The young lady’s eyes were fixed so intently on a little clock, that it was no wonder that she did not perceive the entrance of her two visitors. Her fair cheek rested in her white arm, and her white arm on the cushion of a great chair in which she sat, pleasantly supported by sweet thoughts and swan’s down; a lute was at her side, and a book of prayers lay under the table (for piety is always modest). Like the amorous Alexander, she sighed and looked (at the clock)--and sighed for ten minutes or more, when she softly breathed the word “Edward!” At this the soul of the Baron was wroth. “The jade is at her old pranks,” said he to the devil; and then addressing Matilda: “I pray thee, sweet niece, turn thy thoughts for a moment from that villainous page, Edward, and give them to thine affectionate uncle.” When she heard the voice, and saw the awful apparition of her uncle (for a year’s sojourn in purgatory had not increased the comeliness of his appearance), she started, screamed, and of course fainted. But the devil Mercurius soon restored her to herself. “What’s o’clock?” said she, as soon as she had recovered from her fit: “is he come?” “Not thy lover, Maude, but thine uncle--that is, his soul. For the love of heaven, listen to me: I have been frying in purgatory for a year past, and should have been in heaven but for the want of a single ave.” “I will say it for thee tomorrow, uncle.” “Tonight, or never.” “Well, tonight be it:” and she requested the devil Mercurius to give her the prayer-book, from under the table; but he had no sooner touched the holy book than he dropped it with a shriek and a yell. “It was hotter,” he said, “than his master Sir Lucifer’s own particular pitchfork.” And the lady was forced to begin her ave without the aid of her missal. At the commencement of her devotions the demon retired, and carried with him the anxious soul of poor Sir Roger de Rollo. The lady knelt down--she sighed deeply; she looked again at the clock, and began-- “Ave Maria.” When a lute was heard under the window, and a sweet voice singing-- “Hark!” said Matilda. “Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west-- “The faithful night keeps watch and ward, Raising the moon, her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!” “For mercy’s sake!” said Sir Rollo, “the ave first, and next the song.” So Matilda again dutifully betook her to her devotions, and began-- “Ave Maria gratia plena!” but the music began again, and the prayer ceased of course. “The faithful night! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chant mine ev’ning hymn. “Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine! (For never holy pilgrim kneel’d, Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!”