hour。　　Tallien；　the　Macduff　to　the　doomed　Macbeth；　is　whispering
  courage　to　his　pale　conspirators。　　Along　the　streets　heavily　roll
  the　tumbrils。　　The　shops　are　closed；the　people　are　gorged　with
  gore；　and　will　lap　no　more。　　And　night　after　night；　to　the　eighty
  theatres　flock　the　children　of　the　Revolution；　to　laugh　at　the
  quips　of　comedy；　and　weep　gentle　tears　over　imaginary　woes！
  In　a　small　chamber；　in　the　heart　of　the　city；　sits　the　mother；
  watching　over　her　child。　　It　is　quiet；　happy　noon；　the　sunlight；
  broken　by　the　tall　roofs　in　the　narrow　street；　comes　yet　through
  the　open　casement；　the　impartial　playfellow　of　the　air；　gleesome
  alike　in　temple　and　prison；　hall　and　hovel；　as　golden　and　as
  blithe；　whether　it　laugh　over　the　first　hour　of　life；　or　quiver
  in　its　gay　delight　on　the　terror　and　agony　of　the　last！　　The
  child；　where　it　lay　at　the　feet　of　Viola；　stretched　out　its
  dimpled　hands　as　if　to　clasp　the　dancing　motes　that　revelled　in
  the　beam。　　The　mother　turned　her　eyes　from　the　glory；　it　saddened
  her　yet　more。　　She　turned　and　sighed。
  Is　this　the　same　Viola　who　bloomed　fairer　than　their　own　Idalia
  under　the　skies　of　Greece？　　How　changed！　　How　pale　and　worn！　　She
  sat　listlessly；　her　arms　dropping　on　her　knee；　the　smile　that　was
  habitual　to　her　lips　was　gone。　　A　heavy；　dull　despondency；　as　if
  the　life　of　life　were　no　more；　seemed　to　weigh　down　her　youth；
  and　make　it　weary　of　that　happy　sun！　　In　truth；　her　existence　had
  languished　away　since　it　had　wandered；　as　some　melancholy　stream；
  from　the　source　that　fed　it。　　The　sudden　enthusiasm　of　fear　or
  superstition　that　had　almost；　as　if　still　in　the　unconscious
  movements　of　a　dream；　led　her　to　fly　from　Zanoni；　had　ceased　from
  the　day　which　dawned　upon　her　in　a　foreign　land。　　Thenthere
  she　felt　that　in　the　smile　she　had　evermore　abandoned　lived　her
  life。　　She　did　not　repent；she　would　not　have　recalled　the
  impulse　that　winged　her　flight。　　Though　the　enthusiasm　was　gone；
  the　superstition　yet　remained；　she　still　believed　she　had　saved
  her　child　from　that　dark　and　guilty　sorcery；　concerning　which　the
  traditions　of　all　lands　are　prodigal；　but　in　none　do　they　find
  such　credulity；　or　excite　such　dread；　as　in　the　South　of　Italy。
  This　impression　was　confirmed　by　the　mysterious　conversations　of
  Glyndon；　and　by　her　own　perception　of　the　fearful　change　that　had
  passed　over　one　who　represented　himself　as　the　victim　of　the
  enchanters。　　She　did　not；　therefore；　repent；　but　her　very
  volition　seemed　gone。
  On　their　arrival　at　Paris；　Viola　saw　her　companionthe　faithful
  wifeno　more。　　Ere　three　weeks　were　passed；　husband　and　wife　had
  ceased　to　live。
  And　now；　for　the　first　time；　the　drudgeries　of　this　hard　earth
  claimed　the　beautiful　Neapolitan。　　In　that　profession；　giving
  voice　and　shape　to　poetry　and　song；　in　which　her　first　years　were
  passed；　there　is；　while　it　lasts；　an　excitement　in　the　art　that
  lifts　it　from　the　labour　of　a　calling。　　Hovering　between　two
