and would not live three days.

Mournfully the monks left the bedside, and Ambrosio was entrusted to the
care of the despairing Matilda. Next morning the surgeon was astonished
to find that the inflammation had subsided, and when he probed the wound
no traces of the venom were perceptible.

"A miracle! A miracle!" cried the monks. Joyfully they proclaimed that
St. Francis had saved the life of their sainted abbot.

But Ambrosio was still weak and languid, and again the monks left him in
Matilda's care. As he listened to an old ballad sung by her sweet voice,
he found renewed pleasure in her society, and was conscious of the
influence upon him of her beauty. For three days she nursed him, while
he watched her with increasing fondness. But on the next day she came
not. A lay-brother entered instead.

"Hasten, reverend father," said he. "Young Rosario lies at the point of
death, and he earnestly requests to see you."

In deep agitation he followed the lay-brother to Matilda's apartment.
Her face glowed at the sight of him. "Leave me, my brethren," she said
to the monks; much have I to tell this holy man in private."

"Father, I am poisoned," she said, when they had gone, "but the poison
once circulated in your veins."

"Matilda!"

"I loosened the bandage from your arm; I drew out the poison with my