When he was left alone, Pandolfini returned to his gaze over the parapet. He did not venture to look at the moon in the sky; but the reflection of her, all broken and uneven by the crisp of the little wavelets which the evening breeze was ruffling upon Arno--that he might still look at for a moment. His eyes were dry and burning, and yet it was as if he looked at that moon through the mist of tears. Words came into his mind, words of her language, all of which had seemed delicate and sacred to her in this sweet dreamtime that was now so fatally past. He was not so familiar with English that this line should return to his ear at such a moment, as it might so easily have done to a natural-born subject of the greatest of poets--but yet it came. He knew his Shakespeare almost as well as he knew his Dante, and what could an Italian say more?-- “The imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy free.” He said these words over and over to himself; and by-and-by the bells began to chime all round him, telling the Ave Maria. Hail, all hail, oh blessed among women! This was more than Pandolfini could bear. He put his hands up to his ears, and crushed the sound out till it was over. When the tingling air was still again, he turned resolutely on his way. He was still in his morning dress, the excuse which had served him with Hunstanton: but what did it matter? He did not feel that he could trust himself even to pause again, much less turn back. He went with steady determination along Arno, seeing the lights shine in the river, with a wavering glimmer and movement: and in himself, too, notwithstanding his steady pace, there was a wavering play of giddiness, a sense of instability, the earth reeling under his feet, the heavens revolving about him. He went on all the same to the palace of the dreams, where he had given all that was in him to give, for nothing--and where now, strange flicker of human vanity and mutual ignorance, another heart was about to be given him for nothing--for less than the asking. He would not look at the light in Diana’s window, he went straight up past the door where his heart had beat last night with such wild gasps of expectation and hope. Had he obeyed his impulse then, burst into her presence, and told her! Had he but done it! Then at least she would have known, and he would not have been so utterly deceived. This thought swept into his mind as he passed, but he gave it no willing entertainment. He went up with a resolute step, up, beyond even the Hunstantons’, to Mrs. Norton’s door.