“Why surely you are not going away, reverend father?” cried she; “Did you not promise to pass the night in the haunted chamber? Christ Jesus! I shall be left alone with the ghost, and a fine pickle I shall be in by morning! Do all I could, say all I could, that obstinate old brute, Simon Gonzalez, refused to marry me today; and before tomorrow comes, I suppose, I shall be torn to pieces, by the ghosts, and goblins, and devils, and whatnot! For God’s sake, your holiness, do not leave me in such a woeful condition! On my bended knees I beseech you to keep your promise: watch this night in the haunted chamber; lay the apparition in the Red Sea, and Jacintha remembers you in her prayers to the last day of her existence!”
This request Ambrosio expected and desired; yet he affected to raise objections, and to seem unwilling to keep his word. He told Jacintha that the ghost existed nowhere but in her own brain, and that her insisting upon his staying all night in the house was ridiculous and useless. Jacintha was obstinate: she was not to be convinced, and pressed him so urgently not to leave her a prey to the devil, that at length he granted her request. All this show of resistance imposed not upon Flora, who was naturally of a suspicious temper. She suspected the monk to be acting a part very contrary to his own inclinations, and that he wished for no better than to remain where he was. She even went so far as to believe that Jacintha was in his interest; and the poor old woman was immediately set down, as no better than a procuress. While she applauded herself for having penetrated into this plot against her lady’s honour, she resolved in secret to render it fruitless.
“So then,” said she to the abbot with a look half-satirical and half indignant; “So then you mean to stay here tonight? Do so, in God’s name! Nobody will prevent you. Sit up to watch for the ghost’s arrival: I shall sit up too, and the lord grant that I may see nothing worse than a ghost! I quit not Donna Antonia’s bedside during this blessed night: let me see anyone dare to enter the room, and be he mortal or immortal, be he ghost, devil, or man, I warrant his repenting that ever he crossed the threshold!”
This hint was sufficiently strong, and Ambrosio understood its meaning. But instead of showing that he perceived her suspicions; he replied mildly that he approved the duenna’s precautions, and advised her to persevere in her intention. This, she assured him faithfully that he might depend upon her doing. Jacintha then conducted him into the chamber where the ghost had appeared, and Flora returned to her lady’s.
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. Matilda had assured him that the effects of the opiate would be speedy. He listened with fear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some disturbance in the adjoining chamber. All was still silent. He concluded that the drops had not begun to operate. Great was the stake, for which he now played: a moment would suffice to decide upon his misery or happiness. Matilda had taught him the means of ascertaining that life was not extinct forever: upon this assay depended all his hopes. With every instant his impatience redoubled; his terrors grew more lively, his anxiety more awake. Unable to bear this state of incertitude, he endeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of others to his own. The books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon shelves near the table: this stood exactly opposite to the bed, which was placed in an alcove near the closet
