of his harbouring indecent thoughts never once entered their imaginations。 The climate's heat； 'tis well known； operates with no small influence upon the constitutions of the Spanish Ladies： But the most abandoned would have thought it an easier task to inspire with passion the marble Statue of St。 Francis than the cold and rigid heart of the immaculate Ambrosio。
On his part； the Friar was little acquainted with the depravity of the world； He suspected not that but few of his Penitents would have rejected his addresses。 Yet had He been better instructed on this head； the danger attending such an attempt would have sealed up his lips in silence。 He knew that it would be difficult for a Woman to keep a secret so strange and so important as his frailty； and He even trembled lest Matilda should betray him。 Anxious to preserve a reputation which was infinitely dear to him； He saw all the risque of committing it to the power of some vain giddy Female； and as the Beauties of Madrid affected only his senses without touching his heart； He forgot them as soon as they were out of his sight。 The danger of discovery； the fear of being repulsed； the loss of reputation； all these considerations counselled him to stifle his desires： And though He now felt for it the most perfect indifference； He was necessitated to confine himself to Matilda's person。
One morning； the confluence of Penitents was greater than usual。 He was detained in the Confessional Chair till a late hour。 At length the crowd was dispatched； and He prepared to quit the Chapel； when two Females entered and drew near him with humility。 They threw up their veils； and the youngest entreated him to listen to her for a few moments。 The melody of her voice； of that voice to which no Man ever listened without interest； immediately caught Ambrosio's attention。 He stopped。 The Petitioner seemed bowed down with affliction： Her cheeks were pale； her eyes dimmed with tears； and her hair fell in disorder over her face and bosom。 Still her countenance was so sweet； so innocent； so heavenly； as might have charmed an heart less susceptible； than that which panted in the Abbot's breast。 With more than usual softness of manner He desired her to proceed； and heard her speak as follows with an emotion which increased every moment。
'Reverend Father； you see an Unfortunate； threatened with the loss of her dearest； of almost her only Friend！ My Mother； my excellent Mother lies upon the bed of sickness。 A sudden and dreadful malady seized her last night； and so rapid has been its progress； that the Physicians despair of her life。 Human aid fails me； Nothing remains for me but to implore the mercy of Heaven。 Father； all Madrid rings with the report of your piety and virtue。 Deign to remember my Mother in your prayers： Perhaps they may prevail on the Almighty to spare her； and should that be the case； I engage myself every Thursday in the next three Months to illuminate the Shrine of St。 Francis in his honour。'
'So！' thought the Monk； 'Here we have a second Vincentio della Ronda。 Rosario's adventure began thus；' and He wished secretly that this might have the same conclusion。
He acceded to the request。 The Petitioner returned him thanks with every mark of gratitude； and then continued。
'I have yet another favour to ask。 We are Strangers in Madrid； My Mother needs a Confessor； and knows not to whom She should apply。 We understand that you never 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 enthusiasm； 'Happy Man； who is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl！ What delicacy in her features！ What elegance in her form！ How enchanting was the timid innocence of her eyes； and how different from the wanton expression； the wild luxurious fire which sparkles in Matilda's！ Oh！ sweeter must one kiss be snatched from the rosy lips of the First； than all the full and lustful favours bestowed so freely by the Second。 Matilda gluts me with enjoyment even to loathing； forces me to her arms； apes the Harlot； and glories in her prostitution。 Disgusting！ Did She know the inexpressible charm of Modesty； how irresistibly it enthralls the heart of Man； how firmly it chains him to the Throne of Beauty； She never would have thrown it off。 What would be too dear a price for this lovely Girl's affections？ What would I refuse to sacrifice； could I be released from my vows； and permitted to declare my love in the sight of earth and heaven？ While I strove to inspire her with tenderness； with friendship and esteem； how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours roll away！ Gracious God！ To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine with timid fondness！ To sit for days； for years listening to that gentle voice！ To acquire the right of obliging her； and hear the artless expressions of her gratitude！ To watch the emotions of her spotless heart！ To encourage each dawning virtue！ To share in her joy when happy； to kiss away her tears when distrest； and to see her fly to my arms for comfort and support！ Yes； If there is perfect bliss on earth； 'tis his lot alone； who becomes that Angel's Husband。'
While his fancy coined these ideas； He paced his Cell with a disordered air。 His eyes were fixed upon vacancy： His head reclined upon his shoulder； A tear rolled down his cheek； while He reflected that the vision of happiness for him could never be realized。
'She is lost to me！' He continued； 'By marriage She cannot be mine： And to seduce such innocence； to use the confidence reposed in me to work her ruin。 。 。 。 Oh！ it would be a crime； blacker than yet the world ever witnessed！ Fear not； lovely Girl！ Your virtue runs no risque from me。 Not for Indies would I make that gentle bosom know the tortures of remorse。'
Again He paced his chamber hastily。 Then stopping； his eye fell upon the picture of his once…admired Madona。 He tore it with indignation from the wall： He threw it on the ground； and spurned it from him with his foot。
'The Prostitute！'
Unfortunate Matilda！ Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone She had forfeited her claim to virtue； and his only reason for despising her was that She had loved him much too well。
He threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table。 He saw the card with Elvira's address。 He took it up； and it brought to his recollection his promise respecting a Confessor。 He passed a few minutes in doubt： But Antonia's Empire over him was already too much decided to permit his making a long resistance to the idea which struck him。 He resolved to be the Confessor himself。 He could leave the Abbey unobserved without difficulty： By wrapping up his head in his Cowl He hoped to pass through the Streets without being recognised： By taking these precautions； and by recommending secrecy to Elvira's family； He doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He had b