The abbot dispatched to her the physician without losing a moment, and waited his report impatiently. But Father Pablos soon returned, and declared that his errand had been fruitless. Rosario refused to admit him, and had positively rejected his offers of assistance. The uneasiness which this account gave Ambrosio was not trifling: yet he determined that Matilda should have her own way for that night: but that if her situation did not mend by the morning, he would insist upon her taking the advice of Father Pablos.

He did not find himself inclined to sleep. He opened his casement, and gazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the small stream whose waters bathed the walls of the monastery. The coolness of the night breeze and tranquillity of the hour inspired the friar’s mind with sadness. He thought upon Matilda’s beauty and affection; upon the pleasures which he might have shared with her, had he not been restrained by monastic fetters. He reflected, that unsustained by hope her love for him could not long exist; that doubtless she would succeed in extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of one more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence would leave in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony of a convent, and breathed a sigh towards that world from which he was forever separated. Such were the reflections which a loud knocking at his door interrupted. The bell of the church had already struck two. The abbot hastened to enquire the cause of this disturbance. He opened the door of his cell, and a lay-brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry and confusion.