neither appeared to heed nor hear the questions and comments of Mervale, and Mervale himself was almost as weary as the jaded animal he bestrode.
Suddenly the silence of earth and ocean was broken by the sound of a distant clock, that proclaimed the quarter preceding the last hour of night. Glyndon started from his reverie, and looked anxiously round. As the final stroke died, the noise of hoofs rung on the broad stones of the pavement; and from a narrow street to the right emerged the form of a solitary horseman. He neared the Englishmen, and Glyndon recognised the features and mien of Zanoni.
"What! do we meet again, Signor?" said Mervale, in a vexed but drowsy tone.
"Your friend and I have business together," replied Zanoni, as he wheeled his steed to the side of Glyndon. "But it will be soon transacted. Perhaps you, sir, will ride on to your hotel."
"Alone!"
"There is no danger!" returned Zanoni, with a slight expression of disdain in his voice.
"None to me;—but to Glyndon?"
"Danger from me! Ah, perhaps you are right."
"Go on, my dear Mervale," said Glyndon; "I will join you before you reach the hotel."
Mervale nodded, whistled, and pushed his horse into a kind of amble.
"Now your answer — quick!"
"I have decided. The love of Viola has vanished from my heart. The pursuit is over."
