She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this intelligence, though on the preceding day she had been so anxious to obtain the permission.

“Alas! Father,” she said, waving her head mournfully; “Your kindness comes too late! My doom is fixed. We must separate forever. Yet believe, that I am grateful for your generosity, for your compassion of an unfortunate who is but too little deserving of it!”

She put her handkerchief to her eyes. Her cowl was only half drawn over her face. Ambrosio observed that she was pale, and her eyes sunk and heavy.

“Good God!” he cried; “You are very ill, Matilda! I shall send Father Pablos to you instantly.”

“No; do not. I am ill, ’tis true; but he cannot cure my malady. Farewell, Father! Remember me in your prayers tomorrow, while I shall remember you in heaven!”

She entered her cell, and closed the door.