et,
thou wilt be the victim or the victor."

Glyndon's eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious stranger.
He saw him enter the boat, and he then for the first time noticed that
besides the rowers there was a female, who stood up as Zanoni gained the
boat. Even at the distance he recognised the once-adored form of Viola.
She waved her hand to him, and across the still and shining air came
her voice, mournfully and sweetly, in her mother's tongue, "Farewell,
Clarence,--I forgive thee!--farewell, farewell!"

He strove to answer; but the voice touched a chord at his heart, and
the words failed him. Viola was then lost forever, gone with this dread
stranger; darkness was round her lot! And he himself had decided her
fate and his own! The boat bounded on, the soft waves flashed and
sparkled beneath the oars, and it was along one sapphire track of
moonlight that the frail vessel bore away the lovers. Farther and
farther from his gaze sped the boat, till at last the speck, scarcely
visible, touched the side of the ship that lay lifeless in the glorious
bay. At that instant, as if by magic, up sprang, with a glad murmur, the
playful and freshening wind: and Glyndon turned to Mejnour and broke the
silence.

"Tell me--if thou canst read the future--tell me that HER lot will be
fair, and that HER choice at least is wise?"

"My pupil!" answered Mejnour, in a voice the calmness of which well
accorded with the chilling words, "thy first task must be to withdraw
all thought, feeling, sympathy from others. The elementary stage of
knowledge is to make self, and self alone, thy study and thy world.
Thou hast decided thine own career; thou hast renounced love; thou hast
rejected wealth, fame, and the vulgar pomps of power. What, then, are
all mankind to thee? To perfect thy faculties, and concentrate thy
emotions, is henceforth thy only aim!"

"And will happiness be the end?"

"If happiness exist," answered Mejnour, "it must be centred in a SELF to
which all passion is unknown. But happiness is the last state of being;
and as yet thou art on the threshold of the first."

As Mejnour spoke, the distant vessel spread its sails to the wind,
and moved slowly along the deep. Glyndon sighed, and the pupil and the
master retraced their steps towards the city.

BOOK IV. -- THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.

Bey hinter ihm was will! Ich heb ihn auf.
"Das Verschleierte Bildzu Sais"

(Be behind what there may,-