The scene on which the actress now entered was that of the final catastrophe, wherein all her remarkable powers of voice and art were pre-eminently called forth. The house hung on every word with breathless worship; but the eyes of Viola sought only those of one calm and unmoved spectator; she exerted herself as if inspired. Zanoni listened, and observed her with an attentive gaze, but no approval escaped his lips; no emotion changed the expression of his cold and half-disdainful aspect. Viola, who was in the character of one who loved, but without return, never felt so acutely the part she played. Her tears were truthful; her passion that of nature: it was almost too terrible to behold. She was borne from the stage exhausted and insensible, amidst such a tempest of admiring rapture as Continental audiences alone can raise. The crowd stood up, handkerchiefs waved, garlands and flowers were thrown on the stage,--men wiped their eyes, and women sobbed aloud. “By heavens!” said a Neapolitan of great rank, “She has fired me beyond endurance. To-night--this very night--she shall be mine! You have arranged all, Mascari?” “All, signor. And the young Englishman?” “The presuming barbarian! As I before told thee, let him bleed for his folly. I will have no rival.” “But an Englishman! There is always a search after the bodies of the English.” “Fool! is not the sea deep enough, or the earth secret enough, to hide one dead man? Our ruffians are silent as the grave itself; and I!--who would dare to suspect, to arraign the Prince di --? See to it,--this night. I trust him to you. Robbers murder him, you understand,--the country swarms with them; plunder and strip him, the better to favour such report. Take three men; the rest shall be my escort.” Mascari shrugged his shoulders, and bowed submissively. The streets of Naples were not then so safe as now, and carriages were both less expensive and more necessary. The vehicle which was regularly engaged by the young actress was not to be found. Gionetta, too aware of the beauty of her mistress and the number of her admirers to contemplate without alarm the idea of their return on foot, communicated her distress to Glyndon, and he besought Viola, who recovered but slowly, to accept his own carriage. Perhaps before that night she would not have rejected so slight a service. Now, for some reason or other, she refused. Glyndon, offended, was retiring sullenly, when Gionetta stopped him. “Stay, signor,” said she, coaxingly: “the dear signora is not well,--do not be angry with her; I will make her accept your offer.”