esult of her
unbelief. When Don Pedro ceased speaking, she threw herself on his
body, in an agony of grief.--"I do, I do believe--Perez. I do, I do!
Oh! indeed I do believe--speak to me, Perez--O God, he is dying!--
Sister, Teresa, come, come, he'll speak to you--he's not angry with
you--Sister, sister, speak--O God! O God!" screamed the unhappy woman,
"he's dead--and I have murdered him!"--and she dashed her head upon the
floor. Teresa hastened to her sister, and held her in her arms, while
the tears poured fast. It was some time before reason resumed her seat;
at last, exhausted by the violence of her feelings, she was relieved
with a flood of tears.

"Who is it?--you, Teresa--kind sister, whom I have used so ill--I do
believe you--I do believe, Teresa; God forgive me! kiss me, sister, and
say that you forgive me--for am I not punished?"

"It is all my fault," answered Teresa, bursting into tears: "Oh! how
wicked, how foolish have I been!"

"No, no, sister, your fault is small, compared to mine; you allowed your
passion to overcome you, but it arose from an excess of love, the best
feeling in our nature--the only remnant of heaven left us since our
fall. I too have allowed my passion to overcome me; but whence has it
arisen?--from hatred and jealousy, feelings which were implanted by
demons, and which create a hell wherever they command. But it is done,
and repentance comes too late."

The unfortunate sisters embraced each other and mingled their tears
together; and I hardly need say, that the lady abbess and I could not
restrain our meed of pity at the affecting scene. As the evening
closed, they separated, each to attend to the same mournful duty, of
watching by the bodies of their husbands, and bedewing them with their
tears. A few days after the interments took place, Emilia sent for her
sister, and after an affectionate interview, took the veil in the
convent to which she had retired--endowing the church with her property.
Donna Teresa did not take the veil; but employed herself in the more
active duties of charity and benevolence; but she gradually wasted
away--her heart was broken. I stayed with her for three years, when she
died, leaving a considerable sum to me, and the remainder of her wealth
to beneficent institutions. This is about five years ago; since when I
have been living on the property, which is nearly all expended by my
extravagance. The stigma on my birth is, however, the only subj