thee not; I think not of thee: no, I love thee not; and I will give
myself only where I love."

"But I would teach thee to love me; fear it not. Nay, such love as
thou describest, in our tranquil climates, is the love of innocence and
youth."

"Of innocence!" said Viola. "Is it so? Perhaps--" She paused, and added,
with an effort, "Foreigner! and wouldst thou wed the orphan? Ah, THOU at
least art generous! It is not the innocence thou wouldst destroy!"

Glyndon drew back, conscience-stricken.

"No, it may not be!" she said, rising, but not conscious of the
thoughts, half of shame, half suspicion, that passed through the mind
of her lover. "Leave me, and forget me. You do not understand, you
could not comprehend, the nature of her whom you think to love. From my
childhood upward, I have felt as if I were marked out for some strange
and preternatural doom; as if I were singled from my kind. This feeling
(and, oh! at times it is one of delirious and vague delight, at others
of the darkest gloom) deepens within me day by day. It is like the
shadow of twilight, spreading slowly and solemnly around. My hour
approaches: a little while, and it will be night!"

As she spoke, Glyndon listened with visible emotion and perturbation.
"Viola!" he exclaimed, as she ceased, "your words more than ever enchain
me to you. As you feel, I feel. I, too, have been ever haunted with a
chill and unearthly foreboding. Amidst the crowds of men I have felt
alone. In all my pleasures, my toils, my pursuits, a warning voice has
murmured in my ear, 'Time has a dark mystery in store for thy manhood.'
When you spoke, it was as the voice of my own soul."

Viola gazed upon him in wonder and fear. Her countenance was as white as
marble; and those features, so divine in their rare symmetry, might have
served the Greek with a study for the Pythoness, when, from the mystic
cavern and the bubbling spring, she first hears the voice of the
inspiring god. Gradually the rigour and tension of that wonderful face
relaxed, the colour returned, the pulse beat: the heart animated the
frame.

"Tell me," she said, turning partially aside,--"tell me, have you
seen--do you know--a stranger in this city,--one of whom wild stories
are afloat?"

"You speak of Zanoni? I have seen him: I know him,--and you? Ah, he,
too, would be my rival!--he, too, would bear thee from me!"

"You err," said Viola, hastily, and with a deep sigh; "he pleads for
you: he informed me of