  lives；　the　Real　and　Ideal；　dwells　the　life　of　music　and　the
  stage。　　But　that　life　was　lost　evermore　to　the　idol　of　the　eyes
  and　ears　of　Naples。　　Lifted　to　the　higher　realm　of　passionate
  love；　it　seemed　as　if　the　fictitious　genius　which　represents　the
  thoughts　of　others　was　merged　in　the　genius　that　grows　all
  thought　itself。　　It　had　been　the　worst　infidelity　to　the　Lost；　to
  have　descended　again　to　live　on　the　applause　of　others。　　And　so
  for　she　would　not　accept　alms　from　Glyndonso；　by　the　commonest
  arts；　the　humblest　industry　which　the　sex　knows；　alone　and
  unseen；　she　who　had　slept　on　the　breast　of　Zanoni　found　a　shelter
  for　their　child。　　As　when；　in　the　noble　verse　prefixed　to　this
  chapter；　Armida　herself　has　destroyed　her　enchanted　palace；not
  a　vestige　of　that　bower；　raised　of　old　by　Poetry　and　Love；
  remained　to　say；　〃It　had　been！〃
  And　the　child　avenged　the　father；　it　bloomed；　it　thrived；it
  waxed　strong　in　the　light　of　life。　　But　still　it　seemed　haunted
  and　preserved　by　some　other　being　than　her　own。　　In　its　sleep
  there　was　that　slumber；　so　deep　and　rigid；　which　a　thunderbolt
  could　not　have　disturbed；　and　in　such　sleep　often　it　moved　its
  arms；　as　to　embrace　the　air：　　often　its　lips　stirred　with
  murmured　sounds　of　indistinct　affection；NOT　FOR　HER；　and　all
  the　while　upon　its　cheeks　a　hue　of　such　celestial　bloom；　upon　its
  lips　a　smile　of　such　mysterious　joy！　　Then；　when　it　waked；　its
  eyes　did　not　turn　first　to　HER；wistful；　earnest；　wandering；
  they　roved　around；　to　fix　on　her　pale　face；　at　last；　in　mute
  sorrow　and　reproach。
  Never　had　Viola　felt　before　how　mighty　was　her　love　for　Zanoni；
  how　thought；　feeling；　heart；　soul；　life；all　lay　crushed　and
  dormant　in　the　icy　absence　to　which　she　had　doomed　herself！　　She
  heard　not　the　roar　without；　she　felt　not　one　amidst　those　stormy
  millions；worlds　of　excitement　labouring　through　every　hour。
  Only　when　Glyndon；　haggard；　wan；　and　spectre…like；　glided　in；　day
  after　day；　to　visit　her；　did　the　fair　daughter　of　the　careless
  South　know　how　heavy　and　universal　was　the　Death…Air　that　girt
  her　round。　　Sublime　in　her　passive　unconsciousness；her　mechanic
  life；she　sat；　and　feared　not；　in　the　den　of　the　Beasts　of　Prey。
  The　door　of　the　room　opened　abruptly；　and　Glyndon　entered。　　His
  manner　was　more　agitated　than　usual。
  〃Is　it　you；　Clarence？〃　she　said　in　her　soft；　languid　tones。　　〃You
  are　before　the　hour　I　expected　you。〃
  〃Who　can　count　on　his　hours　at　Paris？〃　returned　Glyndon；　with　a
  frightful　smile。　　〃Is　it　not　enough　that　I　am　here！　　Your　apathy
  in　the　midst　of　these　sorrows　appalls　me。　　You　say　calmly；
  'Farewell；'　calmly　you　bid　me；　'Welcome！'as　if　in　every　corner
  there　was　not　a　spy；　and　as　if　with　every　day　there　was　not　a
  massacre！〃
  〃Pardon　me！　　But　in　these　walls　lies　my　world。　　I　can　hardly
  credit　all　the　tales　you　tell　me。　　Everything　here；　save　THAT；〃
  and　she　pointed　to　the　infant；　〃seems　already　so　lifeless；　that
  in　the　tomb　itself　one　could　scarcely　less　heed　the　crimes　that
