As the memory of that horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy horror.

Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroy Antonia's honour.
'For your sake, Fatal Beauty!' murmured the Monk, while gazing on his devoted prey; 'For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold myself to eternal tortures.

Now you are in my power: The produce of my guilt will at least be mine.

Hope not that your prayers breathed in tones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and your hands lifted in supplication, as when seeking in penitence the Virgin's pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence, your beauteous grief, or all your suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces.
Before the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!' He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for the symptoms of returning animation.

Scarcely could He command his passions sufficiently, to restrain himself from enjoying her while yet insensible.