(77)
resentment. Farewell, my Agnes! my dear and destined wife! Fail not to be at the garden-door at twelve!"
As soon as he had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry upon the imprudent nun.
"This letter must to the prioress," said he, and passed her.
His words sounded like thunder to her ears: she awoke from her torpidity only to be sensible of the dangers of her situation. She followed him hastily, and detained him by his garment.
"Stay! oh! stay!" she cried in the accents of despair, while she threw herself at the friar's feet, and bathed them with her tears. "Father, compassionate my youth! Look with indulgence on a woman's weakness, and deign to conceal my frailty! The remainder of my life shall be employed in expiating this single fault, and your lenity will bring back a soul to heaven!"
"Amazing
