Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now
become a Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting.
This horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar
beheld the enormity of his crime. A cold dew flowed over his
limbs; his eyes closed; He staggered to a chair, and sank into it
almost as lifeless as the Unfortunate who lay extended at his
feet. From this state He was rouzed by the necessity of flight,
and the danger of being found in Antonia's apartment. He had no
desire to profit by the execution of his crime. Antonia now
appeared to him an object of disgust. A deadly cold had usurped
the place of that warmth which glowed in his bosom: No ideas
offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt, of
present shame and future punishment. Agitated by remorse and
fear He prepared for flight: Yet his terrors did not so
compleatly master his recollection, as to prevent his taking the
precautions necessary for his safety. He replaced the pillow
upon the bed, gathered up his garments, and with the fatal
Talisman in his hand, bent his unsteady steps towards the door.
Bewildered by fear, He fancied that his flight was opposed by
Legions of Phantoms; Whereever He turned, the disfigured Corse
seemed to lie in his passage, and it was long before He succeeded
in reaching the door. The enchanted Myrtle produced its former
effect. The door opened, and He hastened down the staircase.
He entered the Abbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his
Cell, He abandoned his soul to the tortures of unavailing
remorse, and terrors of impending detection.
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