But a few short hours have
past, since I was dear to him! He esteemed me, and my heart was
satisfied! Now!... Oh! now how cruelly is my situation changed! He
looks on me with suspicion! He bids me leave him, leave him for ever!
Oh! You, my Saint! my Idol! You, holding the next place to God in my
breast! Yet two days, and my heart will be unveiled to you.--Could you
know my feelings, when I beheld your agony! Could you know, how much
your sufferings have endeared you to me! But the time will come, when
you will be convinced that my passion is pure and disinterested. Then
you will pity me, and feel the whole weight of these sorrows!'

As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She bent over
Ambrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek.

'Ah! I have disturbed him!' cried Matilda, and retreated hastily.

Her alarm was ungrounded. None sleep so profoundly, as those who are
determined not to wake. The Friar was in this predicament: He still
seemed buried in a repose, which every succeeding minute rendered him
less capable of enjoying. The burning tear had communicated its warmth
to his heart.

'What affection! What purity!' said He internally; 'Ah! since my
bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love?'

Matilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from the
Bed. Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes, and to cast them upon her
fearfully. Her face was turned from him. She rested her head in a
melancholy posture upon her Harp, and gazed on the picture which hung
opposite to the Bed.

'Happy, happy Image!' Thus did She address the beautiful Madona; ''Tis
to you that He offers his prayers! 'Tis on you that He gazes with
admiration! I thought you would have lightened my sorrows; You have
only served to increase their weight: You have made me feel that had I
known him ere his vows were pronounced, Ambrosio and happiness might
have been mine. With what pleasure He views this picture! With what
fervour He addresses his prayers to the insensible Image! Ah! may not
his sentiments be inspired by some kind and secret Genius, Friend to my
affection? May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him...
Be silent, idle hopes! Let me not encourage an idea which takes from
the brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue. 'Tis Religion, not Beauty which
attracts his admiration; 'Tis not to the Woman, but the Divinity that
He kneels. Would He but address to me the least tend