regular suspiration. The warm
air had spread her cheek with higher colour than usual. A smile
inexpressibly sweet played round her ripe and coral lips, from which
every now and then escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronounced
sentence. An air of enchanting innocence and candour pervaded her
whole form; and there was a sort of modesty in her very nakedness which
added fresh stings to the desires of the lustful Monk.

He remained for some moments devouring those charms with his eyes which
soon were to be subjected to his ill-regulated passions. Her mouth
half-opened seemed to solicit a kiss: He bent over her; he joined his
lips to hers, and drew in the fragrance of her breath with rapture.
This momentary pleasure increased his longing for still greater. His
desires were raised to that frantic height by which Brutes are
agitated. He resolved not to delay for one instant longer the
accomplishment of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tear off those
garments which impeded the gratification of his lust.

'Gracious God!' exclaimed a voice behind him; 'Am I not deceived?

Is not this an illusion?'

Terror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as they
struck Ambrosio's hearing. He started, and turned towards it. Elvira
stood at the door of the chamber, and regarded the Monk with looks of
surprize and detestation.

A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of a
precipice. She saw her trembling on the brink: Every moment seemed to
threaten her fall, and She heard her exclaim with shrieks, 'Save me,
Mother! Save me!--Yet a moment, and it will be too late!' Elvira woke
in terror. The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind,
to permit her resting till assured of her Daughter's safety. She
hastily started from her Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passing
through the Closet in which slept the Waiting-woman, She reached
Antonia's chamber just in time to rescue her from the grasp of the
Ravisher.

His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues both
Elvira and the Monk: They remained gazing upon each other in silence.
The Lady was the first to recover herself.

'It is no dream!' She cried; 'It is really Ambrosio, who stands before
me! It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I find at this
late hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! Monster of Hypocrisy! I
already suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity to