y honour, words fail to tell thee how I love!"

"Wilt thou give me thy home, thy name? Dost thou woo me as thy wife?"
And at that moment, had Glyndon answered as his better angel would have
counselled, perhaps, in that revolution of her whole mind which the
words of Nicot had effected, which made her despise her very self,
sicken of her lofty dreams, despair of the future, and distrust her
whole ideal,--perhaps, I say, in restoring her self-esteem,--he would
have won her confidence, and ultimately secured her love. But against
the prompting of his nobler nature rose up at that sudden question all
those doubts which, as Zanoni had so well implied, made the true enemies
of his soul. Was he thus suddenly to be entangled into a snare laid for
his credulity by deceivers? Was she not instructed to seize the moment
to force him into an avowal which prudence must repent? Was not the
great actress rehearsing a premeditated part? He turned round, as these
thoughts, the children of the world, passed across him, for he literally
fancied that he heard the sarcastic laugh of Mervale without. Nor was
he deceived. Mervale was passing by the threshold, and Gionetta had told
him his friend was within. Who does not know the effect of the world's
laugh? Mervale was the personation of the world. The whole world seemed
to shout derision in those ringing tones. He drew back,--he recoiled.
Viola followed him with her earnest, impatient eyes. At last, he
faltered forth, "Do all of thy profession, beautiful Viola, exact
marriage as the sole condition of love?" Oh, bitter question! Oh,
poisoned taunt! He repented it the moment after. He was seized with
remorse of reason, of feeling, and of conscience. He saw her form
shrink, as it were, at his cruel words. He saw the colour come and go,
to leave the writhing lips like marble; and then, with a sad, gentle
look of self-pity, rather than reproach, she pressed her hands tightly
to her bosom, and said,--

"He was right! Pardon me, Englishman; I see now, indeed, that I am the
Pariah and the outcast."

"Hear me. I retract. Viola, Viola! it is for you to forgive!"

But Viola waved him from her, and, smiling mournfully as she passed him
by, glided from the chamber; and he did not dare to detain her.

CHAPTER 3.IX.

Dafne: Ma, chi lung' e d'Amor?
Tirsi: Chi teme e fugge.
Dafne: E che giova fuggir da lui ch' ha l' ali?
Tirsi: AMOR NASCENTE HA CORTE L' ALI!
"Aminta,"