air blew gently upon me, even as it does now; but . . . it was night. There was a dirge sung as in monasteries, and friars passed to and fro, in long procession before me. Their torches now and then lighted the vaults, and the chaunt was mournful, and repeatedly interrupted—all this was confused.—That which was more striking, I remember better. A monk in black stood before me; and whilst he gazed upon me, he grew to a height unusual and monstrous: he seemed to possess some authority over me, and he questioned me as to my conduct and affections. I tried to disguise from him many thoughts which disturbed me; I spoke in a hurried manner of others; I named you not. He shook his head; and then looking fiercely at me, bade me beware of Clarence de Ruthven (for so he called you). I never can forget his voice. "All others you may see, you may converse with; but, Calantha, beware," he said, "of Clarence
