volume01-第14部分

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you？　　The　few　hours　of　life　which　yet　remain　for　me；　may　I　not　pass　them　in　your　presence？　　Oh！　speak；　Ambrosio；　and　tell　me　that　I　may　stay！'

This　speech　gave　the　Abbot　an　opportunity　of　recollecting　himself。　　He　was　conscious　that　in　the　present　disposition　of　his　mind；　avoiding　her　society　was　his　only　refuge　from　the　power　of　this　enchanting　Woman。

'You　declaration　has　so　much　astonished　me；'　said　He；　'that　I　am　at　present　incapable　of　answering　you。　　Do　not　insist　upon　a　reply；　Matilda；　Leave　me　to　myself；　I　have　need　to　be　alone。'

'I　obey　youBut　before　I　go；　promise　not　to　insist　upon　my　quitting　the　Abbey　immediately。'

'Matilda；　reflect　upon　your　situation；　Reflect　upon　the　consequences　of　your　stay。　　Our　separation　is　indispensable；　and　we　must　part。'

'But　not　to…day；　Father！　　Oh！　in　pity　not　today！'

'You　press　me　too　hard；　but　I　cannot　resist　that　tone　of　supplication。　　Since　you　insist　upon　it；　I　yield　to　your　prayer：　　I　consent　to　your　remaining　here　a　sufficient　time　to　prepare　in　some　measure　the　Brethren　for　your　departure。　　Stay　yet　two　days；　But　on　the　third；'　。　。　。　（He　sighed　involuntarily）'Remember；　that　on　the　third　we　must　part　for　ever！'

She　caught　his　hand　eagerly；　and　pressed　it　to　her　lips。

'On　the　third？'　She　exclaimed　with　an　air　of　wild　solemnity；　'You　are　right；　Father！　　You　are　right！　　On　the　third　we　must　part　for　ever！'

There　was　a　dreadful　expression　in　her　eye　as　She　uttered　these　words；　which　penetrated　the　Friar's　soul　with　horror：　　Again　She　kissed　his　hand；　and　then　fled　with　rapidity　from　the　chamber。

Anxious　to　authorise　the　presence　of　his　dangerous　Guest；　yet　conscious　that　her　stay　was　infringing　the　laws　of　his　order；　Ambrosio's　bosom　became　the　Theatre　of　a　thousand　contending　passions。　　At　length　his　attachment　to　the　feigned　Rosario；　aided　by　the　natural　warmth　of　his　temperament；　seemed　likely　to　obtain　the　victory：　The　success　was　assured；　when　that　presumption　which　formed　the　groundwork　of　his　character　came　to　Matilda's　assistance。　　The　Monk　reflected　that　to　vanquish　temptation　was　an　infinitely　greater　merit　than　to　avoid　it：　　He　thought　that　He　ought　rather　to　rejoice　in　the　opportunity　given　him　of　proving　the　firmness　of　his　virtue。　　St。　Anthony　had　withstood　all　seductions　to　lust；　Then　why　should　not　He？　　Besides；　St。　Anthony　was　tempted　by　the　Devil；　who　put　every　art　into　practice　to　excite　his　passions：　　Whereas；　Ambrosio's　danger　proceeded　from　a　mere　mortal　Woman；　fearful　and　modest；　whose　apprehensions　of　his　yielding　were　not　less　violent　than　his　own。

'Yes；'　said　He；　'The　Unfortunate　shall　stay；　I　have　nothing　to　fear　from　her　presence。　　Even　should　my　own　prove　too　weak　to　resist　the　temptation；　I　am　secured　from　danger　by　the　innocence　of　Matilda。'

Ambrosio　was　yet　to　learn；　that　to　an　heart　unacquainted　with　her；　Vice　is　ever　most　dangerous　when　lurking　behind　the　Mask　of　Virtue。

He　found　himself　so　perfectly　recovered；　that　when　Father　Pablos　visited　him　again　at　night；　He　entreated　permission　to　quit　his　chamber　on　the　day　following。　His　request　was　granted。　　Matilda　appeared　no　more　that　evening；　except　in　company　with　the　Monks　when　they　came　in　a　body　to　enquire　after　the　Abbot's　health。　　She　seemed　fearful　of　conversing　with　him　in　private；　and　stayed　but　a　few　minutes　in　his　room。　　The　Friar　slept　well；　But　the　dreams　of　the　former　night　were　repeated；　and　his　sensations　of　voluptuousness　were　yet　more　keen　and　exquisite。　　The　same　lust…exciting　visions　floated　before　his　eyes：　　Matilda；　in　all　the　pomp　of　beauty；　warm；　tender；　and　luxurious；　clasped　him　to　her　bosom；　and　lavished　upon　him　the　most　ardent　caresses。　　He　returned　them　as　eagerly；　and　already　was　on　the　point　of　satisfying　his　desires；　when　the　faithless　form　disappeared；　and　left　him　to　all　the　horrors　of　shame　and　disappointment。

