"Viola and Zanoni!" answered Glyndon, in his heart; but he felt that his lips moved not.
Suddenly at that thought,--through this space, in which nothing save one mellow translucent light had been discernible,--a swift succession of shadowy landscapes seemed to roll: trees, mountains, cities, seas, glided along like the changes of a phantasmagoria; and at last, settled and stationary, he saw a cave by the gradual marge of an ocean shore,--myrtles and orange-trees clothing the gentle banks.

On a height, at a distance, gleamed the white but shattered relics of some ruined heathen edifice; and the moon, in calm splendour, shining over all, literally bathed with its light two forms without the cave, at whose feet the blue waters crept, and he thought that he even heard them murmur.

He recognised both the figures.

Zanoni was seated on a fragment of stone; Viola, half-reclining by his side, was looking into his face, which was bent down to her, and in her countenance was the expression of that perfect happiness which belongs to perfect love.

"Wouldst thou hear them speak ?" whispered Mejnour; and again, without sound, Glyndon inly answered, "Yes!" Their voices then came to his ear, but in tones that seemed to him strange; so subdued were they, and sounding, as it were, so far off, that they were as voices heard in the visions of some holier men from a distant sphere.
"And how is it," said Viola, "that thou canst find pleasure in listening to the ignorant ?" "Because the heart is never ignorant; because the mysteries of the feelings are as full of wonder as those of the intellect.