considerably removed from the subterranean chapel; yet we heard the service which took place, in the presence of the bishop. Agnace was awakened from sleep by the sweet notes of the chanting; and, starting up in her bed, Clarice!' she said, ' are we already received into glory? Do I not hear the voices of angels? Is the bitterness of death already past?'

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"I wept when she put the question; and putting my arms round her I soothed her, to rest again. Oh! how did I love that poor deserted one: but I was called away to the interview with the bishop; and the worst I then dreaded was, that I should not be taken back to Agnace. Truly I should then have grieved, if it had been decided that I should immediately be restored to the light of day; and therefore, when the bishop commanded me back to my dungeon, it was with difficulty that I dissembled the thankfulness of joy which I experienced. It seems that my judges had been at a loss what to decide respecting me; and thus I was again left with dear Agnace for many days; at the end of which time I was brought up several times into the chamber above the porch, and there permitted to be seen by several of the sisters, though never allowed to speak to any one. There I had several fruitless conferences with Father Joachim and the inquisitor. It has since appeared to me quite evident, why there appeared to be so much irresolution in their treatment of me; the state of the times was such that they did not dare to do by me as they had done by Agnace (and probably many others in time past), that is, without accounting to any one respecting my fate, to cause me to disappear from my place, never more to return to it, and to exercise their will upon me in their secret councils in whatever way might suit them best. But this, at that time, was not thought to be expedient. Hence, when their fiery zeal would have urged them to finish the contest by some deadly decision, worldly prudence held them back; and yet, as the inquisitor stated to them in my presence, it was totally impossible for them to set me at liberty, after having made me acquainted with the existence of Agnace; a measure which had been suggested by this Jesuit himself, in order, as has appeared to me upon reflection, that the superieure, and perhaps the bishop, might thus be compelled to more severe measures with me than the former had been in

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clined to adopt; and the superieure had fallen into this snare, from the persuasion that the sight of the sufferer, and perhaps her arguments, might tend to bring me round, it not having occurred to her, in the agitation of the moment, that when I had once been made acquainted with the frightful secrets of the house, it would become necessary to exclude me for ever from all intercourse with the family. And yet, at the same time, it was not easy to suggest any means by which to account for my total disappearance, without exciting suspicions which might eventually prove highly detrimental to the safety of the establishment.

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My recantation could not then have served their purpose, as it might have done at first. This also was evident to them all; and I can hardly conceive to what measures they would have had recourse, if various circumstances had not occurred together, which would have effectually brought them through their difficulties, had it not been for the critical state of public affairs, and the strong excitement of popular opinion against monastic houses; which excitement awaited only a mere conjectural whisper that some one of the sisters was suffering persecution within the walls, to rise into a flame. But these various circumstances, apparently so fortunate for the promotion of their views, were, first, the pestilence; secondly, the terror which all the sisters felt in approaching an individual supposed to be dying, or to have died from the disease; and, thirdly, the actual death of poor Agnace in the very midst of the ravages of this pestilence.

"It would have been strange if minds such as some of our rulers possessed could not work out from all these favourable circumstances such a conclusion as was most to be desired by them. For three days or more, it was evident that Agnace was approaching to extremities. She might have lingered longer, but her parting-breath was exhausted by the vehemence with which she refused the last sacraments, tendered to her by Father Joachim; and the earnestness with which she renounced all hopes or expectations of salvation from any quarter but from that of the merits of Christ, as revealed to her by the Father, through the influences of the Holy Spirit. Thus she was upheld unto the end. Neither was she moved by the anathema maranathas of the priest, who, as he left the cell, shook the dust from his feet.

"Well do I remember that solemn moment in which all departed, namely, the priest, the abbess, la Mère Ursule, and Annunciata, and closed the door on me and the dying saint. I was stupid with grief. I sat by her pillow-I raised her in my arms-my tears fell upon her pale cold face. She was sensible of all I did for her. I heard her say, in a low and inward voice, 'Blessed, happy, precious child! fear not, my own beloved Clarice! Yet a little while, my sweet one, and all will be well. I thank my God for thee, my Clarice.' She slept, I think, a little, while I thus held her; but insensibly her head sank heavier on my breast, I listened, and thought that she had ceased to breathe, and I thought that her soul had passed. That it was not so made no difference to my feelings at that time: I was alone as to all human comfort. And then from that time the remembrance of events became confused; neither can I distinguish that which really happened from dreams and unrealities. I cannot say whether they spent their rage upon me by spectral similitudes, introduced into my cell, or whether these things were the effect of an unsettled brain; I cannot but believe that I was, from that period until I had been in this blessed place of rest for several days, in a sort of delirium. Perhaps I was actually under the influence of fever, or the blood driven from the heart had rushed to the head.

