poor　Mother　is　unable　to　come　hither！　　If　you　would　have　the
  goodness；　reverend　Father；　to　name　a　proper　person；　whose　wise
  and　pious　consolations　may　soften　the　agonies　of　my　Parent's
  deathbed；　you　will　confer　an　everlasting　favour　upon　hearts　not
  ungrateful。'
  With　this　petition　also　the　Monk　complied。　　Indeed；　what　petition
  would　He　have　refused；　if　urged　in　such　enchanting　accents？　　The
  suppliant　was　so　interesting！　　Her　voice　was　so　sweet；　so
  harmonious！　　Her　very　tears　became　her；　and　her　affliction　seemed
  to　add　new　lustre　to　her　charms。　　He　promised　to　send　to　her　a
  Confessor　that　same　Evening；　and　begged　her　to　leave　her　address。
  The　Companion　presented　him　with　a　Card　on　which　it　was　written；
  and　then　withdrew　with　the　fair　Petitioner；　who　pronounced
  before　her　departure　a　thousand　benedictions　on　the　Abbot's
  goodness。　　His　eyes　followed　her　out　of　the　Chapel。　　It　was　not
  till　She　was　out　of　sight　that　He　examined　the　Card；　on　which　He
  read　the　following　words。
  'Donna　Elvira　Dalfa；　Strada　di　San　Iago；　four　doors　from　the
  Palace　d'Albornos。'
  The　Suppliant　was　no　other　than　Antonia；　and　Leonella　was　her
  Companion。　　The　Latter　had　not　consented　without　difficulty　to
  accompany　her　Niece　to　the　Abbey：　　Ambrosio　had　inspired　her　with
  such　awe　that　She　trembled　at　the　very　sight　of　him。　　Her　fears
  had　conquered　even　her　natural　loquacity；　and　while　in　his
  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　to　examine　into　the　cause　which　gave　them　birth。
  They　were　totally　different　from　those　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　had　veiled　from　his　eyes。　　On　the　contrary；　what　He　now
  felt　was　a　mingled　sentiment　of　tenderness；　admiration；　and
  respect。　　A　soft　and　delicious　melancholy　infused　itself　into　his
  soul；　and　He　would　not　have　exchanged　it　for　the　most　lively
  transports　of　joy。　　Society　now　disgusted　him：　　He　delighted　in
  solitude；　which　permitted　his　indulging　the　visions　of　Fancy：
  His　thoughts　were　all　gentle；　sad；　and　soothing；　and　the　whole
  wide　world　presented　him　with　no　other　object　than　Antonia。
  'Happy　Man！'　He　exclaimed　in　his　romantic　enthusiasm；　'Happy　Man；
  who　is　destined　to　possess　the　heart　of　that　lovely　Girl！　　What
  delicacy　in　her　features！　　What　elegance　in　her　form！　　How
  enchanting　was　the　timid　innocence　of　her　eyes；　and　how　different
  from　the　wanton　expression；　the　wild　luxurious　fire　which
  sparkles　in　Matilda's！　　Oh！　sweeter　must　one　kiss　be　snatched
  from　the　rosy　lips　of　the　First；　than　all　the　full　and　lustful
  favours　bestowed　so　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　irresistibly　it
  enthralls　the　heart　of　Man；　how　firmly　it　chains　him　to　the
  Throne　of　Beauty；　She　never　would　have　thrown　it　off。　　What　would
  be　too　dear　a　price　for　this　lovely　Girl's　affections？　　What
  would　I　refuse　to　sacrifice；　could　I　be　released　from　my　vows；
  and　permitted　to　declare　my　love　in　the　sight　of　earth　and
  heaven？　　While　I　strove　to　inspire　her　with　tenderness；　with
  friendship　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　right　of　obliging
  her；　and　hear　the　artless　expressions　of　her　gratitude！　　To　watch
  the　emotions　of　her　spotless　heart！　　To　encourage　each　dawning
  virtue！　　To　share　in　her　joy　when　happy；　to　kiss　away　her　tears
  when　distrest；　and　to　see　her　fly　to　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　tear　rolled　down　his　cheek；　while
  He　reflected　that　the　vision　of　happiness　for　him　could　never　be
  realized。
  'She　is　lost　to　me！'　He　continued；　'By　marriage　She　cannot　be
  mine：　　And　to　seduce　such　innocence；　to　use　the　confidence
  reposed　in　me　to　work　her　ruin。　。　。　。　　Oh！　it　would　be　a　crime；
  blacker　than　yet　the　world　ever　witnessed！　　Fear　not；　lovely
  Girl！　　Your　virtue　runs　no　risque　from　me。　　Not　for　Indies　would
  I　make　that　gentle　bosom　know　the　tortures　of　remorse。'
  Again　He　paced　his　chamber　hastily。　　Then　stopping；　his　eye　fell
