in the room, and expected to be absent but a few minutes, Shebelieved that She risqued nothing in quitting her post. No sooner had She leftthe room, than Ambrosio moved towards the Table, on which stood Antonia’smedicine: It was placed in a recess of the window. The Physician seated in anarmed-chair, and employed in questioning his Patient, paid no attention to theproceedings of the Monk. Ambrosio seized the opportunity: He drew out the fatalPhial, and let a few drops fall into the medicine. He then hastily left theTable, and returned to the seat which He had quitted. When Flora made herappearance with lights, every thing seemed to be exactly as She had left it.

The Physician declared that Antonia might quit her chamber the next day withperfect safety. He recommended her following the same prescription which, onthe night before, had procured her a refreshing sleep: Flora replied that thedraught stood ready upon the Table: He advised the Patient to take it withoutdelay, and then retired. Flora poured the medicine into a Cup and presented itto her Mistress. At that moment Ambrosio’s courage failed him. Might notMatilda have deceived him? Might not Jealousy have persuaded her to destroy herRival, and substitute poison in the room of an opiate? This idea appeared soreasonable that He was on the point of preventing her from swallowing themedicine. His resolution was adopted too late: The Cup was already emptied, andAntonia restored it into Flora’s hands. No remedy was now to be found:Ambrosio could only expect the moment impatiently, destined to decide uponAntonia’s life or death, upon his own happiness or despair.

Dreading to create suspicion by his stay, or betray himself by his mind’sagitation, He took leave of his Victim, and withdrew from the room. Antoniaparted from him with less cordiality than on the former night. Flora hadrepresented to her Mistress that to admit his visits was to disobey herMother’s orders: She described to her his emotion on entering the room,and the fire which sparkled in his eyes while He gazed upon her. This hadescaped Antonia’s observation, but not her Attendant’s; Whoexplaining the Monk’s designs and their probable consequences in termsmuch clearer than Elvira’s, though not quite so delicate, had succeededin alarming her young Lady, and persuading her to treat him more distantly thanShe had done hitherto. The idea of obeying her Mother’s will at oncedetermined Antonia. Though She grieved at losing his society, She conqueredherself sufficiently to receive the Monk with some degree of reserve andcoldness. She thanked him with respect and gratitude for his former visits, butdid not invite his repeating them in future. It now was not the Friar’sinterest to solicit admission to her presence, and He took leave of her as ifnot designing to return. Fully persuaded that the acquaintance which Shedreaded was now at an end, Flora was so much worked upon by his easy compliancethat She began to doubt the justice of her suspicions. As She lighted him downStairs, She thanked him for having endeavoured to root out from Antonia’smind her superstitious terrors of the Spectre’s prediction: She added,that as He seemed interested in Donna Antonia’s welfare, should anychange take place in her situation, She would be careful to let him know it.The Monk in replying took pains to raise his voice, hoping that Jacintha wouldhear it. In this He succeeded; As He reached the foot of the Stairs with hisConductress, the Landlady failed not to make her appearance.

“Why surely you are not going away, reverend Father?” cried She;“Did you not promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber? ChristJesus! I shall be left alone with the Ghost, and a fine pickle I shall be in bymorning! Do all I could, say all I could, that obstinate old Brute, SimonGonzalez, refused to marry me today; And before tomorrow comes, I suppose, Ishall be torn to pieces, by the Ghosts, and Goblins, and Devils, and what not!For God’s sake, your Holiness, do not leave me in such a woefulcondition! On my bended knees I beseech you to keep your promise: Watch thisnight in the haunted chamber; Lay the Apparition in the Red Sea, and Jacintharemembers you in her prayers to the last day of her existence!”

This request Ambrosio expected and desired; Yet He affected to raiseobjections, and to seem unwilling to keep his word. He told Jacintha that theGhost existed nowhere but in her own brain, and that her insisting upon hisstaying all night in the House was ridiculous and useless. Jacintha wasobstinate: She was not to be convinced, and pressed him so urgently not toleave her a prey to the Devil, that at length He granted her request. All thisshow of resistance imposed not upon Flora, who was naturally of a suspicioustemper. She suspected the Monk to be acting a part very contrary to his owninclinations, and that He wished for no better than to remain where He was. Sheeven went so far as to believe that Jacintha was in his interest; and the poorold Woman was immediately set down, as no better than a Procuress. While Sheapplauded herself for having penetrated into this plot against her Lady’shonour, She resolved in secret to render it fruitless.

“So then,” said She to the Abbot with a look half-satirical andhalf indignant; “So then you mean to stay here tonight? Do so, inGod’s name! Nobody will prevent you. Sit up to watch for theGhost’s arrival: I shall sit up too, and the Lord grant that I may seenothing worse than a Ghost! I quit not Donna Antonia’s Bedside duringthis blessed night: Let me see any one dare to enter the room, and be He mortalor immortal, be He Ghost, Devil, or Man, I warrant his repenting that ever Hecrossed the threshold!”

This hint was sufficiently strong, and Ambrosio understood its meaning. Butinstead of showing that He perceived her suspicions; He replied mildly that Heapproved the Duenna’s precautions, and advised her to persevere in herintention. This, She assured him faithfully that He might depend upon herdoing. Jacintha then conducted him into the chamber where the Ghost hadappeared, and Flora returned to her Lady’s.

Jacintha opened the door of the haunted room with a trembling hand: Sheventured to peep in; But the wealth of India would not have tempted her tocross the threshold. She gave the Taper to the Monk, wished him well throughthe adventure, and hastened to be gone. Ambrosio entered. He bolted the door,placed the light upon the Table, and seated himself in the Chair which on theformer night had sustained Antonia. In spite of Matilda’s assurances thatthe Spectre was a mere creation of fancy, his mind was impressed with a certainmysterious horror. He in vain endeavoured to shake it off. The silence of thenight, the story of the Apparition, the chamber wainscotted with dark oakpannells, the recollection which it brought with it of the murdered Elvira, andhis incertitude respecting the nature of the drops given by him to Antonia,made him feel uneasy at his present situation. But He thought much less of theSpectre, than of the poison. Should He have destroyed the only object whichrendered life dear to him; Should the Ghost’s prediction prove true;Should Antonia in three days be no more, and He the wretched cause of her death...... The supposition was too horrible to dwell upon. He drove away thesedreadful images, and as often they presented themselves again before him.Matilda had assured him that the effects of the Opiate would be speedy. Helistened with fear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some disturbance inthe adjoining chamber. All was still silent. He concluded that the drops hadnot begun to operate. Great was the stake, for which He now played: A momentwould suffice to decide upon his misery or happiness. Matilda had taught himthe means of ascertaining that life was not extinct for ever: Upon this assaydepended all his hopes. With every instant his impatience redoubled; Histerrors grew more lively, his anxiety more awake. Unable to bear this state ofincertitude, He endeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of Othersto his own. The Books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon shelves nearthe Table: This stood exactly opposite to the Bed, which was placed in anAlcove near the Closet door. Ambrosio took down a Volume, and seated himself bythe Table: But his attention wandered from the Pages before him.Antonia’s image and that of the murdered Elvira persisted to forcethemselves before his imagination. Still He continued to read, though his eyesran over the characters without his mind being conscious of their import. Suchwas his occupation, when He fancied that He heard a footstep. He turned hishead, but nobody was to be seen.

He resumed his Book; But in a few minutes after the same sound was repeated,and followed by a rustling noise close behind him. He now started from hisseat, and looking round him, perceived the Closet door standing half-unclosed.On his first entering the room He had tried to open it, but found it bolted onthe inside.

“How is this?” said He to himself; “How comes this doorunfastened?”

He advanced towards it: He pushed it open, and looked into the closet: No onewas there. While He stood irresolute, He thought that He distinguished agroaning in the adjacent chamber: It was Antonia’s, and He supposed thatthe drops began to take effect: But upon listening more attentively, He foundthe noise to be caused by Jacintha, who had fallen asleep by the Lady’sBedside, and was snoring most lustily. Ambrosio drew back, and returned to theother room, musing upon the sudden opening of the Closet door, for which Hestrove in vain to account.

He paced the chamber up and down in silence. At length He stopped, and the Bedattracted his attention. The curtain of the Recess was but half-drawn. Hesighed involuntarily.

“That Bed,” said He in a low voice, “That Bed wasElvira’s! There has She past many a quiet night, for She was good andinnocent. How sound must have been her sleep! And yet now She sleeps sounder!Does She indeed sleep? Oh! God grant that She may! What if She rose from herGrave at this sad and silent hour? What if She broke the bonds of the Tomb, andglided angrily before my blasted eyes? Oh! I never could support the sight!Again to see her form distorted by dying agonies, her blood-swollen veins, herlivid countenance, her eyes bursting from their sockets with pain! To hear herspeak of future punishment, menace me with Heaven’s vengeance, tax mewith the crimes I have committed, with those I am going to commit ..... GreatGod! What is that?”

As He uttered these words, his eyes which were fixed upon the Bed, saw thecurtain shaken gently backwards and forwards. The Apparition was recalled tohis mind, and He almost fancied that He beheld Elvira’s visionary formreclining upon the Bed. A few moments consideration sufficed to reassure him.

“It was only the wind,” said He, recovering himself.

Again He paced the chamber; But an involuntary movement of awe and inquietudeconstantly led his eye towards the Alcove. He drew near it with irresolution.He paused before He ascended the few steps which led to it. He put out his handthrice to remove the curtain, and as often drew it back.

“Absurd terrors!” He cried at length, ashamed of his ownweakness——

Hastily he mounted the steps; When a Figure drest in white started from theAlcove, and gliding by him, made with precipitation towards the Closet. Madnessand despair now supplied the Monk with that courage, of which He had till thenbeen destitute. He flew down the steps, pursued the Apparition, and attemptedto grasp it.

“Ghost, or Devil, I hold you!” He exclaimed, and seized the Spectreby the arm.

“Oh! Christ Jesus!” cried a shrill voice; “Holy Father, howyou gripe me! I protest that I meant no harm!”

This address, as well as the arm which He held, convinced the Abbot that thesupposed Ghost was substantial flesh and blood. He drew the Intruder towardsthe Table, and holding up the light, discovered the features of ...... MadonaFlora!

Incensed at having been betrayed by this trifling cause into fears soridiculous, He asked her sternly, what business had brought her to thatchamber. Flora, ashamed at being found out, and terrified at the severity ofAmbrosio’s looks, fell upon her knees, and promised to make a fullconfession.

“I protest, reverend Father,” said She, “that I am quitegrieved at having disturbed you: Nothing was further from my intention. I meantto get out of the room as quietly as I got in; and had you been ignorant that Iwatched you, you know, it would have been the same thing as if I had notwatched you at all. To be sure, I did very wrong in being a Spy upon you, thatI cannot deny; But Lord! your Reverence, how can a poor weak Woman resistcuriosity? Mine was so strong to know what you were doing, that I could not buttry to get a little peep, without any body knowing any thing about it. So withthat I left old Dame Jacintha sitting by my Lady’s Bed, and I ventured tosteal into the Closet. Being unwilling to interrupt you, I contented myself atfirst with putting my eye to the Keyhole; But as I could see nothing by thismeans, I undrew the bolt, and while your back was turned to the Alcove, I whiptme in softly and silently. Here I lay snug behind the curtain, till yourReverence found me out, and seized me ere I had time to regain the Closet door.This is the whole truth, I assure you, Holy Father, and I beg your pardon athousand times for my impertinence.”

During this speech the Abbot had time to recollect himself: He was satisfiedwith reading the penitent Spy a lecture upon the dangers of curiosity, and themeanness of the action in which She had been just discovered. Flora declaredherself fully persuaded that She had done wrong; She promised never to beguilty of the same fault again, and was retiring very humble and contrite toAntonia’s chamber, when the Closet door was suddenly thrown open, and inrushed Jacintha pale and out of breath.

“Oh! Father! Father!” She cried in a voice almost choaked withterror; “What shall I do! What shall I do! Here is a fine piece of work!Nothing but misfortunes! Nothing but dead people, and dying people! Oh! I shallgo distracted! I shall go distracted!”

“Speak! Speak!” cried Flora and the Monk at the same time;“What has happened? What is the matter?”

“Oh! I shall have another Corse in my House! Some Witch has certainlycast a spell upon it, upon me, and upon all about me! Poor Donna Antonia! ThereShe lies in just such convulsions, as killed her Mother! The Ghost told hertrue! I am sure, the Ghost has told her true!”

Flora ran, or rather flew to her Lady’s chamber: Ambrosio followed her,his bosom trembling with hope and apprehension. They found Antonia as Jacinthahad described, torn by racking convulsions from which they in vain endeavouredto relieve her. The Monk dispatched Jacintha to the Abbey in all haste, andcommissioned her to bring Father Pablos back with her, without losing a moment.

“I will go for him,” replied Jacintha, “and tell him to comehither; But as to bringing him myself, I shall do no such thing. I am sure thatthe House is bewitched, and burn me if ever I set foot in it again.”

With this resolution She set out for the Monastery, and delivered to FatherPablos the Abbot’s orders. She then betook herself to the House of oldSimon Gonzalez, whom She resolved never to quit, till She had made him herHusband, and his dwelling her own.

Father Pablos had no sooner beheld Antonia, than He pronounced her incurable.The convulsions continued for an hour: During that time her agonies were muchmilder than those which her groans created in the Abbot’s heart. Herevery pang seemed a dagger in his bosom, and He cursed himself a thousand timesfor having adopted so barbarous a project. The hour being expired, by degreesthe Fits became less frequent, and Antonia less agitated. She felt that herdissolution was approaching, and that nothing could save her.

“Worthy Ambrosio,” She said in a feeble voice, while She pressedhis hand to her lips; “I am now at liberty to express, how grateful is myheart for your attention and kindness. I am upon the bed of death; Yet an hour,and I shall be no more. I may therefore acknowledge without restraint, that torelinquish your society was very painful to me: But such was the will of aParent, and I dared not disobey. I die without repugnance: There are few, whowill lament my leaving them; There are few, whom I lament to leave. Among thosefew, I lament for none more than for yourself; But we shall meet again,Ambrosio! We shall one day meet in heaven: There shall our friendship berenewed, and my Mother shall view it with pleasure!”

She paused. The Abbot shuddered when She mentioned Elvira: Antonia imputed hisemotion to pity and concern for her.

“You are grieved for me, Father,” She continued; “Ah! sighnot for my loss. I have no crimes to repent, at least none of which I amconscious, and I restore my soul without fear to him from whom I received it. Ihave but few requests to make: Yet let me hope that what few I have shall begranted. Let a solemn Mass be said for my soul’s repose, and another forthat of my beloved Mother. Not that I doubt her resting in her Grave: I am nowconvinced that my reason wandered, and the falsehood of the Ghost’sprediction is sufficient to prove my error. But every one has some failing: MyMother may have had hers, though I knew them not: I therefore wish a Mass to becelebrated for her repose, and the expence may be defrayed by the little wealthof which I am possessed. Whatever may then remain, I bequeath to my AuntLeonella. When I am dead, let the Marquis de las Cisternas know that hisBrother’s unhappy family can no longer importune him. But disappointmentmakes me unjust: They tell me that He is ill, and perhaps had it been in hispower, He wished to have protected me. Tell him then, Father, only that I amdead, and that if He had any faults to me, I forgave him from my heart. Thisdone, I have nothing more to ask for, than your prayers: Promise to remember myrequests, and I shall resign my life without a pang or sorrow.”

Ambrosio engaged to comply with her desires, and proceeded to give herabsolution. Every moment announced the approach of Antonia’s fate: Hersight failed; Her heart beat sluggishly; Her fingers stiffened, and grew cold,and at two in the morning She expired without a groan. As soon as the breathhad forsaken her body, Father Pablos retired, sincerely affected at themelancholy scene. On her part, Flora gave way to the most unbridled sorrow.

Far different concerns employed Ambrosio: He sought for the pulse whosethrobbing, so Matilda had assured him, would prove Antonia’s death buttemporal. He found it; He pressed it; It palpitated beneath his hand, and hisheart was filled with ecstacy. However, He carefully concealed his satisfactionat the success of his plan. He assumed a melancholy air, and addressing himselfto Flora, warned her against abandoning herself to fruitless sorrow. Her tearswere too sincere to permit her listening to his counsels, and She continued toweep unceasingly.

The Friar withdrew, first promising to give orders himself about the Funeral,which, out of consideration for Jacintha as He pretended, should take placewith all expedition. Plunged in grief for the loss of her beloved Mistress,Flora scarcely attended to what He said. Ambrosio hastened to command theBurial. He obtained permission from the Prioress, that the Corse should bedeposited in St. Clare’s Sepulchre: and on the Friday Morning, everyproper and needful ceremony being performed, Antonia’s body was committedto the Tomb.

On the same day Leonella arrived at Madrid, intending to present her youngHusband to Elvira. Various circumstances had obliged her to defer her journeyfrom Tuesday to Friday, and She had no opportunity of making this alteration inher plans known to her Sister. As her heart was truly affectionate, and as Shehad ever entertained a sincere regard for Elvira and her Daughter, her surprizeat hearing of their sudden and melancholy fate was fully equalled by her sorrowand disappointment. Ambrosio sent to inform her of Antonia’s bequest: Ather solication, He promised, as soon as Elvira’s trifling debts weredischarged, to transmit to her the remainder. This being settled, no otherbusiness detained Leonella in Madrid, and She returned to Cordova with alldiligence.

CHAPTER X.

Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies
That earth hath seen or fancy could devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair,
As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air.

COWPER.

His whole attention bent upon bringing to justice the Assassins of his Sister,Lorenzo little thought how severely his interest was suffering in anotherquarter. As was before mentioned, He returned not to Madrid till the evening ofthat day on which Antonia was buried. Signifying to the Grand Inquisitor theorder of the Cardinal-Duke (a ceremony not to be neglected, when a Member ofthe Church was to be arrested publicly) communicating his design to his Uncleand Don Ramirez, and assembling a troop of Attendants sufficiently to preventopposition, furnished him with full occupation during the few hours precedingmidnight. Consequently, He had no opportunity to enquire about his Mistress,and was perfectly ignorant both of her death and her Mother’s.

The Marquis was by no means out of danger: His delirium was gone, but had lefthim so much exhausted that the Physicians declined pronouncing upon theconsequences likely to ensue. As for Raymond himself, He wished for nothingmore earnestly than to join Agnes in the grave. Existence was hateful to him:He saw nothing in the world deserving his attention; and He hoped to hear thatAgnes was revenged, and himself given over in the same moment.

Followed by Raymond’s ardent prayers for success, Lorenzo was at theGates of St. Clare a full hour before the time appointed by the Mother St.Ursula. He was accompanied by his Uncle, by Don Ramirez de Mello, and a partyof chosen Archers. Though in considerable numbers their appearance created nosurprize: A great Crowd was already assembled before the Convent doors, inorder to witness the Procession. It was naturally supposed that Lorenzo and hisAttendants were conducted thither by the same design. The Duke of Medina beingrecognised, the People drew back, and made way for his party to advance.Lorenzo placed himself opposite to the great Gate, through which the Pilgrimswere to pass. Convinced that the Prioress could not escape him, He waitedpatiently for her appearance, which She was expected to make exactly atMidnight.

The Nuns were employed in religious duties established in honour of St. Clare,and to which no Prophane was ever admitted. The Chapel windows wereilluminated. As they stood on the outside, the Auditors heard the full swell ofthe organ, accompanied by a chorus of female voices, rise upon the stillness ofthe night. This died away, and was succeeded by a single strain of harmony: Itwas the voice of her who was destined to sustain in the procession thecharacter of St. Clare. For this office the most beautiful Virgin of Madrid wasalways selected, and She upon whom the choice fell esteemed it as the highestof honours. While listening to the Music, whose melody distance only seemed torender sweeter, the Audience was wrapped up in profound attention. Universalsilence prevailed through the Crowd, and every heart was filled with reverencefor religion. Every heart but Lorenzo’s. Conscious that among those whochaunted the praises of their God so sweetly, there were some who cloaked withdevotion the foulest sins, their hymns inspired him with detestation at theirHypocrisy. He had long observed with disapprobation and contempt thesuperstition which governed Madrid’s Inhabitants. His good sense hadpointed out to him the artifices of the Monks, and the gross absurdity of theirmiracles, wonders, and supposititious reliques. He blushed to see hisCountrymen the Dupes of deceptions so ridiculous, and only wished for anopportunity to free them from their monkish fetters. That opportunity, so longdesired in vain, was at length presented to him. He resolved not to let itslip, but to set before the People in glaring colours how enormous were theabuses but too frequently practised in Monasteries, and how unjustly publicesteem was bestowed indiscriminately upon all who wore a religious habit. Helonged for the moment destined to unmask the Hypocrites, and convince hisCountrymen that a sanctified exterior does not always hide a virtuous heart.

