IV.—­A Living Death

“Do not despair,” counselled Matilda, when the monk revealed his failure.  “Your crime is unsuspected.  Antonia may still be yours.  The prioress of St. Clare has a mysterious liquor, the effect of which is to give those who drink it the appearance of death for three days.  Procure some of this liquor, visit Antonia, and cause her to drink it; have her body conveyed to a sepulchre in the vaults of St. Clare.”

Ambrosio hastened to secure a phial of the mysterious potion.  He went to comfort Antonia in her distress, and contrived to pour a few drops from the phial into a draught that she was taking.  In a few hours he heard that she was dead, and her body was conveyed to the vaults.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo had learned, not indeed that his sister was alive, but that she had been the victim of terrible cruelty.  A nun, who had been Agnes’s friend, hinted at atrocious vengeance taken by the prioress for Agnes’s attempt to escape.  She suggested that Lorenzo should bring the officers of the Inquisition with him and arrest the prioress during a public procession of the nuns in honour of St Clare.

Accordingly, as the prioress passed along the street among her nuns with a devout and sanctified air, the officers advanced and arrested her.

“Ah!” she cried frantically, “I am betrayed!”

“Betrayed!” replied the nun who had revealed the secret to Lorenzo.  “I charge the prioress with murder!”

She told how Agnes had been secretly poisoned by the prioress.  The mob, mad with indignation, rushed to the convent determined to destroy it.  Lorenzo and the officers hastened to endeavour to do what they could to save the convent and the terrified nuns who had taken refuge there.

Antonia’s heart throbbed, her eyes opened; she raised herself and cast a wild look around her.  Her clothing was a shroud; she lay in a coffin among other coffins in a damp and hideous vault.  Confronting her with a lantern in his hand, and eyeing her greedily, stood Ambrosio.

“Where am I?” she said abruptly.  “How came I here?  Let me go!”

“Why these terrors, Antonia?” replied the abbot.  “What fear you from me—­from one who adores you?  You are imagined dead; society is for ever lost to you.  You are absolutely in my power!”

She screamed, and strove to escape; he clutched at her and struggled to detain her.  Suddenly Matilda entered in haste.

“The mob has set fire to the convent,” she said to Ambrosio, “and the abbey is in danger.  Don Lorenzo and the officers are searching the vaults.  You cannot escape; you must remain here.  They may not, perhaps, enter this vault.”

Antonia heard that rescue was at hand.

“Help! help!” she screamed, and ran out of the vault.  The abbot pursued her in desperation; he caught her; he could not stifle her cries.  Frantic in his desire to escape, he grasped Matilda’s dagger, plunged it twice in the bosom of Antonia, and fled back to the vault.  It was too late he had been seen, the glare of torches filled the vault, and Ambrosio and Matilda were seized and bound by the officers of the Inquisition.