sorrows; You have only served to increase their weight: You have
made me feel that had I known him ere his vows were pronounced,
Ambrosio and happiness might have been mine. With what pleasure
He views this picture! With what fervour He addresses his
prayers to the insensible Image! Ah! may not his sentiments be
inspired by some kind and secret Genius, Friend to my affection?
May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him. . . Be
silent, idle hopes! Let me not encourage an idea which takes
from the brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue. 'Tis Religion, not
Beauty which attracts his admiration; 'Tis not to the Woman, but
the Divinity that He kneels. Would He but address to me the
least tender expression which He pours forth to this Madona!
Would He but say that were He not already affianced to the
Church, He would not have despised Matilda! Oh! let me nourish
that fond idea! Perhaps He may yet acknowledge that He feels for
me more than pity, and that affection like mine might well have
deserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye on my
deathbed! He then need not fear to infringe his vows, and the
confession of his regard will soften the pangs of dying. Would I
were sure of this! Oh! how earnestly should I sigh for the
moment of dissolution!'

Of this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in
which She pronounced these last words pierced to his heart.
Involuntarily He raised himself from his pillow.

'Matilda!' He said in a troubled voice; 'Oh! my Matilda!'

She started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily. The
suddenness of her movement made her Cowl fall back from her head;