A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of a precipice. She saw her trembling on the brink: every moment seemed to threaten her fall, and she heard her exclaim with shrieks, “Save me, mother! Save me!⁠—Yet a moment, and it will be too late!” Elvira woke in terror. The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind, to permit her resting till assured of her daughter’s safety. She hastily started from her bed, threw on a loose nightgown, and passing through the closet in which slept the waiting-woman, she reached Antonia’s chamber just in time to rescue her from the grasp of the ravisher.

His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into statues both Elvira and the monk: they remained gazing upon each other in silence. The lady was the first to recover herself.