The　Morning　dawned。　　Fatigued；　harassed；　and　exhausted　by　his　provoking　dreams；　He　was　not　disposed　to　quit　his　Bed。　　He　excused　himself　from　appearing　at　Matins：　　It　was　the　first　morning　in　his　life　that　He　had　ever　missed　them。　　He　rose　late。　　During　the　whole　of　the　day　He　had　no　opportunity　of　speaking　to　Matilda　without　witnesses。　　His　Cell　was　thronged　by　the　Monks；　anxious　to　express　their　concern　at　his　illness；　And　He　was　still　occupied　in　receiving　their　compliments　on　his　recovery；　when　the　Bell　summoned　them　to　the　Refectory。

After　dinner　the　Monks　separated；　and　dispersed　themselves　in　various　parts　of　the　Garden；　where　the　shade　of　trees　or　retirement　of　some　Grotto　presented　the　most　agreeable　means　of　enjoying　the　Siesta。　　The　Abbot　bent　his　steps　towards　the　Hermitage：　　A　glance　of　his　eye　invited　Matilda　to　accompany　him。

She　obeyed；　and　followed　him　thither　in　silence。　　They　entered　the　Grotto；　and　seated　themselves。　　Both　seemed　unwilling　to　begin　the　conversation；　and　to　labour　under　the　influence　of　mutual　embarrassment。　　At　length　the　Abbot　spoke：　　He　conversed　only　on　indifferent　topics；　and　Matilda　answered　him　in　the　same　tone。　　She　seemed　anxious　to　make　him　forget　that　the　Person　who　sat　by　him　was　any　other　than　Rosario。　　Neither　of　them　dared；　or　indeed　wished　to　make　an　allusion；　to　the　subject　which　was　most　at　the　hearts　of　both。

Matilda's　efforts　to　appear　gay　were　evidently　forced：　Her　spirits　were　oppressed　by　the　weight　of　anxiety；　and　when　She　spoke　her　voice　was　low　and　feeble。　　She　seemed　desirous　of　finishing　a　conversation　which　embarrassed　her；　and　complaining　that　She　was　unwell；　She　requested　Ambrosio's　permission　to　return　to　the　Abbey。　　He　accompanied　her　to　the　door　of　her　cell；　and　when　arrived　there；　He　stopped　her　to　declare　his　consent　to　her　continuing　the　Partner　of　his　solitude　so　long　as　should　be　agreeable　to　herself。

She　discovered　no　marks　of　pleasure　at　receiving　this　intelligence；　though　on　the　preceding　day　She　had　been　so　anxious　to　obtain　the　permission。

'Alas！　Father；'　She　said；　waving　her　head　mournfully；　'Your　kindness　comes　too　late！　　My　doom　is　fixed。　　We　must　separate　for　ever。　　Yet　believe；　that　I　am　grateful　for　your　generosity；　for　your　compassion　of　an　Unfortunate　who　is　but　too　little　deserving　of　it！'

She　put　her　handkerchief　to　her　eyes。　　Her　Cowl　was　only　half　drawn　over　her　face。　　Ambrosio　observed　that　She　was　pale；　and　her　eyes　sunk　and　heavy。

'Good　God！'　He　cried；　'You　are　very　ill；　Matilda！　I　shall　send　Father　Pablos　to　you　instantly。'

'No；　Do　not。　　I　am　ill；　'tis　true；　But　He　cannot　cure　my　malady。　　Farewell；　Father！　　Remember　me　in　your　prayers　tomorrow；　while　I　shall　remember　you　in　heaven！'

She　entered　her　cell；　and　closed　the　door。

The　Abbot　dispatched　to　her　the　Physician　without　losing　a　moment；　and　waited　his　report　impatiently。　　But　Father　Pablos　soon　returned；　and　declared　that　his　errand　had　been　fruitless。　　Rosario　refused　to　admit　him；　and　had　positively　rejected　his　offers　of　assistance。　　The　uneasiness　which　this　account　gave　Ambrosio　was　not　trifling：　　Yet　He　determined　that　Matilda　should　have　her　own　way　for　that　night：　　But　that　if　her　situation　did　not　mend　by　the　morning；　he　would　insist　upon　her　taking　the　advice　of　Father　Pablos。

