"
"Monster! wretch!" cried she, coming to herself, and recoiling from
him with insuperable abhorrence: "'Tis you that are the cause of
this--'tis you that are his murderer!" Then, wringing her hands, she
broke forth into exclamations of the most frantic agony.
The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her soul, and anticipated
from it a triumph. He saw that she was in no mood, during her present
paroxysm, to listen to his words; but he trusted that the horrors of
lonely rumination would break down her spirit, and subdue her to his
will. In this, however, he was disappointed. Many were the
vicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez; at one time, she would
embrace his knees, with piercing supplications; at another, she would
shrink with nervous horror at his very approach; but any intimation of
his passion only excited the same emotion of loathing and detestation.
At length the fatal day drew nigh. "To-morrow," said Don Ambrosio, as
he left her one evening, "to-morrow is the auto da fe. To-morrow you
will hear the sound of the bell that tolls your father to his death.
You will almost see the smoke that rises from the funeral pile. I
leave you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save him.
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