false, but some true!  Verily, a man who becomes great is often but made so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul—­a Pythia which prophesies that he shall be great—­and so renders the life one effort to fulfil the warning!  Is this folly?—­it were so, if all things stopped at the grave!  But perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and elevating the faculties here—­though but for a bootless end on earth—­may be designed to fit the soul, thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny beyond the earth!  Who can tell? not I!—­Let us pray!”

While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various quarters presented less holy and quiet scenes.

In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro, through the gratings of the great court.  Angelo Villani might be seen stealing from the postern-gate.  Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven; toward the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress bespoke them of the lowest rank, were seen creeping from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these ruins glided again the form of the son of Montreal.  Later yet—­the Moon is sinking—­a grey light breaking in the East—­and the gates of Rome, by St. John of Lateran, are open!  Villani is conversing with the sentries!  The Moon has set—­the mountains are dim with a mournful and chilling haze—­Villani is before the palace of the Capitol—­the only soldier there!  Where are the Roman legions that were to guard alike the freedom and the deliverer of Rome?

Chapter The Last.  The Close of the Chase.

It was the morning of the 8th of October, 1354.  Rienzi, who rose betimes, stirred restlessly in his bed.  “It is yet early,” he said to Nina, whose soft arm was round his neck; “none of my people seem to be astir.  Howbeit, my day begins before theirs.”

“Rest yet, my Cola; you want sleep.”

“No; I feel feverish, and this old pain in the side torments me.  I have letters to write.”

“Let me be your secretary, dearest,” said Nina.

Rienzi smiled affectionately as he rose; he repaired to his closet adjoining his sleeping apartment, and used the bath, as was his wont.  Then dressing himself, he returned to Nina, who, already loosely robed, sate by the writing-table, ready for her office of love.

“How still are all things!” said Rienzi.  “What a cool and delicious prelude, in these early hours, to the toilsome day.”

Leaning over his wife, he then dictated different letters, interrupting the task at times by such observations as crossed his mind.

“So, now to Annibaldi!  By the way, young Adrian should join us today; how I rejoice for Irene’s sake!”

“Dear sister—­yes! she loves,—­if any, Cola, can so love,—­as we do.”

“Well, but to your task, my fair scribe.  Ha! what noise is that?  I hear an armed step—­the stairs creak—­some one shouts my name.”

Rienzi flew to his sword! the door was thrown rudely open, and a figure in complete armour appeared within the chamber.