appeal　for　succour；　for　protection；　and　suddenly；　as　the　clock
  struck；　fell　with　a　shriek　to　the　ground；　cold　and　lifeless。
  With　difficulty；　and　not　until　after　the　most　earnest　prayers；
  did　she　answer　the　agonised　questions　of　Glyndon；　at　last　she
  owned　that　at　that　hour；　and　that　hour　alone；　wherever　she　was
  placed；　however　occupied；　she　distinctly　beheld　the　apparition　of
  an　old　hag；　who；　after　thrice　knocking　at　the　door；　entered　the
  room；　and　hobbling　up　to　her　with　a　countenance　distorted　by
  hideous　rage　and　menace；　laid　its　icy　fingers　on　her　forehead：
  from　that　moment　she　declared　that　sense　forsook　her；　and　when
  she　woke　again；　it　was　only　to　wait；　in　suspense　that　froze　up
  her　blood；　the　repetition　of　the　ghastly　visitation。
  The　physician　who　had　been　summoned　before　Glyndon's　return；　and
  whose　letter　had　recalled　him　to　London；　was　a　commonplace
  practitioner；　ignorant　of　the　case；　and　honestly　anxious　that　one
  more　experienced　should　be　employed。　　Clarence　called　in　one　of
  the　most　eminent　of　the　faculty；　and　to　him　he　recited　the
  optical　delusion　of　his　sister。　　The　physician　listened
  attentively；　and　seemed　sanguine　in　his　hopes　of　cure。　　He　came
  to　the　house　two　hours　before　the　one　so　dreaded　by　the　patient。
  He　had　quietly　arranged　that　the　clocks　should　be　put　forward
  half　an　hour；　unknown　to　Adela；　and　even　to　her　brother。　　He　was
  a　man　of　the　most　extraordinary　powers　of　conversation；　of
  surpassing　wit；　of　all　the　faculties　that　interest　and　amuse。　　He
  first　administered　to　the　patient　a　harmless　potion；　which　he
  pledged　himself　would　dispel　the　delusion。　　His　confident　tone
  woke　her　own　hopes；　he　continued　to　excite　her　attention；　to
  rouse　her　lethargy；　he　jested；　he　laughed　away　the　time。　　The
  hour　struck。　　〃Joy；　my　brother！〃　she　exclaimed；　throwing　herself
  in　his　arms；　〃the　time　is　past！〃　　And　then；　like　one　released
  from　a　spell；　she　suddenly　assumed　more　than　her　ancient
  cheerfulness。　　〃Ah；　Clarence！〃　she　whispered；　〃forgive　me　for　my
  former　desertion；forgive　me　that　I　feared　YOU。　　I　shall　live！
  I　shall　live！　in　my　turn　to　banish　the　spectre　that　haunts　my
  brother！〃　　And　Clarence　smiled　and　wiped　the　tears　from　his
  burning　eyes。　　The　physician　renewed　his　stories；　his　jests。　　In
  the　midst　of　a　stream　of　rich　humour　that　seemed　to　carry　away
  both　brother　and　sister；　Glyndon　suddenly　saw　over　Adela's　face
  the　same　fearful　change；　the　same　anxious　look；　the　same
  restless；　straining　eye；　he　had　beheld　the　night　before。　　He
  rose；he　approached　her。　　Adela　started　up。　　〃looklooklook！〃
  she　exclaimed。　　〃She　comes！　　Save　me；save　me！〃　and　she　fell　at
  his　feet　in　strong　convulsions　as　the　clock；　falsely　and　in　vain
  put　forward；　struck　the　half…hour。
  The　physician　lifted　her　in　his　arms。　　〃My　worst　fears　are
  confirmed；〃　he　said　gravely；　〃the　disease　is　epilepsy。〃　　（The
  most　celebrated　practitioner　in　Dublin　related　to　the　editor　a
