ll I thy loss survive!
Durandarte, He who slew thee,
Wherefore left He me alive!'

While She sung, Ambrosio listened with delight: Never had He heard a
voice more harmonious; and He wondered how such heavenly sounds could
be produced by any but Angels. But though He indulged the sense of
hearing, a single look convinced him that He must not trust to that of
sight. The Songstress sat at a little distance from his Bed. The
attitude in which She bent over her harp, was easy and graceful: Her
Cowl had fallen backwarder than usual: Two coral lips were visible,
ripe, fresh, and melting, and a Chin in whose dimples seemed to lurk a
thousand Cupids. Her Habit's long sleeve would have swept along the
Chords of the Instrument: To prevent this inconvenience She had drawn
it above her elbow, and by this means an arm was discovered formed in
the most perfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose skin might have
contended with snow in whiteness. Ambrosio dared to look on her but
once: That glance sufficed to convince him, how dangerous was the
presence of this seducing Object. He closed his eyes, but strove in
vain to banish her from his thoughts. There She still moved before him,
adorned with all those charms which his heated imagination could
supply: Every beauty which He had seen, appeared embellished, and
those still concealed Fancy represented to him in glowing colours.
Still, however, his vows and the necessity of keeping to them were
present to his memory. He struggled with desire, and shuddered when He
beheld how deep was the precipice before him.

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

'He sleeps!' said She at length in a low voice, but whose accents the
Abbot distinguished perfectly; 'Now then I may gaze upon him without
offence! I may mix my breath with his; I may doat upon his features,
and He cannot suspect me of impurity and deceit!--He fears my seducing
him to the violation of his vows! Oh! the Unjust! Were it my wish to
excite desire, should I conceal my features from him so carefully?
Those features, of which I daily hear him....'

She stopped, and was lost in her reflections.

'It was but yesterday!' She continued; '