Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the
courage either to be a firm Friend or open Enemy!'
'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit:
In this respect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my
passions have made me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my
heart an innate love of virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me
with my perjury: You, who first seduced me to violate my vows;
You, who first rouzed my sleeping vices, made me feel the weight
of Religion's chains, and bad me be convinced that guilt had
pleasures. Yet though my principles have yielded to the force of
temperament, I still have sufficient grace to shudder at Sorcery,
and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!'
'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of the
Almighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it?
Receives He no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him,
Ambrosio; You will always have time to repent, and He have
goodness to forgive. Afford him a glorious opportunity to exert
that goodness: The greater your crime, the greater his merit in
pardoning. Away then with these childish scruples: Be persuaded
to your good, and follow me to the Sepulchre.'
'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious
language, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's.
Let us drop a conversation which excites no other sentiments
than horror and disgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre,
or accept the services of your infernal Agents.
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