about his head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his
countenance. His brow was haggard; deep furrows seemed to have been
ploughed into his visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently in
the prime of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild
and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented by some strange fancy or
apprehension. In spite of every effort to fix his attention on the
conversation of his companions, I noticed that every now and then he
would turn his head slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and
then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful had met
his eye. This was repeated at intervals of about a minute, and he
appeared hardly to have got over one shock, before I saw him slowly
preparing to encounter another.

After sitting some time in the Cassino, the party paid for the
refreshments they had taken, and departed. The young man was the last
to leave the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind him in the same
way, just as he passed out at the door. I could not resist the impulse
to rise and follow him; for I was at an age when a romantic feeling of
curiosity is easily awakened. The party walked slowly down the Arcades,
talking and laughing as they went. They crossed the Piazzetta, but
paused in the middle of it to enjoy the scene. It was one of those
moonlight nights so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of
Italy. The moon-beams streamed on the tall tower of St. Mark, and
lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the Cathedral.
The party expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept my eye upon
the young man. He alone seemed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed
the same singular, and, as it were, furtive glance over the shoulder
that had attracted my attention in the Cassino. The party moved on, and
I followed; they passed along the walks called the Broglio; turned the
corner of the Ducal palace, and getting into a gondola, glided swiftly