  upon　the　picture　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　had　forfeited　her　claim　to　virtue；　and　his　only　reason　for
  despising　her　was　that　She　had　loved　him　much　too　well。
  He　threw　himself　into　a　Chair　which　stood　near　the　Table。　　He
  saw　the　card　with　Elvira's　address。　　He　took　it　up；　and　it
  brought　to　his　recollection　his　promise　respecting　a　Confessor。
  He　passed　a　few　minutes　in　doubt：　　But　Antonia's　Empire　over　him
  was　already　too　much　decided　to　permit　his　making　a　long
  resistance　to　the　idea　which　struck　him。　　He　resolved　to　be　the
  Confessor　himself。　　He　could　leave　the　Abbey　unobserved　without
  difficulty：　　By　wrapping　up　his　head　in　his　Cowl　He　hoped　to　pass
  through　the　Streets　without　being　recognised：　By　taking　these
  precautions；　and　by　recommending　secrecy　to　Elvira's　family；　He
  doubted　not　to　keep　Madrid　in　ignorance　that　He　had　broken　his
  vow　never　to　see　the　outside　of　the　Abbey　walls。　　Matilda　was　the
  only　person　whose　vigilance　He　dreaded：　　But　by　informing　her　at
  the　Refectory　that　during　the　whole　of　that　day；　Business　would
  confine　him　to　his　Cell；　He　thought　himself　secure　from　her
  wakeful　jealousy。　　Accordingly；　at　the　hours　when　the　Spaniards
  are　generally　taking　their　Siesta；　He　ventured　to　quit　the　Abbey
  by　a　private　door；　the　Key　of　which　was　in　his　possession。　　The
  Cowl　of　his　habit　was　thrown　over　his　face：　　From　the　heat　of　the
  weather　the　Streets　were　almost　totally　deserted：　The　Monk　met
  with　few　people；　found　the　Strada　di　San　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　been　at　home；　She　would　have　recognized　him　directly：
  Her　communicative　disposition　would　never　have　permitted　her　to
  rest　till　all　Madrid　was　informed　that　Ambrosio　had　ventured　out
  of　the　Abbey；　and　visited　her　Sister。　　Fortune　here　stood　the
  Monk's　Friend。　　On　Leonella's　return　home；　She　found　a　letter
  instructing　her　that　a　Cousin　was　just　dead；　who　had　left　what
  little　He　possessed　between　Herself　and　Elvira。　　To　secure　this
  bequest　She　was　obliged　to　set　out　for　Cordova　without　losing　a
  moment。　　Amidst　all　her　foibles　her　heart　was　truly　warm　and
  affectionate；　and　She　was　unwilling　to　quit　her　Sister　in　so
  dangerous　a　state。　　But　Elvira　insisted　upon　her　taking　the
  journey；　conscious　that　in　her　Daughter's　forlorn　situation　no
  increase　of　fortune；　however　trifling；　ought　to　be　neglected。
  Accordingly；　Leonella　left　Madrid；　sincerely　grieved　at　her
  Sister's　illness；　and　giving　some　few　sighs　to　the　memory　of　the
  amiable　but　inconstant　Don　Christoval。　　She　was　fully　persuaded
  that　at　first　She　had　made　a　terrible　breach　in　his　heart：　　But
  hearing　nothing　more　of　him；　She　supposed　that　He　had　quitted　the
  pursuit；　disgusted　by　the　lowness　of　her　origin；　and　knowing　upon
  other　terms　than　marriage　He　had　nothing　to　hope　from　such　a
  Dragon　of　Virtue　as　She　professed　herself；　Or　else；　that　being
  naturally　capricious　and　changeable；　the　remembrance　of　her
  charms　had　been　effaced　from　the　Conde's　heart　by　those　of　some
  newer　Beauty。　　Whatever　was　the　cause　of　her　losing　him；　She
  lamented　it　sorely。　　She　strove　in　vain；　as　She　assured　every
  body　who　was　kind　enough　to　listen　to　her；　to　tear　his　image　from
  her　too　susceptible　heart。　　She　affected　the　airs　of　a　lovesick
  Virgin；　and　carried　them　all　to　the　most　ridiculous　excess。　　She
  heaved　lamentable　sighs；　walked　with　her　arms　folded；　uttered
  long　soliloquies；　and　her　discourse　generally　turned　upon　some
  forsaken　Maid　who　expired　of　a　broken　heart！　　Her　fiery　locks
  were　always　ornamented　with　a　garland　of　willow；　Every　evening
  She　was　seen　straying　upon　the　Banks　of　a　rivulet　by　Moonlight；
  and　She　declared　herself　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　persuading　her　to　act　like　a　reasonable　Woman。
  Her　advice　was　thrown　away：　Leonella　assured　her　at　parting　that
  nothing　could　make　her　forg