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that were She to appear in the world again； his guilt would be
revealed； and his punishment inevitable。 To one so laden with
crimes； Death came armed with double terrors。 Yet should He
restore Antonia to light； and stand the chance of her betraying
him； how miserable a prospect would present itself before her。
She could never hope to be creditably established； She would be
marked with infamy； and condemned to sorrow and solitude for the
remainder of her existence。 What was the alternative？ A
resolution far more terrible for Antonia； but which at least
would insure the Abbot's safety。 He determined to leave the
world persuaded of her death； and to retain her a captive in this
gloomy prison： There He proposed to visit her every night； to
bring her food； to profess his penitence； and mingle his tears
with hers。 The Monk felt that this resolution was unjust and
cruel； but it was his only means to prevent Antonia from
publishing his guilt and her own infamy。 Should He release her；
He could not depend upon her silence： His offence was too
flagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness。 Besides； her
reappearing would excite universal curiosity； and the violence
of her affliction would prevent her from concealing its cause。
He determined therefore； that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in
the dungeon。
He approached her with confusion painted on his countenance。 He
raised her from the ground。 Her hand trembled； as He took it；
and He dropped it again as if He had touched a Serpent。 Nature
seemed to recoil at the touch。 He felt himself at once repulsed
from and attracted towards her； yet could account for neither
sentiment。 There was something in her look which penetrated him
with horror； and though his understanding was still ignorant of
it； Conscience pointed out to him the whole extent of his crime。
In hurried accents yet the gentlest He could find； while his eye
was averted； and his voice scarcely audible； He strove to console
her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided。 He
declared himself sincerely penitent； and that He would gladly
shed a drop of his blood； for every tear which his barbarity had
forced from her。 Wretched and hopeless； Antonia listened to him
in silent grief： But when He announced her confinement in the
Sepulchre； that dreadful doom to which even death seemed
preferable roused her from her insensibility at once。 To linger
out a life of misery in a narrow loathsome Cell； known to exist
by no human Being save her Ravisher； surrounded by mouldering
Corses； breathing the pestilential air of corruption； never more
to behold the light； or drink the pure gale of heaven； the idea
was more terrible than She could support。 It conquered even her
abhorrence of the Friar。 Again She sank upon her knees： She
besought his compassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent。
She promised； would He but restore her to liberty； to conceal her
injuries from the world； to assign any reason for her
reappearance which He might judge proper； and in order to
prevent the least suspicion from falling upon him； She offered to
quit Madrid immediately。 Her entreaties were so urgent as to
make a considerable impression upon the Monk。 He reflected that
as her person no longer excited his desires； He had no interest
in keeping her concealed as He had at first intended； that He was
adding a fresh injury to those which She had already suffered；
and that if She adhered to her promises； whether She was confined
or at liberty； his life and reputation were equally secure。 On
the other hand； He trembled lest in her affliction Antonia should
unintentionally break her engagement； or that her excessive
simplicity and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more
artful to surprize her secret。 However well…founded were these
apprehensions； compassion； and a sincere wish to repair his fault
as much as possible solicited his complying with the prayers of
his Suppliant。 The difficulty of colouring Antonia's unexpected
return to life； after her supposed death and public interment；
was the only point which kept him irresolute。 He was still
pondering on the means of removing this obstacle； when He heard
the sound of feet approaching with precipitation。 The door of
the Vault was thrown open； and Matilda rushed in； evidently much
confused and terrified。
On seeing a Stranger enter； Antonia uttered a cry of joy： But
her hopes of receiving succour from him were soon dissipated。
The supposed Novice； without expressing the least surprize at
finding a Woman alone with the Monk； in so strange a place； and
at so late an hour； addressed him thus without losing a moment。
'What is to be done； Ambrosio？ We are lost； unless some speedy
means is found of dispelling the Rioters。 Ambrosio； the Convent
of St。 Clare is on fire； The Prioress has fallen a victim to the
fury of the Mob。 Already is the Abbey menaced with a similar
fate。 Alarmed at the threats of the People； the Monks seek for
you everywhere。 They imagine that your authority alone will
suffice to calm this disturbance。 No one knows what is become
of you； and your absence creates universal astonishment and
despair。 I profited by the confusion； and fled hither to warn
you of the danger。'
'This will soon be remedied；' answered the Abbot； 'I will hasten
back to my Cell： a trivial reason will account for my having
been missed。'
'Impossible！' rejoined Matilda： 'The Sepulchre is filled with
Archers。 Lorenzo de Medina； with several Officers of the
Inquisition； searches through the Vaults； and pervades every
passage。 You will be intercepted in your flight； Your reasons
for being at this late hour in the Sepulchre will be examined；
Antonia will be found； and then you are undone for ever！'
'Lorenzo de Medina？ Officers of the Inquisition？ What brings
them here？ Seek they for me？ Am I then suspected？ Oh！ speak；
Matilda！ Answer me； in pity！'
'As yet they do not think of you； but I fear that they will ere
long。 Your only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the
difficulty of exploring this Vault。 The door is artfully hidden：
Haply it may not be observed； and we may remain concealed till
the search is over。'
'But Antonia 。 。 。 。 。 Should the Inquisitors draw near； and her
cries be heard 。 。 。 。'
'Thus I remove that danger！' interrupted Matilda。
At the same time drawing a poignard； She rushed upon her devoted
prey。
'Hold！ Hold！' cried Ambrosio； seizing her hand； and wresting from
it the already lifted weapon。 'What would you do； cruel Woman？
The Unfortunate has already suffered but too much； thanks to your
pernicious consels！ Would to God that I had never followed them！
Would to God that I had never seen your face！'
Matilda darted upon him a look of scorn。
'Absurd！' She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty which
impressed the Monk with awe。 'After robbing her of all that made
it dear； can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable？ But
'tis well！ Let her live to convince you of your folly。 I
abandon you to your evil destiny！ I disclaim your alliance！ Who
trembles to commit so insignificant a crime； deserves not