I ascertained to my
satisfaction that she was beautiful; and, from the paleness of her
cheek, that she was a victim, rather than a votary. She was arrayed in
bridal garments, and decked with a chaplet of white flowers, but her
heart evidently revolted at this mockery of a spiritual union, and
yearned after its earthly loves. A tall, stern-looking man walked near
her in the procession; it was, of course, the tyrannical father,
who, from some bigoted or sordid motive, had compelled this sacrifice.
Amid the crowd was a dark handsome youth, in Andalusian garb, who
seemed to fix on her an eye of agony. It was doubtless the secret
lover from whom she was for ever to be separated. My indignation
rose as I noted the malignant expression painted on the countenances
of the attendant monks and friars. The procession arrived at the
chapel of the convent; the sun gleamed for the last time upon the
chaplet of the poor novice, as she crossed the fatal threshold, and
disappeared within the building. The throng poured in with cowl, and
cross, and minstrelsy; the lover paused for a moment at the door. I
could divine the tumult of his feelings; but he mastered them, and
entered. There was a long interval- I pictured to myself the scene
passing within; the poor novice despoiled of her transient finery, and
clothed in the conventual garb; the bridal chaplet taken from her
brow, and her beautiful head shorn of its long silken tresses.
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