We saw none of the Nuns but the Superiors and Novices. They stood within the inner door, which, as a particular distinction, they opened while they conversed with us across the threshold. My attention was soon arrested by the youngest of the Superiors.
She appears scarcely thirty. Confinement has only softened the colour of her cheek, and composed the lustre of her eye. Her features are perfectly regular, and her countenance is animated by the cheerful glow of benevolence and virtue. With the gentleness of a saint, she possesses all the accomplishments of a woman of the world, and speaks a variety of languages, with a voice harmoniously sweet.
Her name is Lucilla. She is aunt to the beautiful Villarias, and, like her, in her youth, was the pride of Sardinia. Early in life, she engaged herself to Fernando, a young nobleman, in every respect her equal. Their hearts were already united, and the day was fixed for their nuptials; but, before this happy hour could be celebrated, the sudden death of the best of parents obliged Fernando to pass over to the Continent, to perform the last offices to his deceased, and affectionate father. Before his departure, he repeated those endearing vows of eternal constancy; which both he and Lucilla had often given and received; and each promised to write by every opportunity.
Lucilla kept her word; and when the time she expected an answer had expired, her mind was filled with anxious fears for her lover's safety. At length she heard of his arrival at Turin from his friends, most of whom had received letters from him; but Lucilla, who expected to have had the first, got none. She was too generous to be suspicious, and, instead of complaining, continued writing to Fernando in the most affectionate terms, making every excuse for not hearing from him, but entreating him, as he valued her affection, to write to her by every channel.
The amiable Lucilla had still the mortification of seeing post after post arrive, without a line from her lover. At length she heard, accidentally, that he was soon to set out for Spain, from whence he was to embark for South America. A thousand painful emotions now seized her breast, and her grief for her lover's unworthiness was not the least. Her fate was drawing to a crisis; and, as her last resource, she wrote him the following letter: