and the music
which he heard was occasioned by the Monks, who were celebrating their
Vespers in the Abbey Chapel.

Lorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister’s
Convent. His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his dream, He
already drew near the Porch, when his attention was attracted by
perceiving a Shadow moving upon the opposite wall. He looked curiously
round, and soon descried a Man wrapped up in his Cloak, who seemed
carefully examining whether his actions were observed. Very few people
are exempt from the influence of curiosity. The Unknown seemed anxious
to conceal his business in the Cathedral, and it was this very
circumstance, which made Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about.

Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the secrets of
this unknown Cavalier.

“I will go,” said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was.

The shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from the
Stranger, who continued to advance with caution. At length He drew a
letter from beneath his cloak, and hastily placed it beneath a Colossal
Statue of St. Francis. Then retiring with precipitation, He concealed
himself in a part of the Church at a considerable distance from that in
which the Image stood.

“So!” said Lorenzo to himself; “This is only some foolish love affair.
I believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good in it.”

In truth till that moment it never came into his head that He could do
any good in it; But He thought it necessary to make some little excuse
to himself for having indulged his curiosity. He now made a second
attempt to retire from the Church: For this time He gained the Porch
without meeting with any impediment; But it was destined that He should
pay it another visit that night. As He descended the steps leading into
the Street, a Cavalier rushed against him with such violence, that Both
were nearly overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo put his hand to his
sword.

“How now, Segnor?” said He; “What mean you by this rudeness?”

“Ha! Is it you, Medina?” replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by his
voice now recognized for Don Christoval; “You are the luckiest Fellow
in the Universe, not to have left the Church before my return. In, in!
my dear Lad! They will be here immediately!”

“Who will be here?”

“The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and then
you shall know the whole History.”

Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed themselves
behind the Statue of St. Francis.

“And now,” said our Hero, “may I take the liberty of asking, what is
the meaning of all this haste and rapture?”

“Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The Prioress of St.
Clare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither. You are to know,
that the pious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him for it!) will upon
no account move out of his own precincts: It being absolutely necessary
for every fashionable Convent to have him for its Confessor, the Nuns
are in consequence obliged to visit him at the Abbey; since when the
Mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to the
Mountain. Now the Prioress of St. Clare, the better to escape the gaze
of such impure eyes as belong to yourself and your humble Servant,
thinks proper to bring her holy flock to confession in the Dusk: She is
to be admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door. The Porteress
of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular Friend of mine,
has just assured me of their being here in a few moments. There is news
for you, you Rogue! We shall see some of the prettiest faces in
Madrid!”

“In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are always
veiled.”

“No! No! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they ever take
off their veils from respect to the Saint to whom ’tis dedicated. But
Hark! They are coming! Silence, silence! Observe, and be convinced.”

“Good!” said Lorenzo to himself; “I may possibly discover to whom the
vows are addressed of t