es, that she even heard him. Fortunately,
however, the storm, which was brief as violent, began now to relax; the
rain grew less and less fierce; and at last, as the clouds parted, the
moon burst forth in the purple opening of heaven, and streamed clear and
full into that desolate abode. Never had she shone, perhaps, on a group
more worthy of the painter's art. The young, the all-beautiful Ione,
seated by that rude fire--her lover already forgetful of the presence of
the hag, at her feet, gazing upward to her face, and whispering sweet
words--the pale and affrighted slave at a little distance--and the
ghastly hag resting her deadly eyes upon them; yet seemingly serene and
fearless (for the companionship of love hath such power) were these
beautiful beings, things of another sphere, in that dark and unholy
cavern, with its gloomy quaintness of appurtenance. The fox regarded
them from his corner with his keen and fiery eye: and as Glaucus now
turned towards the witch, he perceived for the first time, just under
her seat, the bright gaze and crested head of a large snake: whether it
was that the vivid coloring of the Athenian's cloak, thrown over the
shoulders of Ione, attracted the reptile's anger--its crest began to
glow and rise, as if menacing and preparing itself to spring upon the
Neapolitan--Glaucus caught quickly at one of the half-burned logs upon
the hearth--and, as if enraged at the action, the snake came forth from
its shelter, and with a loud hiss raised itself on end till its height
nearly approached that of the Greek.

'Witch!' cried Glaucus, 'command thy creature, or thou wilt see it
dead.'

'It has been despoiled of its venom!' said the witch, aroused at his
threat; but ere the words had left her lip, the snake had sprung upon
Glaucus; quick and watchful, the agile Greek leaped lightly aside, and
struck so fell and dexterous a blow on the head of the snake, that it
fell prostrate and writhing among the embers of the fire.

The hag sprung up, and stood confronting Glaucus with a face which would
have befitted the fiercest of the Furies, so utterly dire and wrathful
was its expression--yet even in horror and ghastliness preserving the
outline and trace of beauty--and utterly free from that coarse grotesque
at which the imaginations of the North have sought the source of terror.
'Thou hast,' said she, in a slow and steady voice--which belied the
expression of her face, so much was it passionless and cal