e adjacent Convent, and as the current swept by him,
bore with it the faint notes of the chaunt of Choristers. He opened
the door cautiously, as if fearing to be overheard: He entered; and
closed it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long
passages, in whose windings Matilda had instructed him, and reached the
private Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress.

Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no
obstacle to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia's Funeral had observed
it too carefully to be deceived. He found the door, which was
unfastened, pushed it open, and descended into the dungeon. He
approached the humble Tomb in which Antonia reposed. He had provided
himself with an iron crow and a pick-axe; But this precaution was
unnecessary. The Grate was slightly fastened on the outside: He
raised it, and placing the Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently over the
Tomb. By the side of three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the
sleeping Beauty. A lively red, the forerunner of returning animation,
had already spread itself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud
She reclined upon her funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images
of Death around her. While He gazed upon their rotting bones and
disgusting figures, who perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, Ambrosio
thought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the same state. As the memory of
that horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy
horror. Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroy
Antonia's honour.

'For your sake, Fatal Beauty!' murmured the Monk, while gazing on his
devoted prey; 'For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold
myself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: The produce of my
guilt will at least be mine. Hope not that your prayers breathed in
tones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and
your hands lifted in supplication, as when seeking in penitence the
Virgin's pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence, your beauteous
grief, or all your suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces.
Before the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!'

He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a
bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for
the symptoms of returning animation. Scarcely could He command his
passions sufficiently, to restrain himself from enjoying her while ye