he 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