your　companion　and　your　Friend。　　I　concealed　my　sex　from　your
  knowledge；　and　had　you　not　pressed　me　to　reveal　my　secret；　had　I
  not　been　tormented　by　the　fear　of　a　discovery；　never　had　you
  known　me　for　any　other　than　Rosario。　　And　still　are　you　resolved
  to　drive　me　from　you？　　The　few　hours　of　life　which　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　was　conscious　that　in　the　present　disposition　of　his
  mind；　avoiding　her　society　was　his　only　refuge　from　the　power　of
  this　enchanting　Woman。
  'You　declaration　has　so　much　astonished　me；'　said　He；　'that　I　am
  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　youBut　before　I　go；　promise　not　to　insist　upon　my
  quitting　the　Abbey　immediately。'
  'Matilda；　reflect　upon　your　situation；　Reflect　upon　the
  consequences　of　your　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　remaining　here　a　sufficient　time　to　prepare　in
  some　measure　the　Brethren　for　your　departure。　　Stay　yet　two　days；
  But　on　the　third；'　。　。　。　（He　sighed　involuntarily）'Remember；
  that　on　the　third　we　must　part　for　ever！'
  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　for
  ever！'
  There　was　a　dreadful　expression　in　her　eye　as　She　uttered　these
  words；　which　penetrated　the　Friar's　soul　with　horror：　　Again　She
  kissed　his　hand；　and　then　fled　with　rapidity　from　the　chamber。
  Anxious　to　authorise　the　presence　of　his　dangerous　Guest；　yet
  conscious　that　her　stay　was　infringing　the　laws　of　his　order；
  Ambrosio's　bosom　became　the　Theatre　of　a　thousand　contending
  passions。　　At　length　his　attachment　to　the　feigned　Rosario；　aided
  by　the　natural　warmth　of　his　temperament；　seemed　likely　to　obtain
  the　victory：　The　success　was　assured；　when　that　presumption　which
  formed　the　groundwork　of　his　character　came　to　Matilda's
  assistance。　　The　Monk　reflected　that　to　vanquish　temptation　was
  an　infinitely　greater　merit　than　to　avoid　it：　　He　thought　that
  He　ought　rather　to　rejoice　in　the　opportunity　given　him　of
  proving　the　firmness　of　his　virtue。　　St。　Anthony　had　withstood
  all　seductions　to　lust；　Then　why　should　not　He？　　Besides；　St。
  Anthony　was　tempted　by　the　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　nothing　to
  fear　from　her　presence。　　Even　should　my　own　prove　too　weak　to
  resist　the　temptation；　I　am　secured　from　danger　by　the　innocence
  of　Matilda。'
  Ambrosio　was　yet　to　learn；　that　to　an　heart　unacquainted　with
  her；　Vice　is　ever　most　dangerous　when　lurking　behind　the　Mask　of
  Virtue。
  He　found　himself　so　perfectly　recovered；　that　when　Father　Pablos
  visited　him　again　at　night；　He　entreated　permission　to　quit　his
  chamber　on　the　day　following。　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　the　Abbot's　health。
  She　seemed　fearful　of　conversing　with　him　in　private；　and　stayed
  but　a　few　minutes　in　his　room。　　The　Friar　slept　well；　But　the
  dreams　of　the　former　night　were　repeated；　and　his　sensations　of
  voluptuousness　were　yet　more　keen　and　exquisite。　　The　same
  lust…exciting　visions　floated　before　his　eyes：　　Matilda；　in　all
  the　pomp　of　beauty；　warm；　tender；　and　luxurious；　clasped　him　to
  her　bosom；　and　lavished　upon　him　the　most　ardent　caresses。　　He
  returned　them　as　eagerly；　and　already　was　on　the　point　of
  satisfying　his　desires；　when　the　faithless　form　disappeared；　and
  left　him　to　all　the　horrors　of　shame　and　disappointment。
  The　Morning　dawned。　　Fatigued；　harassed；　and　exhausted　by　his
  provoking　dreams；　He　was　not　disposed　to　quit　his　Bed。　　He
  excused　himself　from　appearing　at　Matins：　　It　was　the　first
  morning　in　his　life　that　He　had　ever　missed　them。　　He　rose　late。
  During　the　whole　of　the　day　He　had　no　opportunity　of　speaking　to
  Matilda　without　witnesses。　　His　Cell　was　thronged　by　the　Monks；
  anxious　to　express　their　concern　at　his　illness；　And　He　was　still
  occupied　in　receiving　their　compliments　on　his　recovery；　when　the
  Bell　summoned　them　to　the　Refectory。
  After　dinner　the　Monks　separated；　and　dispersed　themselves　in
