In a twinkling the dead horse was cut away, and His Excellency, cowering in the bottom of the coach, galloped borne more swiftly than the wind, without a word.  But the populace appreciated the action, took it up with vivas long and loud, that rang after me when I had slipped away, and before nightfall had echoed in all ears through leagues of country round.  I went that night to the theatre.  The house was filled, and, as we entered, a murmur went about, and then cries broke forth,—­the multitude rose with cheers and bravos, calling my name, intoxicated with enthusiasm, and dazzled, not by a daring feat, but by the spirit that prompted it.  Women tore off their jewels to twist them into a sling for my injured hand; men rose and made me a conqueror’s ovation; the orchestra played the old Etrurian hymns of freedom; I was attended home with a more than Roman triumph of torch and song, stately men and beautiful women.  But chameleons change their tint in the sunshine, and why should men always march under one color?  Friend, not six months later there came another day, when triumph was shame,—­plaudits, curses,—­joyous tumult, scorching silence.  Oh!—­ But I shall come to that in time.  Now let me hasten; the hours are less tardy than I, and they bring with them my last.

Thought of this day—­sole pageant defiling through memory—­was startled again by the far, sweet sound of a bell, some bell ringing twilight out and evening in across the wide Campagna.  I wondered what delayed Lenore.  Did it take so long to toss off the cloudy back-falling veil, to wrap in any long cloak her gown of white damask and all the sheen of her milky pearl-dusters and fiery rubies?  I thought with exultation then of what she was so soon to see,—­of the route through sunken ruins, down wells forsaken of their pristine sources and hidden by masses of moss, winding with the faint light in our hands through the awful ways and avenues of the catacombs.  The scene grew real to me, as I mused.  Alone, what should I fear?  These silent hosts encamped around would but have cheered their child.  But with her, every murmur becomes a portent of danger, every current of air gives me fresh tremors; as we pass casual openings into the sky, the vault of air, the glint of stars, shall seem a malignant face; I fancy to hear impossible footsteps behind us, some bone that crumbling falls from its shelf makes my heart beat high, her dear hand trembles in my hold, and, full of a new and superstitious awe, I half fear this ancient population of the graves will rise and surround us with phantom array.  Now and then, a cold, lonely wind, blowing from no one knows where, rises and careers past us, piercing to the marrow.  I think, too, of that underground space, half choked with rubbish, into which we are to emerge at last, once the hall of some old Roman revel.  I see the troubled flashes flung from the flaring torch over our assembly.  Alert and startled, I see Lenore listen to the names as if they