"Signor, I have spoken all my message."

"Cruel, hard-hearted! May I call again, think you, with a better success?"

"The convent, at stated times, is open to strangers, signor; but so far as
the young signora is concerned I feel assured, from her manner, that your
visits will be in vain."

"Ay--ay, I understand you, madam; you wish to entice her from the wicked
world,--to suffer not human friendships to disturb her thoughts. Good
Heavens! and can she, so young, so ardent, dream of taking the veil?"

"She does not dream of it," said the nun, coolly; "she has no intention of
remaining here long."

"Befriend me, I beseech you!" cried Godolphin, eagerly "restore her to me;
let me only come once to her within these walls and I will enrich
your----"

"Signor, good-day."

Dejected, melancholy, and yet enraged amidst all his sorrow, Godolphin
returned to Rome. Lucilla's letter rankled in his heart like the barb of
a broken arrow; but the stern resolve with which she had refused to see
him appeared to the pride that belongs to manhood a harsh and unfeeling
insult. He knew not that poor Lucilla's eyes had watched him from the
walls of the convent, and that while, for his sake more than her own, she
had refused the meeting he prayed for, she had not the resolution to deny
herself the luxury of gazing on him once more.