he past! Thou
art here,--thou wilt save me; we shall live yet the common happy life,
that life with thee is happiness and glory enough to me. Traverse, if
thou wilt, in thy pride of soul, the universe; thy heart again is the
universe to mine. I thought but now that I was prepared to die; I see
thee, touch thee, and again I know how beautiful a thing is life! See
through the grate the stars are fading from the sky; the morrow will
soon be here,--The MORROW which will open the prison doors! Thou sayest
thou canst save me,--I will not doubt it now. Oh, let us dwell no more
in cities! I never doubted thee in our lovely isle; no dreams haunted
me there, except dreams of joy and beauty; and thine eyes made yet more
beautiful and joyous the world in waking. To-morrow!--why do you not
smile? To-morrow, love! is not TO-MORROW a blessed word! Cruel! you
would punish me still, that you will not share my joy. Aha! see our
little one, how it laughs to my eyes! I will talk to THAT. Child, thy
father is come back!"

And taking the infant in her arms, and seating herself at a little
distance, she rocked it to and fro on her bosom, and prattled to it, and
kissed it between every word, and laughed and wept by fits, as ever and
anon she cast over her shoulder her playful, mirthful glance upon the
father to whom those fading stars smiled sadly their last farewell. How
beautiful she seemed as she thus sat, unconscious of the future! Still
half a child herself, her child laughing to her laughter,--two soft
triflers on the brink of the grave! Over her throat, as she bent, fell,
like a golden cloud, her redundant hair; it covered her treasure like
a veil of light, and the child's little hands put it aside from time to
time, to smile through the parted tresses, and then to cover its face
and peep and smile again. It were cruel to damp that joy, more cruel
still to share it.

"Viola," said Zanoni, at last, "dost thou remember that, seated by the
cave on the moonlit beach, in our bridal isle, thou once didst ask me
for this amulet?--the charm of a superstition long vanished from the
world, with the creed to which it belonged. It is the last relic of my
native land, and my mother, on her deathbed, placed it round my neck.
I told thee then I would give it thee on that day WHEN THE LAWS OF OUR
BEING SHOULD BECOME THE SAME."

"I remember it well."

"To-morrow it shall be thine!"

"Ah, that dear to-morrow!" And, gently laying down her child,--fo