When they left Tivoli in the early twilight, gayer from the cheerful supper, and Theodore had helped the ladies into the carriage, the old man said confidentially to him, "I will not get in until I know when we are to meet you again, my dear sir. I have an affair to settle which interests me and mine deeply, and on which I wish much to consult you. It concerns our poor Edward, and I know that you will come the sooner when you learn that we reckon on your assistance." "Come this evening," said the mother. He promised it. When they brought him his horse, he saw an anxious expression on Mary's face. He sprang into the saddle, and gently humouring the spirited animal, rode beside the carriage for some way. Then he lagged behind, rode more slowly, and let the evening slip away without observing it. The night surprised him. He gave his horse the spur, and rode across the waste with the intention of making a short cut, and thus it was that he arrived so opportunely in Bianchi's neighbourhood. He shook himself now, threw fresh wood upon the fire, and fixed his dark eyes thoughtfully upon it. "What will they think," he said to himself, "at my strange absence? What will _she_ think? It is too late now to send a messenger, and where, indeed, could I get one? She will sit at home, and never dream of what this day may mean! Or, "Chi sa se mai!" Then he attended to the sick man, walked up and down, and studied the Medusa head, on which the firelight shone warmly--strangely like the tints of ebbing life when the reluctant blood struggles with the death-terror. It affected him powerfully. At last he was obliged to turn away his eyes; and now, for the first time, observed some loose figures, some of them of corroded Pompeian bronze, and others by a newer hand, as life-like and reckless as they. Near them lay a torn and dusty copy of "Ariosto." He seized it, and read it eagerly. It was the only book he was able to discover. So passed the hours. Long after midnight the sleeping man groaned heavily, and struck out his arms in his dreams. As Theodore arranged his disordered couch, and spread the coverlid over him afresh, he awoke fully, and half arose. He felt around him, as if for a weapon, and asked, in a determined voice,-- "Who are you?" "A friend!--do you not recognize me?" answered Theodore. "It is false!--I have none." shouted the wounded man, striving to raise himself upon his feet. The pain of his wounds brought back recollection. He sank down again, and collected himself thoroughly. He lay still for awhile, and then said, more quietly, "You _are_ one. Now I recollect you. What are you doing here at this hour? Why are you not gone home? Are _you_ different from the other sons of men, who only do good in order to sleep more soundly? Go!--you have earned your rest. Why do you watch my dreams?" "The doctor insists upon having your wounds kept cool during the night. I could not trust to a stranger."