At. ii. Sc. ii.

(Dafne: But, who is far from Love?
Tirsi: He who fears and flies.
Dafne: What use to flee from one who has wings?
Tirsi: The wings of Love, while he yet grows, are short.)

When Glyndon found himself without Viola's house, Mervale, still
loitering at the door, seized his arm. Glyndon shook him off abruptly.

"Thou and thy counsels," said he, bitterly, "have made me a coward and
a wretch. But I will go home,--I will write to her. I will pour out my
whole soul; she will forgive me yet."

Mervale, who was a man of imperturbable temper, arranged his ruffles,
which his friend's angry gesture had a little discomposed, and not till
Glyndon had exhausted himself awhile by passionate exclamations and
reproaches, did the experienced angler begin to tighten the line. He
then drew from Glyndon the explanation of what had passed, and artfully
sought not to irritate, but soothe him. Mervale, indeed, was by no means
a bad man; he had stronger moral notions than are common amongst the
young. He sincerely reproved his friend for harbouring dishonourable
intentions with regard to the actress. "Because I would not have her thy
wife, I never dreamed that thou shouldst degrade her to thy mistress.
Better of the two an imprudent match than an illicit connection. But
pause yet, do not act on the impulse of the moment."

"But there is no time to lose. I have promised to Zanoni to give him my
answer by to-morrow night. Later than that time, all option ceases."

"Ah!" said Mervale, "this seems suspicious. Explain yourself."

And Glyndon, in the earnestness of his passion, told his friend what
had passed between himself and Zanoni,--suppressing only, he scarce knew
why, the reference to his ancestor and the mysterious brotherhood.

This recital gave to Mervale all the advantage he could desire. Heavens!
with what sound, shrewd common-sense he talked. How evidently some
charlatanic coalition between the actress, and perhaps,--who knows?--her
clandestine protector, sated with possession! How equivocal the
character of one,--the position of the other! What cunning in the
question of the actress! How profoundly had Glyndon, at the first
suggestion of his sober reason, seen through the snare. What! was he
to be thus mystically cajoled and hurried into a rash marriage, because
Zanoni, a mere stranger, told him with a grave face that he must decide
before the clock struck a certain hour?

"Do this at le