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Glyndon's brow was sullen, and he was about to startle the guests by his reply, when Zicci, touching his arm significantly, whispered in English, "I know why you have sought me. Be silent, and witness what ensues." "You know, then, that Isabel, whom you boasted you had the power to save from danger " "Is in this house? Yes. I know also that Murder sits at the right hand of our host.

The ocean lay suffused in the starry light, and the stillness of the heavens never more eloquently preached the morality of repose to the madness of earthly passions. But such was Glyndon's mood that their very hush only served to deepen the wild desires that preyed upon his soul.

Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard on the pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more by his side. Glyndon's eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious Corsican.

Glyndon's sleeping apartment communicated with a kind of belvidere or terrace that commanded prospects of unrivalled beauty and extent, and was separated, on the other side, by a long gallery and a flight of ten or a dozen stairs, from the private chambers of the mystic. There was about the whole place a sombre, and yet not displeasing, depth of repose.

Isabel was not there; and Glyndon, as he gazed around, observed that the casement which opened to the ground was wrenched and broken, and several fragments of the shattered glass lay below. The light flashed at once upon Glyndon's mind, the ravisher had borne away his prize. The ominous words of Zicci were fulfilled: it was too late! Wretch that he was, perhaps he might have saved her!

Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard on the pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more by his side. Glyndon's eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious Corsican.

His fears, too, were naturally aroused by the threat that by marriage alone could he save himself from the rivalry of Zicci, Zicci, born to dazzle and command; Zicci, who united to the apparent wealth of a monarch the beauty of a god; Zicci, whose eye seemed to foresee, whose hand to frustrate, every danger. What a rival, and what a foe! But Glyndon's pride, as well as jealousy, was aroused.

It was, indeed, one of those hamlets in which Law sets not its sober step, in which Violence and Murder house secure, hamlets common then in the wilder parts of Italy, in which the peasant was but the gentler name for the robber. Glyndon's heart somewhat failed him as he looked around, and the question he desired to ask died upon his lips.

It was about a month after the date of Zicci's departure and Glyndon's introduction to Mejnour, when two Englishmen were walking arm-in-arm through the Toledo. This Mejnour is an impostor more dangerous because more in earnest than Zicci. After all, what do his promises amount to? You allow that nothing can be more equivocal.

Glyndon's sleeping apartment communicated with a kind of belvidere or terrace that commanded prospects of unrivalled beauty and extent, and was separated, on the other side, by a long gallery and a flight of ten or a dozen stairs, from the private chambers of the mystic. There was about the whole place a sombre, and yet not displeasing, depth of repose.