Then you will pity me, and feel the whole weight of these sorrows!' As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping.

While She bent over Ambrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek.
'Ah! I have disturbed him!' cried Matilda, and retreated hastily.
Her alarm was ungrounded.

None sleep so profoundly, as those who are determined not to wake.

The Friar was in this predicament: He still seemed buried in a repose, which every succeeding minute rendered him less capable of enjoying.

The burning tear had communicated its warmth to his heart.
'What affection! What purity!' said He internally; 'Ah! since my bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love ?' Matilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from the Bed.