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from her torpidity only to be sensible of the dangers of her situation. She followed him hastily, and detained him by his garment.
    “Stay! oh! stay!” she cried in the accents of despair, while she threw herself at the friar’s feet, and bathed them with her tears. “Father, compassionate my youth! Look with indulgence on a woman’s weakness, and deign to conceal my frailty! The remainder of my life shall be employed in expiating this single fault, and your lenity will bring back a soul to heaven!”
    “Amazing confidence! What! shall St. Clare’s convent become the retreat of prostitutes? Shall I suffer the church of Christ to cherish in its bosom debauchery and shame? Unworthy wretch! such lenity would make me your accomplice. Mercy would here be criminal. You have abandoned yourself to a seducer’s lust; you have defiled the sacred habit by your impurity; and still dare you think yourself deserving my compassion? Hence, nor detain me longer. Where is the lady prioress?” he added, raising his voice.
    “Hold! father, hold! Hear me but for one moment! Tax me not with impurity, nor think that I have erred from the warmth of temperament. Long before I took the veil, Raymond was master of my heart: he inspired me with the purest, the most irreproachable passion, and was on the point of becoming my lawful husband. An horrible adventure, and the treachery of a relation, separated us from each other. I believed him for ever lost to me, and threw myself into a convent from motives of despair. Accident again united us; I could not refuse myself the melancholy pleasure of mingling my tears with his. We met nightly in the gardens of St. Clare, and in an unguarded moment I violated my vows of chastity. I shall soon become a mother. Reverend Ambrosio, take compassion on me; take compassion on the innocent being whose existence is attached to mine. If you discover my imprudence to the domina, both of us are lost. The punishment which the laws of St. Clare assign to unfortunates like myself, is most severe and cruel. Worthy, worthy father! let not your own untainted conscience render you unfeeling towards those less able to withstand temptation! Let not mercy be the only virtue of which your heart is unsusceptible! Pity me, most reverend! Restore my letter, nor doom me to inevitable destruction!”
    “Your boldness confounds me. Shall I conceal your crime— I whom you have deceived by your feigned confession?—No, daughter, no. I will render you a more essential service. I will rescue you from perdition, in spite of yourself. Penance and mortification shall expiate your offence, and severity force you back to the paths of holiness. What, ho! Mother St. Agatha!”
    “Father! by all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, I supplicate, I entreat——”
    “Release me. I will not hear you. Where is the domina? Mother St. Agatha, where are you?”
    The door of the vestry opened, and the prioress entered the chapel, followed by her nuns.
    “Cruel, cruel!” exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold.
    Wild and desperate, she threw herself upon the ground, beating her bosom, and rending her veil in all the delirium of despair. The nuns gazed with astonishment upon the scene before them. The friar now presented the fatal paper to the prioress, informed her of the manner in which he had found it, and added, that it was her business to decide what penance the delinquent merited.
    While she perused the letter, the domina’s countenance grew inflamed with passion. What! such a crime committed in her convent, and made known to Ambrosio, to the idol of Madrid, to the man whom she was most anxious to impress with the opinion of the strictness and regularity of her house! Words were inadequate to express her fury. She was silent, and darted upon the prostrate nun looks of menace and malignity.
    “Away with her to the convent!” said she at length to some of her attendants.
    Two of the oldest nuns now approaching Agnes, raised