oom, that an hour
seemed to have done the work of years.

CHAPTER 3.XII.

Was ist's
Das hinter diesem Schleier sich verbirgt?
"Das Verschleierte Bild zu Sais."

(What is it that conceals itself behind this veil?)

On returning from Vesuvius or Pompeii, you enter Naples through its most
animated, its most Neapolitan quarter,--through that quarter in which
modern life most closely resembles the ancient; and in which, when, on
a fair-day, the thoroughfare swarms alike with Indolence and Trade, you
are impressed at once with the recollection of that restless, lively
race from which the population of Naples derives its origin; so that in
one day you may see at Pompeii the habitations of a remote age; and on
the Mole, at Naples, you may imagine you behold the very beings with
whom those habitations had been peopled.

But now, as the Englishmen rode slowly through the deserted streets,
lighted but by the lamps of heaven, all the gayety of day was hushed and
breathless. Here and there, stretched under a portico or a dingy booth,
were sleeping groups of houseless Lazzaroni,--a tribe now merging its
indolent individuality amidst an energetic and active population.

The Englishman rode on in silence; for Glyndon neither appeared to heed
nor hear the questions and comments of Mervale, and Mervale himself was
almost as weary as the jaded animal he bestrode.

Suddenly the silence of earth and ocean was broken by the sound of a
distant clock that proclaimed the quarter preceding the last hour of
night. Glyndon started from his reverie, and looked anxiously round. As
the final stroke died, the noise of hoofs rung on the broad stones of
the pavement, and from a narrow street to the right emerged the form of
a solitary horseman. He neared the Englishmen, and Glyndon recognised
the features and mien of Zanoni.

"What! do we meet again, signor?" said Mervale, in a vexed but drowsy
tone.

"Your friend and I have business together," replied Zanoni, as
he wheeled his steed to the side of Glyndon. "But it will be soon
transacted. Perhaps you, sir, will ride on to your hotel."

"Alone!"

"There is no danger!" returned Zanoni, with a slight expression of
disdain in his voice.

"None to me; but to Glyndon?"

"Danger from me! Ah, perhaps you are right."

"Go on, my dear Mervale," said Glyndon; "I will join you before you
reach the hotel."

Mervale nodded, whistled, and pushed his horse into a kind of am