The service lasted, till Midnight was announced by the Convent Bell. That soundbeing heard, the Music ceased: The voices died away softly, and soon after thelights disappeared from the Chapel windows. Lorenzo’s heart beat high,when He found the execution of his plan to be at hand. From the naturalsuperstition of the People He had prepared himself for some resistance. But Hetrusted that the Mother St. Ursula would bring good reasons to justify hisproceeding. He had force with him to repel the first impulse of the Populace,till his arguments should be heard: His only fear was lest the Domina,suspecting his design, should have spirited away the Nun on whose depositionevery thing depended. Unless the Mother St. Ursula should be present, He couldonly accuse the Prioress upon suspicion; and this reflection gave him somelittle apprehension for the success of his enterprize. The tranquillity whichseemed to reign through the Convent in some degree re-assured him: Still Heexpected the moment eagerly, when the presence of his Ally should deprive himof the power of doubting.

The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the Garden andCemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the Pilgrimage. They nowarrived, marching two by two with lighted Torches in their hands, and chauntingHymns in honour of St. Clare. Father Pablos was at their head, the Abbot havingexcused himself from attending. The people made way for the holy Train, and theFriars placed themselves in ranks on either side of the great Gates. A fewminutes sufficed to arrange the order of the Procession. This being settled,the Convent doors were thrown open, and again the female Chorus sounded in fullmelody. First appeared a Band of Choristers: As soon as they had passed, theMonks fell in two by two, and followed with steps slow and measured. Next camethe Novices; They bore no Tapers, as did the Professed, but moved on with eyesbent downwards, and seemed to be occupied by telling their Beads. To themsucceeded a young and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a goldenbason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet bandage, and Shewas conducted by another Nun habited as an Angel. She was followed by St.Catherine, a palm-branch in one hand, a flaming Sword in the other: She wasrobed in white, and her brow was ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After herappeared St. Genevieve, surrounded by a number of Imps, who putting themselvesinto grotesque attitudes, drawing her by the robe, and sporting round her withantic gestures, endeavoured to distract her attention from the Book, on whichher eyes were constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained theSpectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of Laughter. ThePrioress had been careful to select a Nun whose disposition was naturallysolemn and saturnine. She had every reason to be satisfied with her choice: Thedrolleries of the Imps were entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved onwithout discomposing a muscle.

Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of Choristers,exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her to be very much inferiorto St. Clare, the Convent’s avowed Patroness. These having passed, a longtrain of Nuns appeared, bearing like the Choristers each a burning Taper. Nextcame the reliques of St. Clare, inclosed in vases equally precious for theirmaterials and workmanship: But they attracted not Lorenzo’s attention.The Nun who bore the heart occupied him entirely. According to Theodore’sdescription, He doubted not her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to lookround with anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the processionpast, her eye caught Lorenzo’s. A flush of joy overspread her till thenpallid cheek. She turned to her Companion eagerly.

“We are safe!” He heard her whisper; “’tis herBrother!”

His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon the remainderof the show. Now appeared its most brilliant ornament. It was a Machinefashioned like a throne, rich with jewels and dazzling with light. It rolledonwards upon concealed wheels, and was guided by several lovely Children,dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered with silver clouds, upon whichreclined the most beautiful form that eyes ever witnessed. It was a Damselrepresenting St. Clare: Her dress was of inestimable price, and round her heada wreath of Diamonds formed an artificial glory: But all these ornamentsyielded to the lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight ranthrough the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He never beheld moreperfect beauty, and had not his heart been Antonia’s, it must have fallena sacrifice to this enchanting Girl. As it was, He considered her only as afine Statue: She obtained from him no tribute save cold admiration, and whenShe had passed him, He thought of her no more.

“Who is She?” asked a By-stander in Lorenzo’s hearing.

“One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name isVirginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare’s Convent, aRelation of the Prioress, and has been selected with justice as the ornament ofthe Procession.”

The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress herself: She marchedat the head of the remaining Nuns with a devout and sanctified air, and closedthe procession. She moved on slowly: Her eyes were raised to heaven: Hercountenance calm and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, andno feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of herConvent. She passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of thePopulace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when DonRamirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner.

For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no sooner didShe recover herself, than She exclaimed against sacrilege and impiety, andcalled the People to rescue a Daughter of the Church. They were eagerlypreparing to obey her; when Don Ramirez, protected by the Archers from theirrage, commanded them to forbear, and threatened them with the severestvengeance of the Inquisition. At that dreaded word every arm fell, every swordshrunk back into its scabbard. The Prioress herself turned pale, and trembled.The general silence convinced her that She had nothing to hope but frominnocence, and She besought Don Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her ofwhat crime She was accused.

“That you shall know in time,” replied He; “But first I mustsecure the Mother St. Ursula.”

“The Mother St. Ursula?” repeated the Domina faintly.

At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo and the Duke,who had followed Don Ramirez.

“Ah! great God!” She cried, clasping her hands together with afrantic air; “I am betrayed!”

“Betrayed?” replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by someof the Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the procession:“Not betrayed, but discovered. In me recognise your Accuser: You know nothow well I am instructed in your guilt!—Segnor!” She continued,turning to Don Ramirez; “I commit myself to your custody. I charge thePrioress of St. Clare with murder, and stake my life for the justice of myaccusation.”

A general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and an explanationwas demanded loudly. The trembling Nuns, terrified at the noise and universalconfusion, had dispersed, and fled different ways. Some regained the Convent;Others sought refuge in the dwellings of their Relations; and Many, onlysensible of their present danger, and anxious to escape from the tumult, ranthrough the Streets, and wandered, they knew not whither. The lovely Virginiawas one of the first to fly: And in order that She might be better seen andheard, the People desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacantThrone. The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine, and thenaddressed the surrounding multitude as follows.

“However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when considered tobe adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will justify it most fully. Asecret, an horrible secret weighs heavy upon my soul: No rest can be mine tillI have revealed it to the world, and satisfied that innocent blood which callsfrom the Grave for vengeance. Much have I dared to gain this opportunity oflightening my conscience. Had I failed in my attempt to reveal the crime, hadthe Domina but suspected that the mystery was none to me, my ruin wasinevitable. Angels who watch unceasingly over those who deserve their favour,have enabled me to escape detection: I am now at liberty to relate a Tale,whose circumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror. Mine is the taskto rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided Parents to what dangers theWoman is exposed, who falls under the sway of a monastic Tyrant.

“Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more gentle,than Agnes de Medina. I knew her well; She entrusted to me every secret of herheart; I was her Friend and Confident, and I loved her with sincere affection.Nor was I singular in my attachment. Her piety unfeigned, her willingness tooblige, and her angelic disposition, rendered her the Darling of all that wasestimable in the Convent. The Prioress herself, proud, scrupulous andforbidding, could not refuse Agnes that tribute of approbation which Shebestowed upon no one else. Every one has some fault: Alas! Agnes had herweakness! She violated the laws of our order, and incurred the inveterate hateof the unforgiving Domina. St. Clare’s rules are severe: But grownantiquated and neglected, many of late years have either been forgotten, orchanged by universal consent into milder punishments. The penance, adjudged tothe crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most inhuman! The law had been longexploded: Alas! It still existed, and the revengeful Prioress now determined torevive it.

This law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a private dungeon,expressly constituted to hide from the world for ever the Victim of Cruelty andtyrannic superstition. In this dreadful abode She was to lead a perpetualsolitude, deprived of all society, and believed to be dead by those whomaffection might have prompted to attempt her rescue. Thus was She to languishout the remainder of her days, with no other food than bread and water, and noother comfort than the free indulgence of her tears.”

The indignation created by this account was so violent, as for some moments tointerrupt St. Ursula’s narrative. When the disturbance ceased, andsilence again prevailed through the Assembly, She continued her discourse,while at every word the Domina’s countenance betrayed her increasingterrors.

“A council of the twelve elder nuns was called: I was of the number. ThePrioress in exaggerated colours described the offence of Agnes, and scruplednot to propose the revival of this almost forgotten law. To the shame of oursex be it spoken, that either so absolute was the Domina’s will in theConvent, or so much had disappointment, solitude, and self-denial hardenedtheir hearts and soured their tempers that this barbarous proposal was assentedto by nine voices out of the twelve. I was not one of the nine. Frequentopportunities had convinced me of the virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitiedher most sincerely. The Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party: We madethe strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself compelled tochange her intention. In spite of the majority in her favour, She feared tobreak with us openly. She knew that supported by the Medina family, our forceswould be too strong for her to cope with: And She also knew that after beingonce imprisoned and supposed dead, should Agnes be discovered, her ruin wouldbe inevitable. She therefore gave up her design, though which much reluctance.She demanded some days to reflect upon a mode of punishment which might beagreeable to the whole Community; and She promised, that as soon as herresolution was fixed, the same Council should be again summoned. Two dayspassed away: On the Evening of the Third it was announced that on the next dayAgnes should be examined; and that according to her behaviour on that occasion,her punishment should be either strengthened or mitigated.

“On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of Agnes atan hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in sleep. I comforted herto the best of my power: I bad her take courage, told her to rely upon thesupport of her friends, and taught her certain signs, by which I might instructher to answer the Domina’s questions by an assent or negative. Consciousthat her Enemy would strive to confuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I feared herbeing ensnared into some confession prejudicial to her interests. Being anxiousto keep my visit secret, I stayed with Agnes but a short time. I bad her notlet her spirits be cast down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed downher cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring, when I heardthe sound of steps approaching the Cell. I started back. A Curtain which veileda large Crucifix offered me a retreat, and I hastened to place myself behindit. The door opened. The Prioress entered, followed by four other Nuns. Theyadvanced towards the bed of Agnes. The Superior reproached her with her errorsin the bitterest terms: She told her that She was a disgrace to the Convent,that She was resolved to deliver the world and herself from such a Monster, andcommanded her to drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by one ofthe Nuns. Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and trembling to findherself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl strove to excite theDomina’s pity by the most affecting prayers.

She sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a Fiend: Shepromised to submit patiently to any punishment, to shame, imprisonment, andtorture, might She but be permitted to live! Oh! might She but live anothermonth, or week, or day! Her merciless Enemy listened to her complaints unmoved:She told her that at first She meant to have spared her life, and that if Shehad altered her intention, She had to thank the opposition of her Friends. Shecontinued to insist upon her swallowing the poison: She bad her recommendherself to the Almighty’s mercy, not to hers, and assured her that in anhour She would be numbered with the Dead. Perceiving that it was vain toimplore this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring from her bed, and callfor assistance: She hoped, if She could not escape the fate announced to her,at least to have witnesses of the violence committed. The Prioress guessed herdesign. She seized her forcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon herpillow. At the same time drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of theunfortunate Agnes, She protested that if She uttered a single cry, or hesitateda single moment to drink the poison, She would pierce her heart that instant.Already half-dead with fear, She could make no further resistance. The Nunapproached with the fatal Goblet. The Domina obliged her to take it, andswallow the contents. She drank, and the horrid deed was accomplished. The Nunsthen seated themselves round the Bed. They answered her groans with reproaches;They interrupted with sarcasms the prayers in which She recommended her partingsoul to mercy: They threatened her with heaven’s vengeance and eternalperdition: They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper thornsDeath’s painful pillow. Such were the sufferings of this youngUnfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her Tormentors. Sheexpired in horror of the past, in fears for the future; and her agonies weresuch as must have amply gratified the hate and vengeance of her Enemies. Assoon as her Victim ceased to breathe, the Domina retired, and was followed byher Accomplices.

“It was now that I ventured from my concealment. I dared not to assist myunhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I should only have broughton myself the same destruction. Shocked and terrified beyond expression at thishorrid scene, scarcely had I sufficient strength to regain my Cell. As Ireached the door of that of Agnes, I ventured to look towards the bed, on whichlay her lifeless body, once so lovely and so sweet! I breathed a prayer for herdeparted Spirit, and vowed to revenge her death by the shame and punishment ofher Assassins. With danger and difficulty have I kept my oath. I unwarilydropped some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard byexcessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the Prioress. My everyaction was observed; My every step was traced. I was constantly surrounded bythe Superior’s spies. It was long before I could find the means ofconveying to the unhappy Girl’s Relations an intimation of my secret. Itwas given out that Agnes had expired suddenly: This account was credited notonly by her Friends in Madrid, but even by those within the Convent. The poisonhad left no marks upon her body: No one suspected the true cause of her death,and it remained unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself.

“I have no more to say: for what I have already said, I will answer withmy life. I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess; that she has driven fromthe world, perhaps from heaven, an Unfortunate whose offence was light andvenial; that She has abused the power intrusted to her hands, and has been aTyrant, a Barbarian, and an Hypocrite. I also accuse the four Nuns, Violante,Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as being her Accomplices, and equallycriminal.”

Here St. Ursula ended her narrative. It created horror and surprize throughout:But when She related the inhuman murder of Agnes, the indignation of the Mobwas so audibly testified, that it was scarcely possible to hear the conclusion.This confusion increased with every moment: At length a multitude of voicesexclaimed that the Prioress should be given up to their fury. To this DonRamirez refused to consent positively. Even Lorenzo bad the People rememberthat She had undergone no trial, and advised them to leave her punishment tothe Inquisition. All representations were fruitless: The disturbance grew stillmore violent, and the Populace more exasperated. In vain did Ramirez attempt toconvey his Prisoner out of the Throng. Wherever He turned, a band of Riotersbarred his passage, and demanded her being delivered over to them more loudlythan before. Ramirez ordered his Attendants to cut their way through themultitude: Oppressed by numbers, it was impossible for them to draw theirswords. He threatened the Mob with the vengeance of the Inquisition: But inthis moment of popular phrenzy even this dreadful name had lost its effect.Though regret for his Sister made him look upon the Prioress with abhorrence,Lorenzo could not help pitying a Woman in a situation so terrible: But in spiteof all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of Don Ramirez, and the Archers,the People continued to press onwards. They forced a passage through the Guardswho protected their destined Victim, dragged her from her shelter, andproceeded to take upon her a most summary and cruel vengeance. Wild withterror, and scarcely knowing what She said, the wretched Woman shrieked for amoment’s mercy: She protested that She was innocent of the death ofAgnes, and could clear herself from the suspicion beyond the power of doubt.The Rioters heeded nothing but the gratification of their barbarous vengeance.They refused to listen to her: They showed her every sort of insult, loaded herwith mud and filth, and called her by the most opprobrious appellations. Theytore her one from another, and each new Tormentor was more savage than theformer. They stifled with howls and execrations her shrill cries for mercy; anddragged her through the Streets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating herwith every species of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury could invent. Atlength a Flint, aimed by some well-directing hand, struck her full upon thetemple. She sank upon the ground bathed in blood, and in a few minutesterminated her miserable existence. Yet though She no longer felt theirinsults, the Rioters still exercised their impotent rage upon her lifelessbody. They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it, till it became no more thana mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and disgusting.

Unable to prevent this shocking event, Lorenzo and his Friends had beheld itwith the utmost horror: But they were rouzed from their compelled inactivity,on hearing that the Mob was attacking the Convent of St. Clare. The incensedPopulace, confounding the innocent with the guilty, had resolved to sacrificeall the Nuns of that order to their rage, and not to leave one stone of thebuilding upon another. Alarmed at this intelligence, they hastened to theConvent, resolved to defend it if possible, or at least to rescue theInhabitants from the fury of the Rioters. Most of the Nuns had fled, but a fewstill remained in their habitation. Their situation was truly dangerous.However, as they had taken the precaution of fastening the inner Gates, withthis assistance Lorenzo hoped to repel the Mob, till Don Ramirez should returnto him with a more sufficient force.

Having been conducted by the former disturbance to the distance of some Streetsfrom the Convent, He did not immediately reach it: When He arrived, the throngsurrounding it was so excessive as to prevent his approaching the Gates. In theinterim, the Populace besieged the Building with persevering rage: Theybattered the walls, threw lighted torches in at the windows, and swore that bybreak of day not a Nun of St. Clare’s order should be left alive. Lorenzohad just succeeded in piercing his way through the Crowd, when one of the Gateswas forced open. The Rioters poured into the interior part of the Building,where they exercised their vengeance upon every thing which found itself intheir passage. They broke the furniture into pieces, tore down the pictures,destroyed the reliques, and in their hatred of her Servant forgot all respectto the Saint. Some employed themselves in searching out the Nuns, Others inpulling down parts of the Convent, and Others again in setting fire to thepictures and valuable furniture which it contained. These Latter produced themost decisive desolation: Indeed the consequences of their action were moresudden than themselves had expected or wished. The Flames rising from theburning piles caught part of the Building, which being old and dry, theconflagration spread with rapidity from room to room. The Walls were soonshaken by the devouring element: The Columns gave way: The Roofs came tumblingdown upon the Rioters, and crushed many of them beneath their weight. Nothingwas to be heard but shrieks and groans; The Convent was wrapped in flames, andthe whole presented a scene of devastation and horror.

Lorenzo was shocked at having been the cause, however innocent, of thisfrightful disturbance: He endeavoured to repair his fault by protecting thehelpless Inhabitants of the Convent. He entered it with the Mob, and exertedhimself to repress the prevailing Fury, till the sudden and alarming progressof the flames compelled him to provide for his own safety. The People nowhurried out, as eagerly as they had before thronged in; But their numbersclogging up the doorway, and the fire gaining upon them rapidly, many of themperished ere they had time to effect their escape. Lorenzo’s good fortunedirected him to a small door in a farther Aisle of the Chapel. The bolt wasalready undrawn: He opened the door, and found himself at the foot of St.Clare’s Sepulchre.

Here he stopped to breathe. The Duke and some of his Attendants had followedhim, and thus were in security for the present. They now consulted, what stepsthey should take to escape from this scene of disturbance: But theirdeliberations were considerably interrupted by the sight of volumes of firerising from amidst the Convent’s massy walls, by the noise of some heavyArch tumbling down in ruins, or by the mingled shrieks of the Nuns and Rioters,either suffocating in the press, perishing in the flames, or crushed beneaththe weight of the falling Mansion.

Lorenzo enquired, whither the Wicket led? He was answered, to the Garden of theCapuchins, and it was resolved to explore an outlet upon that side. Accordinglythe Duke raised the Latch, and passed into the adjoining Cemetery. TheAttendants followed without ceremony. Lorenzo, being the last, was also on thepoint of quitting the Colonnade, when He saw the door of the Sepulchre openedsoftly. Someone looked out, but on perceiving Strangers uttered a loud shriek,started back again, and flew down the marble Stairs.

“What can this mean?” cried Lorenzo; “Here is some mysteryconcealed. Follow me without delay!”

Thus saying, He hastened into the Sepulchre, and pursued the person whocontinued to fly before him. The Duke knew not the cause of his exclamation,but supposing that He had good reasons for it, he followed him withouthesitation. The Others did the same, and the whole Party soon arrived at thefoot of the Stairs.

The upper door having been left open, the neighbouring flames darted from abovea sufficient light to enable Lorenzo’s catching a glance of the Fugitiverunning through the long passages and distant Vaults: But when a sudden turndeprived him of this assistance, total darkness succeeded, and He could onlytrace the object of his enquiry by the faint echo of retiring feet. ThePursuers were now compelled to proceed with caution: As well as they couldjudge, the Fugitive also seemed to slacken pace, for they heard the stepsfollow each other at longer intervals. They at length were bewildered by theLabyrinth of passages, and dispersed in various directions. Carried away by hiseagerness to clear up this mystery, and to penetrate into which He was impelledby a movement secret and unaccountable, Lorenzo heeded not this circumstancetill He found himself in total solitude. The noise of footsteps had ceased. Allwas silent around, and no clue offered itself to guide him to the flyingPerson. He stopped to reflect on the means most likely to aid his pursuit. Hewas persuaded that no common cause would have induced the Fugitive to seek thatdreary place at an hour so unusual: The cry which He had heard, seemed utteredin a voice of terror, and He was convinced that some mystery was attached tothis event. After some minutes past in hesitation He continued to proceed,feeling his way along the walls of the passage. He had already past some timein this slow progress, when He descried a spark of light glimmering at adistance. Guided by this observation, and having drawn his sword, He bent hissteps towards the place, whence the beam seemed to be emitted.

