“Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a decree which cuts me to the very heart. Take back your promise. I will quit the monastery this very day. I have a relation, abbess of a convent in Estramadura: to her will I bend my steps, and shut myself from the world forever. Yet tell me, Father, shall I bear your good wishes with me to my solitude? Will you sometimes abstract your attention from heavenly objects to bestow a thought upon me?”

“Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for my repose!”

“Then I have nothing more to wish for, save that we may meet in heaven. Farewell, my friend! my Ambrosio!⁠—And yet methinks, I would fain bear with me some token of your regard!”

“What shall I give you?”