Paler than the marble at his feet grew the dark cheek of Adrian.  It was some moments ere he could reply, and he did so then with a forced smile and a quivering lip.

“Jest not so, Irene!  Last!—­that is not a word for us!”

“But hear me, my Lord—­”

“Why so cold?—­call me Adrian!—­friend!—­lover! or be dumb!”

“Well, then, my soul’s soul! my all of hope! my life’s life!” exclaimed Irene, passionately, “hear me!  I fear that we stand at this moment upon some gulf whose depth I see not, but which may divide us for ever!  Thou knowest the real nature of my brother, and dost not misread him as many do.  Long has he planned, and schemed, and communed with himself, and, feeling his way amidst the people, prepared the path to some great design.  But now—­(thou wilt not betray—­thou wilt not injure him?—­he is thy friend!)”

“And thy brother!  I would give my life for his!  Say on!”

“But now, then,” resumed Irene, “the time for that enterprise, whatever it be, is coming fast.  I know not of its exact nature, but I know that it is against the nobles—­against thy order—­against thy house itself!  If it succeed—­oh, Adrian! thou thyself mayst not be free from danger; and my name, at least, will be coupled with the name of thy foes.  If it fail,—­my brother, my bold brother, is swept away!  He will fall a victim to revenge or justice, call it as you will.  Your kinsman may be his judge—­his executioner; and I—­even if I should yet live to mourn over the boast and glory of my humble line—­could I permit myself to love, to see, one in whose veins flowed the blood of his destroyer?  Oh!  I am wretched—­wretched! these thoughts make me well-nigh mad!” and, wringing her hands bitterly, Irene sobbed aloud.

Adrian himself was struck forcibly by the picture thus presented to him, although the alternative it embraced had often before forced itself dimly on his mind.  It was true, however, that, not seeing the schemes of Rienzi backed by any physical power, and never yet having witnessed the mighty force of a moral revolution, he did not conceive that any rise to which he might instigate the people could be permanently successful:  and, as for his punishment, in that city, where all justice was the slave of interest, Adrian knew himself powerful enough to obtain forgiveness even for the greatest of all crimes—­armed insurrection against the nobles.  As these thoughts recurred to him, he gained the courage to console and cheer Irene.  But his efforts were only partially successful.  Awakened by her fears to that consideration of the future which hitherto she had forgotten, Irene, for the first time, seemed deaf to the charmer’s voice.

“Alas!” said she, sadly, “even at the best, what can this love, that we have so blindly encouraged—­what can it end in?  Thou must not wed with one like me; and I! how foolish I have been!”

“Recall thy senses then, Irene,” said Adrian, proudly, partly perhaps in anger, partly in his experience of the sex.  “Love another, and more wisely, if thou wilt; cancel thy vows with me, and continue to think it a crime to love, and a folly to be true!”