The Monk

fully and effectually released Agnes from her religious engagements: the marriage was therefore celebrated as soon as the needful preparations had been made, for the Marquis wished to have the ceremony performed with all possible splendour and publicity. This being over, and the bride having received the compliments of Madrid, she departed with Don Raymond for his castle in Andalusia: Lorenzo accompanied them, as did also the Marchioness de Villa-Franca and her lovely daughter. It is needless to say that Theodore was of the party, and would be impossible to describe his joy at his master’s marriage. Previous to his departure, the Marquis, to atone in some measure for his past neglect, made some enquiries relative to Elvira. Finding that she as well as her daughter had received many services from Leonella and Jacintha, he showed his respect to the memory of his sister-in-law by making the two women handsome presents. Lorenzo followed his example⁠—Leonella was highly flattered by the attentions of noblemen so distinguished, and Jacintha blessed the hour on which her house was bewitched.

On her side, Agnes failed not to reward her convent friends. The worthy Mother St. Ursula, to whom she owed her liberty, was named at her request superintendent of “The Ladies of Charity.” This was one of the best and most opulent societies throughout Spain. Bertha and Cornelia not choosing to quit their friend, were appointed to principal charges in the same establishment. As to the nuns who had aided the domina in persecuting Agnes, Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had perished in the flames which consumed St. Clare’s convent. Mariana, Alix, and Violante, as well as two more, had fallen victims to the popular rage. The three others who in council had supported the domina’s sentence, were severely reprimanded, and banished to religious houses in obscure and distant provinces: here they languished away a few years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned by their companions with aversion and contempt.

Nor was the fidelity of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her wishes being consulted, she declared herself impatient to revisit her native land. In consequence, a passage was procured for her to Cuba, where she arrived in safety, loaded with the presents of Raymond and Lorenzo.

The debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue her favourite plan. Lodged in the same house, Lorenzo and Virginia were eternally together. The more he saw of her, the more was he convinced of her merit. On her part, she laid herself out to please, and not to succeed was for her impossible.

Lorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant manners, innumerable talents, and sweet disposition: he was also much flattered by her prejudice in his favour, which she had not sufficient art to conceal. However, his sentiments partook not of that ardent character which had marked his affection for Antonia. The image of that lovely and unfortunate girl still lived in his heart, and baffled all Virginia’s efforts to displace it. Still when the duke proposed to him the match, which he wished so earnestly to take place, his nephew did not reject the offer. The urgent supplications of his friends, and the lady’s merit conquered his repugnance to entering into new engagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa-Franca, and was accepted with joy and gratitude. Virginia became his wife, nor did she ever give him cause to repent his choice. His esteem increased for her daily. Her unremitted endeavours to please him could not but succeed. His affection assumed stronger and warmer colours. Antonia’s image was gradually effaced from his bosom; and Virginia became sole mistress of that heart, which she well deserved to possess without a partner.

The remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and Virginia, were happy as can be those allotted to mortals, born to be the prey of grief, and sport of disappointment. The exquisite sorrows with which they had been afflicted, made them think lightly of every succeeding woe. They had felt the sharpest darts in misfortune’s quiver; those which remained appeared blunt in comparison. Having weathered fate’s heaviest storms, they looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they felt affliction’s casual gales, they seemed to them gentle as zephyrs which breathe over summer-seas.

XII

—He was a fell despightful fiend:
Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:
By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;
Of man alike, if good or bad the foe.

Thomson

On the day following Antonia’s death, all Madrid was a scene of consternation and amazement. An archer who had witnessed the adventure in the sepulchre had indiscreetly related the circumstances of the murder: he had also named the perpetrator. The confusion was without example which this intelligence raised among the devotees. Most of them disbelieved it, and went themselves to the abbey to ascertain the fact. Anxious to avoid the shame to which their superior’s ill-conduct exposed the whole brotherhood, the monks assured the visitors that Ambrosio was prevented from receiving them as usual by nothing but illness. This attempt was unsuccessful: the same excuse being repeated day after day, the archer’s story gradually obtained confidence. His partisans abandoned him: no one entertained a doubt of his guilt; and they who before had been the warmest in his praise were now the most vociferous in his condemnation.

While his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the utmost acrimony, Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious villainy, and the terrors of punishment impending over him. When he looked back to the eminence on which he had lately stood, universally honoured and respected, at peace with the world and with himself, scarcely could he believe that he was indeed the culprit whose crimes and whose fate he trembled to envisage. But a few weeks had elapsed, since he was pure and virtuous, courted by the wisest and noblest in Madrid, and regarded by the people with a reverence that approached idolatry: he now saw himself