oment is to be lost. Thou must fly
with me, or remain the victim of the Prince di --. I would have made the
charge I now undertake another's; thou knowest I would,--thou knowest
it!--but he is not worthy of thee, the cold Englishman! I throw myself
at thy feet; have trust in me, and fly."

He grasped her hand passionately as he dropped on his knee, and looked
up into her face with his bright, beseeching eyes.

"Fly with thee!" said Viola, scarce believing her senses.

"With me. Name, fame, honour,--all will be sacrificed if thou dost not."

"Then--then," said the wild girl, falteringly, and turning aside her
face,--"then I am not indifferent to thee; thou wouldst not give me to
another?"

Zanoni was silent; but his breast heaved, his cheeks flushed, his eyes
darted dark and impassioned fire.

"Speak!" exclaimed Viola, in jealous suspicion of his silence.

"Indifferent to me! No; but I dare not yet say that I love thee."

"Then what matters my fate?" said Viola, turning pale, and shrinking
from his side; "leave me,--I fear no danger. My life, and therefore my
honour, is in mine own hands."

"Be not so mad," said Zanoni. "Hark! do you hear the neigh of my
steed?--it is an alarm that warns us of the approaching peril. Haste, or
you are lost!"

"Why dost thou care for me?" said the girl, bitterly. "Thou hast read my
heart; thou knowest that thou art become the lord of my destiny. But to
be bound beneath the weight of a cold obligation; to be the beggar on
the eyes of indifference; to cast myself on one who loves me not,--THAT
were indeed the vilest sin of my sex. Ah, Zanoni, rather let me die!"

She had thrown back her clustering hair from her face while she spoke;
and as she now stood, with her arms drooping mournfully, and her hands
clasped together with the proud bitterness of her wayward spirit, giving
new zest and charm to her singular beauty, it was impossible to conceive
a sight more irresistible to the eye and the heart.

"Tempt me not to thine own danger,--perhaps destruction!" exclaimed
Zanoni, in faltering accents. "Thou canst not dream of what thou wouldst
demand,--come!" and, advancing, he wound his arm round her waist. "Come,
Viola; believe at least in my friendship, my honour, my protection--"

"And not thy love," said the Italian, turning on him her reproachful
eyes. Those eyes met his, and he could not withdraw from the charm of
their gaze. He felt her heart throbbing beneath his own; her brea