derness truly fraternal. Both
the cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the
Brother of Agnes: yet Theodore's grief was scarcely less sincere. That
amiable Boy quitted not his Master for a moment, and put every means in
practice to console and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had
conceived so rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it was
evident to all that He never could survive her loss: Nothing could
have prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion of
her being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Though convinced
of its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief which
formed his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions
were making respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were invented
recounting the various attempts made to get admittance into the
Convent; and circumstances were related which, though they did not
promise her absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his
hopes alive. The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess
of passion when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts.
Still He would not credit that the succeeding ones would have the same
fate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.

Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master's
Chimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering
the Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligence
of Agnes. To execute these schemes was the only inducement which could
prevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing
his shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very little
purpose: He regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without
any intelligence to confirm his Master's hopes. One day He took it
into his head to disguise himself as a Beggar. He put a patch over his
left eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate of
the Convent.

'If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,' thought He, 'and hears my
voice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let me
know that She is here.'

With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled daily
at the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns were
accustomed to distribute at twelve o'clock. All were provided with
jugs or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had no utensil of this
kind, He begged leave to eat his por