the monk(僧侣)-第77节

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hurl　me　down　into　the　dwellings　of　Fiends；　and　flames；　and
Furies；　and　everlasting　torments！　　And　'tis　you；　who　will　accuse
me！　　'Tis　you；　who　will　cause　my　eternal　anguish！　　You；　wretched
Girl！　　You！　　You！'

As　He　thundered　out　these　words；　He　violently　grasped　Antonia's
arm；　and　spurned　the　earth　with　delirious　fury。

Supposing　his　brain　to　be　turned；　Antonia　sank　in　terror　upon　her
knees：　　She　lifted　up　her　hands；　and　her　voice　almost　died　away；
ere　She　could　give　it　utterance。

'Spare　me！　　Spare　me！'　She　murmured　with　difficulty。

'Silence！'　cried　the　Friar　madly；　and　dashed　her　upon　the
ground

He　quitted　her；　and　paced　the　dungeon　with　a　wild　and　disordered
air。　　His　eyes　rolled　fearfully：　　Antonia　trembled　whenever　She
met　their　gaze。　　He　seemed　to　meditate　on　something　horrible；　and
She　gave　up　all　hopes　of　escaping　from　the　Sepulchre　with　life。　
Yet　in　harbouring　this　idea；　She　did　him　injustice。　　Amidst　the
horror　and　disgust　to　which　his　soul　was　a　prey；　pity　for　his
Victim　still　held　a　place　in　it。　　The　storm　of　passion　once　over；
He　would　have　given　worlds　had　He　possest　them；　to　have　restored
to　her　that　innocence　of　which　his　unbridled　lust　had　deprived
her。　　Of　the　desires　which　had　urged　him　to　the　crime；　no　trace
was　left　in　his　bosom：　　The　wealth　of　India　would　not　have
tempted　him　to　a　second　enjoyment　of　her　person。　　His　nature
seemed　to　revolt　at　the　very　idea；　and　fain　would　He　have　wiped
from　his　memory　the　scene　which　had　just　past。　　As　his　gloomy
rage　abated；　in　proportion　did　his　compassion　augment　for
Antonia。　　He　stopped；　and　would　have　spoken　to　her　words　of
comfort；　But　He　knew　not　from　whence　to　draw　them；　and　remained
gazing　upon　her　with　mournful　wildness。　　Her　situation　seemed　so
hopeless；　so　woebegone；　as　to　baffle　mortal　power　to　relieve
her。　　What　could　He　do　for　her？　　Her　peace　of　mind　was　lost；　her
honour　irreparably　ruined。　　She　was　cut　off　for　ever　from
society；　nor　dared　He　give　her　back　to　it。　　He　was　conscious
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　my
protection。　　Ha