er!'

She caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips.

'On the third?' She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity; 'You are
right, Father! You are right! On the third we must part for ever!'

There was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these words,
which penetrated the Friar's soul with horror: Again She kissed his
hand, and then fled with rapidity from the chamber.

Anxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest, yet conscious
that her stay was infringing the laws of his order, Ambrosio's bosom
became the Theatre of a thousand contending passions. At length his
attachment to the feigned Rosario, aided by the natural warmth of his
temperament, seemed likely to obtain the victory: The success was
assured, when that presumption which formed the groundwork of his
character came to Matilda's assistance. The Monk reflected that to
vanquish temptation was an infinitely greater merit than to avoid it:
He thought that He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunity given him
of proving the firmness of his virtue. St. Anthony had withstood all
seductions to lust; Then why should not He? Besides, St. Anthony was
tempted by the Devil, who put every art into practice to excite his
passions: Whereas, Ambrosio's danger proceeded from a mere mortal
Woman, fearful and modest, whose apprehensions of his yielding were not
less violent than his own.

'Yes,' said He; 'The Unfortunate shall stay; I have nothing to fear
from her presence. Even should my own prove too weak to resist the
temptation, I am secured from danger by the innocence of Matilda.'

Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice
is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.

He found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos
visited him again at night, He entreated permission to quit his chamber
on the day following. His request was granted. Matilda appeared no
more that evening, except in company with the Monks when they came in a
body to enquire after the Abbot's health. She seemed fearful of
conversing with him in private, and stayed but a few minutes in his
room. The Friar slept well; But the dreams of the former night were
repeated, and his sensations of voluptuousness were yet more keen and
exquisite. The same lust-exciting visions floated before his eyes:
Matilda, in all the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious,
clasped him to her bosom, and lavished up