formula which caused the tender red tint which the rich wine had brought to Arria's cheeks to disappear.
At this moment the clock of one of the distant villages by the sea struck the "Angelus."
At this sound, a sigh of agony broke from the lips of the young woman. Octavio felt the arms which held him relax; the draperies which she wore, and which covered her, sunk in as though that which they enclosed had disappeared; and the unhappy young man saw nothing by his side but a handful of ashes mingled with hardened bones, among which shone the bracelets and golden jewels, crushed out of shape, as you may see them today at the museum at Naples.
A terrible cry broke from his lips, and he lost consciousness.
The old man had disappeared. The sun rose; and the room, just now filled with so much magnificence and beauty, was nothing but a confused ruin.
*******
After having slept off the effect of the wine, Max and Fabio awoke; and their first thought was to call their companion, whose chamber was near their own. Octavio did not reply, for good reasons. Fabio and Max, receiving no answer, entered his room, and saw that his bed had not been slept in.
"He must have slept upon a chair," said Fabio, "not being able to undress himself, — he can't stand much wine, our dear Octavio, — then he went out early, to walk off the effects."
"But," said Max, "he drank hardly any thing. This seems very strange to me: let's look him up."
The two friends, aided by the hotel-keeper, searched every street, alley, and archway; entered into all the odd houses in which they thought Octavio might have strayed to copy a painting or an inscription; and at last found him stretched out, unconscious, upon the mosaic floor of a half-ruined chamber. They found great difficulty in awaking him; and, when at last they succeeded, he would give no explanation of how he came there, except that he had a fancy to see Pompeii by moonlight, and that he had been overcome by dizziness probably, and had fallen where they found him.
The little party returned to Naples as they had come; and that evening, in their box at San Carlo, Max and Fabio witnessed with more delight than ever the pirouettes of two twin-sisters of the ballet. Octavio, with a pale face and troubled brow, looked at the pantomime and the jugglery which followed as though he did not much doubt its reality after the adventures of the previous night. He had hardly come to himself yet.
From this time Octavio was a prey to a mournful melancholy, which the good humor and jests of his friends aggravated rather than soothed: the memory of Arria Marcella pursued him night and day, and the sad ending of his strange adventure had not destroyed its charm.
He could not keep away, and secretly returned to Pompeii, and walked as before among the ruins, by the light of the moon, with a palpitating heart, filled with a wild hope; but the vision, or whatever it may have been, did not return. He saw only the lizards scurrying over the stones; he heard only the cries of the night-birds; he met no more his friend Rufus Holconius; Tyche did not come, and lead him by the hand; Arria Marcella obstinately refused to rise from her ashes.
At last despairing, with good cause,
