The evening now sunk in darkness, and the hour was fast approaching
which would decide the fate of Julia. Trembling anxiety subdued every
other sensation; and as the minutes passed, her fears increased. At
length she heard the gates of the monastery fastened for the night;
the bell rang the signal for repose; and the passing footsteps of the
nuns told her they were hastening to obey it. After some time, all was
silent. Julia did not yet dare to venture forth; she employed the
present interval in interesting and affectionate conversation with
Madame de Menon, to whom, notwithstanding her situation, her heart
bade a sorrowful adieu.

The clock struck twelve, when she arose to depart. Having embraced her
faithful friend with tears of mingled grief and anxiety, she took a
lamp in her hand, and with cautious, fearful steps, descended through
the long winding passages to a private door, which opened into the
church of the monastery. The church was gloomy and desolate; and the
feeble rays of the lamp she bore, gave only light enough to discover
its chilling grandeur. As she passed silently along the aisles, she
cast a look of anxious examination around--but Ferdinand was no where
to be seen. She paused in timid hesitation, fearful to penetrate the
gloomy obscurity which lay before her, yet dreading to return.

As she stood examining the place, vainly looking for Ferdinand, yet
fearing to call, lest her voice should betray her, a hollow groan
arose from apart of the church very near her. It chilled her heart,
and she remained fixed to the spot. She turned her eyes a little to
the left, and saw light appear through the chinks of a sepulchre at
some distance