He communicated this intelligence to his brethren; their delight was only equalled by their surprise. From the latter sentiment, however, they were soon released by explaining the circumstance according to their own ideas: they were perfectly convinced that their superior was a saint, and thought, that nothing could be more natural than for St. Francis to have operated a miracle in his favour. This opinion was adopted unanimously: they declared it so loudly, and vociferated⁠—“A miracle! a miracle!”⁠—with such fervour, that they soon interrupted Ambrosio’s slumbers.

The monks immediately crowded round his bed, and expressed their satisfaction at his wonderful recovery. He was perfectly in his senses, and free from every complaint except feeling weak and languid. Pablos gave him a strengthening medicine, and advised his keeping his bed for the two succeeding days: he then retired, having desired his patient not to exhaust himself by conversation, but rather to endeavour at taking some repose. The other monks followed his example, and the abbot and Rosario were left without observers.

For some minutes Ambrosio regarded his attendant with a look of mingled pleasure and apprehension. She was seated upon the side of the bed, her head bending down, and as usual enveloped in the cowl of her habit.

“And you are still here, Matilda?” said the friar at length. “Are you not satisfied with having so nearly effected my destruction, that nothing but a miracle could have saved me from the grave? Ah! surely heaven sent that serpent to punish.⁠ ⁠…”

Matilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with an air of gaiety.

“Hush! Father, hush! You must not talk!”

“He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the subjects on which I wish to speak.”

“But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command. I am appointed your nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.”

“You are in spirits, Matilda!”