mnation.

While his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the utmost
acrimony, Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious villainy, and
the terrors of punishment impending over him. When He looked back to
the eminence on which He had lately stood, universally honoured and
respected, at peace with the world and with himself, scarcely could He
believe that He was indeed the culprit whose crimes and whose fate He
trembled to envisage. But a few weeks had elapsed, since He was pure
and virtuous, courted by the wisest and noblest in Madrid, and regarded
by the People with a reverence that approached idolatry: He now saw
himself stained with the most loathed and monstrous sins, the object of
universal execration, a Prisoner of the Holy Office, and probably
doomed to perish in tortures the most severe. He could not hope to
deceive his Judges: The proofs of his guilt were too strong. His
being in the Sepulchre at so late an hour, his confusion at the
discovery, the dagger which in his first alarm He owned had been
concealed by him, and the blood which had spirted upon his habit from
Antonia's wound, sufficiently marked him out for the Assassin. He
waited with agony for the day of examination: He had no resource to
comfort him in his distress. Religion could not inspire him with
fortitude: If He read the Books of morality which were put into his
hands, He saw in them nothing but the enormity of his offences; If he
attempted to pray, He recollected that He deserved not heaven's
protection, and believed his crimes so monstrous as to baffle even
God's infinite goodness. For every other Sinner He thought there might
be hope, but for him there could be none. Shuddering at the past,
anguished by the present, and dreading the future, thus passed He the
few days preceding that which was marked for his Trial.

That day arrived. At nine in the morning his prison door was unlocked,
and his Gaoler entering, commanded him to follow him. He obeyed with
trembling. He was conducted into a spacious Hall, hung with black
cloth. At the Table sat three grave, stern-looking Men, also habited in
black: One was the Grand Inquisitor, whom the importance of this cause
had induced to examine into it himself. At a smaller table at a little
distance sat the Secretary, provided with all necessary implements for
writing. Ambrosio was beckoned to advance, and take his station at the
lower end of the Table. As his eye glanced downwar