  are　done　without。〃
  Glyndon　paused　for　a　few　moments；　and　gazed　with　strange　and
  mingled　feelings　upon　that　face　and　form；　still　so　young；　and　yet
  so　invested　with　that　saddest　of　all　repose；when　the　heart
  feels　old。
  〃O　Viola；〃　said　he；　at　last；　and　in　a　voice　of　suppressed
  passion；　〃was　it　thus　I　ever　thought　to　see　you；ever　thought　to
  feel　for　you；　when　we　two　first　met　in　the　gay　haunts　of　Naples？
  Ah；　why　then　did　you　refuse　my　love；　or　why　was　mine　not　worthy
  of　you？　　Nay；　shrink　not！let　me　touch　your　hand。　　No　passion　so
  sweet　as　that　youthful　love　can　return　to　me　again。　　I　feel　for
  you　but　as　a　brother　for　some　younger　and　lonely　sister。　　With
  you；　in　your　presence；　sad　though　it　be；　I　seem　to　breathe　back
  the　purer　air　of　my　early　life。　　Here　alone；　except　in　scenes　of
  turbulence　and　tempest；　the　Phantom　ceases　to　pursue　me。　　I
  forget　even　the　Death　that　stalks　behind；　and　haunts　me　as　my
  shadow。　　But　better　days　may　be　in　store　for　us　yet。　　Viola；　I　at
  last　begin　dimly　to　perceive　how　to　baffle　and　subdue　the　Phantom
  that　has　cursed　my　life；it　is　to　brave；　and　defy　it。　　In　sin
  and　in　riot；　as　I　have　told　thee；　it　haunts　me　not。　　But　I
  comprehend　now　what　Mejnour　said　in　his　dark　apothegms；　'that　I
  should　dread　the　spectre　most　WHEN　UNSEEN。'　　In　virtuous　and　calm
  resolution　it　appears；ay；　I　behold　it　now；　there；　there；　with
  its　livid　eyes！〃and　the　drops　fell　from　his　brow。　　〃But　it
  shall　no　longer　daunt　me　from　that　resolution。　　I　face　it；　and　it
  gradually　darkens　back　into　the　shade。〃　　He　paused；　and　his　eyes
  dwelt　with　a　terrible　exultation　upon　the　sunlit　space；　then；
  with　a　heavy　and　deep…drawn　breath；　he　resumed；　〃Viola；　I　have
  found　the　means　of　escape。　　We　will　leave　this　city。　　In　some
  other　land　we　will　endeavour　to　comfort　each　other；　and　forget
  the　past。〃
  〃No；〃　said　Viola；　calmly；　〃I　have　no　further　wish　to　stir；　till　I
  am　born　hence　to　the　last　resting…place。　　I　dreamed　of　him　last
  night；　Clarence！dreamed　of　him　for　the　first　time　since　we
  parted；　and；　do　not　mock　me；　methought　that　he　forgave　the
  deserter；　and　called　me　'Wife。'　　That　dream　hallows　the　room。
  Perhaps　it　will　visit　me　again　before　I　die。〃
  〃Talk　not　of　him；of　the　demi…fiend！〃　cried　Glyndon；　fiercely；
  and　stamping　his　foot。　　〃Thank　the　Heavens　for　any　fate　that　hath
  rescued　thee　from　him！〃
  〃Hush！〃　said　Viola；　gravely。　　And　as　she　was　about　to　proceed；
  her　eye　fell　upon　the　child。　　It　was　standing　in　the　very　centre
  of　that　slanting　column　of　light　which　the　sun　poured　into　the
  chamber；　and　the　rays　seemed　to　surround　it　as　a　halo；　and
  settled；　crown…like；　on　the　gold　of　its　shining　hair。　　In　its
  small　shape；　so　exquisitely　modelled；　in　its　large；　steady；
  tranquil　eyes；　there　was　something　that　awed；　while　it　charmed
  the　mother's　pride。　　It　gazed　on　Glyndon　as　he　spoke；　with　a　look
  which　almost　might　have　seemed　disdain；　and　which　Viola；　at
  least；　interpreted　as　a　defence　of　the　Abs