he Chapel, and her Companions followed her.

Ambrosio had not listened to her reproaches without emotion. A secret
pang at his heart made him feel, that He had treated this Unfortunate
with too great severity. He therefore detained the Prioress and
ventured to pronounce some words in favour of the Delinquent.

'The violence of her despair,' said He, 'proves, that at least Vice is
not become familiar to her. Perhaps by treating her with somewhat less
rigour than is generally practised, and mitigating in some degree the
accustomed penance....'

'Mitigate it, Father?' interrupted the Lady Prioress; 'Not I, believe
me. The laws of our order are strict and severe; they have fallen into
disuse of late, But the crime of Agnes shows me the necessity of their
revival. I go to signify my intention to the Convent, and Agnes shall
be the first to feel the rigour of those laws, which shall be obeyed to
the very letter. Father, Farewell.'

Thus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel.

'I have done my duty,' said Ambrosio to himself.

Still did He not feel perfectly satisfied by this reflection. To
dissipate the unpleasant ideas which this scene had excited in him,
upon quitting the Chapel He descended into the Abbey Garden.

In all Madrid there was no spot more beautiful or better regulated. It
was laid out with the most exquisite taste; The choicest flowers
adorned it in the height of luxuriance, and though artfully arranged,
seemed only planted by the hand of Nature: Fountains, springing from
basons of white Marble, cooled the air with perpetual showers; and the
Walls were entirely covered by Jessamine, vines, and Honeysuckles. The
hour now added to the beauty of the scene. The full Moon, ranging
through a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees a trembling
lustre, and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam: A
gentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the
Alleys; and the Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur from the
shelter of an artificial wilderness. Thither the Abbot bent his steps.

In the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed in
imitation of an Hermitage. The walls were constructed of roots of
trees, and the interstices filled up with Moss and Ivy. Seats of Turf
were placed on either side, and a natural Cascade fell from the Rock
above. Buried in himself the Monk approached the spot. The universal
calm had communicated itself to his boso