what pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!'

The night was now fast advancing. The Lamps were not yet
lighted. The faint beams of the rising Moon scarcely could
pierce through the gothic obscurity of the Church. Lorenzo found
himself unable to quit the Spot. The void left in his bosom by
Antonia's absence, and his Sister's sacrifice which Don
Christoval had just recalled to his imagination, created that
melancholy of mind which accorded but too well with the
religious gloom surrounding him. He was still leaning against
the seventh column from the Pulpit. A soft and cooling air
breathed along the solitary Aisles: The Moonbeams darting into
the Church through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and
massy pillars with a thousand various tints of light and colours:

Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the
occasional closing of Doors in the adjoining Abbey.

The calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to
nourish Lorenzo's disposition to melancholy. He threw himself
upon a seat which stood near him, and abandoned himself to the
delusions of his fancy. He thought of his union with Antonia; He
thought of the obstacles which might oppose his wishes; and a
thousand changing visions floated before his fancy, sad 'tis
true, but not unpleasing. Sleep insensibly stole over him, and
the tranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while
continued to influence his slumbers.

He still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins;
but it was no longer dark and solitary. Multitudes of silver