He　did　not　find　himself　inclined　to　sleep。　　He　opened　his　casement；　and　gazed　upon　the　moonbeams　as　they　played　upon　the　small　stream　whose　waters　bathed　the　walls　of　the　Monastery。　　The　coolness　of　the　night　breeze　and　tranquillity　of　the　hour　inspired　the　Friar's　mind　with　sadness。　　He　thought　upon　Matilda's　beauty　and　affection；　Upon　the　pleasures　which　He　might　have　shared　with　her；　had　He　not　been　restrained　by　monastic　　fetters。　　He　reflected；　that　unsustained　by　hope　her　love　for　him　could　not　long　exist；　That　doubtless　She　would　succeed　in　extinguishing　her　passion；　and　seek　for　happiness　in　the　arms　of　One　more　fortunate。　　He　shuddered　at　the　void　which　her　absence　would　leave　in　his　bosom。　　He　looked　with　disgust　on　the　monotony　of　a　Convent；　and　breathed　a　sigh　towards　that　world　from　which　He　was　for　ever　separated。　　Such　were　the　reflections　which　a　loud　knocking　at　his　door　interrupted。　　The　Bell　of　the　Church　had　already　struck　Two。　　The　Abbot　hastened　to　enquire　the　cause　of　this　disturbance。　　He　opened　the　door　of　his　Cell；　and　a　Lay…Brother　entered；　whose　looks　declared　his　hurry　and　confusion。

'Hasten；　reverend　Father！'　said　He；　'Hasten　to　the　young　Rosario。

He　earnestly　requests　to　see　you；　He　lies　at　the　point　of　death。'

'Gracious　God！　　Where　is　Father　Pablos？　　Why　is　He　not　with　him？　　Oh！　I　fear！　I　fear！'

'Father　Pablos　has　seen　him；　but　his　art　can　do　nothing。　　He　says　that　He　suspects　the　Youth　to　be　poisoned。'

'Poisoned？　　Oh！　　The　Unfortunate！　　It　is　then　as　I　suspected！　　But　let　me　not　lose　a　moment；　Perhaps　it　may　yet　be　time　to　save　her！'

He　said；　and　flew　towards　the　Cell　of　the　Novice。　　Several　Monks　were　already　in　the　chamber。　　Father　Pablos　was　one　of　them；　and　held　a　medicine　in　his　hand　which　He　was　endeavouring　to　persuade　Rosario　to　swallow。　　The　Others　were　employed　in　admiring　the　Patient's　divine　countenance；　which　They　now　saw　for　the　first　time。　　She　looked　lovelier　than　ever。　　She　was　no　longer　pale　or　languid；　A　bright　glow　had　spread　itself　over　her　cheeks；　her　eyes　sparkled　with　a　serene　delight；　and　her　countenance　was　expressive　of　confidence　and　resignation。

'Oh！　torment　me　no　more！'　was　She　saying　to　Pablos；　when　the　terrified　Abbot　rushed　hastily　into　the　Cell；　'My　disease　is　far　beyond　the　reach　of　your　skill；　and　I　wish　not　to　be　cured　of　it'Then　perceiving　Ambrosio；　'Ah！　'tis　He！'　She　cried；　'I　see　him　once　again；　before　we　part　for　ever！　　Leave　me；　my　Brethren；　Much　have　I　to　tell　this　holy　Man　in　private。'

The　Monks　retired　immediately；　and　Matilda　and　the　Abbot　remained　together。

'What　have　you　done；　imprudent　Woman！'　exclaimed　the　Latter；　as　soon　as　they　were　left　alone；　'Tell　me；　Are　my　suspicions　just？　　Am　I　indeed　to　lose　you？　　Has　your　own　hand　been　the　instrument　of　your　destruction？'

She　smiled；　and　grasped　his　hand。

'In　what　have　I　been　imprudent；　Father？　　I　have　sacrificed　a　pebble；　and　saved　a　diamond：　　My　death　preserves　a　life　valuable　to　the　world；　and　more　dear　to　me　than　my　own。　　Yes；　Father；　I　am　poisoned；　But　know　that　the　poison　once　circulated　in　your　veins。'

'Ma