authorised her
studying the lewd exploits of 'Don Galaor,' or the lascivious jokes of
the 'Damsel Plazer di mi vida.' She had in consequence made two
resolutions respecting the Bible. The first was that Antonia should
not read it till She was of an age to feel its beauties, and profit by
its morality: The second, that it should be copied out with her own
hand, and all improper passages either altered or omitted. She had
adhered to this determination, and such was the Bible which Antonia was
reading: It had been lately delivered to her, and She perused it with
an avidity, with a delight that was inexpressible. Ambrosio perceived
his mistake, and replaced the Book upon the Table.

Antonia spoke of her Mother's health with all the enthusiastic joy of a
youthful heart.

'I admire your filial affection,' said the Abbot; 'It proves the
excellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a treasure to
him whom Heaven has destined to possess your affections. The Breast,
so capable of fondness for a Parent, what will it feel for a Lover?
Nay, perhaps, what feels it for one even now? Tell me, my lovely
Daughter; Have you known what it is to love? Answer me with sincerity:
Forget my habit, and consider me only as a Friend.'

'What it is to love?' said She, repeating his question; 'Oh! yes,
undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.'

'That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt only
for one. Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be your
Husband?'

'Oh! No, indeed!'

This was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: She knew
not the nature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never having seen him
since his first visit to Elvira, with every day his Image grew less
feebly impressed upon her bosom. Besides, She thought of an Husband
with all a Virgin's terror, and negatived the Friar's demand without a
moment's hesitation.

'And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia? Do you feel no void in
your heart which you fain would have filled up? Do you heave no sighs
for the absence of some one dear to you, but who that some one is, you
know not? Perceive you not that what formerly could please, has charms
for you no longer? That a thousand new wishes, new ideas, new
sensations, have sprang in your bosom, only to be felt, never to be
described? Or while you fill every other heart with passion, is it
possible that your own remains insensible and cold? It cannot be!