ral days yonder cloud has
hung motionless over Vesuvius! Yet not indeed motionless, for sometimes
it changes its form; and now methinks it looks like some vast giant,
with an arm outstretched over the city. Dost thou see the likeness--or
is it only to my fancy?'

'Fair Ione! I see it also. It is astonishingly distinct. The giant
seems seated on the brow of the mountain, the different shades of the
cloud appear to form a white robe that sweeps over its vast breast and
limbs; it seems to gaze with a steady face upon the city below, to point
with one hand, as thou sayest, over its glittering streets, and to raise
the other (dost thou note it?) towards the higher heaven. It is like the
ghost of some huge Titan brooding over the beautiful world he lost;
sorrowful for the past--yet with something of menace for the future.'

'Could that mountain have any connection with the last night's
earthquake? They say that, ages ago, almost in the earliest era of
tradition, it gave forth fires as AEtna still. Perhaps the flames yet
lurk and dart beneath.'

'It is possible,' said Glaucus, musingly.

'Thou sayest thou art slow to believe in magic,' said Nydia, suddenly.
'I have heard that a potent witch dwells amongst the scorched caverns of
the mountain, and yon cloud may be the dim shadow of the demon she
confers with.'

'Thou art full of the romance of thy native Thessaly,' said Glaucus;
'and a strange mixture of sense and all conflicting superstitions.'

'We are ever superstitious in the dark,' replied Nydia. 'Tell me,' she
added, after a slight pause, 'tell me, O Glaucus! do all that are
beautiful resemble each other? They say you are beautiful, and Ione
also. Are your faces then the same? I fancy not, yet it ought to be
so.'

'Fancy no such grievous wrong to Ione,' answered Glaucus, laughing.
'But we do not, alas! resemble each other, as the homely and the
beautiful sometimes do. Ione's hair is dark, mine light; Ione's eyes
are--what color, Ione? I cannot see, turn them to me. Oh, are they
black? no, they are too soft. Are they blue? no, they are too deep: they
change with every ray of the sun--I know not their color: but mine,
sweet Nydia, are grey, and bright only when Ione shines on them! Ione's
cheek is...'

'I do not understand one word of thy description,' interrupted Nydia,
peevishly. 'I comprehend only that you do not resemble each other, and
I am glad of it.'

'Why, Nydia?' said Ione.

Nydia colo