her own rise than
of his glory. It was sweet to her pride to be the sole confidante of his
most secret thoughts, as of his most hardy undertakings; to see bared
before her that intricate and plotting spirit; to be admitted even to
the knowledge of its doubts and weakness, as of its heroism and power.

Nothing could be more contrasted than the loves of Rienzi and Nina,
and those of Adrian and Irene: in the latter, all were the dreams, the
phantasies, the extravagance, of youth; they never talked of the future;
they mingled no other aspirations with those of love. Ambition, glory,
the world's high objects, were nothing to them when together; their love
had swallowed up the world, and left nothing visible beneath the sun,
save itself. But the passion of Nina and her lover was that of more
complicated natures and more mature years: it was made up of a thousand
feelings, each naturally severed from each, but compelled into one focus
by the mighty concentration of love; their talk was of the world; it was
from the world that they drew the aliment which sustained it; it was of
the future they spoke and thought; of its dreams and imagined glories
they made themselves a home and altar; their love had in it more of the
Intellectual than that of Adrian and Irene; it was more fitted for this
hard earth; it had in it, also, more of the leaven of the later and iron
days, and less of poetry and the first golden age.

"And must thou leave me now?" said Nina, her cheek no more averted from
his lips, nor her form from his parting embrace. "The moon is high yet;
it is but a little hour thou hast given me."

"An hour! Alas!" said Rienzi, "it is near upon midnight--our friends
await me."

"Go, then, my soul's best half! Go; Nina shall not detain thee one
moment from those higher objects which make thee so dear to Nina.
When--when shall we meet again!"

"Not," said Rienzi, proudly, and with all his soul upon his brow, "not
thus, by stealth! no! nor as I thus have met thee, the obscure and
contemned bondsman! When next thou seest me, it shall be at the head of
the sons of Rome! her champion! her restorer! or--" said he, sinking his
voice--

"There is no or!" interrupted Nina, weaving her arms round him, and
catching his enthusiasm; "thou hast uttered thine own destiny!"

"One kiss more!--farewell!--the tenth day from the morrow shines upon
the restoration of Rome!"

Chapter 1.XII. The Strange Adventures that Befel Walter de Montr