t called forth, scarce a tithe of the properties of
their very nature expanded into action.

There was an air of quiet and stillness in the red quadrangular
building, as my carriage stopped at its porch, which struck upon me,
like a breathing reproach to those who sought the abode of peace with
feelings opposed to the spirit of the place. A small projecting porch
was covered with ivy, and thence issued an aged portress in answer to my
summons.

"The Countess Devereux," said she, "is now the superior of this society
[convent they called it not], and rarely admits any stranger."

I gave in my claim to admission, and was ushered into a small parlour:
all there, too, was still,--the brown oak wainscoting, the huge chairs,
the few antique portraits, the _uninhabited_ aspect of the chamber,--all
were silently eloquent of quietude, but a quietude comfortless and
sombre. At length my mother appeared. I sprang forward: my childhood was
before me,--years, care, change were forgotten,--I was a boy again,--I
sprang forward, and was in my mother's embrace! It was long before,
recovering myself, I noted how lifeless and chill was that embrace, but
I did so at last, and my enthusiasm withered at once.

We sat down together, and conversed long and uninterruptedly, but our
conversation was like that of acquaintances, not the fondest and closest
of all relations (for I need scarcely add that I told her not of my
meeting with Aubrey, nor undeceived her with respect to the date of his
death). Every monastic recluse that I had hitherto seen, even in the
most seeming content with retirement, had loved to converse of the
exterior world, and had betrayed an interest in its events: for my
mother only, worldly objects and interests seemed utterly dead. She
expressed little surprise to see me,--little surprise at my alteration;
she only said that my mien was improved, and that I reminded her of my
father: she testified no anxiety to hear of my travels or my adventures;
she testified even no willingness to speak of herself; she described to
me the life of one day, and then said that the history of ten years was
told. A close cap confined all the locks for whose rich luxuriance and
golden hue she had once been noted,--for here they were not the victim
of a vow, as in a nunnery they would have been,--and her dress was
plain, simple, and unadorned. Save these alterations of attire, none
were visible in her exterior: the torpor of her life seemed t