Jacintha opened the door of the haunted room with a trembling hand: she ventured to peep in; but the wealth of India would not have tempted her to cross the threshold. She gave the taper to the monk, wished him well through the adventure, and hastened to be gone. Ambrosio entered. He bolted the door, placed the light upon the table, and seated himself in the chair which on the former night had sustained Antonia. In spite of Matilda’s assurances that the spectre was a mere creation of fancy, his mind was impressed with a certain mysterious horror. He in vain endeavoured to shake it off. The silence of the night, the story of the apparition, the chamber wainscoted with dark oak panels, the recollection which it brought with it of the murdered Elvira, and his incertitude respecting the nature of the drops given by him to Antonia, made him feel uneasy at his present situation. But he thought much less of the spectre, than of the poison. Should he have destroyed the only object which rendered life dear to him; should the ghost’s prediction prove true; should Antonia in three days be no more, and he the wretched cause of her death⁠ ⁠… The supposition was too horrible to dwell upon. He drove away these dreadful images, and as often they presented themselves again before him.