Rienzi gazed long and wistfully.

“Speak,” he said at length, putting his hand to his brow.  “Methinks either long solitude has bewildered me, or, sweet sir, your apparition dazzles.  I know you not—­am I sure?—­” and Rienzi’s hair bristled while he slowly rose—­“Am I sure that it is living man who stands before me?  Angels have entered the prison-house before now.  Alas! an angel’s comfort never was more needed.”

The stranger answered not, but the captive saw that his heart heaved even beneath his cloak; loud sobs choked his voice; at length, as by a violent effort, he sprung forward, and sunk at the Tribune’s feet.  The disguising hat, the long mantle fell to the ground—­it was the face of a woman that looked upward through passionate and glazing tears—­the arms of a woman that clasped the prisoner’s knees!  Rienzi gazed mute and motionless as stone.  “Powers and Saints of Heaven!” he murmured at last, “do ye tempt me further!—­is it?—­no, no—­yet speak!”

“Beloved—­adored!—­do you not know me?”

“It is—­it is!” shrieked Rienzi wildly, “it is my Nina—­my wife—­my—­” His voice forsook him.  Clasped in each other’s arms, the unfortunates for some moments seemed to have lost even the sense of delight at their reunion.  It was as an unconscious and deep trance, through which something like a dream only faintly and indistinctively stirs.

At length recovered—­at length restored, the first broken exclamations, the first wild caresses of joy over—­Nina lifted her head from her husband’s bosom, and gazed sadly on his countenance—­“Oh, what thou hast known since we parted!—­what, since that hour when, borne on by thy bold heart and wild destiny, thou didst leave me in the Imperial Court, to seek again the diadem and find the chain!  Ah! why did I heed thy commands?—­why suffer thee to depart alone?  How often in thy progress hitherward, in doubt, in danger, might this bosom have been thy resting-place, and this voice have whispered comfort to thy soul?  Thou art well, my Lord—­my Cola!  Thy pulse beats quicker than of old—­thy brow is furrowed.  Ah! tell me thou art well!”

“Well,” said Rienzi, mechanically.  “Methinks so!—­the mind diseased blunts all sense of bodily decay.  Well—­yes!  And thou—­thou, at least, art not changed, save to maturer beauty.  The glory of the laurel-wreath has not faded from thy brow.  Thou shalt yet—­” then breaking off abruptly—­“Rome—­tell me of Rome!  And thou—­how camest thou hither?  Ah! perhaps my doom is sealed, and in their mercy they have vouchsafed that I should see thee once more before the deathsman blinds me.  I remember, it is the grace vouchsafed to malefactors.  When I was a lord of life and death, I too permitted the meanest criminal to say farewell to those he loved.”

“No—­not so, Cola!” exclaimed Nina, putting her hand before his mouth.  “I bring thee more auspicious tidings.  Tomorrow thou art to be heard.  The favour of the Court is propitiated.  Thou wilt be acquitted.”