The Monk

might be carried to my father’s hotel, and that as soon as he recovered his voice, I would examine him respecting his reasons for attempting my life. I was answered that he was already able to speak, though with difficulty: Don Gaston’s curiosity made him press me to interrogate the assassin in his presence, but this curiosity I was by no means inclined to gratify. One reason was, that doubting from whence the blow came, I was unwilling to place before Don Gaston’s eyes the guilt of a sister: another was, that I feared to be recognized for Alphonso d’Alvarada, and precautions taken in consequence to keep me from the sight of Agnes. To avow my passion for his daughter, and endeavour to make him enter into my schemes, what I knew of Don Gaston’s character convinced me would be an imprudent step: and considering it to be essential that he should know me for no other than the Condé de las Cisternas, I was determined not to let him hear the bravo’s confession. I insinuated to him, that as I suspected a lady to be concerned in the business, whose name might accidentally escape from the assassin, it was necessary for me to examine the man in private. Don Gaston’s delicacy would not permit his urging the point any longer, and in consequence the bravo was conveyed to my hotel.

The next morning I took leave of my host, who was to return to the duke on the same day. My wounds had been so trifling that, except being obliged to wear my arm in a sling for a short time, I felt no inconvenience from the night’s adventure. The surgeon who examined the bravo’s wound declared it to be mortal: he had just time to confess that he had been instigated to murder me by the revengeful Donna Rodolpha, and expired in a few minutes after.

All my thoughts were now bent upon getting to the speech of my lovely nun. Theodore set himself to work, and for this time with better success. He attacked the gardener of St. Clare so forcibly with bribes and promises that the old man was entirely gained over to my interests; and it was settled that I should be introduced into the convent in the character of his assistant. The plan was put into execution without delay. Disguised in a common habit, and a black patch covering one of my eyes, I was presented to the lady prioress, who condescended to approve of the gardener’s choice. I immediately entered upon my employment. Botany having been a favourite study with me, I was by no means at a loss in my new station. For some days I continued to work in the convent garden without meeting the object of my disguise: on the fourth morning I was more successful. I heard the voice of Agnes, and was speeding towards the sound, when the sight of the domina stopped me. I drew back with caution, and concealed myself behind a thick clump of trees.

The prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a bench at no great distance. I heard her in an angry tone blame her companion’s continual melancholy: she told her that to weep the loss of any lover in her situation was a crime; but that to weep the loss of a faithless one was folly and absurdity in the extreme. Agnes replied in so low a voice that I could not distinguish her words, but I perceived that she used terms of gentleness and submission. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a young pensioner who informed the domina that she was waited for in the parlour. The old lady rose, kissed the cheek of Agnes, and retired. The newcomer remained. Agnes spoke much to her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, but her auditor seemed highly delighted, and interested by the conversation. The nun showed her several letters; the other perused them with evident pleasure, obtained permission to copy them, and withdrew for that purpose to my great satisfaction.

No sooner was she out of sight, than I quitted my concealment. Fearing to alarm my lovely mistress, I drew near her gently, intending to discover myself by degrees. But who for a moment can deceive the eyes of love? She raised her head at my approach, and recognised me in spite of my disguise at a single glance. She rose hastily from her seat with an exclamation of surprise, and attempted to retire; but I followed her, detained her, and entreated to be heard. Persuaded of my falsehood she refused to listen to me, and ordered me positively to quit the garden. It was now my turn to refuse. I protested that however dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till she had heard my justification. I assured her that she had been deceived by the artifices of her relations; that I could convince her beyond the power of doubt that my passion had been pure and disinterested; and I asked her what should induce me to seek her in the convent, were I influenced by the selfish motives which my enemies had ascribed to me.

My prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till she had promised to listen to me, united to her fears lest the nuns should see me with her, to her natural curiosity, and to the affection which she still felt for me in spite of my supposed desertion, at length prevailed. She told me that to grant my request at that moment was impossible; but she engaged to be in the same spot at eleven that night, and to converse with me for the last time. Having obtained this promise I released her hand, and she fled back with rapidity towards the convent.

I communicated my success to my ally, the old gardener: he pointed out an hiding place where I might shelter myself till night without fear of