Would He but address to me the least tender expression which He pours forth to this Madona! Would He but say that were He not already affianced to the Church, He would not have despised Matilda! Oh! let me nourish that fond idea! Perhaps He may yet acknowledge that He feels for me more than pity, and that affection like mine might well have deserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye on my deathbed! He then need not fear to infringe his vows, and the confession of his regard will soften the pangs of dying.

Would I were sure of this! Oh! how earnestly should I sigh for the moment of dissolution!' Of this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in which She pronounced these last words pierced to his heart.

Involuntarily He raised himself from his pillow.
'Matilda!' He said in a troubled voice; 'Oh! my Matilda!' She started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily.

The suddenness of her movement made her Cowl fall back from her head; Her features became visible to the Monk's enquiring eye.

What was his amazement at beholding the exact resemblance of his admired Madona?
The same exquisite proportion of features, the same profusion of golden hair, the same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, and majesty of countenance adorned Matilda! Uttering an exclamation of surprize, Ambrosio sank back upon his pillow, and doubted whether the Object before him was mortal or divine.
Matilda seemed penetrated with confusion.