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we must part。'
'But not to…day； Father！ Oh！ in pity not today！'
'You press me too hard； but I cannot resist that tone of
supplication。 Since you insist upon it； I yield to your prayer：
I consent to your remaining here a sufficient time to prepare in
some measure the Brethren for your departure。 Stay yet two days；
But on the third；' 。 。 。 （He sighed involuntarily）'Remember；
that on the third we must part for ever！'
She caught his hand eagerly； and pressed it to her lips。
'On the third？' She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity； 'You
are right； Father！ You are right！ On the third we must part for
ever！'
There was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these
words； which penetrated the Friar's soul with horror： Again She
kissed his hand； and then fled with rapidity from the chamber。
Anxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest； yet
conscious that her stay was infringing the laws of his order；
Ambrosio's bosom became the Theatre of a thousand contending
passions。 At length his attachment to the feigned Rosario； aided
by the natural warmth of his temperament； seemed likely to obtain
the victory： The success was assured； when that presumption which
formed the groundwork of his character came to Matilda's
assistance。 The Monk reflected that to vanquish temptation was
an infinitely greater merit than to avoid it： He thought that
He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunity given him of
proving the firmness of his virtue。 St。 Anthony had withstood
all seductions to lust； Then why should not He？ Besides； St。
Anthony was tempted by the Devil； who put every art into practice
to excite his passions： Whereas； Ambrosio's danger proceeded
from a mere mortal Woman； fearful and modest； whose apprehensions
of his yielding were not less violent than his own。
'Yes；' said He； 'The Unfortunate shall stay； I have nothing to
fear from her presence。 Even should my own prove too weak to
resist the temptation； I am secured from danger by the innocence
of Matilda。'
Ambrosio was yet to learn； that to an heart unacquainted with
her； Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of
Virtue。
He found himself so perfectly recovered； that when Father Pablos
visited him again at night； He entreated permission to quit his
chamber on the day following。 His request was granted。 Matilda
appeared no more that evening； except in company with the Monks
when they came in a body to enquire after the Abbot's health。
She seemed fearful of conversing with him in private； and stayed
but a few minutes in his room。 The Friar slept well； But the
dreams of the former night were repeated； and his sensations of
voluptuousness were yet more keen and exquisite。 The same
lust…exciting visions floated before his eyes： Matilda； in all
the pomp of beauty； warm； tender； and luxurious； clasped him to
her bosom； and lavished upon him the most ardent caresses。 He
returned them as eagerly； and already was on the point of
satisfying his desires； when the faithless form disappeared； and
left him to all the horrors of shame and disappointment。
The Morning dawned。 Fatigued； harassed； and exhausted by his
provoking dreams； He was not disposed to quit his Bed。 He
excused himself from appearing at Matins： It was the first
morning in his life that He had ever missed them。 He rose late。
During the whole of the day He had no opportunity of speaking to
Matilda without witnesses。 His Cell was thronged by the Monks；
anxious to express their concern at his illness； And He was still
occupied in receiving their compliments on his recovery； when the
Bell summoned them to the Refectory。
After dinner the Monks separated； and dispersed themselves in
various parts of the Garden； where the shade of trees or
retirement of some Grotto presented the most agreeable means of
enjoying the Siesta。 The Abbot bent his steps towards the
Hermitage： A glance of his eye invited Matilda to accompany him。
She obeyed； and followed him thither in silence。 They entered
the Grotto； and seated themselves。 Both seemed unwilling to
begin the conversation； and to labour under the influence of
mutual embarrassment。 At length the Abbot spoke： He conversed
only on indifferent topics； and Matilda answered him in the same
tone。 She seemed anxious to make him forget that the Person who
sat by him was any other than Rosario。 Neither of them dared； or
indeed wished to make an allusion； to the subject which was most
at the hearts of both。
Matilda's efforts to appear gay were evidently forced： Her
spirits were oppressed by the weight of anxiety； and when She
spoke her voice was low and feeble。 She seemed desirous of
finishing a conversation which embarrassed her； and complaining
that She was unwell； She requested Ambrosio's permission to
return to the Abbey。 He accompanied her to the door of her cell；
and when arrived there； He stopped her to declare his consent to
her continuing the Partner of his solitude so long as should be
agreeable to herself。
She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this
intelligence； though on the preceding day She had been so anxious
to obtain the permission。
'Alas！ Father；' She said； waving her head mournfully； 'Your
kindness comes too late！ My doom is fixed。 We must separate for
ever。 Yet believe； that I am grateful for your generosity； for
your compassion of an Unfortunate who is but too little deserving
of it！'
She put her handkerchief to her eyes。 Her Cowl was only half
drawn over her face。 Ambrosio observed that She was pale； and
her eyes sunk and heavy。
'Good God！' He cried； 'You are very ill； Matilda！ I shall send
Father Pablos to you instantly。'
'No； Do not。 I am ill； 'tis true； But He cannot cure my malady。
Farewell； Father！ Remember me in your prayers tomorrow； while I
shall remember you in heaven！'
She entered her cell； and closed the door。
The Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a
moment； and waited his report impatiently。 But Father Pablos
soon returned； and declared that his errand had been fruitless。
Rosario refused to admit him； and had positively rejected his
offers of assistance。 The uneasiness which this account gave
Ambrosio was not trifling： Yet He determined that Matilda should
have her own way for that night： But that if her situation did
not mend by the morning； he would insist upon her taking the
advice of Father Pablos。
He did not find himself inclined to sleep。 He opened his
casement； and gazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the
small stream whose waters bathed the walls of the Monastery。 The
coolness of the night breeze and tranquillity of the hour
inspired the Friar's mind with sadness。 He thought upon
Matilda's beauty and affection； Upon the pleasures which He might
have shared with her； had He not been restrained by monastic
fetters。 He reflected； that unsustained by hope her love for him
could not long exist； That doubtless She would succeed in
extinguishing her passion； and seek for happiness in the arms of
One more fortunate。 He shuddered at the void which her absence
would leave in his bosom。 He looked with disgust on the monotony
of a Convent； and breathed a sigh towards that world from which
He was for ever separated。 Such were the reflections which a
loud knocking at his door interrupted。 The Bell of the Church
had already struck Two。 The Abbot hastened to enquire the cause
of this disturbance。 He opened the door of his Cell； and a
Lay…Brother entered； whose looks declared his hurry and
confusion。
'Hasten； reverend Father！' said He； 'Hasten to the young Rosario。
He earnestly requests to see you； He lies at the point of death。'
'Gracious God！ Where is Father Pablos？ Why is He not with him？
Oh！ I fear！ I fear！'
'Father Pablos has seen him； but his art can do nothing。 He
says that He suspects the Youth to be poisoned。'
'Poisoned？ Oh！ The Unfortunate！ It is then as I suspected！
But let me not lose a moment； Perhaps it may yet be time to save
her！'
He said； and flew towards the Cell of the Novice。 Several Monks
were already in the chamber。 Father Pablos was one of them