 till then he had
himself believed. This persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia's ruin, for the
enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only seemed to have increased
his passion. The monk had already made one attempt to gain admission to her
presence; but Flora had refused him in such a manner as to convince him that all
future endeavours must be vain. Elvira had confided her suspicions to that
trusty servant: she had desired her never to leave Ambrosio alone with her
daughter, and, if possible, to prevent their meeting altogether. Flora promised
to obey her, and had executed her orders to the very letter. Ambrosio's visit
had been rejected that morning, though Antonia was ignorant of it. He saw that
to obtain a sight of his mistress by open means was out of the question; and
both himself and Matilda had consumed the night in endeavouring to invent some
plan, whose event might be more successful. Such was their employment when a
lay-brother entered the abbot's cell, and informed him that a woman calling
herself Jacintha Zuniga requested audience for a few minutes.
    Ambrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his visitor. He
refused it positively, and bade the lay-brother tell the stranger to return the
next day. Matilda interrupted him -
    »See this woman,« said she in a low voice; »I have my reasons.«
    The abbot obeyed her, and signified that he would go to the parlour
immediately. With this answer the lay-brother withdrew. As soon as they were
alone, Ambrosio enquired why Matilda wished him to see this Jacintha.
    »She is Antonia's hostess,« replied Matilda; »she may possibly be of use to
you; but let us examine her, and learn what brings her hither.«
    They proceeded together to the parlour, where Jacintha was already waiting
for the abbot. She had conceived a great opinion of his piety and virtue; and,
supposing him to have much influence over the devil, thought that it must be an
easy matter for him to lay Elvira's ghost in the red sea. Filled with this
persuasion, she had hastened to the abbey. As soon as she saw the monk enter the
parlour, she dropped upon her knees, and began her story as follows:
    »Oh! reverend father! such an accident! such an adventure! I know not what
course to take; and unless you can help me, I shall certainly go distracted.
Well, to be sure, never was woman so unfortunate as myself! All in my power to