  story　of　optical　delusion　precisely　similar　in　its　circumstances
  and　its　physical　cause　to　the　one　here　narrated。）
  The　next　night；　at　the　same　hour；　Adela　Glyndon　died。
  CHAPTER　5。VI。
  La　loi；　dont　le　regne　vous　epouvante；　a　son　glaive　leve　sur　vous：
  elle　vous　frappera　tous：　　le　genre　humain　a　besoin　de　cet
  exemple。Couthon。
  （The　law；　whose　reign　terrifies　you；　has　its　sword　raised　against
  you；　it　will　strike　you　all：　　humanity　has　need　of　this　example。）
  〃Oh；　joy；　joy！thou　art　come　again！　　This　is　thy　handthese　thy
  lips。　　Say　that　thou　didst　not　desert　me　from　the　love　of
  another；　say　it　again；say　it　ever！and　I　will　pardon　thee　all
  the　rest！〃
  〃So　thou　hast　mourned　for　me？〃
  〃Mourned！and　thou　wert　cruel　enough　to　leave　me　gold；　there　it
  is；there；　untouched！〃
  〃Poor　child　of　Nature！　how；　then；　in　this　strange　town　of
  Marseilles；　hast　thou　found　bread　and　shelter？〃
  〃Honestly；　soul　of　my　soul！　honestly；　but　yet　by　the　face　thou
  didst　once　think　so　fair；　thinkest　thou　THAT　now？〃
  〃Yes；　Fillide；　more　fair　than　ever。　　But　what　meanest　thou？〃
  〃There　is　a　painter　herea　great　man；　one　of　their　great　men　at
  Paris；　I　know　not　what　they　call　them；　but　he　rules　over　all
  here；life　and　death；　and　he　has　paid　me　largely　but　to　sit　for
  my　portrait。　　It　is　for　a　picture　to　be　given　to　the　Nation；　for
  he　paints　only　for　glory。　　Think　of　thy　Fillide's　renown！〃　　And
  the　girl's　wild　eyes　sparkled；　her　vanity　was　roused。　　〃And　he
  would　have　married　me　if　I　would！divorced　his　wife　to　marry　me！
  But　I　waited　for　thee；　ungrateful！〃
  A　knock　at　the　door　was　heard；a　man　entered。
  〃Nicot！〃
  〃Ah；　Glyndon！hum！welcome！　　What！　thou　art　twice　my　rival！
  But　Jean　Nicot　bears　no　malice。　　Virtue　is　my　dream；my　country；
  my　mistress。　　Serve　my　country；　citizen；　and　I　forgive　thee　the
  preference　of　beauty。　　Ca　ira！　ca　ira！〃
  But　as　the　painter　spoke；　it　hymned；　it　rolled　through　the
  streets；the　fiery　song　of　the　Marseillaise！　　There　was　a　crowd；
  a　multitude；　a　people　up；　abroad；　with　colours　and　arms；
  enthusiasm　and　song；with　song；　with　enthusiasm；　with　colours
  and　arms！　　And　who　could　guess　that　that　martial　movement　was
  one；　not　of　war；　but　massacre；Frenchmen　against　Frenchmen？　　For
  there　are　two　parties　in　Marseilles；and　ample　work　for　Jourdan
  Coupe…tete！　　But　this；　the　Englishman；　just　arrived；　a　stranger
  to　all　factions；　did　not　as　yet　comprehend。　　He　comprehended
  nothing　but　the　song；　the　enthusiasm；　the　arms；　and　the　colours
  that　lifted　to　the　sun　the　glorious　lie；　〃Le　peuple　Francais；
  debout　contre　les　tyrans！〃　　（Up；　Frenchmen；　against　tyrants！）
  The　dark　brow　of　the　wretched　wanderer　grew　animated；　he　gazed
  from　the　window　on　the　throng　that　marched　below；　beneath　their
  waving　Oriflamme。　　They　shouted　as　they　beheld　the　patriot　Nicot；
  the　friend　of　Liberty　and　relentless　Hebert；　by　the　stranger's
  side；　at　the　casement。
  〃Ay；　shout　again！〃　cried　the　painter；〃shout　for　the　brave
  Englishman　who　abjures　his　Pitts　and　his　Coburgs　to　be　a　citizen