It proceeded from the Lamp which flamed before St. Clare’s Statue. Beforeit stood several Females, their white Garments streaming in the blast, as ithowled along the vaulted dungeons. Curious to know what had brought themtogether in this melancholy spot, Lorenzo drew near with precaution. TheStrangers seemed earnestly engaged in conversation. They heard notLorenzo’s steps, and He approached unobserved, till He could hear theirvoices distinctly.

“I protest,” continued She who was speaking when He arrived, and towhom the rest were listening with great attention; “I protest, that I sawthem with my own eyes. I flew down the steps; They pursued me, and I escapedfalling into their hands with difficulty. Had it not been for the Lamp, Ishould never have found you.”

“And what could bring them hither?” said another in a tremblingvoice; “Do you think that they were looking for us?”

“God grant that my fears may be false,” rejoined the First;“But I doubt they are Murderers! If they discover us, we are lost! As forme, my fate is certain: My affinity to the Prioress will be a sufficient crimeto condemn me; and though till now these Vaults have afforded me aretreat.......”

Here looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to approachsoftly.

“The Murderers!” She cried—

She started away from the Statue’s Pedestal on which She had been seated,and attempted to escape by flight. Her Companions at the same moment uttered aterrified scream, while Lorenzo arrested the Fugitive by the arm. Frightenedand desperate She sank upon her knees before him.

“Spare me!” She exclaimed; “For Christ’s sake, spareme! I am innocent, indeed, I am!”

While She spoke, her voice was almost choaked with fear. The beams of the Lampdarting full upon her face which was unveiled, Lorenzo recognized the beautifulVirginia de Villa-Franca. He hastened to raise her from the ground, andbesought her to take courage. He promised to protect her from the Rioters,assured her that her retreat was still a secret, and that She might depend uponhis readiness to defend her to the last drop of his blood. During thisconversation, the Nuns had thrown themselves into various attitudes: One knelt,and addressed herself to heaven; Another hid her face in the lap of herNeighbour; Some listened motionless with fear to the discourse of the supposedAssassin; while Others embraced the Statue of St. Clare, and implored herprotection with frantic cries. On perceiving their mistake, they crowded roundLorenzo and heaped benedictions on him by dozens. He found that, on hearing thethreats of the Mob, and terrified by the cruelties which from the ConventTowers they had seen inflicted on the Superior, many of the Pensioners and Nunshad taken refuge in the Sepulchre. Among the former was to be reckoned thelovely Virginia. Nearly related to the Prioress, She had more reason than therest to dread the Rioters, and now besought Lorenzo earnestly not to abandonher to their rage. Her Companions, most of whom were Women of noble family,made the same request, which He readily granted. He promised not to quit them,till He had seen each of them safe in the arms of her Relations: But He advisedtheir deferring to quit the Sepulchre for some time longer, when the popularfury should be somewhat calmed, and the arrival of military force havedispersed the multitude.

“Would to God!” cried Virginia, “That I were already safe inmy Mother’s embraces! How say you, Segnor; Will it be long, ere we mayleave this place? Every moment that I pass here, I pass in torture!”

“I hope, not long,” said He; “But till you can proceed withsecurity, this Sepulchre will prove an impenetrable asylum. Here you run norisque of a discovery, and I would advise your remaining quiet for the next twoor three hours.”

“Two or three hours?” exclaimed Sister Helena; “If I stayanother hour in these vaults, I shall expire with fear! Not the wealth ofworlds should bribe me to undergo again what I have suffered since my cominghither. Blessed Virgin! To be in this melancholy place in the middle of night,surrounded by the mouldering bodies of my deceased Companions, and expectingevery moment to be torn in pieces by their Ghosts who wander about me, andcomplain, and groan, and wail in accents that make my blood run cold, .....Christ Jesus! It is enough to drive me to madness!”

“Excuse me,” replied Lorenzo, “if I am surprized that whilemenaced by real woes you are capable of yielding to imaginary dangers. Theseterrors are puerile and groundless: Combat them, holy Sister; I have promisedto guard you from the Rioters, but against the attacks of superstition you mustdepend for protection upon yourself. The idea of Ghosts is ridiculous in theextreme; And if you continue to be swayed by ideal terrors ...”

“Ideal?” exclaimed the Nuns with one voice; “Why we heard itourselves, Segnor! Every one of us heard it! It was frequently repeated, and itsounded every time more melancholy and deep. You will never persuade me that wecould all have been deceived. Not we, indeed; No, no; Had the noise been merelycreated by fancy ....”

“Hark! Hark!” interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; “Godpreserve us! There it is again!”

The Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees.

Lorenzo looked round him eagerly, and was on the point of yielding to the fearswhich already had possessed the Women. Universal silence prevailed. He examinedthe Vault, but nothing was to be seen. He now prepared to address the Nuns, andridicule their childish apprehensions, when his attention was arrested by adeep and long-drawn groan.

“What was that?” He cried, and started.

“There, Segnor!” said Helena; “Now you must be convinced! Youhave heard the noise yourself! Now judge, whether our terrors are imaginary.Since we have been here, that groaning has been repeated almost every fiveminutes. Doubtless, it proceeds from some Soul in pain, who wishes to be prayedout of purgatory: But none of us here dares ask it the question. As for me,were I to see an Apparition, the fright, I am very certain, would kill me outof hand.”

As She said this, a second groan was heard yet more distinctly. The Nunscrossed themselves, and hastened to repeat their prayers against evil Spirits.Lorenzo listened attentively. He even thought that He could distinguish sounds,as of one speaking in complaint; But distance rendered them inarticulate. Thenoise seemed to come from the midst of the small Vault in which He and the Nunsthen were, and which a multitude of passages branching out in variousdirections, formed into a sort of Star. Lorenzo’s curiosity which wasever awake, made him anxious to solve this mystery. He desired that silencemight be kept. The Nuns obeyed him. All was hushed, till the general stillnesswas again disturbed by the groaning, which was repeated several timessuccessively. He perceived it to be most audible, when upon following the soundHe was conducted close to the shrine of St. Clare:

“The noise comes from hence,” said He; “Whose is thisStatue?”

Helena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment. Suddenly Sheclapped her hands together.

“Aye!” cried she, “it must be so. I have discovered themeaning of these groans.”

The nuns crowded round her, and besought her eagerly to explain herself. Shegravely replied that for time immemorial the Statue had been famous forperforming miracles: From this She inferred that the Saint was concerned at theconflagration of a Convent which She protected, and expressed her grief byaudible lamentations. Not having equal faith in the miraculous Saint, Lorenzodid not think this solution of the mystery quite so satisfactory, as the Nuns,who subscribed to it without hesitation. In one point, ’tis true, that Heagreed with Helena.

He suspected that the groans proceeded from the Statue: The more He listened,the more was He confirmed in this idea. He drew nearer to the Image, designingto inspect it more closely: But perceiving his intention, the Nuns besought himfor God’s sake to desist, since if He touched the Statue, his death wasinevitable.

“And in what consists the danger?” said He.

“Mother of God! In what?” replied Helena, ever eager to relate amiraculous adventure; “If you had only heard the hundredth part of thosemarvellous Stories about this Statue which the Domina used to recount! Sheassured us often and often, that if we only dared to lay a finger upon it, wemight expect the most fatal consequences. Among other things She told us that aRobber having entered these Vaults by night, He observed yonder Ruby, whosevalue is inestimable. Do you see it, Segnor? It sparkles upon the third fingerof the hand, in which She holds a crown of Thorns. This Jewel naturally excitedthe Villain’s cupidity. He resolved to make himself Master of it. Forthis purpose He ascended the Pedestal: He supported himself by grasping theSaint’s right arm, and extended his own towards the Ring. What was hissurprize, when He saw the Statue’s hand raised in a posture of menace,and heard her lips pronounce his eternal perdition! Penetrated with awe andconsternation, He desisted from his attempt, and prepared to quit theSepulchre. In this He also failed. Flight was denied him. He found itimpossible to disengage the hand, which rested upon the right arm of theStatue. In vain did He struggle: He remained fixed to the Image, till theinsupportable and fiery anguish which darted itself through his veins,compelled his shrieking for assistance.

The Sepulchre was now filled with Spectators. The Villain confessed hissacrilege, and was only released by the separation of his hand from his body.It has remained ever since fastened to the Image. The Robber turned Hermit, andled ever after an exemplary life: But yet the Saint’s decree wasperformed, and Tradition says that He continues to haunt this Sepulchre, andimplore St. Clare’s pardon with groans and lamentations. Now I think ofit, those which we have just heard, may very possibly have been uttered by theGhost of this Sinner: But of this I will not be positive. All that I can sayis, that since that time no one has ever dared to touch the Statue: Then do notbe foolhardy, good Segnor! For the love of heaven, give up your design, norexpose yourself unnecessarily to certain destruction.”

Not being convinced that his destruction would be so certain as Helena seemedto think it, Lorenzo persisted in his resolution. The Nuns besought him todesist in piteous terms, and even pointed out the Robber’s hand, which ineffect was still visible upon the arm of the Statue. This proof, as theyimagined, must convince him. It was very far from doing so; and they weregreatly scandalized when he declared his suspicion that the dried andshrivelled fingers had been placed there by order of the Prioress. In spite oftheir prayers and threats He approached the Statue. He sprang over the ironRails which defended it, and the Saint underwent a thorough examination. TheImage at first appeared to be of Stone, but proved on further inspection to beformed of no more solid materials than coloured Wood. He shook it, andattempted to move it; But it appeared to be of a piece with the Base which itstood upon. He examined it over and over: Still no clue guided him to thesolution of this mystery, for which the Nuns were become equally solicitous,when they saw that He touched the Statue with impunity. He paused, andlistened: The groans were repeated at intervals, and He was convinced of beingin the spot nearest to them. He mused upon this singular event, and ran overthe Statue with enquiring eyes. Suddenly they rested upon the shrivelled hand.It struck him, that so particular an injunction was not given without cause,not to touch the arm of the Image. He again ascended the Pedestal; He examinedthe object of his attention, and discovered a small knob of iron concealedbetween the Saint’s shoulder and what was supposed to have been the handof the Robber. This observation delighted him. He applied his fingers to theknob, and pressed it down forcibly. Immediately a rumbling noise was heardwithin the Statue, as if a chain tightly stretched was flying back. Startled atthe sound the timid Nuns started away, prepared to hasten from the Vault at thefirst appearance of danger. All remaining quiet and still, they again gatheredround Lorenzo, and beheld his proceedings with anxious curiosity.

Finding that nothing followed this discovery, He descended. As He took his handfrom the Saint, She trembled beneath his touch. This created new terrors in theSpectators, who believed the Statue to be animated. Lorenzo’s ideas uponthe subject were widely different. He easily comprehended that the noise whichHe had heard, was occasioned by his having loosened a chain which attached theImage to its Pedestal. He once more attempted to move it, and succeeded withoutmuch exertion. He placed it upon the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal tobe hollow, and covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate.

This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both their real andimaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the Grate, in which the Nunsassisted him to the utmost of their strength. The attempt was accomplished withlittle difficulty. A deep abyss now presented itself before them, whose thickobscurity the eye strove in vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp were toofeeble to be of much assistance. Nothing was discernible, save a flight ofrough unshapen steps which sank into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost indarkness. The groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascendedfrom this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He distinguishedsomething bright twinkling through the gloom. He gazed attentively upon thespot where it showed itself, and was convinced that He saw a small spark oflight, now visible, now disappearing. He communicated this circumstance to theNuns: They also perceived the spark; But when He declared his intention todescend into the Cave, they united to oppose his resolution. All theirremonstrances could not prevail on him to alter it. None of them had courageenough to accompany him; neither could He think of depriving them of the Lamp.Alone therefore, and in darkness, He prepared to pursue his design, while theNuns were contented to offer up prayers for his success and safety.

The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was like walking downthe side of a precipice. The obscurity by which He was surrounded rendered hisfooting insecure. He was obliged to proceed with great caution, lest He shouldmiss the steps and fall into the Gulph below him. This He was several times onthe point of doing. However, He arrived sooner upon solid ground than He hadexpected: He now found that the thick darkness and impenetrable mists whichreigned through the Cavern had deceived him into the belief of its being muchmore profound than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of the Stairsunhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark which had before caughthis attention. He sought it in vain: All was dark and gloomy. He listened forthe groans; But his ear caught no sound, except the distant murmur of the Nunsabove, as in low voices they repeated their Ave-Marias. He stood irresolute towhich side He should address his steps. At all events He determined to proceed:He did so, but slowly, fearing lest instead of approaching, He should beretiring from the object of his search. The groans seemed to announce one inpain, or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of relieving theMourner’s calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding at no great distance, atlength reached his hearing; He bent his course joyfully towards it. It becamemore audible as He advanced; and He soon beheld again the spark of light, whicha low projecting Wall had hitherto concealed from him.

It proceeded from a small lamp which was placed upon an heap of stones, andwhose faint and melancholy rays served rather to point out, than dispell thehorrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon formed in one side of the Cavern; It alsoshowed several other recesses of similar construction, but whose depth wasburied in obscurity. Coldly played the light upon the damp walls, whosedew-stained surface gave back a feeble reflection. A thick and pestilential fogclouded the height of the vaulted dungeon. As Lorenzo advanced, He felt apiercing chillness spread itself through his veins. The frequent groans stillengaged him to move forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp’sglimmering beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creaturestretched upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so pale, that Hedoubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked: Her long dishevelled hair fellin disorder over her face, and almost entirely concealed it. One wasted Armhung listlessly upon a tattered rug which covered her convulsed and shiveringlimbs: The Other was wrapped round a small bundle, and held it closely to herbosom. A large Rosary lay near her: Opposite to her was a Crucifix, on whichShe bent her sunk eyes fixedly, and by her side stood a Basket and a smallEarthen Pitcher.

Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon the miserableObject with disgust and pity. He trembled at the spectacle; He grew sick atheart: His strength failed him, and his limbs were unable to support hisweight. He was obliged to lean against the low Wall which was near him, unableto go forward, or to address the Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards theStaircase: The Wall concealed Lorenzo, and She observed him not.

“No one comes!” She at length murmured.

As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She sighedbitterly.

“No one comes!” She repeated; “No! They have forgotten me!They will come no more!”

She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully.

“Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no hope, nocomfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a life so wretched! Yet sucha death! O! God! To perish by such a death! To linger out such ages in torture!Till now, I knew not what it was to hunger! Hark! No. No one comes! They willcome no more!”

She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked shoulders.

“I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!

’Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feelit—I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!”

She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it, andkissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust.

“It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like him! I havelost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! I should not know it againmyself! Yet it is dear to me! God! how dear! I will forget what it is: I willonly remember what it was, and love it as well, as when it was so sweet! solovely! so like him! I thought that I had wept away all my tears, but here isone still lingering.”

She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her hand for thePitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast into it a look of hopelessenquiry. She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground.

“Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my scorched-upburning palate! Now would I give treasures for a draught of water! And they areGod’s Servants, who make me suffer thus! They think themselves holy,while they torture me like Fiends! They are cruel and unfeeling; And ’tisthey who bid me repent; And ’tis they, who threaten me with eternalperdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!”

She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while She toldher beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be praying withfervency.

While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo’s sensibility becameyet more violently affected. The first sight of such misery had given asensible shock to his feelings: But that being past, He now advanced towardsthe Captive. She heard his steps, and uttering a cry of joy, dropped theRosary.

“Hark! Hark! Hark!” She cried: “Some one comes!”

She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the attempt: Shefell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw, Lorenzo heard therattling of heavy chains. He still approached, while the Prisoner thuscontinued.

“Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was time! Ithought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of hunger. Giveme to drink, Camilla, for pity’s sake! I am faint with long fasting, andgrown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the ground. Good Camilla, give meto drink, lest I expire before you!”

Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo was at aloss how to address her.

“It is not Camilla,” said He at length, speaking in a slow andgentle voice.

“Who is it then?” replied the Sufferer: “Alix, perhaps, orViolante. My eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot distinguish yourfeatures. But whichever it is, if your breast is sensible of the leastcompassion, if you are not more cruel than Wolves and Tigers, take pity on mysufferings. You know that I am dying for want of sustenance. This is the thirdday, since these lips have received nourishment. Do you bring me food? Or comeyou only to announce my death, and learn how long I have yet to exist inagony?”

“You mistake my business,” replied Lorenzo; “I am no Emissaryof the cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relievethem.”

“To relieve them?” repeated the Captive; “Said you, torelieve them?”

At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon herhands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly.

“Great God! It is no illusion! A Man! Speak! Who are you? What brings youhither? Come you to save me, to restore me to liberty, to life and light? Oh!speak, speak quickly, lest I encourage an hope whose disappointment willdestroy me.”

“Be calm!” replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate;“The Domina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the forfeitof her offences: You have nothing more to fear from her.

A few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of your Friendsfrom whom you have been secluded. You may rely upon my protection. Give me yourhand, and be not fearful. Let me conduct you where you may receive thoseattentions which your feeble state requires.”

“Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!” cried the Prisoner with an exulting shriek;“There is a God then, and a just one! Joy! Joy! I shall once more breaththe fresh air, and view the light of the glorious sunbeams! I will go with you!Stranger, I will go with you! Oh! Heaven will bless you for pitying anUnfortunate! But this too must go with me,” She added pointing to thesmall bundle which She still clasped to her bosom; “I cannot part withthis. I will bear it away: It shall convince the world how dreadful are theabodes so falsely termed religious. Good Stranger, lend me your hand to rise: Iam faint with want, and sorrow, and sickness, and my forces have quite forsakenme! So, that is well!”

As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon hisface.

“Almighty God!” She exclaimed; “Is it possible! That look!Those features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is .....”

She extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled frame wasunable to sustain the emotions which agitated her bosom. She fainted, and againsank upon the bed of straw.

Lorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation. He thought that He had beforeheard such accents as her hollow voice had just formed, but where He could notremember. He saw that in her dangerous situation immediate physical aid wasabsolutely necessary, and He hastened to convey her from the dungeon. He was atfirst prevented from doing so by a strong chain fastened round theprisoner’s body, and fixing her to the neighbouring Wall. However, hisnatural strength being aided by anxiety to relieve the Unfortunate, He soonforced out the Staple to which one end of the Chain was attached. Then takingthe Captive in his arms, He bent his course towards the Staircase. The rays ofthe Lamp above, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his steps. Hegained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived at the iron-grate.

The nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by curiosity andapprehension: They were equally surprized and delighted on seeing him suddenlyemerge from the Cave. Every heart was filled with compassion for the miserableCreature whom He bore in his arms. While the Nuns, and Virginia in particular,employed themselves in striving to recall her to her senses, Lorenzo related infew words the manner of his finding her. He then observed to them that by thistime the tumult must have been quelled, and that He could now conduct them totheir Friends without danger. All were eager to quit the Sepulchre: Still toprevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to venture outfirst alone, and examine whether the Coast was clear. With this request Hecomplied. Helena offered to conduct him to the Staircase, and they were on thepoint of departing, when a strong light flashed from several passages upon theadjacent walls. At the same time Steps were heard of people approachinghastily, and whose number seemed to be considerable. The Nuns were greatlyalarmed at this circumstance: They supposed their retreat to be discovered, andthe Rioters to be advancing in pursuit of them. Hastily quitting the Prisonerwho remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and claimed his promise toprotect them. Virginia alone forgot her own danger by striving to relieve thesorrows of Another. She supported the Sufferer’s head upon her knees,bathing her temples with rose-water, chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling herface with tears which were drawn from her by compassion. The Strangersapproaching nearer, Lorenzo was enabled to dispel the fears of the Suppliants.His name, pronounced by a number of voices among which He distinguished theDuke’s, pealed along the Vaults, and convinced him that He was the objectof their search. He communicated this intelligence to the Nuns, who received itwith rapture. A few moments after confirmed his idea. Don Ramirez, as well asthe Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with Torches. They had been seekinghim through the Vaults, in order to let him know that the Mob was dispersed,and the riot entirely over. Lorenzo recounted briefly his adventure in theCavern, and explained how much the Unknown was in want of medical assistance.He besought the Duke to take charge of her, as well as of the Nuns andPensioners.

“As for me,” said He, “Other cares demand my attention. Whileyou with one half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their respective homes,I wish the other half to be left with me. I will examine the Cavern below, andpervade the most secret recesses of the Sepulchre. I cannot rest till convincedthat yonder wretched Victim was the only one confined by Superstition in thesevaults.”

The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist him in hisenquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude.

The Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed themselves tothe care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the Sepulchre. Virginiarequested that the Unknown might be given to her in charge, and promised to letLorenzo know whenever She was sufficiently recovered to accept his visits. Intruth, She made this promise more from consideration for herself than foreither Lorenzo or the Captive. She had witnessed his politeness, gentleness,and intrepidity with sensible emotion. She wished earnestly to preserve hisacquaintance; and in addition to the sentiments of pity which the Prisonerexcited, She hoped that her attention to this Unfortunate would raise her adegree in the esteem of Lorenzo. She had no occasion to trouble herself uponthis head. The kindness already displayed by her and the tender concern whichShe had shown for the Sufferer had gained her an exalted place in his goodgraces. While occupied in alleviating the Captive’s sorrows, the natureof her employment adorned her with new charms, and rendered her beauty athousand times more interesting. Lorenzo viewed her with admiration anddelight: He considered her as a ministering Angel descended to the aid ofafflicted innocence; nor could his heart have resisted her attractions, had itnot been steeled by the remembrance of Antonia.

The duke now conveyed the nuns in safety to the dwellings of their respectivefriends. The rescued Prisoner was still insensible and gave no signs of life,except by occasional groans. She was borne upon a sort of litter; Virginia, whowas constantly by the side of it, was apprehensive that exhausted by longabstinence, and shaken by the sudden change from bonds and darkness to libertyand light, her frame would never get the better of the shock. Lorenzo and DonRamirez still remained in the Sepulchre. After deliberating upon theirproceedings, it was resolved that to prevent losing time, the Archers should bedivided into two Bodies: That with one Don Ramirez should examine the cavern,while Lorenzo with the other might penetrate into the further Vaults. Thisbeing arranged, and his Followers being provided with Torches, Don Ramirezadvanced to the Cavern. He had already descended some steps when He heardPeople approaching hastily from the interior part of the Sepulchre. Thissurprized him, and He quitted the Cave precipitately.

“Do you hear footsteps?” said Lorenzo; “Let us bend ourcourse towards them. ’Tis from this side that they seem toproceed.”

At that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken his steps.

“Help! Help, for God’s sake! cried a voice, whose melodious tonepenetrated Lorenzo’s heart with terror.

He flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was followed by DonRamirez with equal swiftness.

CHAPTER XI.

Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made!
How by himself insensibly betrayed!
In our own strength unhappily secure,
Too little cautious of the adverse power,
On pleasure’s flowery brink we idly stray,
Masters as yet of our returning way:
Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,
Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,
And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,
Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:
Round our devoted heads the billows beat,
And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat.

PRIOR.

All this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes which werepassing so near. The execution of his designs upon Antonia employed his everythought. Hitherto, He was satisfied with the success of his plans. Antonia haddrank the opiate, was buried in the vaults of St. Clare, and absolutely in hisdisposal. Matilda, who was well acquainted with the nature and effects of thesoporific medicine, had computed that it would not cease to operate till one inthe Morning. For that hour He waited with impatience. The Festival of St. Clarepresented him with a favourable opportunity of consummating his crime. He wascertain that the Friars and Nuns would be engaged in the Procession, and thatHe had no cause to dread an interruption: From appearing himself at the head ofhis Monks, He had desired to be excused. He doubted not, that being beyond thereach of help, cut off from all the world, and totally in his power, Antoniawould comply with his desires. The affection which She had ever exprest forhim, warranted this persuasion: But He resolved that should She proveobstinate, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying her.Secure from a discovery, He shuddered not at the idea of employing force: If Hefelt any repugnance, it arose not from a principle of shame or compassion, butfrom his feeling for Antonia the most sincere and ardent affection, and wishingto owe her favours to no one but herself.

The Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight. Matilda was among the Choristers, andled the chaunt. Ambrosio was left by himself, and at liberty to pursue his owninclinations. Convinced that no one remained behind to watch his motions, ordisturb his pleasures, He now hastened to the Western Aisles. His heart beatingwith hope not unmingled with anxiety, He crossed the Garden, unlocked the doorwhich admitted him into the Cemetery, and in a few minutes He stood before theVaults. Here He paused.

He looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business was unfit forany other eye. As He stood in hesitation, He heard the melancholy shriek of thescreech-Owl: The wind rattled loudly against the windows of the adjacentConvent, and as the current swept by him, bore with it the faint notes of thechaunt of Choristers. He opened the door cautiously, as if fearing to beoverheard: He entered; and closed it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, Hethreaded the long passages, in whose windings Matilda had instructed him, andreached the private Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress.

Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no obstacle toAmbrosio, who at the time of Antonia’s Funeral had observed it toocarefully to be deceived. He found the door, which was unfastened, pushed itopen, and descended into the dungeon. He approached the humble Tomb in whichAntonia reposed. He had provided himself with an iron crow and a pick-axe; Butthis precaution was unnecessary. The Grate was slightly fastened on theoutside: He raised it, and placing the Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently overthe Tomb. By the side of three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the sleepingBeauty. A lively red, the forerunner of returning animation, had already spreaditself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud She reclined upon herfuneral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images of Death around her. While Hegazed upon their rotting bones and disgusting figures, who perhaps were once assweet and lovely, Ambrosio thought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the samestate. As the memory of that horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was cloudedwith a gloomy horror. Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroyAntonia’s honour.

“For your sake, Fatal Beauty!” murmured the Monk, while gazing onhis devoted prey; “For your sake, have I committed this murder, and soldmyself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: The produce of my guiltwill at least be mine. Hope not that your prayers breathed in tones ofunequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and your hands lifted insupplication, as when seeking in penitence the Virgin’s pardon; Hope notthat your moving innocence, your beauteous grief, or all your suppliant artsshall ransom you from my embraces. Before the break of day, mine you must, andmine you shall be!”

He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a bank ofStone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for the symptoms ofreturning animation. Scarcely could He command his passions sufficiently, torestrain himself from enjoying her while yet insensible. His natural lust wasincreased in ardour by the difficulties which had opposed his satisfying it: Asalso by his long abstinence from Woman, since from the moment of resigning herclaim to his love, Matilda had exiled him from her arms for ever.

“I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;” Had She told him, when in thefullness of his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual earnestness;“I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be your Mistress. Ceasethen to solicit my complying with desires, which insult me. While your heartwas mine, I gloried in your embraces: Those happy times are past: My person isbecome indifferent to you, and ’tis necessity, not love, which makes youseek my enjoyment. I cannot yield to a request so humiliating to mypride.”

Suddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an absolutewant, the Monk felt this restraint severely. Naturally addicted to thegratification of the senses, in the full vigour of manhood, and heat of blood,He had suffered his temperament to acquire such ascendency that his lust wasbecome madness. Of his fondness for Antonia, none but the grosser particlesremained: He longed for the possession of her person; and even the gloom of thevault, the surrounding silence, and the resistance which He expected from her,seemed to give a fresh edge to his fierce and unbridled desires.

Gradually He felt the bosom which rested against his, glow with returningwarmth. Her heart throbbed again; Her blood flowed swifter, and her lips moved.At length She opened her eyes, but still opprest and bewildered by the effectsof the strong opiate, She closed them again immediately. Ambrosio watched hernarrowly, nor permitted a movement to escape him. Perceiving that She was fullyrestored to existence, He caught her in rapture to his bosom, and closelypressed his lips to hers. The suddenness of his action sufficed to dissipatethe fumes which obscured Antonia’s reason. She hastily raised herself,and cast a wild look round her. The strange Images which presented themselveson every side contributed to confuse her. She put her hand to her head, as ifto settle her disordered imagination. At length She took it away, and threw hereyes through the dungeon a second time. They fixed upon the Abbot’s face.

“Where am I?” She said abruptly. “How came I here? Where ismy Mother? Methought, I saw her! Oh! a dream, a dreadful dreadful dream told me...... But where am I? Let me go! I cannot stay here!”

She attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her.

“Be calm, lovely Antonia!” He replied; “No danger is nearyou: Confide in my protection. Why do you gaze on me so earnestly? Do you notknow me? Not know your Friend? Ambrosio?”

“Ambrosio? My Friend? Oh! yes, yes; I remember ...... But why am I here?Who has brought me? Why are you with me? Oh! Flora bad me beware .....! Hereare nothing but Graves, and Tombs, and Skeletons! This place frightens me! GoodAmbrosio take me away from it, for it recalls my fearful dream! Methought I wasdead, and laid in my grave! Good Ambrosio, take me from hence. Will you not?Oh! will you not? Do not look on me thus!

Your flaming eyes terrify me! Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for God’ssake!”

“Why these terrors, Antonia?” rejoined the Abbot, folding her inhis arms, and covering her bosom with kisses which She in vain struggled toavoid: “What fear you from me, from one who adores you? What matters itwhere you are? This Sepulchre seems to me Love’s bower; This gloom is thefriendly night of mystery which He spreads over our delights! Such do I thinkit, and such must my Antonia. Yes, my sweet Girl! Yes! Your veins shall glowwith fire which circles in mine, and my transports shall be doubled by yoursharing them!”

While He spoke thus, He repeated his embraces, and permitted himself the mostindecent liberties. Even Antonia’s ignorance was not proof against thefreedom of his behaviour. She was sensible of her danger, forced herself fromhis arms, and her shroud being her only garment, She wrapped it closely roundher.

“Unhand me, Father!” She cried, her honest indignation tempered byalarm at her unprotected position; “Why have you brought me to thisplace? Its appearance freezes me with horror! Convey me from hence, if you havethe least sense of pity and humanity! Let me return to the House which I havequitted I know not how; But stay here one moment longer, I neither will, orought.”

Though the Monk was somewhat startled by the resolute tone in which this speechwas delivered, it produced upon him no other effect than surprize. He caughther hand, forced her upon his knee, and gazing upon her with gloting eyes, Hethus replied to her.

“Compose yourself, Antonia. Resistance is unavailing, and I need disavowmy passion for you no longer. You are imagined dead: Society is for ever lostto you. I possess you here alone; You are absolutely in my power, and I burnwith desires which I must either gratify or die: But I would owe my happinessto yourself. My lovely Girl! My adorable Antonia! Let me instruct you in joysto which you are still a Stranger, and teach you to feel those pleasures in myarms which I must soon enjoy in yours. Nay, this struggling is childish,”He continued, seeing her repell his caresses, and endeavour to escape from hisgrasp; “No aid is near: Neither heaven or earth shall save you from myembraces. Yet why reject pleasures so sweet, so rapturous? No one observes us:Our loves will be a secret to all the world: Love and opportunity invite yourgiving loose to your passions. Yield to them, my Antonia! Yield to them, mylovely Girl! Throw your arms thus fondly round me; Join your lips thus closelyto mine! Amidst all her gifts, has Nature denied her most precious, thesensibility of Pleasure? Oh! impossible! Every feature, look, and motiondeclares you formed to bless, and to be blessed yourself! Turn not on me thosesupplicating eyes: Consult your own charms; They will tell you that I am proofagainst entreaty. Can I relinquish these limbs so white, so soft, so delicate;These swelling breasts, round, full, and elastic! These lips fraught with suchinexhaustible sweetness? Can I relinquish these treasures, and leave them toanother’s enjoyment? No, Antonia; never, never! I swear it by this kiss,and this! and this!”

With every moment the Friar’s passion became more ardent, andAntonia’s terror more intense. She struggled to disengage herself fromhis arms: Her exertions were unsuccessful; and finding that Ambrosio’sconduct became still freer, She shrieked for assistance with all her strength.The aspect of the Vault, the pale glimmering of the Lamp, the surroundingobscurity, the sight of the Tomb, and the objects of mortality which met hereyes on either side, were ill-calculated to inspire her with those emotions bywhich the Friar was agitated. Even his caresses terrified her from their fury,and created no other sentiment than fear. On the contrary, her alarm, herevident disgust, and incessant opposition, seemed only to inflame theMonk’s desires, and supply his brutality with additional strength.Antonia’s shrieks were unheard: Yet She continued them, nor abandoned herendeavours to escape, till exhausted and out of breath She sank from his armsupon her knees, and once more had recourse to prayers and supplications. Thisattempt had no better success than the former. On the contrary, takingadvantage of her situation, the Ravisher threw himself by her side: He claspedher to his bosom almost lifeless with terror, and faint with struggling. Hestifled her cries with kisses, treated her with the rudeness of an unprincipledBarbarian, proceeded from freedom to freedom, and in the violence of hislustful delirium, wounded and bruised her tender limbs. Heedless of her tears,cries and entreaties, He gradually made himself Master of her person, anddesisted not from his prey, till He had accomplished his crime and thedishonour of Antonia.

Scarcely had He succeeded in his design than He shuddered at himself and themeans by which it was effected. The very excess of his former eagerness topossess Antonia now contributed to inspire him with disgust; and a secretimpulse made him feel how base and unmanly was the crime which He had justcommitted. He started hastily from her arms. She, who so lately had been theobject of his adoration, now raised no other sentiment in his heart thanaversion and rage. He turned away from her; or if his eyes rested upon herfigure involuntarily, it was only to dart upon her looks of hate. TheUnfortunate had fainted ere the completion of her disgrace: She only recoveredlife to be sensible of her misfortune. She remained stretched upon the earth insilent despair: The tears chased each other slowly down her cheeks, and herbosom heaved with frequent sobs. Oppressed with grief, She continued for sometime in this state of torpidity. At length She rose with difficulty, anddragging her feeble steps towards the door, prepared to quit the dungeon.

The sound of her footsteps rouzed the Monk from his sullen apathy. Startingfrom the Tomb against which He reclined, while his eyes wandered over theimages of corruption contained in it, He pursued the Victim of his brutality,and soon overtook her. He seized her by the arm, and violently forced her backinto the dungeon.

“Whither go you?” He cried in a stern voice; “Return thisinstant!”

Antonia trembled at the fury of his countenance.

“What, would you more?” She said with timidity: “Is not myruin compleated? Am I not undone, undone for ever? Is not your crueltycontented, or have I yet more to suffer? Let me depart. Let me return to myhome, and weep unrestrained my shame and my affliction!”

“Return to your home?” repeated the Monk, with bitter andcontemptuous mockery; Then suddenly his eyes flaming with passion, “What?That you may denounce me to the world? That you may proclaim me an Hypocrite, aRavisher, a Betrayer, a Monster of cruelty, lust, and ingratitude? No, no, no!I know well the whole weight of my offences; Well that your complaints would betoo just, and my crimes too notorious! You shall not from hence to tell Madridthat I am a Villain; that my conscience is loaded with sins which make medespair of Heaven’s pardon. Wretched Girl, you must stay here with me!Here amidst these lonely Tombs, these images of Death, these rotting loathsomecorrupted bodies! Here shall you stay, and witness my sufferings; witness whatit is to die in the horrors of despondency, and breathe the last groan inblasphemy and curses! And who am I to thank for this? What seduced me intocrimes, whose bare remembrance makes me shudder? Fatal Witch! was it not thybeauty? Have you not plunged my soul into infamy? Have you not made me aperjured Hypocrite, a Ravisher, an Assassin! Nay, at this moment, does not thatangel look bid me despair of God’s forgiveness? Oh! when I stand beforehis judgment-throne, that look will suffice to damn me! You will tell my Judgethat you were happy, till I saw you; that you were innocent, tillI polluted you! You will come with those tearful eyes, those cheeks paleand ghastly, those hands lifted in supplication, as when you sought from methat mercy which I gave not! Then will my perdition be certain! Then will comeyour Mother’s Ghost, and hurl me down into the dwellings of Fiends, andflames, and Furies, and everlasting torments! And ’tis you, who willaccuse me! ’Tis you, who will cause my eternal anguish! You, wretchedGirl! You! You!”

As He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia’s arm, andspurned the earth with delirious fury.

Supposing his brain to be turned, Antonia sank in terror upon her knees: Shelifted up her hands, and her voice almost died away, ere She could give itutterance.

“Spare me! Spare me!” She murmured with difficulty.

“Silence!” cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon theground——

He quitted her, and paced the dungeon with a wild and disordered air. His eyesrolled fearfully: Antonia trembled whenever She met their gaze. He seemed tomeditate on something horrible, and She gave up all hopes of escaping from theSepulchre with life. Yet in harbouring this idea, She did him injustice. Amidstthe horror and disgust to which his soul was a prey, pity for his Victim stillheld a place in it. The storm of passion once over, He would have given worldshad He possest them, to have restored to her that innocence of which hisunbridled lust had deprived her. Of the desires which had urged him to thecrime, no trace was left in his bosom: The wealth of India would not havetempted him to a second enjoyment of her person. His nature seemed to revolt atthe very idea, and fain would He have wiped from his memory the scene which hadjust past. As his gloomy rage abated, in proportion did his compassion augmentfor Antonia. He stopped, and would have spoken to her words of comfort; But Heknew not from whence to draw them, and remained gazing upon her with mournfulwildness. Her situation seemed so hopeless, so woebegone, as to baffle mortalpower to relieve her. What could He do for her? Her peace of mind was lost, herhonour irreparably ruined. She was cut off for ever from society, nor dared Hegive her back to it. He was conscious that were She to appear in the worldagain, his guilt would be revealed, and his punishment inevitable. To one soladen with crimes, Death came armed with double terrors. Yet should He restoreAntonia to light, and stand the chance of her betraying him, how miserable aprospect would present itself before her. She could never hope to be creditablyestablished; She would be marked with infamy, and condemned to sorrow andsolitude for the remainder of her existence. What was the alternative? Aresolution far more terrible for Antonia, but which at least would insure theAbbot’s safety. He determined to leave the world persuaded of her death,and to retain her a captive in this gloomy prison: There He proposed to visither every night, to bring her food, to profess his penitence, and mingle histears with hers. The Monk felt that this resolution was unjust and cruel; butit was his only means to prevent Antonia from publishing his guilt and her owninfamy. Should He release her, He could not depend upon her silence: Hisoffence was too flagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness. Besides, herreappearing would excite universal curiosity, and the violence of heraffliction would prevent her from concealing its cause. He determinedtherefore, that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in the dungeon.

He approached her with confusion painted on his countenance. He raised her fromthe ground. Her hand trembled, as He took it, and He dropped it again as if Hehad touched a Serpent. Nature seemed to recoil at the touch. He felt himself atonce repulsed from and attracted towards her, yet could account for neithersentiment. There was something in her look which penetrated him with horror;and though his understanding was still ignorant of it, Conscience pointed outto him the whole extent of his crime. In hurried accents yet the gentlest Hecould find, while his eye was averted, and his voice scarcely audible, Hestrove to console her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided. Hedeclared himself sincerely penitent, and that He would gladly shed a drop ofhis blood, for every tear which his barbarity had forced from her. Wretched andhopeless, Antonia listened to him in silent grief: But when He announced herconfinement in the Sepulchre, that dreadful doom to which even death seemedpreferable roused her from her insensibility at once. To linger out a life ofmisery in a narrow loathsome Cell, known to exist by no human Being save herRavisher, surrounded by mouldering Corses, breathing the pestilential air ofcorruption, never more to behold the light, or drink the pure gale of heaven,the idea was more terrible than She could support. It conquered even herabhorrence of the Friar. Again She sank upon her knees: She besought hiscompassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent. She promised, would He butrestore her to liberty, to conceal her injuries from the world; to assign anyreason for her reappearance which He might judge proper; and in order toprevent the least suspicion from falling upon him, She offered to quit Madridimmediately. Her entreaties were so urgent as to make a considerable impressionupon the Monk. He reflected that as her person no longer excited his desires,He had no interest in keeping her concealed as He had at first intended; thatHe was adding a fresh injury to those which She had already suffered; and thatif She adhered to her promises, whether She was confined or at liberty, hislife and reputation were equally secure. On the other hand, He trembled lest inher affliction Antonia should unintentionally break her engagement; or that herexcessive simplicity and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more artfulto surprize her secret. However well-founded were these apprehensions,compassion, and a sincere wish to repair his fault as much as possiblesolicited his complying with the prayers of his Suppliant. The difficulty ofcolouring Antonia’s unexpected return to life, after her supposed deathand public interment, was the only point which kept him irresolute. He wasstill pondering on the means of removing this obstacle, when He heard the soundof feet approaching with precipitation. The door of the Vault was thrown open,and Matilda rushed in, evidently much confused and terrified.

On seeing a Stranger enter, Antonia uttered a cry of joy: But her hopes ofreceiving succour from him were soon dissipated. The supposed Novice, withoutexpressing the least surprize at finding a Woman alone with the Monk, in sostrange a place, and at so late an hour, addressed him thus without losing amoment.

