"And whom am I to thank, but the fiends--the sorcerers--who have seized upon thy existence, as upon mine?
Viola, hear me.

A few weeks since the news reached me that you were in Venice.

Under other pretences, and through innumerable dangers, I have come hither, risking liberty, perhaps life, if my name and career are known in Venice, to warn and save you.
Changed, you call me!--changed without; but what is that to the ravages within?
Be warned, be warned in time!" The voice of Glyndon, sounding hollow and sepulchral, alarmed Viola even more than his words.

Pale, haggard, emaciated, he seemed almost as one risen from the dead, to appall and awe her.

"What," she said, at last, in a faltering voice,--"what wild words do you utter! Can you--" "Listen!" interrupted Glyndon, laying his hand upon her arm, and its touch was as cold as death,--"listen! You have heard of the old stories of men who have leagued themselves with devils for the attainment of preternatural powers.