 find that his mansion
would be no longer troubled with the phantom's quinquennial visits. I was sorry
to perceive, that absence had not weakened Donna Rodolpha's imprudent passion.
In a private conversation which I had with her during my short stay at the
castle, she renewed her attempts to persuade me to return her affection.
Regarding her as the primary cause of all my sufferings, I entertained for her
no other sentiment than disgust. The skeleton of Beatrice was found in the place
which she had mentioned. This being all that I sought at Lindenberg, I hastened
to quit the baron's domains, equally anxious to perform the obsequies of the
murdered nun, and escape the importunity of a woman whom I detested. I departed,
followed by Donna Rodolpha's menaces, that my contempt should not be long
unpunished.
    I now bent my course towards Spain with all diligence. Lucas with my baggage
had joined me during my abode at Lindenberg. I arrived in my native country
without any accident, and immediately proceeded to my father's castle in
Andalusia. The remains of Beatrice were deposited in the family vault, all due
ceremonies performed, and the number of masses said which she had required.
Nothing now hindered me from employing all my endeavours to discover the retreat
of Agnes. The baroness had assured me, that her niece had already taken the
veil: this intelligence I suspected to have been forged by jealousy, and hoped
to find my mistress still at liberty to accept my hand. I enquired after her
family; I found that before her daughter could reach Madrid, Donna Inesilla was
no more: you, my dear Lorenzo, were said to be abroad, but where I could not
discover: your father was in a distant province, on a visit to the duke de
Medina; and as to Agnes, no one could or would inform me what was become of her.
Theodore, according to promise, had returned to Strasbourg, where he found his
grandfather dead, and Marguerite in possession of his fortune. All her
persuasions to remain with her were fruitless: he quitted her a second time, and
followed me to Madrid. He exerted himself to the utmost in forwarding my search:
but our united endeavours were unattended by success. The retreat which
concealed Agnes remained an impenetrable mystery, and I began to abandon all
hopes of recovering her.
    About eight months ago I was returning to my hotel in a melancholy humour,
having passed the evening at the playhouse. The night was dark, and I was
unaccompanied. Plunged in reflections which were far from being agreeable, I
perceived
