"Holy angels befriend us!" said the Italian, trembling; "behold the very
being that crossed me last Sabbath night. It is he, but his face is
human now!"

"Signor Inglese," said the voice of Zicci as Glyndon, pale, wan, and
silent, returned passively the joyous greeting of Merton,--" Signor
Inglese, I told your friend we should meet to-night; you see you have
not foiled my prediction."

"But how, but where?" stammered Merton, in great confusion and surprise.

"I found your friend stretched on the ground, overpowered by the
mephitic exhalation of the crater. I bore him to a purer atmosphere;
and as I know the mountain well, I have conducted him safely to you.
This is all our history. You see, sir, that were it not for that
prophecy which you desired to frustrate, your friend would, ere this
time, have been a corpse; one minute more, and the vapor had done its
work. Adieu! good night and pleasant dreams."

"But, my preserver, you will not leave us," said Glyndon, anxiously, and
speaking for the first time. "Will you not return with us?"

Zicci paused, and drew Glyndon aside. "Young man," said he, gravely,
"it is necessary that we should again meet to-night. It is necessary
that you should, ere the first hour of morning, decide on your fate.
Will you marry Isabel di Pisani, or lose her forever? Consult not your
friend; he is sensible and wise, but not now is his wisdom needed.
There are times in life when from the imagination, and not the reason,
should wisdom come,--this for you is one of them. I ask not your answer
now. Collect your thoughts, recover your jaded and scattered spirits.