“Oh! I shall have another corse in my house! Some witch has certainly cast a spell upon it, upon me, and upon all about me! Poor Donna Antonia! There she lies in just such convulsions, as killed her mother! The ghost told her true! I am sure, the ghost has told her true!”

Flora ran, or rather flew to her lady’s chamber: Ambrosio followed her, his bosom trembling with hope and apprehension. They found Antonia as Jacintha had described, torn by racking convulsions from which they in vain endeavoured to relieve her. The monk dispatched Jacintha to the abbey in all haste, and commissioned her to bring Father Pablos back with her, without losing a moment.

“I will go for him,” replied Jacintha, “and tell him to come hither; but as to bringing him myself, I shall do no such thing. I am sure that the house is bewitched, and burn me if ever I set foot in it again.”

With this resolution she set out for the monastery, and delivered to Father Pablos the abbot’s orders. She then betook herself to the house of old Simon Gonzalez, whom she resolved never to quit, till she had made him her husband, and his dwelling her own.

Father Pablos had no sooner beheld Antonia, than he pronounced her incurable. The convulsions continued for an hour: during that time her agonies were much milder than those which her groans created in the abbot’s heart. Her every pang seemed a dagger in his bosom, and he cursed himself a thousand times for having adopted so barbarous a project. The hour being expired, by degrees the fits became less frequent, and Antonia less agitated. She felt that her dissolution was approaching, and that nothing could save her.