this view, he made a journey thither in the disguise of a peasant; and, on the very morning in which his mistress had escaped, he presented himself at the gate.

Conrad, who had by letter from the Abbess been informed that her prisoner was fled, was desired to' come immediately and devise some excuse to the sisters for what had happened; for, although both to Conrad and Theresa the fact was evident enough, yet the sister nuns were dis- . tracted in conjectures: till, by one of those artful stretches of assurance, which consummate villainy finds it easy to exert, Conrad recommended a plausible expedient.-And now Religion (that constant comfort of the good, and powerful weapon of the wicked) presented itself, as the only resource in this emergency. Theresa was taught to say (for the present) that she had no doubt the sinful reluctance of Matilda to receive the veil had excited the wrath of heaven; and that she was miraculously snatched away, or perhaps annihilated, to prevent the dreadful profanation of the holy ceremony at which she must that day have assisted.

This plan had been settled, and Conrad was going with all haste in pursuit of the fugitive, when, at the outer gate, he met the pretended peasant. The penetrating eye, either of Love or Hatred, soon discovers a friend or enemy, however carefully disguised-Conrad and Albert knew each other....Instantly the flames of hatred, jealousy, and fury, kindled in their bosoms; and Conrad seizing Albert by the throat, exclaimed, I have caught the villain, the sacrilegious ravisher!......A severe struggle ensued, in which Conrad drew his sword; but Albert (who had no weapon) dexterously wrenched the instrument from the hand of Conrad, and plunged it in his bosom.....The villain fell; while Albert fled with the utmost precipitation from the bloody scene, and returned in the evening to this convent.

How shall I describe (said the good old Monk) the contrast betwixt the looks of our unhappy youth at this moment, and on the preceding morning when he left us!......Then, innocence faintly enlightened by a gleam of hope, smiled in his features, as he cheerfully bade us adieu, and said, Perhaps I may again hear tidings of Matilda; should the will of Heaven deny me happiness with her, I will come back resigned, and dedicate my future life to holy meditation, void of guilt.' But now, he returned breathless and pale, his hands besmeared with blood, his limbs trembling; he could only utter in faultering words, "Save me, reverend Fathers! save me from justice, from myself, if possible! Behold a murderer!'

• Some hours elapsed before we could collect from him the circumstances of a crime, which had produced this extreme degree of horror and compunction in a mind so virtuous and innocent as that of Albert; and, having heard the whole, in which he took all the blame to his own hasty conduct, we promised him protection; and endeavoured, though in vain, for two whole days to speak comfort to his troubled mind, and to inspire confidence in the boundless mercy of his God. On the third day we were diverted from this arduous task, by the return and behaviour of one of our dogs; the poor animal, who had been out all day, was restless, and shewed evident marks of a desire that we should accompany him to the relief of some poor wretch, who was unable to reach our

convent.

Father Jerome and I resolved to follow him; and we proceeded about half a mile, when we turned from the beaten tract guided by our dog, to a retired glen where human feet had hardly ever trod before.... lere, on a rock, which projected over a dreadful precipice, sat an unhappy half-distracted object; I need not tell you it was Matilda......She had crept, with wondrous difficulty, up a steep ascent to a ledge of rock which overhung a fearful chasm (the very recollection of the place freezes my blood!) When we first discovered her, she was eagerly clinging to a branch of yew which grew from a fissure in the rock above, and which half shaded her melancholy figure.

The dog followed her steps; but Jerome and I, unable to ascend a path so dangerous, stood unobserved by her, at a little distance on the opposite side the glen.

When Matilda first perceived the dog, she looked with wildness round her; then fixing her eyes with tenderness on the animal, she said, Are you returned to me again? and are you now my friend? Fie, fie upon it! Shall even dogs seduce the helpless!...... Perhaps you repent of what you would have done......You look piteously, Alas! Matilda can forgive you!...... Poor brute! you know I followed you all the day long, and would have followed you for ever, but that you led me to a detested convent!......Thither Matilda will not go......Why should you lead me to a prison? a dog cannot plead Religion in excuse for treachery!' She paused; then taking a rosary of pearls from her side, she fantastically wound it about the dog's neck, saying, 'I have a boon to ask, and thus I bribe you; these precious beads are yours: now guide me to the top of this high mountain, that I may look about me, and see all the world......Then I shall know whether my Albert still be living......Ab, no! it cannot be! for then Matilda would be happy! and that can never, never be!' She then burst into a flood of tears, which seemed to give her some relief.

