'Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both
you and myself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the
lingering torments of unsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last
conversed together, a dreadful veil has been rent from before my
eyes. I love you no longer with the devotion which is paid to a
Saint: I prize you no more for the virtues of your soul; I lust
for the enjoyment of your person. The Woman reigns in my bosom,
and I am become a prey to the wildest of passions. Away with
friendship! 'tis a cold unfeeling word. My bosom burns with
love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return.
Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If I
live, your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in
sufferings, all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no
longer be able to combat my passions, shall seize every
opportunity to excite your desires, and labour to effect your
dishonour and my own. No, no, Ambrosio; I must not live! I am
convinced with every moment, that I have but one alternative; I
feel with every heart-throb, that I must enjoy you, or die.'

'Amazement!--Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?'

He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud
shriek, and raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms
round the Friar to detain him.

'Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a
few hours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from
this disgraceful passion.'