"Signor Inglese," said the voice of Zanoni, as Glyndon — pale, wan, and silent — returned passively the joyous greeting of Mervale — "Signor Inglese, I told your friend that we should meet to-night. You see you have not foiled my prediction."
"But how? — but where?" stammered Mervale in great confusion and surprise.
"I found your friend stretched on the ground, over-powered by the mephitic exhalation of the crater. I bore him to a purer atmosphere; and as I know the mountain well, I have conducted him safely to you. This is all our history. You see, sir, that were it not for that prophecy which you desired to frustrate, your friend would ere this time have been a corpse: one minute more, and the vapour had done its work. Adieu; good-night, and pleasant dreams."
"But, my preserver, you will not leave us?" said Glyndon, anxiously, and speaking for the first time. "Will you not return with us?"
Zanoni paused, and drew Glyndon aside. "Young man," said he, gravely, "it is necessary that we should again meet to-night. It is necessary that you should, ere the first hour of morning, decide on your own fate. I know that you have insulted her whom you profess to love. It is not too late to repent. Consult not your friend; — he is sensible and wise; but not now is his wisdom needed. These are times in life when, from the imagination, and not the reason, should wisdom come — this, for you, is one of them. I ask not your answer now. Collect your thoughts — recover your jaded and
