the opprobrium in which such an
event would plunge me: Reflect that my honour and reputation are at
stake, and that my peace of mind depends on your compliance. As yet my
heart is free; I shall separate from you with regret, but not with
despair. Stay here, and a few weeks will sacrifice my happiness on the
altar of your charms. You are but too interesting, too amiable! I
should love you, I should doat on you! My bosom would become the prey
of desires which Honour and my profession forbid me to gratify. If I
resisted them, the impetuosity of my wishes unsatisfied would drive me
to madness: If I yielded to the temptation, I should sacrifice to one
moment of guilty pleasure my reputation in this world, my salvation in
the next. To you then I fly for defence against myself. Preserve me
from losing the reward of thirty years of sufferings! Preserve me from
becoming the Victim of Remorse! YOUR heart has already 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, and
you bear with you my warmest prayers for your happiness, my friendship,
my esteem and admiration: Stay, and you become to me the source of
danger, of sufferings, of despair! Answer me, Matilda; What is your
resolve?'--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 I can have
no will but yours!'

'I was not then deceived! Matilda's generosity equals my expectations.'

'Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a decree
which cuts me to the very heart. Take back your promise. I will quit
the Monastery 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 tell me, Father; Shall I bear your good wishes
with me to my solitude? Will you sometimes abstract your attention
from heavenly objects to bestow a thought upon me?'

'Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for my
repose!'

'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 bear
with me some token of your regard!'

'What shall I give you?'

'Something.--Any thing.--One of those flowers will be sufficient.'
(Here She pointed