“What is to be done, Ambrosio? We are lost, unless some speedy means isfound of dispelling the Rioters. Ambrosio, the Convent of St. Clare is on fire;The Prioress has fallen a victim to the fury of the Mob. Already is the Abbeymenaced with a similar fate. Alarmed at the threats of the People, the Monksseek for you everywhere. They imagine that your authority alone will suffice tocalm this disturbance. No one knows what is become of you, and your absencecreates universal astonishment and despair. I profited by the confusion, andfled hither to warn you of the danger.”

“This will soon be remedied,” answered the Abbot; “I willhasten back to my Cell: a trivial reason will account for my having beenmissed.”

“Impossible!” rejoined Matilda: “The Sepulchre is filled withArchers. Lorenzo de Medina, with several Officers of the Inquisition, searchesthrough the Vaults, and pervades every passage. You will be intercepted in yourflight; Your reasons for being at this late hour in the Sepulchre will beexamined; Antonia will be found, and then you are undone for ever!”

“Lorenzo de Medina? Officers of the Inquisition? What brings them here?Seek they for me? Am I then suspected? Oh! speak, Matilda! Answer me, inpity!”

“As yet they do not think of you, but I fear that they will ere long.Your only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the difficulty ofexploring this Vault. The door is artfully hidden:

Haply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till the search isover.”

“But Antonia ..... Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her cries beheard ....”

“Thus I remove that danger!” interrupted Matilda.

At the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted prey.

“Hold! Hold!” cried Ambrosio, seizing her hand, and wresting fromit the already lifted weapon. “What would you do, cruel Woman? TheUnfortunate has already suffered but too much, thanks to your perniciousconsels! Would to God that I had never followed them! Would to God that I hadnever seen your face!”

Matilda darted upon him a look of scorn.

“Absurd!” She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty whichimpressed the Monk with awe. “After robbing her of all that made it dear,can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable? But ’tis well! Lether live to convince you of your folly. I abandon you to your evil destiny! Idisclaim your alliance! Who trembles to commit so insignificant a crime,deserves not my protection. Hark! Hark! Ambrosio; Hear you not the Archers?They come, and your destruction is inevitable!”

At this moment the Abbot heard the sound of distant voices. He flew to closethe door on whose concealment his safety depended, and which Matilda hadneglected to fasten. Ere He could reach it, He saw Antonia glide suddenly byhim, rush through the door, and fly towards the noise with the swiftness of anarrow. She had listened attentively to Matilda: She heard Lorenzo’s namementioned, and resolved to risque every thing to throw herself under hisprotection. The door was open. The sounds convinced her that the Archers couldbe at no great distance. She mustered up her little remaining strength, rushedby the Monk ere He perceived her design, and bent her course rapidly towardsthe voices. As soon as He recovered from his first surprize, the Abbot failednot to pursue her. In vain did Antonia redouble her speed, and stretch everynerve to the utmost. Her Enemy gained upon her every moment: She heard hissteps close after her, and felt the heat of his breath glow upon her neck. Heovertook her; He twisted his hand in the ringlets of her streaming hair, andattempted to drag her back with him to the dungeon. Antonia resisted with allher strength: She folded her arms round a Pillar which supported the roof, andshrieked loudly for assistance. In vain did the Monk strive to threaten her tosilence.

“Help!” She continued to exclaim; “Help! Help! forGod’s sake!”

Quickened by her cries, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching. The Abbotexpected every moment to see the Inquisitors arrive. Antonia still resisted,and He now enforced her silence by means the most horrible and inhuman. Hestill grasped Matilda’s dagger: Without allowing himself a moment’sreflection, He raised it, and plunged it twice in the bosom of Antonia! Sheshrieked, and sank upon the ground. The Monk endeavoured to bear her away withhim, but She still embraced the Pillar firmly. At that instant the light ofapproaching Torches flashed upon the Walls. Dreading a discovery, Ambrosio wascompelled to abandon his Victim, and hastily fled back to the Vault, where Hehad left Matilda.

He fled not unobserved. Don Ramirez happening to arrive the first, perceived aFemale bleeding upon the ground, and a Man flying from the spot, whoseconfusion betrayed him for the Murderer. He instantly pursued the Fugitive withsome part of the Archers, while the Others remained with Lorenzo to protect thewounded Stranger. They raised her, and supported her in their arms. She hadfainted from excess of pain, but soon gave signs of returning life. She openedher eyes, and on lifting up her head, the quantity of fair hair fell back whichtill then had obscured her features.

“God Almighty! It is Antonia!”

Such was Lorenzo’s exclamation, while He snatched her from theAttendant’s arms, and clasped her in his own.

Though aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but too well thepurpose of its Employer. The wounds were mortal, and Antonia was conscious thatShe never could recover. Yet the few moments which remained for her weremoments of happiness. The concern exprest upon Lorenzo’s countenance, thefrantic fondness of his complaints, and his earnest enquiries respecting herwounds, convinced her beyond a doubt that his affections were her own. Shewould not be removed from the Vaults, fearing lest motion should only hastenher death; and She was unwilling to lose those moments which She past inreceiving proofs of Lorenzo’s love, and assuring him of her own. She toldhim that had She still been undefiled She might have lamented the loss of life;But that deprived of honour and branded with shame, Death was to her ablessing: She could not have been his Wife, and that hope being denied her, Sheresigned herself to the Grave without one sigh of regret. She bad him takecourage, conjured him not to abandon himself to fruitless sorrow, and declaredthat She mourned to leave nothing in the whole world but him. While every sweetaccent increased rather than lightened Lorenzo’s grief, She continued toconverse with him till the moment of dissolution. Her voice grew faint andscarcely audible; A thick cloud spread itself over her eyes; Her heart beatslow and irregular, and every instant seemed to announce that her fate was nearat hand.

She lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo’s bosom, and her lips stillmurmuring to him words of comfort. She was interrupted by the Convent Bell, astolling at a distance, it struck the hour. Suddenly Antonia’s eyessparkled with celestial brightness: Her frame seemed to have received newstrength and animation. She started from her Lover’s arms.

“Three o’clock!” She cried; “Mother, I come!”

She clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. Lorenzo in agonythrew himself beside her: He tore his hair, beat his breast, and refused to beseparated from the Corse. At length his force being exhausted, He sufferedhimself to be led from the Vault, and was conveyed to the Palace de Medinascarcely more alive than the unfortunate Antonia.

In the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in regaining theVault. The Door was already fastened when Don Ramirez arrived, and much timeelapsed, ere the Fugitive’s retreat was discovered. But nothing canresist perseverance. Though so artfully concealed, the Door could not escapethe vigilance of the Archers. They forced it open, and entered the Vault to theinfinite dismay of Ambrosio and his Companion. The Monk’s confusion, hisattempt to hide himself, his rapid flight, and the blood sprinkled upon hiscloaths, left no room to doubt his being Antonia’s Murderer. But when Hewas recognized for the immaculate Ambrosio, “The Man of Holiness,”the Idol of Madrid, the faculties of the Spectators were chained up insurprize, and scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was novision. The Abbot strove not to vindicate himself, but preserved a sullensilence. He was secured and bound. The same precaution was taken with Matilda:Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy of her features and profusion of hergolden hair betrayed her sex, and this incident created fresh amazement. Thedagger was also found in the Tomb, where the Monk had thrown it; and thedungeon having undergone a thorough search, the two Culprits were conveyed tothe prisons of the Inquisition.

Don Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant both of thecrimes and profession of the Captives. He feared a repetition of the riotswhich had followed the apprehending the Prioress of St. Clare. He contentedhimself with stating to the Capuchins the guilt of their Superior. To avoid theshame of a public accusation, and dreading the popular fury from which they hadalready saved their Abbey with much difficulty, the Monks readily permitted theInquisitors to search their Mansion without noise. No fresh discoveries weremade. The effects found in the Abbot’s and Matilda’s Cells wereseized, and carried to the Inquisition to be produced in evidence. Every thingelse remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity once moreprevailed through Madrid.

St. Clare’s Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages of theMob and conflagration. Nothing remained of it but the principal Walls, whosethickness and solidity had preserved them from the flames. The Nuns who hadbelonged to it were obliged in consequence to disperse themselves into otherSocieties: But the prejudice against them ran high, and the Superiors were veryunwilling to admit them. However, most of them being related to Families themost distinguished for their riches, birth and power, the several Convents werecompelled to receive them, though they did it with a very ill grace. Thisprejudice was extremely false and unjustifiable: After a close investigation,it was proved that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes,except the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out. These had fallen Victimsto the popular fury; as had also several who were perfectly innocent andunconscious of the whole affair. Blinded by resentment, the Mob had sacrificedevery Nun who fell into their hands: They who escaped were entirely indebted tothe Duke de Medina’s prudence and moderation. Of this they wereconscious, and felt for that Nobleman a proper sense of gratitude.

Virginia was not the most sparing of her thanks: She wished equally to make aproper return for his attentions, and to obtain the good graces ofLorenzo’s Uncle. In this She easily succeeded.

The Duke beheld her beauty with wonder and admiration; and while his eyes wereenchanted with her Form, the sweetness of her manners and her tender concernfor the suffering Nun prepossessed his heart in her favour. This Virginia haddiscernment enough to perceive, and She redoubled her attention to the Invalid.When He parted from her at the door of her Father’s Palace, the Dukeentreated permission to enquire occasionally after her health. His request wasreadily granted: Virginia assured him that the Marquis de Villa-Franca would beproud of an opportunity to thank him in person for the protection afforded toher. They now separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness, and Shemuch pleased with him and more with his Nephew.

On entering the Palace, Virginia’s first care was to summon the familyPhysician, and take care of her unknown charge. Her Mother hastened to sharewith her the charitable office. Alarmed by the riots, and trembling for hisDaughter’s safety, who was his only child, the Marquis had flown to St.Clare’s Convent, and was still employed in seeking her. Messengers werenow dispatched on all sides to inform him that He would find her safe at hisHotel, and desire him to hasten thither immediately. His absence gave Virginialiberty to bestow her whole attention upon her Patient; and though muchdisordered herself by the adventures of the night, no persuasion could induceher to quit the bedside of the Sufferer. Her constitution being much enfeebledby want and sorrow, it was some time before the Stranger was restored to hersenses. She found great difficulty in swallowing the medicines prescribed toher: But this obstacle being removed, She easily conquered her disease whichproceeded from nothing but weakness. The attention which was paid her, thewholesome food to which She had been long a Stranger, and her joy at beingrestored to liberty, to society, and, as She dared to hope, to Love, all thiscombined to her speedy re-establishment.

From the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, her sufferingsalmost unparalleled had engaged the affections of her amiable Hostess: Virginiafelt for her the most lively interest; But how was She delighted, when herGuest being sufficiently recovered to relate her History, She recognized in thecaptive Nun the Sister of Lorenzo!

This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the unfortunate Agnes.During her abode in the Convent, She had been well known to Virginia: But heremaciated form, her features altered by affliction, her death universallycredited, and her overgrown and matted hair which hung over her face and bosomin disorder at first had prevented her being recollected. The Prioress had putevery artifice in practice to induce Virginia to take the veil; for the Heiressof Villa-Franca would have been no despicable acquisition. Her seeming kindnessand unremitted attention so far succeeded that her young Relation began tothink seriously upon compliance. Better instructed in the disgust and ennui ofa monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the designs of the Domina: She trembledfor the innocent Girl, and endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. Shepainted in their true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to aConvent, the continued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty intrigues, theservile court and gross flattery expected by the Superior. She then badVirginia reflect on the brilliant prospect which presented itself before her:The Idol of her Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed by nature andeducation with every perfection of person and mind, She might look forward toan establishment the most fortunate. Her riches furnished her with the means ofexercising in their fullest extent, charity and benevolence, those virtues sodear to her; and her stay in the world would enable her discovering Objectsworthy her protection, which could not be done in the seclusion of a Convent.

Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the Veil: Butanother argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight with her than all theothers put together. She had seen Lorenzo, when He visited his Sister at theGrate. His Person pleased her, and her conversations with Agnes generally usedto terminate in some question about her Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo,wished for no better than an opportunity to trumpet out his praise. She spokeof him in terms of rapture; and to convince her Auditor how just were hissentiments, how cultivated his mind, and elegant his expressions, She showedher at different times the letters which She received from him. She soonperceived that from these communications the heart of her young Friend hadimbibed impressions, which She was far from intending to give, but was trulyhappy to discover. She could not have wished her Brother a more desirableunion: Heiress of Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate, beautiful, andaccomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him happy. She sounded herBrother upon the subject, though without mentioning names or circumstances. Heassured her in his answers that his heart and hand were totally disengaged, andShe thought that upon these grounds She might proceed without danger. She inconsequence endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her Friend.Lorenzo was made the constant topic of her discourse; and the avidity withwhich her Auditor listened, the sighs which frequently escaped from her bosom,and the eagerness with which upon any digression She brought back theconversation to the subject whence it had wandered, sufficed to convince Agnesthat her Brother’s addresses would be far from disagreeable. She atlength ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke: Though a Stranger to theLady herself, He knew enough of her situation to think her worthy hisNephew’s hand. It was agreed between him and his Niece, that She shouldinsinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and She only waited his return to Madrid topropose her Friend to him as his Bride. The unfortunate events which took placein the interim, prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept her losssincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person to whom She could speakof Lorenzo. Her passion continued to prey upon her heart in secret, and She hadalmost determined to confess her sentiments to her Mother, when accident oncemore threw their object in her way. The sight of him so near her, hispoliteness, his compassion, his intrepidity, had combined to give new ardour toher affection. When She now found her Friend and Advocate restored to her, Shelooked upon her as a Gift from Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope ofbeing united to Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister’sinfluence.

Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made the proposal,the Duke had placed all his Nephew’s hints of marriage toVirginia’s account: Consequently, He gave them the most favourablereception. On returning to his Hotel, the relation given him of Antonia’sdeath, and Lorenzo’s behaviour on the occasion, made evident his mistake.He lamented the circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being effectually out ofthe way, He trusted that his designs would yet be executed. ’Tis truethat Lorenzo’s situation just then ill-suited him for a Bridegroom. Hishopes disappointed at the moment when He expected to realize them, and thedreadful and sudden death of his Mistress had affected him very severely. TheDuke found him upon the Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed seriousapprehensions for his life; But the Uncle entertained not the same fears. Hewas of opinion, and not unwisely, that “Men have died, and worms have eatthem; but not for Love!” He therefore flattered himself that however deepmight be the impression made upon his Nephew’s heart, Time and Virginiawould be able to efface it. He now hastened to the afflicted Youth, andendeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress, but encouraged himto resist the encroachments of despair. He allowed that He could not but feelshocked at an event so terrible, nor could He blame his sensibility; But Hebesought him not to torment himself with vain regrets, and rather to strugglewith affliction, and preserve his life, if not for his own sake, at least forthe sake of those who were fondly attached to him. While He laboured thus tomake Lorenzo forget Antonia’s loss, the Duke paid his court assiduouslyto Virginia, and seized every opportunity to advance his Nephew’sinterest in her heart.

It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without enquiring after DonRaymond. She was shocked to hear the wretched situation to which grief hadreduced him; Yet She could not help exulting secretly, when She reflected, thathis illness proved the sincerity of his love. The Duke undertook the officehimself, of announcing to the Invalid the happiness which awaited him. ThoughHe omitted no precaution to prepare him for such an event, at this suddenchange from despair to happiness Raymond’s transports were so violent, asnearly to have proved fatal to him. These once passed, the tranquillity of hismind, the assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who wasno sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the Marchioness, than Shehastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled him to overcome the effects of hislate dreadful malady. The calm of his soul communicated itself to his body, andHe recovered with such rapidity as to create universal surprize.

No so Lorenzo. Antonia’s death accompanied with such terriblecircumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to a shadow.Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded with difficulty to swallownourishment sufficient for the support of life, and a consumption wasapprehended. The society of Agnes formed his only comfort. Though accident hadnever permitted their being much together, He entertained for her a sincerefriendship and attachment. Perceiving how necessary She was to him, She seldomquitted his chamber. She listened to his complaints with unwearied attention,and soothed him by the gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with hisdistress. She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the Possessors ofwhich treated her with marked affection. The Duke had intimated to the Marquishis wishes respecting Virginia. The match was unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heirto his Uncle’s immense property, and was distinguished in Madrid for hisagreeable person, extensive knowledge, and propriety of conduct: Add to this,that the Marchioness had discovered how strong was her Daughter’sprepossession in his favour.

In consequence the Duke’s proposal was accepted without hesitation: Everyprecaution was taken to induce Lorenzo’s seeing the Lady with thosesentiments which She so well merited to excite. In her visits to her BrotherAgnes was frequently accompanied by the Marchioness; and as soon as He was ableto move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her mother’s protection wassometimes permitted to express her wishes for his recovery. This She did withsuch delicacy, the manner in which She mentioned Antonia was so tender andsoothing, and when She lamented her Rival’s melancholy fate, her brighteyes shone so beautiful through her tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, orlisten to her without emotion. His Relations, as well as the Lady, perceivedthat with every day her society seemed to give him fresh pleasure, and that Hespoke of her in terms of stronger admiration. However, they prudently kepttheir observations to themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him tosuspect their designs. They continued their former conduct and attention, andleft Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the friendship which He already feltfor Virginia.

In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly there wasscarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by the side ofLorenzo’s Couch. He gradually regained his strength, but the progress ofhis recovery was slow and doubtful. One evening He seemed to be in betterspirits than usual: Agnes and her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, and her Parentswere sitting round him. He now for the first time entreated his Sister toinform him how She had escaped the effects of the poison which St. Ursula hadseen her swallow. Fearful of recalling those scenes to his mind in whichAntonia had perished, She had hitherto concealed from him the history of hersufferings. As He now started the subject himself, and thinking that perhapsthe narrative of her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of those onwhich He dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied with his request. Therest of the company had already heard her story; But the interest which allpresent felt for its Heroine made them anxious to hear it repeated. The wholesociety seconding Lorenzo’s entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She first recountedthe discovery which had taken place in the Abbey Chapel, the Domina’sresentment, and the midnight scene of which St. Ursula had been a concealedwitness. Though the Nun had already described this latter event, Agnes nowrelated it more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in hernarrative as follows.

Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina

My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those moments which Ibelieved my last, were embittered by the Domina’s assurances that I couldnot escape perdition; and as my eyes closed, I heard her rage exhale itself incurses on my offence. The horror of this situation, of a death-bed from whichhope was banished, of a sleep from which I was only to wake to find myself theprey of flames and Furies, was more dreadful than I can describe. Whenanimation revived in me, my soul was still impressed with these terrible ideas:I looked round with fear, expecting to behold the Ministers of divinevengeance. For the first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain sodizzy, that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which floated inwild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself from the ground, thewandering of my head deceived me. Every thing around me seemed to rock, and Isank once more upon the earth. My weak and dazzled eyes were unable to bear anearer approach to a gleam of light which I saw trembling above me. I wascompelled to close them again, and remain motionless in the same posture.

A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine thesurrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror filled my bosom Ifound myself extended upon a sort of wicker Couch: It had six handles to it,which doubtless had served the Nuns to convey me to my grave. I was coveredwith a linen cloth:

Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a small woodenCrucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads. Four low narrow walls confinedme. The top was also covered, and in it was practised a small grated Door:Through this was admitted the little air which circulated in this miserableplace. A faint glimmering of light which streamed through the Bars, permittedme to distinguish the surrounding horrors. I was opprest by a noisomesuffocating smell; and perceiving that the grated door was unfastened, Ithought that I might possibly effect my escape. As I raised myself with thisdesign, my hand rested upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced ittowards the light. Almighty God! What was my disgust, my consternation! Inspite of its putridity, and the worms which preyed upon it, I perceived acorrupted human head, and recognised the features of a Nun who had died somemonths before!

I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier.

When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the consciousness of beingsurrounded by the loathsome and mouldering Bodies of my Companions, increasedmy desire to escape from my fearful prison. I again moved towards the light.The grated door was within my reach: I lifted it without difficulty; Probablyit had been left unclosed to facilitate my quitting the dungeon. Aiding myselfby the irregularity of the Walls some of whose stones projected beyond therest, I contrived to ascend them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now foundMyself in a Vault tolerably spacious. Several Tombs, similar in appearance tothat whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the sides in order, andseemed to be considerably sunk within the earth. A sepulchral Lamp wassuspended from the roof by an iron chain, and shed a gloomy light through thedungeon. Emblems of Death were seen on every side: Skulls, shoulder-blades,thigh-bones, and other leavings of Mortality were scattered upon the dewyground. Each Tomb was ornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner stooda wooden Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first paid no attention: ADoor, the only outlet from the Vault, had attracted my eyes. I hastened towardsit, having wrapped my winding-sheet closely round me. I pushed against thedoor, and to my inexpressible terror found that it was fastened on the outside.

