“Why these terrors, Antonia?” rejoined the abbot, folding her in his arms, and covering her bosom with kisses which she in vain struggled to avoid: “What fear you from me, from one who adores you? What matters it where you are? This sepulchre seems to me love’s bower; this gloom is the friendly night of mystery which he spreads over our delights! Such do I think it, and such must my Antonia. Yes, my sweet girl! Yes! Your veins shall glow with fire which circles in mine, and my transports shall be doubled by your sharing them!”

While he spoke thus, he repeated his embraces, and permitted himself the most indecent liberties. Even Antonia’s ignorance was not proof against the freedom of his behaviour. She was sensible of her danger, forced herself from his arms, and her shroud being her only garment, she wrapped it closely round her.