How bright and fair are the hopes of youth, like the early flowers of spring; but how soon, alas! do they, too, wither and decay, beneath the first scorching blast of summer. Poor Donna Clara awoke, the morning after the events we have described in the previous chapter, with a weight at her young heart such as she had never before experienced. A short month ago, the world promised naught but happiness, and now every feeling of joy lay crushed and blighted. Old Gertrudes attended her loved mistress with looks of sorrow, while the business of the toilette was proceeding; and no sooner had she dismissed her Abigails, than she urged her to confide to her bosom all the causes of her grief. She was in no way restrained in her abuse of the Count, describing his character very much in its true light; but her observations, far from relieving Clara's mind, only increased her fears for the safety of Don Luis. When the old lady heard that her fate was to be settled that very day, her tears flowed fast, as she embraced her affectionately: "I will not have my child torn from me to be shut up in a convent, where I cannot attend on her," she exclaimed. "I don't believe my mistress, your lady mother, who has gone to heaven, ever wished you to go into one at all. I never heard her say so, and there's nobody but the Senhor Confessor who ever did; so I see no reason why you should be forced to do what you do not like. If you were to marry some young fidalgo whom you loved, it would be very different, and all natural; because I might then accompany and take care of you; but this I am determined shall not be, let that stern friar say and do what he will. I don't care for him; for I know more about him than he is aware of, clever as he thinks himself." The old lady had got thus far in her tirade, when a knocking was heard at the door, and the deep voice of Father Alfonzo demanded admittance, which Clara could not refuse. He entered with a slow step, and a solemn look; and after seating himself by the side of the fair girl, ordered Senhor a Gertrudes to withdraw. She looked as if she would very much like to disobey; but there was no help for it. "I have matter of importance to communicate to my young penitent, which no ears but hers must hear;" so the old nurse, casting a warning glance towards Donna Clara, quitted the room. "My daughter," began the Friar, "this day you are to make your selection, either to wed the Count or to assume the veil. Now, I would not bias your choice; but I consider it my duty to inform you of certain things which have come to my knowledge, which will have great effect on your future happiness,--but on one condition, that you reveal them to no one; this swear to me, and I will speak them." Clara took the oath as the Friar directed; for why should she refuse to do that which her confessor asked?