ur own poet
has it:

'"Si sente che diletta Ma non si sa perche."'

And with a cold smile and a light motion of the hand, as in adieu, she
turned away and left the room. Gerald buried his face between his
hands and sobbed as though his heart was breaking. Alternately accusing
Marietta and himself of cruelty and injustice, his mind was racked by a
conflict, to which nothing offered consolation.

He tried to compose himself to sleep: he lay down on his bed, and
endeavoured in many ways to induce that calm spirit which leads to
slumber; he even murmured to himself the long-forgotten litanies he had
learned, as a student, in the college; but the fever that raged within
defied all these attempts, and, foiled in his efforts, he arose and left
the house. The day was just dawning, and a pinkish streak of sky could
be seen over the mountains of Vail' Ombrosa, while all the vale of the
Arno and Florence itself lay in deep shadow, the great 'Duomo' and the
tall tower at its side not yet catching the first gleam of the rising
sun.

Gerald left the gates of the city, and strode on manfully till he gained
the crest of the 'Bello Sguardo,' whence the view of the city and its
environs is peculiarly fine. Here he sat down to gaze on the scene
beneath him; that wondrous map, whose history contains records of
mingled greatness, crime, genius, noble patriotism, and of treachery so
base that all Europe cannot show its equal; and thus gazing, and thus
musing, he sank into deep sleep.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DROP

The morning was already far advanced and the sun high when Gerald awoke.
The heavy dews had penetrated his frail clothing and chilled him, while
the hot gleam of the sun glowed fiercely on his face and temples. He was
so confused besides, by his dream and by the objects about him, that he
sat vainly endeavouring to remember how and why he had come there.

One by one, like stragglers falling into line, his wandering faculties
came back, and he bethought him of the poet's house, Alfieri himself,
the Duchess, and lastly, of his quarrel with Marietta--an incident
which, do what he might, seemed utterly unaccountable to him. If he felt
persuaded that he was in the right throughout, the persuasion gave him
no pleasure--far from it. It had been infinitely easier for him now, if
he had wronged her, to seek her forgiveness, than forgive himself for
having offended her. She, so devoted to him! She, who had taken such
pains to