Here she kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle. She then rose from her chair, and quitted the parlour. As she withdrew, she cast upon Lorenzo a scornful smile.

“Farewell, señor,” said she; “I know no remedy for this accident: I fear that even a second bull from the Pope will not procure your sister’s resurrection.”

Lorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction: but Don Raymond’s at the news of this event amounted to madness. He would not be convinced that Agnes was really dead, and continued to insist that the walls of St. Clare still confined her. No arguments could make him abandon his hopes of regaining her: every day some fresh scheme was invented for procuring intelligence of her, and all of them were attended with the same success.