The Friar started; when after a moment's pause Rosario added with
a faltering voice,--'for my sufferings are still greater. My
Sister had a Friend, a real Friend, who pitied the acuteness of
her feelings, nor reproached her with her inability to repress
them. I . . .! I have no Friend! The whole wide world cannot
furnish an heart that is willing to participate in the sorrows
of mine!'

As He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly. The Friar was
affected. He took Rosario's hand, and pressed it with
tenderness.

'You have no Friend, say you? What then am I? Why will you not
confide in me, and what can you fear? My severity? Have I ever
used it with you? The dignity of my habit? Rosario, I lay aside
the Monk, and bid you consider me as no other than your Friend,
your Father. Well may I assume that title, for never did Parent
watch over a Child more fondly than I have watched over you.
From the moment in which I first beheld you, I perceived
sensations in my bosom till then unknown to me; I found a
delight in your society which no one's else could afford; and
when I witnessed the extent of your genius and information, I
rejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son. Then
lay aside your fears; Speak to me with openness: Speak to me,
Rosario, and say that you will confide in me. If my aid or my
pity can alleviate your distress. . . .'

'Yours can! Yours only can! Ah! Father, how willingly would I
unveil to you my heart! How willingly would I declare the