He resumed his book; but in a few minutes after the same sound was repeated, and followed by a rustling noise close behind him. He now started from his seat, and looking round him, perceived the closet door standing half-unclosed. On his first entering the room he had tried to open it, but found it bolted on the inside.
“How is this?” said he to himself; “How comes this door unfastened?”
He advanced towards it: he pushed it open, and looked into the closet: no one was there. While he stood irresolute, he thought that he distinguished a groaning in the adjacent chamber: it was Antonia’s, and he supposed that the drops began to take effect: but upon listening more attentively, he found the noise to be caused by Jacintha, who had fallen asleep by the lady’s bedside, and was snoring most lustily. Ambrosio drew back, and returned to the other room, musing upon the sudden opening of the closet door, for which he strove in vain to account.
He paced the chamber up and down in silence. At length he stopped, and the bed attracted his attention. The curtain of the recess was but half-drawn. He sighed involuntarily.
“That bed,” said he in a low voice, “That bed was Elvira’s! There has she passed many a quiet night, for she was good and innocent. How sound must have been her sleep! And yet now she sleeps sounder! Does she indeed sleep? Oh! God grant that she may! What if she rose from her grave at this sad and silent hour? What if she broke the bonds of the tomb, and glided angrily before my blasted eyes? Oh! I never could support the sight! Again to see her form distorted by dying agonies, her blood-swollen veins, her livid countenance, her eyes bursting from their sockets with pain! To hear her speak of future punishment, menace me with heaven’s vengeance, tax me with the crimes I have committed, with those I am going to commit. … Great God! What is that?”
As he uttered these words, his eyes which were fixed upon the bed, saw the curtain shaken gently backwards and forwards. The apparition was recalled to his mind, and he almost fancied that he beheld Elvira’s visionary form reclining upon the bed. A few moments consideration sufficed to reassure him.
“It was only the wind,” said he, recovering himself.
Again he paced the chamber; but an involuntary movement of awe and inquietude constantly led his eye towards the alcove. He drew near it with irresolution. He paused before he ascended the few steps which led to it. He put out his hand thrice to remove the curtain, and as often drew it back.
“Absurd terrors!” he cried at length, ashamed of his own weakness—
Hastily he mounted the steps; when a figure dressed in white started from the alcove, and gliding by him, made with precipitation towards the closet. Madness and despair now supplied the monk with that courage, of which he had till then been destitute. He flew down the steps, pursued the apparition, and attempted to grasp it.
“Ghost, or devil, I hold you!” he exclaimed, and seized the spectre by the arm.
“Oh! Christ Jesus!” cried a shrill voice; “Holy father, how you grip me! I protest that I meant no harm!”
This address, as well as the arm which he held, convinced the abbot that the supposed ghost was substantial flesh and blood. He drew the intruder towards the table, and holding up the light, discovered the features of … Madonna Flora!
Incensed at having been betrayed by this trifling cause into fears so ridiculous, he asked her sternly, what business had brought her to that chamber. Flora, ashamed at being found out, and terrified at the severity of Ambrosio’s looks, fell upon her knees, and promised to make a full confession.
“I protest, reverend father,” said she, “that I am quite grieved at having disturbed you: nothing was further from my intention. I meant to get out of the room as quietly as I got in; and had you been ignorant that I watched you, you know, it would have been the same thing as if I had not watched you at all. To be sure, I did very wrong in being a spy upon you, that I cannot deny; but lord! your reverence, how can a poor weak woman resist curiosity? Mine was so strong to know what you were doing, that I could not but try to get a little peep, without anybody knowing anything about it. So with that I left old dame Jacintha sitting by my lady’s bed, and I ventured to steal into the closet. Being unwilling to interrupt you, I contented myself at first with putting my eye to the keyhole; but as I could see nothing by this means, I undrew the bolt, and while your back was turned to the alcove, I whipped me in softly and silently. Here I lay snug behind the curtain, till your reverence found me out, and seized me ere I had time to regain the closet door. This is the whole truth, I assure you, holy father, and I beg your pardon a thousand times for my impertinence.”
During this speech the abbot had time to recollect himself: he was satisfied with reading the penitent spy a lecture upon the dangers of curiosity, and the meanness of the action in which she had been just discovered. Flora declared herself fully persuaded that she had done wrong; she promised never to be guilty of the same fault again, and was retiring very
