o, no, I read them all!
You trusted that you should still have time for repentance. I saw your
artifice, knew its falsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the deceiver!
You are mine beyond reprieve: I burn to possess my right, and alive
you quit not these mountains.'

During the Daemon's speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror and
surprize. This last declaration rouzed him.

'Not quit these mountains alive?' He exclaimed: 'Perfidious, what mean
you? Have you forgotten our contract?'

The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh:

'Our contract? Have I not performed my part? What more did I promise
than to save you from your prison? Have I not done so? Are you not
safe from the Inquisition--safe from all but from me? Fool that you
were to confide yourself to a Devil! Why did you not stipulate for
life, and power, and pleasure? Then all would have been granted: Now,
your reflections come too late. Miscreant, prepare for death; You have
not many hours to live!'

On hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the devoted
Wretch! He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands towards heaven.
The Fiend read his intention and prevented it--

'What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still
implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act
an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I
secure my prey!'

As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He
sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with
Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a
dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk
through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He
rolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested
on the river's banks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He
attempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs
refused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where
He had first fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching
beams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of
insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which
trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from
him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his
body, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures
the most exquisite and i