He reflected that Antonia would be the reward of his daring: he inflamed his imagination by enumerating her charms. He persuaded himself that (as Matilda had observed), he always should have time sufficient for repentance, and that as he employed

her assistance, not that of the daemons, the crime of sorcery could not be laid to his charge. He had read much respecting witchcraft: he understood that unless a formal act was signed renouncing his claim to salvation, Satan would have no power over him. He was fully determined not to execute any such act, whatever threats might be used, or advantages held out to him.

Such were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They were interrupted by a low murmur which seemed at no great distance from him. He was startled. He listened. Some minutes passed in silence, after which the murmur was repeated. It appeared to be the groaning of one in pain. In any other situation, this circumstance would only have excited his attention and curiosity: in the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. His imagination totally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and spirits, he fancied that some unquiet ghost was wandering near him; or else that Matilda had fallen a victim to her presumption, and was perishing under the cruel fangs of the daemons. The noise seemed not to approach, but continued to be heard at intervals. Sometimes it became more audible, doubtless as the sufferings of the person who uttered the groans became more acute and insupportable. Ambrosio now and then thought that he could distinguish accents; and once in particular he was almost convinced that he heard a faint voice exclaim,

“God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!”

Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away gradually, and universal silence again prevailed.