e object, that rendered it most valuable, was
no longer within the reach of his vows. By what accident he discovered
Emily, and assisted to release her from a terrible imprisonment, has
already appeared, and also the unavailing hope, with which he then
encouraged his love, and the fruitless efforts, that he had since made
to overcome it.

The Count still endeavoured, with friendly zeal, to sooth him with a
belief, that patience, perseverance and prudence would finally obtain
for him happiness and Emily: 'Time,' said he, 'will wear away the
melancholy impression, which disappointment has left on her mind, and
she will be sensible of your merit. Your services have already awakened
her gratitude, and your sufferings her pity; and trust me, my friend, in
a heart so sensible as hers, gratitude and pity lead to love. When
her imagination is rescued from its present delusion, she will readily
accept the homage of a mind like yours.'

Du Pont sighed, while he listened to these words; and, endeavouring to
hope what his friend believed, he willingly yielded to an invitation to
prolong his visit at the chateau, which we now leave for the monastery
of St. Claire.

When the nuns had retired to rest, Emily stole to her appointment with
sister Frances, whom she found in her cell, engaged in prayer, before a
little table, where appeared the image she was addressing, and, above,
the dim lamp that gave light to the place. Turning her eyes, as the door
opened, she beckoned to Emily to come in, who, having done so, seated
herself in silence beside the nun's little mattress of straw, till
her orisons should conclude. The latter soon rose from her knees, and,
taking down the lamp and placing it on the table, Emily perceived
there a human scull and bones, lying beside an hour-glass; but the nun,
without observing her emotion, sat down on the mattress by her, saying,
'Your curiosity, sister, has made you punctual, but you have nothing
remarkable to hear in the history of poor Agnes, of whom I avoided
to speak in the presence of my lay-sisters, only because I would not
publish her crime to them.'

'I shall consider your confidence in me as a favour,' said Emily, 'and
will not misuse it.'

'Sister Agnes,' resumed the nun, 'is of a noble family, as the dignity
of her air must already have informed you, but I will not dishonour
their name so much as to reveal it. Love was the occasion of her crime
and of her madness. She was beloved by a gen