George W. M. Reynolds

“ Flora started, and a blush mantled on her cheeks, before so pale!
"You see that I have touched a chord which vibrates to your heart's core, daughter," continued the nun, on whom that sudden evidence of emotion was not lost. "You have suffered yourself to be deluded by the whisperings of that feeling whose tendency was to wean your soul from Heaven."
"And is it possible that a pure and virtuous love can be construed into a crime?" demanded the young maiden, her indignation overpowering her fears.
"A love that is founded on, and fostered by ambition is a sin," replied the nun. ”

“ Mercy!" exclaimed Flora, in a voice expressive of the most acute anguish.
And stretching forth her snowy arms (for it was round the waist and by the feet that she was fastened to the chair) , she convulsively placed her open palms against the wooden walls of the pit, as if she could by that spasmodic movement arrest the descent of the terrible apparatus that was bearing her down into that hideous, unknown gulf! But the walls were smooth and even, and presented nothing whereon she could fix her grasp.
Her brain reeled, and for a few minutes she sat motionless, in dumb, inert despair. ”

“ Casting her eyes around, she observed two circumstances which showed her that some one had visited her room during the hours she slept; for a new taper was burning before the crucifix, and her own garments had been removed,—the coarse garb of a penitent now occupying their place on the chair.
"Oh! is it possible that I am doomed to bid farewell to the world forever?" exclaimed Flora, in a voice of despair, as she clasped her hands convulsively together. ”