collecting; a heavy gloom came on, opposing and contrasting the glowing
splendour of the setting sun. The clamorous sea-fowl skimmed in fleet
circles upon the surface of the sea, dipping their light pinions in the
wave, as they fled away in search of shelter. The boatmen pulled hard
at their oars; but the thunder, that now muttered at a distance, and the
heavy drops, that began to dimple the water, made the Count determine
to put back to the monastery for shelter, and the course of the boat
was immediately changed. As the clouds approached the west, their lurid
darkness changed to a deep ruddy glow, which, by reflection, seemed to
fire the tops of the woods and the shattered towers of the monastery.

The appearance of the heavens alarmed the Countess and Mademoiselle
Bearn, whose expressions of apprehension distressed the Count, and
perplexed his men; while Blanche continued silent, now agitated with
fear, and now with admiration, as she viewed the grandeur of the clouds,
and their effect on the scenery, and listened to the long, long peals of
thunder, that rolled through the air.

The boat having reached the lawn before the monastery, the Count sent a
servant to announce his arrival, and to entreat shelter of the Superior,
who, soon after, appeared at the great gate, attended by several
monks, while the servant returned with a message, expressive at once of
hospitality and pride, but of pride disguised in submission. The party
immediately disembarked, and, having hastily crossed the lawn--for the
shower was now heavy--were received at the gate by the Superior, who, as
they entered, stretched forth his hands and gave his blessing; and they
passed into the great hall, where the lady abbess waited, attended by
several nuns, clothed, like herself, in black, and veiled in white.
The veil of the abbess was, however, thrown half back, and discovered a
countenance, whose chaste dignity was sweetened by the smile of welcome,
with which she addressed the Countess, whom she led, with Blanche and
Mademoiselle Bearn, into the convent parlour, while the Count and Henri
were conducted by the Superior to the refectory.

The Countess, fatigued and discontented, received the politeness of the
abbess with careless haughtiness, and had followed her, with indolent
steps, to the parlour, over which the painted casements and wainscot of
larch-wood threw, at all times, a melancholy shade, and where the gloom
of evening now loured almost to