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sions with attention, made many exhortations, enjoined penance proportioned to each offence, and for some time every thing went on as usual: till at last one of the nuns, conspicuous from the nobleness of her air and elegance of her figure, carelessly permitted a letter to fall from her bosom. She was retiring, unconscious of her loss. Ambrosio supposed it to have been written by some one of her relations, and picked it up, intending to restore it to her.
"Stay, daughter," said he; "you have let fall———"
At this moment, the paper being already open, his eye involuntarily read the first words. He started back with surprise. The nun had turned round on hearing his voice: the perceived her letter in his hand, and, uttering a shriek of terror, flew hastily to regain it.
"Hold!" said the friar in a tone of severity; "daughter, I must read this letter."
"Then
