passions, from which He falsely thought himself exempted.

'Agnes! Agnes!' He exclaimed, while reflecting on his
embarrassments, 'I already feel thy curse!'

He quitted his Cell, determined upon dismissing the feigned
Rosario. He appeared at Matins; But his thoughts were absent,
and He paid them but little attention. His heart and brain were
both of them filled with worldly objects, and He prayed without
devotion. The service over, He descended into the Garden. He
bent his steps towards the same spot where, on the preceding
night, He had made this embarrassing discovery. He doubted not
but that Matilda would seek him there: He was not deceived. She
soon entered the Hermitage, and approached the Monk with a timid
air. After a few minutes during which both were silent, She
appeared as if on the point of speaking; But the Abbot, who
during this time had been summoning up all his resolution,
hastily interrupted her. Though still unconscious how extensive
was its influence, He dreaded the melodious seduction of her
voice.

'Seat yourself by my side, Matilda,' said He, assuming a look of
firmness, though carefully avoiding the least mixture of
severity; 'Listen to me patiently, and believe, that in what I
shall say, I am not more influenced by my own interest than by
yours: Believe, that I feel for you the warmest friendship, the
truest compassion, and that you cannot feel more grieved than I
do, when I declare to you that we must never meet again.'

'Ambrosio!' She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surprise