"I know not at what hour they removed poor Agnace; but they took her up, supposing her to be dead, into the cell over the porch. Whether it was the removal to a better air, or whatever other cause, I know not, but certain it is that she revived on being brought up, and that the superieure again entreated her to receive the sacraments appointed by the church; but these she resisted, and, as I was afterward told, died as she had lived, to the unfeigned horror of the superieure. Nevertheless, it was thought prudent to bury her with all their idola

trous ceremonies.

"They brought me up to see the funeral. I saw it through the grated window. It was torch-light; and they told me that I was buried in that grave, and that I existed no longer as to this world; that Pauline and Angelique would believe me dead, and have no motive to engage Madame Verani any more in my cause: for it had not escaped their notice that these two beloved sisters had found some means of conveying intelligence

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respecting me to Madame Verani. And they told me that my friends would suppose me dead-my mother and my brother, my beautiful brother, as I used to call him, and as I have since found him-my own sweet brother! And I grew wild and desperate, and was dragged down to my cell. Nor can I tell you how the time went, till the hour of my deliverance; I knew not one hour from another-I was left in darkness-I took no note of time. I slept and dreamed, and when pressed with hunger and thirst, ate my bread and drank my water, and stretched myself again on my pallet.

"And strange wild visions floated over my mind, my thoughts not being in the smallest degree under my own control; neither can I describe their nature. God be praised, who had not forgotten me in this my hour of utmost need, that they were not wicked or blasphemous. No! I was preserved from those horrors. But they were more like the thoughts of a little childvisions of my father's house and father's park, and distant hills, and running waters, and sunny landscapes, sometimes clear and again confused-sometimes sweet, and then changing into all that is horrible. fancied that it was one long night since Agnace had died, and that the morning, though still far off, would yet come and dispel the gloom. And I confounded the sweet image of my father with that which I had conceived of my blessed Saviour; and that of Agnace with my aged grandmother, whom I hardly remember. And this was my condition when the day of my wonderful deliverance arrived.

And I

"It was as it were after a long dream, a sort of visionary mode of existence which I cannot describe, that a sudden jarring sound caused me to start. I arose on my feet: the door of my prison was thrown open, a flood of dazzling and confounding light burst upon my eyes, and two men appeared. I could not distinguish them by sight, for I was blinded by what was to me an excess of light: but I knew their voices; they were those of Father Joachim and the Jesuit. The father seized me round the waist, called me an accursed one, dragged or rather carried me, I know not which, along what passages, or through what doors, I cannot say, though I am aware that several doors were fastened and barred behind us. I knew not what these men said to me as we proceeded; a few horrible words stood out

as it were in high relief above all the other parts of their speech; these were, the Inquisition, the auto-da-fé, the question.

"At length we arrived at a winding stair, which ascended, as I supposed, to the level of the earth. There I struggled from the father's grasp, and fell at his feet, imploring mercy where mercy never was,-even from an offended and jealous member of the great papal anti-christian church. He first spurned me from him as I seized the skirt of his robe, and then seizing me and dragging me up, he ascended the stairs, followed by the Jesuit, bearing a torch. And here," said Clarice, "have I brought my wonderful history to that point in which the kind, the ineffably kind and marvellous providences of my Almighty Father begin to unfold themselves; shining with a heavenly and unextinguishable light through the clouds which for a while had wholly darkened my unbelieving mind. 'Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful mercy to the children of men.'"

CHAPTER XI.

CONCLUSION.

SUCH was the account which our sweet Clarice (to whom I shall now give her baptismal name of Emily) gave of herself. I will not pay so poor a compliment to my reader as to suppose that it will be needful to make many comments on this extraordinary history. Suffice it to say that we all heard it with intense interest; and that from the moment it was concluded, Pauline and I resolved to renounce that form of worship which had for ages maintained its influence over the earth by deeds of horror such as she described and such as we had seen.

But inasmuch as when I commenced my history I expected to finish it in a few sheets, I am now much disconcerted to find that it has run to a thick volume, and therefore am desirous of bringing it to a conclusion as speedily as possible; although I cannot but feel that the