Greatly joyed the Moorish party；
That the gallant Knight was slain。
Bitter weeping Montesinos
Took from him his helm and glaive；
Bitter weeping Montesinos
Dug his gallant Cousin's grave。
To perform his promise made； He
Cut the heart from out the breast；
That Belerma； wretched Lady！
Might receive the last bequest。
Sad was Montesinos' heart； He
Felt distress his bosom rend。
'Oh！ my Cousin Durandarte；
Woe is me to view thy end！
'Sweet in manners； fair in favour；
Mild in temper； fierce in fight；
Warrior； nobler； gentler； braver；
Never shall behold the light！
'Cousin； Lo！ my tears bedew thee！
How shall I thy loss survive！
Durandarte； He who slew thee；
Wherefore left He me alive！'
While She sung； Ambrosio listened with delight： Never had He
heard a voice more harmonious； and He wondered how such heavenly
sounds could be produced by any but Angels。 But though He
indulged the sense of hearing； a single look convinced him that
He must not trust to that of sight。 The Songstress sat at a
little distance from his Bed。 The attitude in which She bent
over her harp； was easy and graceful： Her Cowl had fallen back…
warder than usual： Two coral lips were visible； ripe； fresh； and
melting； and a Chin in whose dimples seemed to lurk a thousand
Cupids。 Her Habit's long sleeve would have swept along the
Chords of the Instrument： To prevent this inconvenience She had
drawn it above her elbow； and by this means an arm was discovered
formed in the most perfect symmetry； the delicacy of whose skin
might have contended with snow in whiteness。 Ambrosio dared to
look on her but once： That glance sufficed to convince him； how
dangerous was the presence of this seducing Object。 He closed
his eyes； but strove in vain to banish her from his thoughts。
There She still moved before him； adorned with all those charms
which his heated imagination could supply： Every beauty which He
had seen； appeared embellished； and those still concealed Fancy
represented to him in glowing colours。 Still； however； his vows
and the necessity of keeping to them were present to his memory。
He struggled with desire； and shuddered when He beheld how deep
was the precipice before him。
Matilda ceased to sing。 Dreading the influence of her charms；
Ambrosio remained with his eyes closed； and offered up his
prayers to St。 Francis to assist him in this dangerous trial！
Matilda believed that He was sleeping。 She rose from her seat；
approached the Bed softly； and for some minutes gazed upon him
attentively。
'He sleeps！' said She at length in a low voice； but whose accents
the Abbot distinguished perfectly； 'Now then I may gaze upon him
without offence！ I may mix my breath with his； I may doat upon
his features； and He cannot suspect me of impurity and
deceit！He fears my seducing him to the violation of his vows！
Oh！ the Unjust！ Were it my wish to excite desire； should I
conceal my features from him so carefully？ Those features； of
which I daily hear him。 。 。 。'
She stopped； and was lost in her reflections。
'It was but yesterday！' She continued； 'But a few short hours
have past； since I was dear to him！ He esteemed me； and my heart
was satisfied！ Now！。 。 。 Oh！ now how cruelly is my situation
changed！ He looks on me with suspicion！ He bids me leave him；
leave him for ever！ Oh！ You； my Saint！ my Idol！ You； holding
the next place to God in my breast！ Yet two days； and my heart
will be unveiled to you。Could you know my feelings； when I
beheld your agony！ Could you know； how much your sufferings have
endeared you to me！ But the time will come； when you will be
convinced that my passion is pure and disinterested。 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。 Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes； and to cast them
upon her fearfully。 Her face was turned from him。 She rested
her head in a melancholy posture upon her Harp； and gazed on the
picture which hung opposite to the Bed。
'Happy； happy Image！' Thus did She address the beautiful Madona；
' 'Tis to you that He offers his prayers！ 'Tis on you that He
gazes with admiration！ I thought you would have lightened my
sorrows； You have only served to increase their weight： You have
made me feel that had I known him ere his vows were pronounced；
Ambrosio and happiness might have been mine。 With what pleasure
He views this picture！ With what fervour He addresses his
prayers to the insensible Image！ Ah！ may not his sentiments be
inspired by some kind and secret Genius； Friend to my affection？
May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him。 。 。 Be
silent； idle hopes！ Let me not encourage an idea which takes
from the brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue。 'Tis Religion； not
Beauty which attracts his admiration； 'Tis not to the Woman； but
the Divinity that He kneels。 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。 She remained
motionless in her place； and supported herself upon her
Instrument。 Her eyes were bent upon the earth； and her fair
cheeks overspread with blushes。 On recovering herself； her
first action was to conceal her features。 She then in an
unsteady and troubled voice ventured to address these words to
the Friar。
'Accident has made you Master of a secret； which I never would
have revealed but on the Bed of death。 Yes； Ambrosio； In Matilda
de Villanegas you see the original of your beloved Madona。 Soon
after I conceived my unfortunate passion； I formed the project of
conveying to you my Picture： Crowds of Admirers had persuaded me
that I possessed some beauty； and I was anxious to know what
effect it would produce upon you。 I caused my Portrait to be
drawn by Martin Galuppi； a celebrated Venetian at that time
resident in Madrid。 The resemblance was striking： I sent it to
the Capuchin Abbey as if for sale； and the Jew from whom you
bought it was one of my Emissaries。 You purchased it。 Judge of
my rapture； when informed that you had gazed upon it with
delight； or rather with adoration； that you had suspended it in
your Cell； and that you addressed your supplications to no other
Saint。 Will this discovery make me still more regarded as an
object of suspicion？ Rather should it convince you how pure is
my affection； and engage you to suffer me in your society and
esteem。 I heard you daily extol the praises of my Portrait： I
was an eyewitness of the transports； which its beauty excited
in you： Yet I forbore to use against your virtue those arms； with
which yourself had furnished me。 I concealed those features from
your sight； which you loved unconsciously。 I strove not to
excite desire by displaying my charms； or to make myself Mistress
of your heart through the medium of your senses。 To attract your
notice by studiously attending to religious duties； to endear
myself to you by convincing you that my mind was virtuous and my
attachment sincere； such was my only aim。 I succeeded； I became
your companion and your Friend。 I concealed my sex from your
knowledge； and had you not pressed me to re