  various　parts　of　the　Garden；　where　the　shade　of　trees　or
  retirement　of　some　Grotto　presented　the　most　agreeable　means　of
  enjoying　the　Siesta。　　The　Abbot　bent　his　steps　towards　the
  Hermitage：　　A　glance　of　his　eye　invited　Matilda　to　accompany　him。
  She　obeyed；　and　followed　him　thither　in　silence。　　They　entered
  the　Grotto；　and　seated　themselves。　　Both　seemed　unwilling　to
  begin　the　conversation；　and　to　labour　under　the　influence　of
  mutual　embarrassment。　　At　length　the　Abbot　spoke：　　He　conversed
  only　on　indifferent　topics；　and　Matilda　answered　him　in　the　same
  tone。　　She　seemed　anxious　to　make　him　forget　that　the　Person　who
  sat　by　him　was　any　other　than　Rosario。　　Neither　of　them　dared；　or
  indeed　wished　to　make　an　allusion；　to　the　subject　which　was　most
  at　the　hearts　of　both。
  Matilda's　efforts　to　appear　gay　were　evidently　forced：　Her
  spirits　were　oppressed　by　the　weight　of　anxiety；　and　when　She
  spoke　her　voice　was　low　and　feeble。　　She　seemed　desirous　of
  finishing　a　conversation　which　embarrassed　her；　and　complaining
  that　She　was　unwell；　She　requested　Ambrosio's　permission　to
  return　to　the　Abbey。　　He　accompanied　her　to　the　door　of　her　cell；
  and　when　arrived　there；　He　stopped　her　to　declare　his　consent　to
  her　continuing　the　Partner　of　his　solitude　so　long　as　should　be
  agreeable　to　herself。
  She　discovered　no　marks　of　pleasure　at　receiving　this
  intelligence；　though　on　the　preceding　day　She　had　been　so　anxious
  to　obtain　the　permission。
  'Alas！　Father；'　She　said；　waving　her　head　mournfully；　'Your
  kindness　comes　too　late！　　My　doom　is　fixed。　　We　must　separate　for
  ever。　　Yet　believe；　that　I　am　grateful　for　your　generosity；　for
  your　compassion　of　an　Unfortunate　who　is　but　too　little　deserving
  of　it！'
  She　put　her　handkerchief　to　her　eyes。　　Her　Cowl　was　only　half
  drawn　over　her　face。　　Ambrosio　observed　that　She　was　pale；　and
  her　eyes　sunk　and　heavy。
  'Good　God！'　He　cried；　'You　are　very　ill；　Matilda！　I　shall　send
  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　remember　you　in　heaven！'
  She　entered　her　cell；　and　closed　the　door。
  The　Abbot　dispatched　to　her　the　Physician　without　losing　a
  moment；　and　waited　his　report　impatiently。　　But　Father　Pablos
  soon　returned；　and　declared　that　his　errand　had　been　fruitless。
  Rosario　refused　to　admit　him；　and　had　positively　rejected　his
  offers　of　assistance。　　The　uneasiness　which　this　account　gave
  Ambrosio　was　not　trifling：　　Yet　He　determined　that　Matilda　should
  have　her　own　way　for　that　night：　　But　that　if　her　situation　did
  not　mend　by　the　morning；　he　would　insist　upon　her　taking　the
  advice　of　Father　Pablos。
  He　did　not　find　himself　inclined　to　sleep。　　He　opened　his
  casement；　and　gazed　upon　the　moonbeams　as　they　played　upon　the
  small　stream　whose　waters　bathed　the　walls　of　the　Monastery。　　The
  coolness　of　the　night　breeze　and　tranquillity　of　the　hour
  inspired　the　Friar's　mind　with　sadness。　　He　thought　upon
  Matilda's　beauty　and　affection；　Upon　the　pleasures　which　He　might
  have　shared　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　doubtless　She　would　succeed　in
  extinguishing　her　passion；　and　seek　for　happiness　in　the　arms　of
  One　more　fortunate。　　He　shuddered　at　the　void　which　her　absence
  would　leave　in　his　bosom。　　He　looked　with　disgust　on　the　monotony
  of　a　Convent；　and　breathed　a　sigh　towards　that　world　from　which
  He　was　for　ever　separated。　　Such　were　the　reflections　which　a
  loud　knocking　at　his　door　interrupted。　　The　Bell　of　the　Church
  had　already　struck　Two。　　The　Abbot　hastened　to　enquire　the　cause
  of　this　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　young　Rosario。
  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！　I　fear！　I　fear！'
  'Father　Pablos　has　seen　him；　but　his　art　can　do　nothing。　　He
  says　that　He　suspects　the　Youth　to　be　poisoned。'
  'Poisoned？　　Oh！　　The　Unfortunate！　　It　is　then　as　I　suspected！
  But　let　me　not　lose　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　in　the　chamber。　　Fa