I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of the liquorwhich She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison had administered astrong Opiate. From this I concluded that being to all appearance dead I hadreceived the rites of burial; and that deprived of the power of making myexistence known, it would be my fate to expire of hunger. This idea penetratedme with horror, not merely for my own sake, but that of the innocent Creature,who still lived within my bosom. I again endeavoured to open the door, but itresisted all my efforts. I stretched my voice to the extent of its compass, andshrieked for aid: I was remote from the hearing of every one: No friendly voicereplied to mine. A profound and melancholy silence prevailed through the Vault,and I despaired of liberty. My long abstinence from food now began to tormentme. The tortures which hunger inflicted on me, were the most painful andinsupportable: Yet they seemed to increase with every hour which past over myhead. Sometimes I threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild anddesperate: Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again strove to forceit open, and repeated my fruitless cries for succour. Often was I on the pointof striking my temple against the sharp corner of some Monument, dashing out mybrains, and thus terminating my woes at once; But still the remembrance of myBaby vanquished my resolution: I trembled at a deed which equally endangered myChild’s existence and my own. Then would I vent my anguish in loudexclamations and passionate complaints; and then again my strength failing me,silent and hopeless I would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare’sStatue, fold my arms, and abandon myself to sullen despair. Thus passed severalwretched hours. Death advanced towards me with rapid strides, and I expectedthat every succeeding moment would be that of my dissolution. Suddenly aneighbouring Tomb caught my eye: A Basket stood upon it, which till then I hadnot observed. I started from my seat: I made towards it as swiftly as myexhausted frame would permit. How eagerly did I seize the Basket, on finding itto contain a loaf of coarse bread and a small bottle of water.

I threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had to allappearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The bread was hard, andthe water tainted; Yet never did I taste food to me so delicious. When thecravings of appetite were satisfied, I busied myself with conjectures upon thisnew circumstance: I debated whether the Basket had been placed there with aview to my necessity. Hope answered my doubts in the affirmative. Yet who couldguess me to be in need of such assistance? If my existence was known, why was Idetained in this gloomy Vault? If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant theceremony of committing me to the Tomb? Or if I was doomed to perish withhunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions placed within my reach? AFriend would not have kept my dreadful punishment a secret; Neither did it seemprobable that an Enemy would have taken pains to supply me with the means ofexistence. Upon the whole I was inclined to think that the Domina’sdesigns upon my life had been discovered by some one of my Partizans in theConvent, who had found means to substitute an opiate for poison: That She hadfurnished me with food to support me, till She could effect my delivery: Andthat She was then employed in giving intelligence to my Relations of my danger,and pointing out a way to release me from captivity. Yet why then was thequality of my provisions so coarse? How could my Friend have entered the Vaultwithout the Domina’s knowledge? And if She had entered, why was the Doorfastened so carefully? These reflections staggered me: Yet still this idea wasthe most favourable to my hopes, and I dwelt upon it in preference.

My meditations were interrupted by the sound of distant footsteps. Theyapproached, but slowly. Rays of light now darted through the crevices of theDoor. Uncertain whether the Persons who advanced came to relieve me, or wereconducted by some other motive to the Vault, I failed not to attract theirnotice by loud cries for help. Still the sounds drew near: The light grewstronger: At length with inexpressible pleasure I heard the Key turning in theLock. Persuaded that my deliverance was at hand, I flew towards the Door with ashriek of joy. It opened: But all my hopes of escape died away, when thePrioress appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been witnesses of mysupposed death. They bore torches in their hands, and gazed upon me in fearfulsilence.

I started back in terror. The Domina descended into the Vault, as did also herCompanions. She bent upon me a stern resentful eye, but expressed no surprizeat finding me still living. She took the seat which I had just quitted: Thedoor was again closed, and the Nuns ranged themselves behind their Superior,while the glare of their torches, dimmed by the vapours and dampness of theVault, gilded with cold beams the surrounding Monuments. For some moments allpreserved a dead and solemn silence. I stood at some distance from thePrioress. At length She beckoned me to advance. Trembling at the severity ofher aspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her. I drew near, but mylimbs were unable to support their burthen. I sank upon my knees; I clasped myhands, and lifted them up to her for mercy, but had no power to articulate asyllable.

She gazed upon me with angry eyes.

“Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?” She said at length;“Are those hands raised in contrition for your crimes, or in fear ofmeeting their punishment? Do those tears acknowledge the justice of your doom,or only solicit mitigation of your sufferings? I fear me, ’tis thelatter!”

She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine.

“Take courage;” She continued: “I wish not for your death,but your repentance. The draught which I administered, was no poison, but anopiate. My intention in deceiving you was to make you feel the agonies of aguilty conscience, had Death overtaken you suddenly while your crimes werestill unrepented. You have suffered those agonies: I have brought you to befamiliar with the sharpness of death, and I trust that your momentary anguishwill prove to you an eternal benefit. It is not my design to destroy yourimmortal soul; or bid you seek the grave, burthened with the weight of sinsunexpiated. No, Daughter, far from it: I will purify you with wholesomechastisement, and furnish you with full leisure for contrition and remorse.Hear then my sentence; The ill-judged zeal of your Friends delayed itsexecution, but cannot now prevent it. All Madrid believes you to be no more;Your Relations are thoroughly persuaded of your death, and the Nuns yourPartizans have assisted at your funeral. Your existence can never be suspected;I have taken such precautions, as must render it an impenetrable mystery. Thenabandon all thoughts of a World from which you are eternally separated, andemploy the few hours which are allowed you, in preparing for the next.”

This exordium led me to expect something terrible. I trembled, and would havespoken to deprecate her wrath: but a motion of the Domina commanded me to besilent. She proceeded.

“Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many of ourmisguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my intention to revive the lawsof our order in their full force. That against incontinence is severe, but nomore than so monstrous an offence demands: Submit to it, Daughter, withoutresistance; You will find the benefit of patience and resignation in a betterlife than this. Listen then to the sentence of St. Clare. Beneath these Vaultsthere exist Prisons, intended to receive such criminals as yourself: Artfullyis their entrance concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all hopes ofliberty. Thither must you now be conveyed. Food shall be supplied you, but notsufficient for the indulgence of appetite: You shall have just enough to keeptogether body and soul, and its quality shall be the simplest and coarsest.Weep, Daughter, weep, and moisten your bread with your tears: God knows thatyou have ample cause for sorrow! Chained down in one of these secret dungeons,shut out from the world and light for ever, with no comfort but religion, nosociety but repentance, thus must you groan away the remainder of your days.Such are St. Clare’s orders; Submit to them without repining. Followme!”

Thunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining strength abandonedme. I answered only by falling at her feet, and bathing them with tears. TheDomina, unmoved by my affliction, rose from her seat with a stately air. Sherepeated her commands in an absolute tone: But my excessive faintness made meunable to obey her. Mariana and Alix raised me from the ground, and carried meforwards in their arms. The Prioress moved on, leaning upon Violante, andCamilla preceded her with a Torch. Thus passed our sad procession along thepassages, in silence only broken by my sighs and groans. We stopped before theprincipal shrine of St. Clare. The Statue was removed from its Pedestal, thoughhow I knew not. The Nuns afterwards raised an iron grate till then concealed bythe Image, and let it fall on the other side with a loud crash. The awfulsound, repeated by the vaults above, and Caverns below me, rouzed me from thedespondent apathy in which I had been plunged. I looked before me: An abysspresented itself to my affrighted eyes, and a steep and narrow Staircase,whither my Conductors were leading me. I shrieked, and started back. I imploredcompassion, rent the air with my cries, and summoned both heaven and earth tomy assistance. In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and forced into oneof the Cells which lined the Cavern’s sides.

My blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode. The cold vapourshovering in the air, the walls green with damp, the bed of Straw so forlorn andcomfortless, the Chain destined to bind me for ever to my prison, and theReptiles of every description which as the torches advanced towards them, Idescried hurrying to their retreats, struck my heart with terrors almost tooexquisite for nature to bear. Driven by despair to madness, I burst suddenlyfrom the Nuns who held me: I threw myself upon my knees before the Prioress,and besought her mercy in the most passionate and frantic terms.

“If not on me,” said I, “look at least with pity on thatinnocent Being, whose life is attached to mine! Great is my crime, but let notmy Child suffer for it! My Baby has committed no fault: Oh! spare me for thesake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it tastes life your severity dooms todestruction!”

The Prioress drew back haughtily: She forced her habit from my grasp, as if mytouch had been contagious.

“What?” She exclaimed with an exasperated air; “What? Dareyou plead for the produce of your shame? Shall a Creature be permitted to live,conceived in guilt so monstrous? Abandoned Woman, speak for him no more! Betterthat the Wretch should perish than live: Begotten in perjury, incontinence, andpollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy of vice. Hear me, thou Guilty!Expect no mercy from me either for yourself, or Brat. Rather pray that Deathmay seize you before you produce it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyesmay immediately be closed again for ever! No aid shall be given you in yourlabour; Bring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself, Nurseit yourself, Bury it yourself: God grant that the latter may happen soon, lestyou receive comfort from the fruit of your iniquity!”

This inhuman speech, the threats which it contained, the dreadful sufferingsforetold to me by the Domina, and her prayers for my Infant’s death, onwhom though unborn I already doated, were more than my exhausted frame couldsupport. Uttering a deep groan, I fell senseless at the feet of my unrelentingEnemy. I know not how long I remained in this situation; But I imagine thatsome time must have elapsed before my recovery, since it sufficed the Prioressand her Nuns to quit the Cavern. When my senses returned, I found myself insilence and solitude. I heard not even the retiring footsteps of myPersecutors. All was hushed, and all was dreadful! I had been thrown upon thebed of Straw: The heavy Chain which I had already eyed with terror, was woundaround my waist, and fastened me to the Wall. A Lamp glimmering with dull,melancholy rays through my dungeon, permitted my distinguishing all itshorrors: It was separated from the Cavern by a low and irregular Wall of Stone:A large Chasm was left open in it which formed the entrance, for door there wasnone. A leaden Crucifix was in front of my straw Couch. A tattered rug lay nearme, as did also a Chaplet of Beads; and not far from me stood a pitcher ofwater, and a wicker Basket containing a small loaf, and a bottle of oil tosupply my Lamp.

With a despondent eye did I examine this scene of suffering: When I reflectedthat I was doomed to pass in it the remainder of my days, my heart was rentwith bitter anguish. I had once been taught to look forward to a lot sodifferent! At one time my prospects had appeared so bright, so flattering! Nowall was lost to me. Friends, comfort, society, happiness, in one moment I wasdeprived of all! Dead to the world, Dead to pleasure, I lived to nothing butthe sense of misery. How fair did that world seem to me, from which I was forever excluded! How many loved objects did it contain, whom I never shouldbehold again! As I threw a look of terror round my prison, as I shrunk from thecutting wind which howled through my subterraneous dwelling, the change seemedso striking, so abrupt, that I doubted its reality.

That the Duke de Medina’s Niece, that the destined Bride of the Marquisde las Cisternas, One bred up in affluence, related to the noblest families inSpain, and rich in a multitude of affectionate Friends, that She should in onemoment become a Captive, separated from the world for ever, weighed down withchains, and reduced to support life with the coarsest aliments, appeared achange so sudden and incredible, that I believed myself the sport of somefrightful vision. Its continuance convinced me of my mistake with but too muchcertainty. Every morning my hopes were disappointed. At length I abandoned allidea of escaping: I resigned myself to my fate, and only expected Liberty whenShe came the Companion of Death.

My mental anguish, and the dreadful scenes in which I had been an Actress,advanced the period of my labour. In solitude and misery, abandoned by all,unassisted by Art, uncomforted by Friendship, with pangs which if witnessedwould have touched the hardest heart, was I delivered of my wretched burthen.It came alive into the world; But I knew not how to treat it, or by what meansto preserve its existence. I could only bathe it with tears, warm it in mybosom, and offer up prayers for its safety. I was soon deprived of thismournful employment: The want of proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurseit, the bitter cold of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which inflated itslungs, terminated my sweet Babe’s short and painful existence. It expiredin a few hours after its birth, and I witnessed its death with agonies whichbeggar all description.

But my grief was unavailing. My Infant was no more; nor could all my sighsimpart to its little tender frame the breath of a moment. I rent mywinding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely Child. I placed it on my bosom, itssoft arm folded round my neck, and its pale cold cheek resting upon mine. Thusdid its lifeless limbs repose, while I covered it with kisses, talked to it,wept, and moaned over it without remission, day or night. Camilla entered myprison regularly once every twenty-four hours, to bring me food. In spite ofher flinty nature, She could not behold this spectacle unmoved. She feared thatgrief so excessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not alwaysin my proper senses. From a principle of compassion She urged me to permit theCorse to be buried: But to this I never would consent. I vowed not to part withit while I had life: Its presence was my only comfort, and no persuasion couldinduce me to give it up. It soon became a mass of putridity, and to every eyewas a loathsome and disgusting Object; To every eye but a Mother’s. Invain did human feelings bid me recoil from this emblem of mortality withrepugnance: I withstood, and vanquished that repugnance. I persisted in holdingmy Infant to my bosom, in lamenting it, loving it, adoring it! Hour after hourhave I passed upon my sorry Couch, contemplating what had once been my Child: Iendeavoured to retrace its features through the livid corruption, with whichthey were overspread: During my confinement this sad occupation was my onlydelight; and at that time Worlds should not have bribed me to give it up. Evenwhen released from my prison, I brought away my Child in my arms. Therepresentations of my two kind Friends,‘—(Here She took the handsof the Marchioness and Virginia, and pressed them alternately to herlips)—’at length persuaded me to resign my unhappy Infant to theGrave. Yet I parted from it with reluctance: However, reason at lengthprevailed; I suffered it to be taken from me, and it now reposes in consecratedground.

I before mentioned that regularly once a day Camilla brought me food. Shesought not to embitter my sorrows with reproach: She bad me, ’tis true,resign all hopes of liberty and worldly happiness; But She encouraged me tobear with patience my temporary distress, and advised me to draw comfort fromreligion.

My situation evidently affected her more than She ventured to express: But Shebelieved that to extenuate my fault would make me less anxious to repent it.Often while her lips painted the enormity of my guilt in glaring colours, hereyes betrayed, how sensible She was to my sufferings. In fact I am certain thatnone of my Tormentors, (for the three other Nuns entered my prisonoccasionally) were so much actuated by the spirit of oppressive cruelty as bythe idea that to afflict my body was the only way to preserve my soul. Nay,even this persuasion might not have had such weight with them, and they mighthave thought my punishment too severe, had not their good dispositions beenreprest by blind obedience to their Superior. Her resentment existed in fullforce. My project of elopement having been discovered by the Abbot of theCapuchins, She supposed herself lowered in his opinion by my disgrace, and inconsequence her hate was inveterate. She told the Nuns to whose custody I wascommitted that my fault was of the most heinous nature, that no sufferingscould equal the offence, and that nothing could save me from eternal perditionbut punishing my guilt with the utmost severity. The Superior’s word isan oracle to but too many of a Convent’s Inhabitants. The Nuns believedwhatever the Prioress chose to assert: Though contradicted by reason andcharity, they hesitated not to admit the truth of her arguments. They followedher injunctions to the very letter, and were fully persuaded that to treat mewith lenity, or to show the least pity for my woes, would be a direct means todestroy my chance for salvation.

Camilla, being most employed about me, was particularly charged by the Prioressto treat me with harshness. In compliance with these orders, She frequentlystrove to convince me, how just was my punishment, and how enormous was mycrime: She bad me think myself too happy in saving my soul by mortifying mybody, and even threatened me sometimes with eternal perdition. Yet as I beforeobserved, She always concluded by words of encouragement and comfort; andthough uttered by Camilla’s lips, I easily recognised the Domina’sexpressions. Once, and once only, the Prioress visited me in my dungeon. Shethen treated me with the most unrelenting cruelty: She loaded me withreproaches, taunted me with my frailty, and when I implored her mercy, told meto ask it of heaven, since I deserved none on earth. She even gazed upon mylifeless Infant without emotion; and when She left me, I heard her chargeCamilla to increase the hardships of my Captivity. Unfeeling Woman! But let mecheck my resentment: She has expiated her errors by her sad and unexpecteddeath. Peace be with her; and may her crimes be forgiven in heaven, as Iforgive her my sufferings on earth!

Thus did I drag on a miserable existence. Far from growing familiar with myprison, I beheld it every moment with new horror. The cold seemed more piercingand bitter, the air more thick and pestilential. My frame became weak,feverish, and emaciated. I was unable to rise from the bed of Straw, andexercise my limbs in the narrow limits, to which the length of my chainpermitted me to move. Though exhausted, faint, and weary, I trembled to profitby the approach of Sleep: My slumbers were constantly interrupted by someobnoxious Insect crawling over me.

Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the poisonousvapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along my bosom: Sometimesthe quick cold Lizard rouzed me leaving his slimy track upon my face, andentangling itself in the tresses of my wild and matted hair: Often have I atwaking found my fingers ringed with the long worms which bred in the corruptedflesh of my Infant. At such times I shrieked with terror and disgust, and whileI shook off the reptile, trembled with all a Woman’s weakness.

Such was my situation, when Camilla was suddenly taken ill. A dangerous fever,supposed to be infectious, confined her to her bed. Every one except theLay-Sister appointed to nurse her, avoided her with caution, and feared tocatch the disease. She was perfectly delirious, and by no means capable ofattending to me. The Domina and the Nuns admitted to the mystery, had latterlygiven me over entirely to Camilla’s care: In consequence, they busiedthemselves no more about me; and occupied by preparing for the approachingFestival, it is more than probable that I never once entered into theirthoughts. Of the reason of Camilla’s negligence, I have been informedsince my release by the Mother St. Ursula; At that time I was very far fromsuspecting its cause. On the contrary, I waited for my Gaoler’sappearance at first with impatience, and afterwards with despair. One daypassed away; Another followed it; The Third arrived. Still no Camilla! Still nofood! I knew the lapse of time by the wasting of my Lamp, to supply whichfortunately a week’s supply of Oil had been left me. I supposed, eitherthat the Nuns had forgotten me, or that the Domina had ordered them to let meperish. The latter idea seemed the most probable; Yet so natural is the love oflife, that I trembled to find it true. Though embittered by every species ofmisery, my existence was still dear to me, and I dreaded to lose it. Everysucceeding minute proved to me that I must abandon all hopes of relief. I wasbecome an absolute skeleton: My eyes already failed me, and my limbs werebeginning to stiffen. I could only express my anguish, and the pangs of thathunger which gnawed my heart-strings, by frequent groans, whose melancholysound the vaulted roof of the dungeon re-echoed. I resigned myself to my fate:I already expected the moment of dissolution, when my Guardian Angel, when mybeloved Brother arrived in time to save me. My sight grown dim and feeble atfirst refused to recognize him; and when I did distinguish his features, thesudden burst of rapture was too much for me to bear. I was overpowered by theswell of joy at once more beholding a Friend, and that a Friend so dear to me.Nature could not support my emotions, and took her refuge in insensibility.

You already know, what are my obligations to the Family of Villa-Franca: Butwhat you cannot know is the extent of my gratitude, boundless as the excellenceof my Benefactors. Lorenzo! Raymond! Names so dear to me! Teach me to bear withfortitude this sudden transition from misery to bliss. So lately a Captive,opprest with chains, perishing with hunger, suffering every inconvenience ofcold and want, hidden from the light, excluded from society, hopeless,neglected, and as I feared, forgotten; Now restored to life and liberty,enjoying all the comforts of affluence and ease, surrounded by those who aremost loved by me, and on the point of becoming his Bride who has long beenwedded to my heart, my happiness is so exquisite, so perfect, that scarcely canmy brain sustain the weight. One only wish remains ungratified: It is to see myBrother in his former health, and to know that Antonia’s memory is buriedin her grave.