• When I thought she was sufficiently composed, Jerome and I discovered ourselves. On this she shrieked, and hid her face; but calling to her, I said, Albert is still alive.' She looked at us, 'till by degrees she had wildly examined us from head to foot; then turning to the dog, she seized him by the throat, and would have dashed him down the precipice, saying, Åh traitor! is it thus thou hast betrayed me?....But the animal struggled and got from her. She then firmly looked at us, and cried, Here I am safe, deceitful monsters! safe from the tyranny of your religious persecution; for, if you approach one single step, I plunge into this yawning gulph, and so escape your power....Ha! ha! ha!'.., Then recovering from a frantic laugh, she said, Yet tell me, did you not say that Albert lives? Oh! that such words had come from any lips but those of a false monk !...I know your arts; with you such falsehoods are religious frauds; this is a pious lie, to ensnare a poor helpless linnet to its cage: but I tell you, cunning priest! here I defy you; por will I ever quit this rock, till Albert's voice assures me I may do it safely.'

You will easily imagine (continued the monk) the situation of Jerome and myself. Ignorant then of the manner in which Matilda had escaped, we could only know from her words and actions that it was she herself, and that her senses were impaired; perplexed how to entice her from this perilous retreat, and knowing that one false step would dash her headlong down the dreadful chasm that parted us, at length I said,

Gentle maid, be comforted; Albert and Matilda may yet be happy." Then leaving Jerome concealed among the bushes to watch the poor lunatic, I hastened to the convent, to relate what I had seen.

Meanwhile Matilda, looking with vacant stare around her, from time to time repeated my words, Albert and Matilda may yet be happy; then pausing, she seemed delighted with the sound re-echoed from the rocks, again repeating, Albert and Matilda may yet be happy; still varying the modulation of her voice, as joy, grief, doubt, despair, or hope alternately prevailed in her disordered

mind.'

At this interesting period of the narrative, the venerable father was a second time called out; and promised to conclude his story when he returned.

I will not long detain you,' resumed the reverend friar, with the effect my narrative had on the dejected Albert: how he at first exclaimed, Can there be comfort for a guilty wretch like Albert?' and eagerly ran towards the place; then moved more calmly, on my representing how fatal might be surprize to one in so dangerous a situation; and at length shrinking back, as he approached the spot, and turning to me, he said, Father, I will go no further! Heaven has ordained, as a punishment for the murder I have committed, that I should become a witness to the shocking death of the poor lost Matilda; at my approach, in frantic ecstacy she will quit her hold, and perish before my sight.' I urged him to proceed, but it was in vain; he sat down on a bank, and was silently wrapt in an agony of irresolution, when he heard, at a little distance, the well-known voice of the poor lunatic, still repeating my words; Albert and Matilda may yet be happy.' Roused by the sound, he started up, and cautiously advancing, he exclaimed, Just Heaven! fulfil those words, and let them, indeed, be happy.'

Matilda knew the voice, and carefully treading a path, which would have seemed impracticable to one possessed of reason, she descended from the ledge on which she sat, and approached with cautious steps; but, at the sight of Albert, she flew impetuously forward, till seeing me, she as suddenly ran back, and would have again retreated to the rock, shrieking, It is all illusion! priestcraft! it is no real Albert, and I am betrayed!' We pursued, and caught her; then finding my religious garb augmented the disorder of her mind, I withdrew, leaving only Albert to calm her needless fears.

But no persuasion, even from him, could induce her to come within view of the convent gates; I provided, therefore, accommodations for her in the cottage of a labourer, at some little distance; where, for many days, her delirium continued, while a fever threatened a speedy dissolution. During this period, Albert was labouring under all the anxiety which his situation could inspire; the deed he had committed sat heavy on his soul, and he dared not hope for an event which his own guilty thoughts reproached him with having not de

served.

At length the crisis of the fever shewed signs of a recovery, and now his joys were without bounds, even the blood of Conrad seemed a venial crime, and he triumphed in the anticipation of reward for all he had suffered but this happiness was of short duration, for at that time I received a letter from the abbess Theresa, demanding back the fugi

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