Suddenly the silence of earth and ocean was broken by the sound of a distant clock, that proclaimed the last hour of night. Glyndon started from his reverie, and looked anxiously around. 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 recognized the features and mien of Zicci.
"What! do we meet again, signer?" said Merton, in a vexed but drowsy tone.
"Your friend and I have business together," replied Zicci, as he wheeled his powerful and fiery 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 Zicci, 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 Merton," said Glyndon, "I will join you before you reach the hotel."
Merton nodded, whistled, and pushed his horse into a kind of amble.
"Now your answer—quick."
"I have decided:—the love of Isabel has vanished from my heart. The pursuit is over."
"You have decided?"
"I have. "
"Adieu! join your friend."
Zicci gave the rein to his horse; it sprang forward with a bound; the sparks flew from its hoofs, and horse and rider disappeared amidst the shadows of the street whence they had emerged.
Merton was surprised to see his friend by his side, a minute after they had parted.
"What business can you have with Zicci? Will you not confide in me?"
"Merton, do not ask me to-night; I am in a dream."
"I do not wonder at it, for even I am in a sleep. Let us push on."
In the retirement of his chamber, Glyndon sought to recollect his thoughts. He sat down on the foot of his bed, and pressed his hands tightly to his throbbing temples. The events of the last few hours the apparition of the gigantic and shadowy Companion of the Mystic amidst the fires and clouds of Vesuvius—the strange
