Ambrosio shuddered at himself, when he reflected on his rapid advances in iniquity. The enormous crime which he had just committed filled him with real horror. The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes, and his guilt was already punished by the agonies of his conscience. Time, however, considerably weakened these impressions: one day passed away, another followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown upon him. Impunity reconciled him to his guilt: he began to resume his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, he paid less attention to the reproaches of remorse. Matilda exerted herself to quiet his alarms. At the first intelligence of Elvira’s death, she seemed greatly affected, and joined the monk in deploring the unhappy catastrophe of his adventure: but when she found his agitation to be somewhat calmed, and himself better disposed to listen to her arguments, she proceeded to mention his offence in milder terms, and convince him that he was not so highly culpable as he appeared to consider himself.