Granted this prayer, I have nothing more to desire. I trust, that my pastsufferings have purchased from heaven the pardon of my momentary weakness. ThatI have offended, offended greatly and grievously, I am fully conscious; But letnot my Husband, because He once conquered my virtue, doubt the propriety of myfuture conduct. I have been frail and full of error: But I yielded not to thewarmth of constitution; Raymond, affection for you betrayed me. I was tooconfident of my strength; But I depended no less on your honour than my own. Ihad vowed never to see you more: Had it not been for the consequences of thatunguarded moment, my resolution had been kept. Fate willed it otherwise, and Icannot but rejoice at its decree. Still my conduct has been highly blameable,and while I attempt to justify myself, I blush at recollecting my imprudence.Let me then dismiss the ungrateful subject; First assuring you, Raymond, thatyou shall have no cause to repent our union, and that the more culpable havebeen the errors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall be the conduct ofyour Wife.

Here Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in terms equallysincere and affectionate. Lorenzo expressed his satisfaction at the prospect ofbeing so closely connected with a Man for whom He had ever entertained thehighest esteem. The Pope’s Bull had fully and effectually released Agnesfrom her religious engagements: The marriage was therefore celebrated as soonas the needful preparations had been made, for the Marquis wished to have theceremony performed with all possible splendour and publicity. This being over,and the Bride having received the compliments of Madrid, She departed with DonRaymond for his Castle in Andalusia: Lorenzo accompanied them, as did also theMarchioness de Villa-Franca and her lovely Daughter. It is needless to say thatTheodore was of the party, and would be impossible to describe his joy at hisMaster’s marriage. Previous to his departure, the Marquis, to atone insome measure for his past neglect, made some enquiries relative to Elvira.Finding that She as well as her Daughter had received many services fromLeonella and Jacintha, He showed his respect to the memory of his Sister-in-lawby making the two Women handsome presents. Lorenzo followed hisexample—Leonella was highly flattered by the attentions of Noblemen sodistinguished, and Jacintha blessed the hour on which her House was bewitched.

On her side, Agnes failed not to reward her Convent Friends. The worthy MotherSt. Ursula, to whom She owed her liberty, was named at her requestSuperintendent of “The Ladies of Charity:” This was one of the bestand most opulent Societies throughout Spain. Bertha and Cornelia not choosingto quit their Friend, were appointed to principal charges in the sameestablishment. As to the Nuns who had aided the Domina in persecuting Agnes,Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had perished in the flames whichconsumed St. Clare’s Convent. Mariana, Alix, and Violante, as well as twomore, had fallen victims to the popular rage. The three Others who in Councilhad supported the Domina’s sentence, were severely reprimanded, andbanished to religious Houses in obscure and distant Provinces: Here theylanguished away a few years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned bytheir Companions with aversion and contempt.

Nor was the fidelity of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her wishes beingconsulted, She declared herself impatient to revisit her native land. Inconsequence, a passage was procured for her to Cuba, where She arrived insafety, loaded with the presents of Raymond and Lorenzo.

The debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue her favouriteplan. Lodged in the same House, Lorenzo and Virginia were eternally together.The more He saw of her, the more was He convinced of her merit. On her part,She laid herself out to please, and not to succeed was for her impossible.

Lorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant manners,innumerable talents, and sweet disposition: He was also much flattered by herprejudice in his favour, which She had not sufficient art to conceal. However,his sentiments partook not of that ardent character which had marked hisaffection for Antonia. The image of that lovely and unfortunate Girl stilllived in his heart, and baffled all Virginia’s efforts to displace it.Still when the Duke proposed to him the match, which He wished to earnestly totake place, his Nephew did not reject the offer. The urgent supplications ofhis Friends, and the Lady’s merit conquered his repugnance to enteringinto new engagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa-Franca, andwas accepted with joy and gratitude. Virginia became his Wife, nor did She evergive him cause to repent his choice. His esteem increased for her daily. Herunremitted endeavours to please him could not but succeed. His affectionassumed stronger and warmer colours. Antonia’s image was graduallyeffaced from his bosom; and Virginia became sole Mistress of that heart, whichShe well deserved to possess without a Partner.

The remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and Virginia, were happyas can be those allotted to Mortals, born to be the prey of grief, and sport ofdisappointment. The exquisite sorrows with which they had been afflicted, madethem think lightly of every succeeding woe. They had felt the sharpest darts inmisfortune’s quiver; Those which remained appeared blunt in comparison.Having weathered Fate’s heaviest Storms, they looked calmly upon itsterrors: or if ever they felt Affliction’s casual gales, they seemed tothem gentle as Zephyrs which breathe over summer-seas.

CHAPTER XII.

——He was a fell despightful Fiend:
Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:
By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;
Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe.

THOMSON.

On the day following Antonia’s death, all Madrid was a scene ofconsternation and amazement. An Archer who had witnessed the adventure in theSepulchre had indiscreetly related the circumstances of the murder: He had alsonamed the Perpetrator. The confusion was without example which thisintelligence raised among the Devotees. Most of them disbelieved it, and wentthemselves to the Abbey to ascertain the fact. Anxious to avoid the shame towhich their Superior’s ill-conduct exposed the whole Brotherhood, theMonks assured the Visitors that Ambrosio was prevented from receiving them asusual by nothing but illness. This attempt was unsuccessful: The same excusebeing repeated day after day, the Archer’s story gradually obtainedconfidence. His Partizans abandoned him: No one entertained a doubt of hisguilt; and they who before had been the warmest in his praise were now the mostvociferous in his condemnation.

While his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the utmost acrimony,Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious villainy, and the terrors ofpunishment impending over him. When He looked back to the eminence on which Hehad lately stood, universally honoured and respected, at peace with the worldand with himself, scarcely could He believe that He was indeed the culpritwhose crimes and whose fate He trembled to envisage. But a few weeks hadelapsed, since He was pure and virtuous, courted by the wisest and noblest inMadrid, and regarded by the People with a reverence that approached idolatry:He now saw himself stained with the most loathed and monstrous sins, the objectof universal execration, a Prisoner of the Holy Office, and probably doomed toperish in tortures the most severe. He could not hope to deceive his Judges:The proofs of his guilt were too strong. His being in the Sepulchre at so latean hour, his confusion at the discovery, the dagger which in his first alarm Heowned had been concealed by him, and the blood which had spirted upon his habitfrom Antonia’s wound, sufficiently marked him out for the Assassin. Hewaited with agony for the day of examination: He had no resource to comfort himin his distress. Religion could not inspire him with fortitude: If He read theBooks of morality which were put into his hands, He saw in them nothing but theenormity of his offences; If he attempted to pray, He recollected that Hedeserved not heaven’s protection, and believed his crimes so monstrous asto baffle even God’s infinite goodness. For every other Sinner He thoughtthere might be hope, but for him there could be none. Shuddering at the past,anguished by the present, and dreading the future, thus passed He the few dayspreceding that which was marked for his Trial.

That day arrived. At nine in the morning his prison door was unlocked, and hisGaoler entering, commanded him to follow him. He obeyed with trembling. He wasconducted into a spacious Hall, hung with black cloth. At the Table sat threegrave, stern-looking Men, also habited in black: One was the Grand Inquisitor,whom the importance of this cause had induced to examine into it himself. At asmaller table at a little distance sat the Secretary, provided with allnecessary implements for writing. Ambrosio was beckoned to advance, and takehis station at the lower end of the Table. As his eye glanced downwards, Heperceived various iron instruments lying scattered upon the floor. Their formswere unknown to him, but apprehension immediately guessed them to be engines oftorture. He turned pale, and with difficulty prevented himself from sinkingupon the ground.

Profound silence prevailed, except when the Inquisitors whispered a few wordsamong themselves mysteriously. Near an hour past away, and with every second ofit Ambrosio’s fears grew more poignant. At length a small Door, oppositeto that by which He had entered the Hall, grated heavily upon its hinges. AnOfficer appeared, and was immediately followed by the beautiful Matilda. Herhair hung about her face wildly; Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes sunk andhollow. She threw a melancholy look upon Ambrosio: He replied by one ofaversion and reproach. She was placed opposite to him. A Bell then soundedthrice. It was the signal for opening the Court, and the Inquisitors enteredupon their office.

In these trials neither the accusation is mentioned, or the name of theAccuser. The Prisoners are only asked, whether they will confess: If they replythat having no crime they can make no confession, they are put to the torturewithout delay. This is repeated at intervals, either till the suspected avowthemselves culpable, or the perseverance of the examinants is worn out andexhausted: But without a direct acknowledgment of their guilt, the Inquisitionnever pronounces the final doom of its Prisoners.

In general much time is suffered to elapse without their being questioned: ButAmbrosio’s trial had been hastened, on account of a solemn Auto da Fewhich would take place in a few days, and in which the Inquisitors meant thisdistinguished Culprit to perform a part, and give a striking testimony of theirvigilance.

The Abbot was not merely accused of rape and murder: The crime of Sorcery waslaid to his charge, as well as to Matilda’s. She had been seized as anAccomplice in Antonia’s assassination. On searching her Cell, varioussuspicious books and instruments were found which justified the accusationbrought against her. To criminate the Monk, the constellated Mirror wasproduced, which Matilda had accidentally left in his chamber. The strangefigures engraved upon it caught the attention of Don Ramirez, while searchingthe Abbot’s Cell: In consequence, He carried it away with him. It wasshown to the Grand Inquisitor, who having considered it for some time, took offa small golden Cross which hung at his girdle, and laid it upon the Mirror.Instantly a loud noise was heard, resembling a clap of thunder, and the steelshivered into a thousand pieces. This circumstance confirmed the suspicion ofthe Monk’s having dealt in Magic: It was even supposed that his formerinfluence over the minds of the People was entirely to be ascribed towitchcraft.

Determined to make him confess not only the crimes which He had committed, butthose also of which He was innocent, the Inquisitors began their examination.Though dreading the tortures, as He dreaded death still more which wouldconsign him to eternal torments, the Abbot asserted his purity in a voice boldand resolute. Matilda followed his example, but spoke with fear and trembling.Having in vain exhorted him to confess, the Inquisitors ordered the Monk to beput to the question. The Decree was immediately executed. Ambrosio suffered themost excruciating pangs that ever were invented by human cruelty: Yet sodreadful is Death when guilt accompanies it, that He had sufficient fortitudeto persist in his disavowal. His agonies were redoubled in consequence: Nor wasHe released till fainting from excess of pain, insensibility rescued him fromthe hands of his Tormentors.

Matilda was next ordered to the torture: But terrified by the sight of theFriar’s sufferings, her courage totally deserted her. She sank upon herknees, acknowledged her corresponding with infernal Spirits, and that She hadwitnessed the Monk’s assassination of Antonia: But as to the crime ofSorcery, She declared herself the sole criminal, and Ambrosio perfectlyinnocent. The latter assertion met with no credit. The Abbot had recovered hissenses in time to hear the confession of his Accomplice: But He was too muchenfeebled by what He had already undergone to be capable at that time ofsustaining new torments.

He was commanded back to his Cell, but first informed that as soon as He hadgained strength sufficient, He must prepare himself for a second examination.The Inquisitors hoped that He would then be less hardened and obstinate. ToMatilda it was announced that She must expiate her crime in fire on theapproaching Auto da Fe. All her tears and entreaties could procure nomitigation of her doom, and She was dragged by force from the Hall of Trial.

Returned to his dungeon, the sufferings of Ambrosio’s body were far moresupportable than those of his mind. His dislocated limbs, the nails torn fromhis hands and feet, and his fingers mashed and broken by the pressure ofscrews, were far surpassed in anguish by the agitation of his soul andvehemence of his terrors. He saw that, guilty or innocent, his Judges were bentupon condemning him: The remembrance of what his denial had already cost himterrified him at the idea of being again applied to the question, and almostengaged him to confess his crimes. Then again the consequences of hisconfession flashed before him, and rendered him once more irresolute. His deathwould be inevitable, and that a death the most dreadful: He had listened toMatilda’s doom, and doubted not that a similar was reserved for him. Heshuddered at the approaching Auto da Fe, at the idea of perishing in flames,and only escaping from indurable torments to pass into others more subtile andever-lasting! With affright did He bend his mind’s eye on the spacebeyond the grave; nor could hide from himself how justly he ought to dreadHeaven’s vengeance. In this Labyrinth of terrors, fain would He havetaken his refuge in the gloom of Atheism: Fain would He have denied thesoul’s immortality; have persuaded himself that when his eyes onceclosed, they would never more open, and that the same moment would annihilatehis soul and body. Even this resource was refused to him. To permit his beingblind to the fallacy of this belief, his knowledge was too extensive, hisunderstanding too solid and just. He could not help feeling the existence of aGod. Those truths, once his comfort, now presented themselves before him in theclearest light; But they only served to drive him to distraction. Theydestroyed his ill-grounded hopes of escaping punishment; and dispelled by theirresistible brightness of Truth and convinction, Philosophy’s deceitfulvapours faded away like a dream.

In anguish almost too great for mortal frame to bear, He expected the time whenHe was again to be examined. He busied himself in planning ineffectual schemesfor escaping both present and future punishment. Of the first there was nopossibility; Of the second Despair made him neglect the only means. WhileReason forced him to acknowledge a God’s existence, Conscience made himdoubt the infinity of his goodness. He disbelieved that a Sinner like him couldfind mercy. He had not been deceived into error: Ignorance could furnish himwith no excuse. He had seen vice in her true colours; Before He committed hiscrimes, He had computed every scruple of their weight; and yet he had committedthem.

“Pardon?” He would cry in an access of phrenzy “Oh! there canbe none for me!”

Persuaded of this, instead of humbling himself in penitence, of deploring hisguilt, and employing his few remaining hours in deprecating Heaven’swrath, He abandoned himself to the transports of desperate rage; He sorrowedfor the punishment of his crimes, not their commission; and exhaled hisbosom’s anguish in idle sighs, in vain lamentations, in blasphemy anddespair. As the few beams of day which pierced through the bars of his prisonwindow gradually disappeared, and their place was supplied by the pale andglimmering Lamp, He felt his terrors redouble, and his ideas become moregloomy, more solemn, more despondent. He dreaded the approach of sleep: Nosooner did his eyes close, wearied with tears and watching, than the dreadfulvisions seemed to be realised on which his mind had dwelt during the day. Hefound himself in sulphurous realms and burning Caverns, surrounded by Fiendsappointed his Tormentors, and who drove him through a variety of tortures, eachof which was more dreadful than the former. Amidst these dismal scenes wanderedthe Ghosts of Elvira and her Daughter. They reproached him with their deaths,recounted his crimes to the Dæmons, and urged them to inflict torments ofcruelty yet more refined. Such were the pictures which floated before his eyesin sleep: They vanished not till his repose was disturbed by excess of agony.Then would He start from the ground on which He had stretched himself, hisbrows running down with cold sweat, his eyes wild and phrenzied; and He onlyexchanged the terrible certainty for surmizes scarcely more supportable. Hepaced his dungeon with disordered steps; He gazed with terror upon thesurrounding darkness, and often did He cry,

“Oh! fearful is night to the Guilty!”

The day of his second examination was at hand. He had been compelled to swallowcordials, whose virtues were calculated to restore his bodily strength, andenable him to support the question longer. On the night preceding this dreadedday, his fears for the morrow permitted him not to sleep. His terrors were soviolent, as nearly to annihilate his mental powers. He sat like one stupefiednear the Table on which his Lamp was burning dimly. Despair chained up hisfaculties in Idiotism, and He remained for some hours, unable to speak or move,or indeed to think.

“Look up, Ambrosio!” said a Voice in accents well-known tohim—

The Monk started, and raised his melancholy eyes. Matilda stood before him. Shehad quitted her religious habit. She now wore a female dress, at once elegantand splendid: A profusion of diamonds blazed upon her robes, and her hair wasconfined by a coronet of Roses. In her right hand She held a small Book: Alively expression of pleasure beamed upon her countenance; But still it wasmingled with a wild imperious majesty which inspired the Monk with awe, andreprest in some measure his transports at seeing her.

“You here, Matilda?” He at length exclaimed; “How have yougained entrance? Where are your Chains? What means this magnificence, and thejoy which sparkles in your eyes? Have our Judges relented? Is there a chance ofmy escaping? Answer me for pity, and tell me, what I have to hope, orfear.”

“Ambrosio!” She replied with an air of commanding dignity; “Ihave baffled the Inquisition’s fury. I am free: A few moments will placekingdoms between these dungeons and me. Yet I purchase my liberty at a dear, ata dreadful price! Dare you pay the same, Ambrosio? Dare you spring without fearover the bounds which separate Men from Angels?—You are silent.—Youlook upon me with eyes of suspicion and alarm—I read your thoughts andconfess their justice. Yes, Ambrosio; I have sacrificed all for life andliberty. I am no longer a candidate for heaven! I have renounced God’sservice, and am enlisted beneath the banners of his Foes. The deed is pastrecall: Yet were it in my power to go back, I would not. Oh! my Friend, toexpire in such torments! To die amidst curses and execrations! To bear theinsults of an exasperated Mob! To be exposed to all the mortifications of shameand infamy! Who can reflect without horror on such a doom? Let me then exult inmy exchange. I have sold distant and uncertain happiness for present andsecure: I have preserved a life which otherwise I had lost in torture; and Ihave obtained the power of procuring every bliss which can make that lifedelicious! The Infernal Spirits obey me as their Sovereign: By their aid shallmy days be past in every refinement of luxury and voluptuousness. I will enjoyunrestrained the gratification of my senses: Every passion shall be indulged,even to satiety; Then will I bid my Servants invent new pleasures, to reviveand stimulate my glutted appetites! I go impatient to exercise my newly-gaineddominion. I pant to be at liberty. Nothing should hold me one moment longer inthis abhorred abode, but the hope of persuading you to follow my example.Ambrosio, I still love you: Our mutual guilt and danger have rendered youdearer to me than ever, and I would fain save you from impending destruction.Summon then your resolution to your aid; and renounce for immediate and certainbenefits the hopes of a salvation, difficult to obtain, and perhaps altogethererroneous. Shake off the prejudice of vulgar souls; Abandon a God who hasabandoned you, and raise yourself to the level of superior Beings!”

She paused for the Monk’s reply: He shuddered, while He gave it.

“Matilda!” He said after a long silence in a low and unsteadyvoice; “What price gave you for liberty?”

She answered him firm and dauntless.

“Ambrosio, it was my Soul!”

“Wretched Woman, what have you done? Pass but a few years, and howdreadful will be your sufferings!”

“Weak Man, pass but this night, and how dreadful will be your own! Do youremember what you have already endured? Tomorrow you must bear torments doublyexquisite. Do you remember the horrors of a fiery punishment? In two days youmust be led a Victim to the Stake! What then will become of you? Still dare youhope for pardon? Still are you beguiled with visions of salvation? Think uponyour crimes! Think upon your lust, your perjury, inhumanity, and hypocrisy!Think upon the innocent blood which cries to the Throne of God for vengeance,and then hope for mercy! Then dream of heaven, and sigh for worlds of light,and realms of peace and pleasure! Absurd! Open your eyes, Ambrosio, and beprudent. Hell is your lot; You are doomed to eternal perdition; Nought liesbeyond your grave but a gulph of devouring flames. And will you then speedtowards that Hell? Will you clasp that perdition in your arms, ere ’tisneedful? Will you plunge into those flames while you still have the power toshun them? ’Tis a Madman’s action. No, no, Ambrosio: Let us forawhile fly from divine vengeance. Be advised by me; Purchase by onemoment’s courage the bliss of years; Enjoy the present, and forget that afuture lags behind.”

“Matilda, your counsels are dangerous: I dare not, I will not followthem. I must not give up my claim to salvation. Monstrous are my crimes; ButGod is merciful, and I will not despair of pardon.”

“Is such your resolution? I have no more to say. I speed to joy andliberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.”

“Yet stay one moment, Matilda! You command the infernal Dæmons:

You can force open these prison doors; You can release me from these chainswhich weigh me down. Save me, I conjure you, and bear me from these fearfulabodes!”

“You ask the only boon beyond my power to bestow. I am forbidden toassist a Churchman and a Partizan of God: Renounce those titles, and commandme.”

“I will not sell my soul to perdition.”

“Persist in your obstinacy, till you find yourself at the Stake: Thenwill you repent your error, and sigh for escape when the moment is gone by. Iquit you. Yet ere the hour of death arrives should wisdom enlighten you, listento the means of repairing your present fault. I leave with you this Book. Readthe four first lines of the seventh page backwards: The Spirit whom you havealready once beheld will immediately appear to you. If you are wise, we shallmeet again: If not, farewell for ever!”

She let the Book fall upon the ground. A cloud of blue fire wrapped itselfround her: She waved her hand to Ambrosio, and disappeared. The momentary glarewhich the flames poured through the dungeon, on dissipating suddenly, seemed tohave increased its natural gloom. The solitary Lamp scarcely gave lightsufficient to guide the Monk to a Chair. He threw himself into his seat, foldedhis arms, and leaning his head upon the table, sank into reflections perplexingand unconnected.