  of　Liberty　and　France！〃
  A　thousand　voices　rent　the　air；　and　the　hymn　of　the　Marseillaise
  rose　in　majesty　again。
  〃Well；　and　if　it　be　among　these　high　hopes　and　this　brave　people
  that　the　phantom　is　to　vanish；　and　the　cure　to　come！〃　muttered
  Glyndon；　and　he　thought　he　felt　again　the　elixir　sparkling
  through　his　veins。
  〃Thou　shalt　be　one　of　the　Convention　with　Paine　and　Clootz；I
  will　manage　it　all　for　thee！〃　cried　Nicot；　slapping　him　on　the
  shoulder：　〃and　Paris〃
  〃Ah；　if　I　could　but　see　Paris！〃　cried　Fillide；　in　her　joyous
  voice。　　Joyous！　the　whole　time；　the　town；　the　airsave　where；
  unheard；　rose　the　cry　of　agony　and　the　yell　of　murderwere　joy！
  Sleep　unhaunting　in　thy　grave；　cold　Adela。　　Joy；　joy！　　In　the
  Jubilee　of　Humanity　all　private　griefs　should　cease！　　Behold；
  wild　mariner；　the　vast　whirlpool　draws　thee　to　its　stormy　bosom！
  There　the　individual　is　not。　　All　things　are　of　the　whole！　　Open
  thy　gates；　fair　Paris；　for　the　stranger…citizen！　　Receive　in　your
  ranks；　O　meek　Republicans；　the　new　champion　of　liberty；　of
  reason；　of　mankind！　　〃Mejnour　is　right；　it　was　in　virtue；　in
  valour；　in　glorious　struggle　for　the　human　race；　that　the　spectre
  was　to　shrink　to　her　kindred　darkness。〃
  And　Nicot's　shrill　voice　praised　him；　and　lean　Robespierre
  〃Flambeau；　colonne；　pierre　angulaire　de　l'edifice　de　la
  Republique！〃　　（〃The　light；　column；　and　keystone　of　the
  Republic。〃〃Lettre　du　Citoyen　P；　Papiers　inedits　trouves　chez
  Robespierre；〃　tom　11；　page　127。）smiled　ominously　on　him　from
  his　bloodshot　eyes；　and　Fillide　clasped　him　with　passionate　arms
  to　her　tender　breast。　　And　at　his　up…rising　and　down…sitting；　at
  board　and　in　bed；　though　he　saw　it　not；　the　Nameless　One　guided
  him　with　the　demon　eyes　to　the　sea　whose　waves　were　gore。
  BOOK　VI。
  SUPERSTITION　DESERTING　FAITH。
  Why　do　I　yield　to　that　suggestion；　Whose　horrid　image　doth　unfix
  my　hair。Shakespeare
  CHAPTER　6。I。
  Therefore　the　Genii　were　painted　with　a　platter　full　of　garlands
  and　flowers　in　one　hand；　and　a　whip　in　the　other。Alexander
  Ross；　〃Mystag。　Poet。〃
  According　to　the　order　of　the　events　related　in　this　narrative；
  the　departure　of　Zanoni　and　Viola　from　the　Greek　isle；　in　which
  two　happy　years　appear　to　have　been　passed；　must　have　been
  somewhat　later　in　date　than　the　arrival　of　Glyndon　at　Marseilles。
  It　must　have　been　in　the　course　of　the　year　1791　when　Viola　fled
  from　Naples　with　her　mysterious　lover；　and　when　Glyndon　sought
  Mejnour　in　the　fatal　castle。　　It　is　now　towards　the　close　of
  1793；　when　our　story　again　returns　to　Zanoni。　　The　stars　of
  winter　shone　down　on　the　lagunes　of　Venice。　　The　hum　of　the
  Rialto　was　hushed；the　last　loiterers　had　deserted　the　Place　of
  St。　Mark's；　and　only　at　distant　intervals　might　be　heard　the　oars
  of　the　rapid　gondolas；　bearing　reveller　or　lover　to　his　home。
  But　lights　still　flitted　to　and　fro　across　the　windows　of　one　of
  the　Palladian　palaces；　whose　shadow　slept　in