“My daughter,” replied I, “by your trembling answer, I know that you are deceiving yourself and me.  I am an old man, and have been too many years in this chair, not to ascertain by the answers which I receive, whether the conscience is unloaded.  Yours, I am convinced, has something pressing heavily upon it; something for which you would fain have absolution, but which you are ashamed to reveal.  If not a principal, you have been a party to crime; and never shall you have absolution until you have made a full confession.”  Her heart swelled with emotion, she attempted to speak, and burst into tears.  “These are harbingers of good,” observed I; “I am now convinced that my supposition was correct:  pour out your soul in tribulation, and receive that comfort which I am empowered to bestow.  Courage, my daughter! the best of us are but grievous sinners.”  As soon as she could check her sobbing, she commenced her confession; narrating her penchant for me, her subsequent attachment to the young officer, my abuse of him, and the punishment which had ensued—­his desertion, the introduction of Don Pedro, her pique at having instigated him to kill her lover, his death, and all that I have narrated to your highness.

“These are serious crimes, my daughter! grievous indeed; you have yielded to the tempter in your own person, caused the death of one man, you have led another astray, and have deceived him, when he claimed the reward of his iniquity; but all these are trifles compared to the offence upon the holy monk, which is the worst of sacrilege.  And what was his fault? that he cautioned you against a person, whose subsequent conduct has proved, that the worthy man was correct in his suppositions.

“In every way you have offended Heaven; a whole life will be scarce sufficient for the task of repentance, laying aside the enormous crime of sacrilege, which, in justice, ought to be referred to the Inquisition.  Excommunication is more fitting in your case than absolution.”  I waited some time before I again spoke, during which she sobbed bitterly.  “My daughter,” observed I, “before I can decide upon what is to be done to save you from everlasting perdition, it is necessary that you humble yourself before the religious man, whose person you have abused.  Send to the convent to which he belongs, and entreat him to come; and when you have confessed your crime, offer to him the same implements of punishment, which through your instigation were so sacrilegiously applied.  Submit to his sentence, and the penance which he may prescribe.  When you have done that, repair again to me.  I shall be in this chair the day after to-morrow.”

The girl muffled up her face, waited a few minutes to compose herself, and then returned to her mother, who wondered what could have detained her so long.