He was still in this attitude when the opening of the prison door rouzed himfrom his stupor. He was summoned to appear before the Grand Inquisitor. Herose, and followed his Gaoler with painful steps. He was led into the sameHall, placed before the same Examiners, and was again interrogated whether Hewould confess. He replied as before, that having no crimes, He couldacknowledge none: But when the Executioners prepared to put him to thequestion, when He saw the engines of torture, and remembered the pangs whichthey had already inflicted, his resolution failed him entirely. Forgetting theconsequences, and only anxious to escape the terrors of the present moment, Hemade an ample confession. He disclosed every circumstance of his guilt, andowned not merely the crimes with which He was charged, but those of which Hehad never been suspected. Being interrogated as to Matilda’s flight whichhad created much confusion, He confessed that She had sold herself to Satan,and that She was indebted to Sorcery for her escape. He still assured hisJudges that for his own part He had never entered into any compact with theinfernal Spirits; But the threat of being tortured made him declare himself tobe a Sorcerer, and Heretic, and whatever other title the Inquisitors chose tofix upon him. In consequence of this avowal, his sentence was immediatelypronounced. He was ordered to prepare himself to perish in the Auto da Fe,which was to be solemnized at twelve o’clock that night. This hour waschosen from the idea that the horror of the flames being heightened by thegloom of midnight, the execution would have a greater effect upon the mind ofthe People.

Ambrosio rather dead than alive was left alone in his dungeon. The moment inwhich this terrible decree was pronounced had nearly proved that of hisdissolution. He looked forward to the morrow with despair, and his terrorsincreased with the approach of midnight. Sometimes He was buried in gloomysilence: At others He raved with delirious passion, wrung his hands, and cursedthe hour when He first beheld the light. In one of these moments his eye restedupon Matilda’s mysterious gift. His transports of rage were instantlysuspended. He looked earnestly at the Book; He took it up, but immediatelythrew it from him with horror. He walked rapidly up and down his dungeon: Thenstopped, and again fixed his eyes on the spot where the Book had fallen. Hereflected that here at least was a resource from the fate which He dreaded. Hestooped, and took it up a second time.

He remained for some time trembling and irresolute: He longed to try the charm,yet feared its consequences. The recollection of his sentence at length fixedhis indecision. He opened the Volume; but his agitation was so great that He atfirst sought in vain for the page mentioned by Matilda. Ashamed of himself, Hecalled all his courage to his aid. He turned to the seventh leaf. He began toread it aloud; But his eyes frequently wandered from the Book, while Heanxiously cast them round in search of the Spirit, whom He wished, yet dreadedto behold. Still He persisted in his design; and with a voice unassured andfrequent interruptions, He contrived to finish the four first lines of thepage.

They were in a language, whose import was totally unknown to him.

Scarce had He pronounced the last word when the effects of the charm wereevident. A loud burst of Thunder was heard; The prison shook to its veryfoundations; A blaze of lightning flashed through the Cell; and in the nextmoment, borne upon sulphurous whirl-winds, Lucifer stood before him a secondtime. But He came not as when at Matilda’s summons He borrowed theSeraph’s form to deceive Ambrosio. He appeared in all that ugliness whichsince his fall from heaven had been his portion: His blasted limbs still boremarks of the Almighty’s thunder: A swarthy darkness spread itself overhis gigantic form: His hands and feet were armed with long Talons: Fury glaredin his eyes, which might have struck the bravest heart with terror: Over hishuge shoulders waved two enormous sable wings; and his hair was supplied byliving snakes, which twined themselves round his brows with frightful hissings.In one hand He held a roll of parchment, and in the other an iron pen. Stillthe lightning flashed around him, and the Thunder with repeated bursts, seemedto announce the dissolution of Nature.

Terrified at an Apparition so different from what He had expected, Ambrosioremained gazing upon the Fiend, deprived of the power of utterance. The Thunderhad ceased to roll: Universal silence reigned through the dungeon.

“For what am I summoned hither?” said the dæmon, in a voice whichsulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness.

At the sound Nature seemed to tremble: A violent earthquake rocked the ground,accompanied by a fresh burst of Thunder, louder and more appalling than thefirst.

Ambrosio was long unable to answer the Dæmon’s demand.

“I am condemned to die;” He said with a faint voice, his bloodrunning cold, while He gazed upon his dreadful Visitor. “Save me! Bear mefrom hence!”

“Shall the reward of my services be paid me? Dare you embrace my cause?Will you be mine, body and soul? Are you prepared to renounce him who made you,and him who died for you? Answer but ‘Yes’ and Lucifer is yourSlave.”

“Will no less price content you? Can nothing satisfy you but my eternalruin? Spirit, you ask too much. Yet convey me from this dungeon: Be my Servantfor one hour, and I will be yours for a thousand years. Will not this offersuffice?”

“It will not. I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine forever.”

“Insatiate Dæmon, I will not doom myself to endless torments. I will notgive up my hopes of being one day pardoned.”

“You will not? On what Chimaera rest then your hopes? Short-sightedMortal! Miserable Wretch! Are you not guilty? Are you not infamous in the eyesof Men and Angels. Can such enormous sins be forgiven? Hope you to escape mypower? Your fate is already pronounced. The Eternal has abandoned you; Mine youare marked in the book of destiny, and mine you must and shall be!”

“Fiend, ’tis false! Infinite is the Almighty’s mercy, and thePenitent shall meet his forgiveness. My crimes are monstrous, but I will notdespair of pardon: Haply, when they have received due chastisement....”

“Chastisement? Was Purgatory meant for guilt like yours? Hope you thatyour offences shall be bought off by prayers of superstitious dotards anddroning Monks? Ambrosio, be wise! Mine you must be: You are doomed to flames,but may shun them for the present. Sign this parchment: I will bear you fromhence, and you may pass your remaining years in bliss and liberty. Enjoy yourexistence: Indulge in every pleasure to which appetite may lead you: But fromthe moment that it quits your body, remember that your soul belongs to me, andthat I will not be defrauded of my right.”

The Monk was silent; But his looks declared that the Tempter’s words werenot thrown away. He reflected on the conditions proposed with horror: On theother hand, He believed himself doomed to perdition and that, by refusing theDæmon’s succour, He only hastened tortures which He never could escape.The Fiend saw that his resolution was shaken: He renewed his instances, andendeavoured to fix the Abbot’s indecision. He described the agonies ofdeath in the most terrific colours; and He worked so powerfully uponAmbrosio’s despair and fears that He prevailed upon him to receive theParchment. He then struck the iron Pen which He held into a vein of theMonk’s left hand. It pierced deep, and was instantly filled with blood;Yet Ambrosio felt no pain from the wound. The Pen was put into his hand: Ittrembled. The Wretch placed the Parchment on the Table before him, and preparedto sign it. Suddenly He held his hand: He started away hastily, and threw thePen upon the table.

“What am I doing?” He cried—Then turning to the Fiend with adesperate air, “Leave me! Begone! I will not sign the Parchment.”

“Fool!” exclaimed the disappointed Dæmon, darting looks so furiousas penetrated the Friar’s soul with horror; “Thus am I trifledwith? Go then! Rave in agony, expire in tortures, and then learn the extent ofthe Eternal’s mercy! But beware how you make me again your mock! Call meno more till resolved to accept my offers! Summon me a second time to dismissme thus idly, and these Talons shall rend you into a thousand pieces! Speak yetagain; Will you sign the Parchment?”

“I will not! Leave me! Away!”

Instantly the Thunder was heard to roll horribly: Once more the earth trembledwith violence: The Dungeon resounded with loud shrieks, and the Dæmon fledwith blasphemy and curses.

At first, the Monk rejoiced at having resisted the Seducer’s arts, andobtained a triumph over Mankind’s Enemy: But as the hour of punishmentdrew near, his former terrors revived in his heart. Their momentary reposeseemed to have given them fresh vigour. The nearer that the time approached,the more did He dread appearing before the Throne of God. He shuddered to thinkhow soon He must be plunged into eternity; How soon meet the eyes of hisCreator, whom He had so grievously offended. The Bell announced midnight: Itwas the signal for being led to the Stake! As He listened to the first stroke,the blood ceased to circulate in the Abbot’s veins: He heard death andtorture murmured in each succeeding sound. He expected to see the Archersentering his prison; and as the Bell forbore to toll, he seized the magicvolume in a fit of despair. He opened it, turned hastily to the seventh page,and as if fearing to allow himself a moment’s thought ran over the fatallines with rapidity. Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer again stoodbefore the Trembler.

“You have summoned me,” said the Fiend; “Are you determinedto be wise? Will you accept my conditions? You know them already. Renounce yourclaim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and I bear you from this dungeoninstantly. Yet is it time. Resolve, or it will be too late. Will you sign theParchment?”

“I must!—Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.”

“Sign the Parchment!” replied the Dæmon in an exulting tone.

The Contract and the bloody Pen still lay upon the Table. Ambrosio drew nearit. He prepared to sign his name. A moment’s reflection made himhesitate.

“Hark!” cried the Tempter; “They come! Be quick! Sign theParchment, and I bear you from hence this moment.”

In effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead Ambrosio tothe Stake. The sound encouraged the Monk in his resolution.

“What is the import of this writing?” said He.

“It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.”

“What am I to receive in exchange?”

“My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this instantI bear you away.”

Ambrosio took up the Pen; He set it to the Parchment. Again his courage failedhim: He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and once more threw the Pen uponthe Table.

“Weak and Puerile!” cried the exasperated Fiend: “Away withthis folly! Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to myrage!”

At this moment the bolt of the outward Door was drawn back. The Prisoner heardthe rattling of Chains; The heavy Bar fell; The Archers were on the point ofentering. Worked up to phrenzy by the urgent danger, shrinking from theapproach of death, terrified by the Dæmon’s threats, and seeing no othermeans to escape destruction, the wretched Monk complied. He signed the fatalcontract, and gave it hastily into the evil Spirit’s hands, whose eyes,as He received the gift, glared with malicious rapture.

“Take it!” said the God-abandoned; “Now then save me! Snatchme from hence!”

“Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and hisSon?”

“I do! I do!”

“Do you make over your soul to me for ever?”

“For ever!”

“Without reserve or subterfuge? Without future appeal to the divinemercy?”

The last Chain fell from the door of the prison: The key was heard turning inthe Lock: Already the iron door grated heavily upon its rusty hinges.

“I am yours for ever and irrevocably!” cried the Monk wild withterror: “I abandon all claim to salvation! I own no power but yours!Hark! Hark! They come! Oh! save me! Bear me away!”

“I have triumphed! You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil mypromise.”

While He spoke, the Door unclosed. Instantly the Dæmon grasped one ofAmbrosio’s arms, spread his broad pinions, and sprang with him into theair. The roof opened as they soared upwards, and closed again when they hadquitted the Dungeon.

In the meanwhile, the Gaoler was thrown into the utmost surprize by thedisappearance of his Prisoner. Though neither He nor the Archers were in timeto witness the Monk’s escape, a sulphurous smell prevailing through theprison sufficiently informed them by whose aid He had been liberated. Theyhastened to make their report to the Grand Inquisitor. The story, how aSorcerer had been carried away by the Devil, was soon noised about Madrid; andfor some days the whole City was employed in discussing the subject. Graduallyit ceased to be the topic of conversation: Other adventures arose whose noveltyengaged universal attention; and Ambrosio was soon forgotten as totally, as ifHe never had existed. While this was passing, the Monk supported by hisinfernal guide, traversed the air with the rapidity of an arrow, and a fewmoments placed him upon a Precipice’s brink, the steepest in SierraMorena.

Though rescued from the Inquisition, Ambrosio as yet was insensible of theblessings of liberty. The damning contract weighed heavy upon his mind; and thescenes in which He had been a principal actor had left behind them suchimpressions as rendered his heart the seat of anarchy and confusion. TheObjects now before his eyes, and which the full Moon sailing through cloudspermitted him to examine, were ill-calculated to inspire that calm, of which Hestood so much in need. The disorder of his imagination was increased by thewildness of the surrounding scenery; By the gloomy Caverns and steep rocks,rising above each other, and dividing the passing clouds; solitary clusters ofTrees scattered here and there, among whose thick-twined branches the wind ofnight sighed hoarsely and mournfully; the shrill cry of mountain Eagles, whohad built their nests among these lonely Desarts; the stunning roar oftorrents, as swelled by late rains they rushed violently down tremendousprecipices; and the dark waters of a silent sluggish stream which faintlyreflected the moonbeams, and bathed the Rock’s base on which Ambrosiostood. The Abbot cast round him a look of terror. His infernal Conductor wasstill by his side, and eyed him with a look of mingled malice, exultation, andcontempt.

“Whither have you brought me?” said the Monk at length in an hollowtrembling voice: “Why am I placed in this melancholy scene? Bear me fromit quickly! Carry me to Matilda!”

The Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence.

Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes, while thusspoke the Dæmon:

“I have him then in my power! This model of piety! This being withoutreproach! This Mortal who placed his puny virtues on a level with those ofAngels. He is mine! Irrevocably, eternally mine! Companions of my sufferings!Denizens of hell! How grateful will be my present!”

He paused; then addressed himself to the Monk——

“Carry you to Matilda?” He continued, repeating Ambrosio’swords:

“Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place near her,for hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself.

Hark, Ambrosio, while I unveil your crimes! You have shed the blood of twoinnocents; Antonia and Elvira perished by your hand. That Antonia whom youviolated, was your Sister! That Elvira whom you murdered, gave you birth!Tremble, abandoned Hypocrite! Inhuman Parricide! Incestuous Ravisher! Trembleat the extent of your offences! And you it was who thought yourself proofagainst temptation, absolved from human frailties, and free from error andvice! Is pride then a virtue? Is inhumanity no fault? Know, vain Man! That Ilong have marked you for my prey: I watched the movements of your heart; I sawthat you were virtuous from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit momentof seduction. I observed your blind idolatry of the Madona’s picture. Ibad a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar form, and you eagerlyyielded to the blandishments of Matilda. Your pride was gratified by herflattery; Your lust only needed an opportunity to break forth; You ran into thesnare blindly, and scrupled not to commit a crime which you blamed in anotherwith unfeeling severity. It was I who threw Matilda in your way; It was I whogave you entrance to Antonia’s chamber; It was I who caused the dagger tobe given you which pierced your Sister’s bosom; and it was I who warnedElvira in dreams of your designs upon her Daughter, and thus, by preventingyour profiting by her sleep, compelled you to add rape as well as incest to thecatalogue of your crimes. Hear, hear, Ambrosio! Had you resisted me one minutelonger, you had saved your body and soul. The guards whom you heard at yourprison door came to signify your pardon. But I had already triumphed: My plotshad already succeeded. Scarcely could I propose crimes so quick as youperformed them. You are mine, and Heaven itself cannot rescue you from mypower. Hope not that your penitence will make void our contract. Here is yourbond signed with your blood; You have given up your claim to mercy, and nothingcan restore to you the rights which you have foolishly resigned. Believe youthat your secret thoughts escaped me? No, no, I read them all! You trusted thatyou should still have time for repentance. I saw your artifice, knew itsfalsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the deceiver! You are mine beyond reprieve:I burn to possess my right, and alive you quit not these mountains.”

During the Dæmon’s speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror andsurprize. This last declaration rouzed him.

“Not quit these mountains alive?” He exclaimed: “Perfidious,what mean you? Have you forgotten our contract?”

The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh:

“Our contract? Have I not performed my part? What more did I promise thanto save you from your prison? Have I not done so? Are you not safe from theInquisition—safe from all but from me? Fool that you were to confideyourself to a Devil! Why did you not stipulate for life, and power, andpleasure? Then all would have been granted: Now, your reflections come toolate. Miscreant, prepare for death; You have not many hours to live!”

On hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the devoted Wretch! Hesank upon his knees, and raised his hands towards heaven. The Fiend read hisintention and prevented it—

“What?” He cried, darting at him a look of fury: “Dare youstill implore the Eternal’s mercy? Would you feign penitence, and againact an Hypocrite’s part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus Isecure my prey!”

As he said this, darting his talons into the monk’s shaven crown, hesprang with him from the rock. The caves and mountains rang withAmbrosio’s shrieks. The dæmon continued to soar aloft, till reaching adreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk through theairy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He rolled fromprecipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested on the river’sbanks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raisehimself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their office, norwas He able to quit the spot where He had first fallen. The Sun now rose abovethe horizon; Its scorching beams darted full upon the head of the expiringSinner. Myriads of insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank theblood which trickled from Ambrosio’s wounds; He had no power to drivethem from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into hisbody, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures the mostexquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal,and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormentedhim; He heard the river’s murmur as it rolled beside him, but strove invain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed, helpless, anddespairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and curses, execrating his existence,yet dreading the arrival of death destined to yield him up to greater torments,six miserable days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent stormarose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was now black withclouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in torrents; It swelled thestream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosiolay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the corse of thedespairing monk.

Haughty Lady, why shrunk you back when yon poor frail-one drew near? Was theair infected by her errors? Was your purity soiled by her passing breath? Ah!Lady, smooth that insulting brow: stifle the reproach just bursting from yourscornful lip: wound not a soul, that bleeds already! She has suffered, suffersstill. Her air is gay, but her heart is broken; her dress sparkles, but herbosom groans.

Lady, to look with mercy on the conduct of others, is a virtue no less than tolook with severity on your own.

FINIS.

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions willbe renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyrightlaw means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the UnitedStates without permission and without paying copyrightroyalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use partof this license, apply to copying and distributing ProjectGutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by followingthe terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for useof the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything forcopies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is veryeasy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creationof derivative works, reports, performances and research. ProjectGutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you maydo practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protectedby U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademarklicense, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “ProjectGutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the FullProject Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online atwww.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by allthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return ordestroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in yourpossession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to aProject Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be boundby the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the personor entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only beused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people whoagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a fewthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic workseven without complying with the full terms of this agreement. Seeparagraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with ProjectGutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of thisagreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“theFoundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collectionof Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individualworks in the collection are in the public domain in the UnitedStates. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in theUnited States and you are located in the United States, we do notclaim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long asall references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hopethat you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promotingfree access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping theProject Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easilycomply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in thesame format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License whenyou share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also governwhat you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries arein a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of thisagreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or anyother Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes norepresentations concerning the copyright status of any work in anycountry other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or otherimmediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appearprominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any workon which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which thephrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work isderived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does notcontain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of thecopyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone inthe United States without paying any fees or charges. If you areredistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “ProjectGutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must complyeither with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 orobtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is postedwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distributionmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and anyadditional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional termswill be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all worksposted with the permission of the copyright holder found at thebeginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of thiswork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute thiselectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, withoutprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 withactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the ProjectGutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, includingany word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide accessto or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a formatother than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the officialversion posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expenseto the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a meansof obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “PlainVanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include thefull Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ worksunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providingaccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic worksprovided that:

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a ProjectGutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms thanare set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writingfrom the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager ofthe Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as setforth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerableeffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofreadworks not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the ProjectGutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, maycontain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurateor corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or otherintellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk orother medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage orcannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Rightof Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the ProjectGutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a ProjectGutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim allliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legalfees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICTLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSEPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THETRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BELIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE ORINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCHDAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover adefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you canreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending awritten explanation to the person you received the work from. If youreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the mediumwith your written explanation. The person or entity that provided youwith the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy inlieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the personor entity providing it to you may choose to give you a secondopportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. Ifthe second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writingwithout further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forthin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NOOTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOTLIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain impliedwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types ofdamages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreementviolates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, theagreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer orlimitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity orunenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void theremaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, thetrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyoneproviding copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works inaccordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with theproduction, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any ofthe following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of thisor any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, oradditions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) anyDefect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution ofelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety ofcomputers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. Itexists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donationsfrom people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with theassistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’sgoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection willremain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secureand permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and futuregenerations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, seeSections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of thestate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the InternalRevenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identificationnumber is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted byU.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and upto date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s websiteand official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespreadpublic support and donations to carry out its mission ofincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can befreely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widestarray of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exemptstatus with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulatingcharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the UnitedStates. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes aconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep upwith these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locationswhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SENDDONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular statevisit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where wehave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibitionagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states whoapproach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot makeany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received fromoutside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donationmethods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of otherways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. Todonate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the ProjectGutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could befreely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced anddistributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network ofvolunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printededitions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright inthe U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do notnecessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paperedition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG searchfacility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how tosubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.