seemed an absolute necessity of his existence to do so. It
mattered not whether she were angel or demon; he was irrevocably
within her sphere, and must obey the law that whirled him onward,
in ever-lessening circles, towards a result which he did not
attempt to foreshadow; and yet, strange to say, there came across
him a sudden doubt whether this intense interest on his part were
not delusory; whether it were really of so deep and positive a
nature as to justify him in now thrusting himself into an
incalculable position; whether it were not merely the fantasy of
a young man's brain, only slightly or not at all connected with
his heart.

He paused, hesitated, turned half about, but again went on. His
withered guide led him along several obscure passages, and
finally undid a door, through which, as it was opened, there came
the sight and sound of rustling leaves, with the broken sunshine
glimmering among them. Giovanni stepped forth, and, forcing
himself through the entanglement of a shrub that wreathed its
tendrils over the hidden entrance, stood beneath his own window
in the open area of Dr. Rappaccini's garden.

How often is it the case that, when impossibilities have come to
pass and dreams have condensed their misty substance into
tangible realities, we find ourselves calm, and even coldly
self-possessed, amid circumstances which it would have been a
delirium of joy or agony to anticipate! Fate delights to thwart
us thus. Passion will choose his own time to rush upon the scene,
and lingers sluggishly behind when an appropriate adjustment of
events would seem to summon his appearance. So was it now with
Giovanni. Day after day his pulses had throbbed with feverish