quit the Abbey, and Alas! my 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 enthusi