The Contract and the bloody Pen still lay upon the Table. Ambrosio drew near it. He prepared to sign his name. A moment’s reflection made him hesitate.
“Hark!” cried the Tempter; “They come! Be quick! Sign the Parchment, and I bear you from hence this moment.”
In effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead Ambrosio to the Stake. The sound encouraged the Monk in his resolution.
“What is the import of this writing?” said He.
“It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.”
“What am I to receive in exchange?”
“My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this instant I bear you away.”
Ambrosio took up the Pen; He set it to the Parchment. Again his courage failed him: He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and once more threw the Pen upon the Table.
“Weak and Puerile!” cried the exasperated Fiend: “Away with this folly! Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my rage!”
At this moment the bolt of the outward Door was drawn back. The Prisoner heard the rattling of Chains; The heavy Bar fell; The Archers were on the point of entering. Worked up to phrenzy by the urgent danger, shrinking from the approach of death, terrified by the Dæmon’s threats, and seeing no other means to escape destruction, the wretched Monk complied. He signed the fatal contract, and gave it hastily into the evil Spirit’s hands, whose eyes, as He received the gift, glared with malicious rapture.