'

'Are you then God's Friend at present? Have you not broken your
engagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned yourself to
the impulse of your passions? Are you not planning the destruction of
innocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He formed in the mould of
Angels? If not of Daemons, whose aid would you invoke to forward this
laudable design? Will the Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to
your arms, and sanction with their ministry your illicit pleasures?
Absurd! But I am not deceived, Ambrosio! It is not virtue which makes
you reject my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you dare not. 'Tis not
the crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respect
for God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance! Fain
would you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess yourself his
Foe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the courage either to
be a firm Friend or open Enemy!'

'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: In this
respect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my passions have
made me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my heart an innate love
of virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me with my perjury: You, who
first seduced me to violate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleeping
vices, made me feel the weight of Religion's chains, and bad me be
convinced that guilt had pleasures. Yet though my principles have
yielded to the force of temperament, I still have sufficient grace to
shudder at Sorcery, and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!'

'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of the
Almighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it? Receives
He no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him, Ambrosio; You will
always have time to repent, and He have goodness to forgive. Afford
him a glorious opportunity to exert that goodness: The greater your
crime, the greater his merit in pardoning. Away then with these
childish scruples: Be persuaded to your good, and follow me to the
Sepulchre.'

'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious
language, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's. Let us
drop a conversation which excites no other sentiments than horror and
disgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre, or accept the
services of your infernal Agents. Antonia shall be mine, but mine by
human means.'

'Then yours She will never be! You are banishe