chosen seers whom you allow to have mastered the mysteries I yearn to fathom?"
"Rash man," said Zanoni in a tone of compassion, "thy crisis is past, and thy choice made! I can only bid thee be bold and prosper; yes, I resign thee to a master who has the power and the will to open to thee the gates of an awful world. Thy weal or woe are as nought in the eyes of his relentless wisdom. I would bid him spare thee, but he will heed me not. Mejnour, receive thy pupil!" Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard upon the pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more by his side!
"Farewell," resumed Zanoni; "thy trial commences. When next we meet, thou wilt be the victim or the victor."
Glyndon's eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious stranger. He saw him enter the boat, and he then for the first time noticed that besides the rowers there was a female, who stood up as Zanoni gained the boat. Even at the distance he recognised the once-adored form of Viola. She waved her hand to him, and across the still and shining air came her voice, mournfully and sweetly, in her mother's tongue — "Farewell, Clarence — I forgive thee! — farewell, farewell!"
He strove to answer, but the voice touched a chord at his heart, and the words failed him. Viola was
