"In this convent there lived a most beautiful woman--a nun, and in one of the neighboring monasteries a priest who, against the strict law of his Church, had conceived and nourished a passion for her. He was an Italian who had been obliged to leave his own country, for reasons best known to himself, and nightly he would steal his way to this house, by means of one of the subterraneous passages, and attempt to overcome the nun's scruples, and make her listen to his tale of love; but she, strong in the faith, resisted him. At last, maddened one day by her repeated refusals, and his own guilty passion, he hid himself in one of the northern rooms in the upper story of this house, and watched there in the dark for her to pass him on her way from her devotions in the chapel; but she did not come. Then he crept downstairs stealthily, with a dagger hid beneath his robes, and met her in the hall. He conjured her again to yield to him, but again she resisted, and he stabbed her within the door on the very spot where the medium first perceived him. Her pure soul sought immediate consolation in the spirit spheres, but his has been chained down ever since to the scene of his awful crime. He dragged her body down the secret stairs (which are still existent) to the vaults beneath, and hid it in the subterraneous passage. "After a few days he sought it again, and buried it. He lived many years after, and committed many other crimes, though none so foul as this. It is his unhappy spirit that asks your prayers to help it to progress. It is for this purpose that we were brought to this city, that we might aid in releasing the miserable soul that cannot rest." I asked, "By what name shall we pray for him?" "Pray for 'the distressed Being.' Call him by no other name." "What is your own name?" "I prefer to be unknown. May God bless you all and keep you in the way of prayer and truth and from all evil courses, and bring you to everlasting life. Amen." The medium then walked up to the spot he had indicated as the scene of the murder, and knelt there for some minutes in prayer. Thus concluded the first _séance_ at which the monk was introduced to us. But the next day as I sat at the table with my sister only, the name of "Hortense Dupont" was given us, and the following conversation was rapped out. "Who are you?" "I am the nun. I did love him. I couldn't help it. It is such a relief to think that he will be prayed for." "When did he murder you?" "In 1498." "What was his name?" "I cannot tell you." "His age." "Thirty-five!" "And yours." "Twenty-three." "Are you coming to see us to-morrow?" "I am not sure."