fate, receive from thee my own. Ione, tremble not, thou
art my queen--my goddess--be my bride! All the wishes thou canst form
shall be fulfilled. The ends of the earth shall minister to thee--pomp,
power, luxury, shall be thy slaves. Arbaces shall have no ambition,
save the pride of obeying thee. Ione, turn upon me those eyes--shed upon
me thy smile. Dark is my soul when thy face is hid from it: shine over
me, my sun--my heaven--my daylight!--Ione, Ione--do not reject my love!'

Alone, and in the power of this singular and fearful man, Ione was not
yet terrified; the respect of his language, the softness of his voice,
reassured her; and, in her own purity, she felt protection. But she was
confused--astonished: it was some moments before she could recover the
power of reply.

'Rise, Arbaces!' said she at length; and she resigned to him once more
her hand, which she as quickly withdrew again, when she felt upon it the
burning pressure of his lips. 'Rise! and if thou art serious, if thy
language be in earnest...'

'If!' said he tenderly.

'Well, then, listen to me: you have been my guardian, my friend, my
monitor; for this new character I was not prepared--think not,' she
added quickly, as she saw his dark eyes glitter with the fierceness of
his passion--'think not that I scorn--that I am untouched--that I am not
honored by this homage; but, say--canst thou hear me calmly?'

'Ay, though thy words were lightning, and could blast me!'

'I love another!' said Ione, blushingly, but in a firm voice.

'By the gods--by hell!' shouted Arbaces, rising to his fullest height;
'dare not tell me that--dare not mock me--it is impossible!--Whom hast
thou seen--whom known? Oh, Ione, it is thy woman's invention, thy
woman's art that speaks--thou wouldst gain time; I have surprised--I
have terrified thee. Do with me as thou wilt--say that thou lovest not
me; but say not that thou lovest another!'

'Alas!' began Ione; and then, appalled before his sudden and
unlooked-for violence, she burst into tears.

Arbaces came nearer to her--his breath glowed fiercely on her cheek; he
wound his arms round her--she sprang from his embrace. In the struggle
a tablet fell from her bosom on the ground: Arbaces perceived, and
seized it--it was the letter that morning received from Glaucus. Ione
sank upon the couch, half dead with terror.

Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing; the Neapolitan did not
dare to gaze upon him: she d