was thrown back, and gave to view a countenance of great but
sad command; a face, in whose high features, massive brow, and proud,
unshrinking gaze, shaded by an expression of melancholy more stern than
soft, Nature seemed to have written majesty, and Fate disaster. As in
that silent and dreary place, these two, the only tenants of the street,
now encountered, Adrian stopped abruptly, and said in a startled and
doubting voice: "Do I dream still, or do I behold Rienzi?"

The Pilgrim paused also, as he heard the name, and gazing long on the
attenuated features of the young lord, said: "I am he that was Rienzi!
and you, pale shadow, is it in this grave of Italy that I meet with the
gay and high Colonna? Alas, young friend," he added, in a more relaxed
and kindly voice, "hath the Plague not spared the flower of the Roman
nobles? Come, I, the cruel and the harsh Tribune, I will be thy nurse:
he who might have been my brother, shall yet claim from me a brother's
care."

With these words he wound his arm tenderly round Adrian; and the young
noble, touched by his compassion, and agitated by the surprise, leaned
upon Rienzi's breast in silence.

"Poor youth," resumed the Tribune, for so, since rather fallen than
deposed, he may yet be called; "I ever loved the young, (my brother died
young;) and you more than most. What fatality brought thee hither?"

"Irene!" replied Adrian, falteringly.

"Is it so, really? Art thou a Colonna, and yet prize the fallen? The
same duty has brought me also to the city of Death. From the furthest
south--over the mountains of the robber--through the fastnesses of my
foes--through towns in which the herald proclaimed in my ear the price
of my head--I have passed hither, on foot and alone, safe under the
wings of the Almighty One. Young man, thou shouldst have left this task
to one who bears a wizard's life, and whom Heaven and Earth yet reserve
for an appointed end!"

The Tribune said this in a deep and inward voice; and in his raised eye
and solemn brow might be seen how much his reverses had deepened his
fanaticism, and added even to the sanguineness of his hopes.

"But," asked Adrian, withdrawing gently from Rienzi's arm, "thou
knowest, then, where Irene is to be found; let us go together. Lose not
a moment in this talk; time is of inestimable value, and a moment in
this city is often but the border to eternity."

"Right," said Rienzi, awakening to his object. "But fear not, I have
dreamt