At first, the monk rejoiced at having resisted the seducer’s arts, and obtained a triumph over mankind’s enemy: but as the hour of punishment drew near, his former terrors revived in his heart. Their momentary repose seemed to have given them fresh vigour. The nearer that the time approached, the more did he dread appearing before the throne of God. He shuddered to think how soon he must be plunged into eternity; how soon meet the eyes of his creator, whom he had so grievously offended. The bell announced midnight: it was the signal for being led to the stake! As he listened to the first stroke, the blood ceased to circulate in the abbot’s veins: he heard death and torture murmured in each succeeding sound. He expected to see the archers entering his prison; and as the bell forbore to toll, he seized the magic volume in a fit of despair. He opened it, turned hastily to the seventh page, and as if fearing to allow himself a moment’s thought ran over the fatal lines with rapidity. Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer again stood before the trembler.

“You have summoned me,” said the fiend; “Are you determined to be wise? Will you accept my conditions? You know them already. Renounce your claim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and I bear you from this dungeon instantly. Yet is it time. Resolve, or it will be too late. Will you sign the parchment?”

“I must!⁠—Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.”

“Sign the parchment!” replied the daemon in an exulting tone.

The contract and the bloody pen still lay upon the table. Ambrosio drew near it. He prepared to sign his name. A moment’s reflection made him hesitate.

“Hark!” cried the tempter; “They come! Be quick! Sign the parchment, and I bear you from hence this moment.”

In effect, the archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead Ambrosio to the stake. The sound encouraged the monk in his resolution.

“What is the import of this writing?” said he.