Pandolfini sat and looked at him with glowing eyes. He was gazing at Hunstanton; but he seemed to see Diana: not as she had been that evening, seated calmly, like a queen, in the centre of so many people who looked up to her--but as she appeared when he saw her first, when she shone upon him suddenly, with her black veil about her head, and when all the bells chimed Diana. What a revelation that had been to him! he did not even know her, nor did he know how, without knowing, he could be able to divine her as he felt he had done. He fell into a musing, his eyes all alit with the glow of passion and visionary happiness. He knew there was no hope for him: who was he that she should descend from her heights, and take him by the hand? The idea was too wonderful, too entrancing, to have any possibility in it; but it brought such a gleam of happiness to his mind as made him forget everything--even its folly. He paid no attention to Hunstanton gazing at him,--the substantial Englishman became as a mist, as a dream, to Pandolfini,--what he really saw was Diana, the revelation of that new unthought-of face rising upon him suddenly out of dimness and nothing! What a night that had been!--what a time of strange witchery ever since! He did not know how it had passed, or what he had done in it--was it not all Diana from beginning to end? Mr. Hunstanton was kind. After a minute or two he saw that the look which was apparently bent upon himself was a visionary gaze, seeing only into some land of dreams. He broke up the fascination of that musing by a hearty honest laugh, full of genuine enjoyment. “Are you so far gone as that?” he cried; “then, upon my word, Pandolfini, some one must interfere. If you are afraid to take it into your own hands, I’ll speak for you if you like. You may be sure I am not afraid. It isn’t our English way: but I’ll do it in a moment. Is that what you would like? We’re leaving soon, as I told you, and there is not much time to lose.” “Oh, my best friend!” cried the Italian, with sudden eagerness. Then he paused. “No, Hunstanton, I dare not. Let me have the little time that remains to me. I can at least do as does your curate. I understand him. He, too, has not any hope; how should he, or I either? but I would not be sent away from her: banished for the little time that remains. No! let me keep what I have, lest I should get less and not more.” “Stuff!” said Mr. Hunstanton. “The curate, Bill Snodgrass! that’s a different case altogether. Look here now, Pandolfini: you are ridiculously over-humble; there is no such difference as you suppose. Now, look here! You have some confidence in me, I know, and if ever one man wished to help another, I am that man. Will you leave the matter in my hands? Oh, don’t you fear. I shan’t compromise you if things look badly. _I’ll feel my way._ I shan’t go a step farther than I see allowable. You shan’t be banished, and so forth. Though that’s all nonsense. Will you leave it to me?”