“Never more,” he murmured, “O heritor of love and grief,—­never more wilt thou see me in thy visions; never more will the light of those eyes be fed by celestial commune; never more can my soul guard from thy pillow the trouble and the disease.  Not such as I would have vainly shaped it, must be thy lot.  In common with thy race, it must be thine to suffer, to struggle, and to err.  But mild be thy human trials, and strong be thy spirit to love and to believe!  And thus, as I gaze upon thee,—­thus may my nature breathe into thine its last and most intense desire; may my love for thy mother pass to thee, and in thy looks may she hear my spirit comfort and console her.  Hark! they come!  Yes!  I await ye both beyond the grave!”

The door slowly opened; the jailer appeared, and through the aperture rushed, at the same instant, a ray of sunlight:  it streamed over the fair, hushed face of the happy sleeper,—­it played like a smile upon the lips of the child that, still, mute, and steadfast, watched the movements of its father.  At that moment Viola muttered in her sleep, “The day is come,—­the gates are open!  Give me thy hand; we will go forth!  To sea, to sea!  How the sunshine plays upon the waters!—­to home, beloved one, to home again!”

“Citizen, thine hour is come!”

“Hist! she sleeps!  A moment!  There, it is done! thank Heaven!—­and still she sleeps!” He would not kiss, lest he should awaken her, but gently placed round her neck the amulet that would speak to her, hereafter, the farewell,—­and promise, in that farewell, reunion!  He is at the threshold,—­he turns again, and again.  The door closes!  He is gone forever!

She woke at last,—­she gazed round.  “Zanoni, it is day!” No answer but the low wail of her child.  Merciful Heaven! was it then all a dream?  She tossed back the long tresses that must veil her sight; she felt the amulet on her bosom,—­it was no dream!  “O God! and he is gone!” She sprang to the door,—­she shrieked aloud.  The jailer comes.  “My husband, my child’s father?”

“He is gone before thee, woman!”

“Whither?  Speak—­speak!”

“To the guillotine!”—­and the black door closed again.

It closed upon the senseless!  As a lightning-flash, Zanoni’s words, his sadness, the true meaning of his mystic gift, the very sacrifice he made for her, all became distinct for a moment to her mind,—­and then darkness swept on it like a storm, yet darkness which had its light.  And while she sat there, mute, rigid, voiceless, as congealed to stone, A vision, like a wind, glided over the deeps within,—­the grim court, the judge, the jury, the accuser; and amidst the victims the one dauntless and radiant form.

“Thou knowest the danger to the State,—­confess!”

“I know; and I keep my promise.  Judge, I reveal thy doom!  I know that the Anarchy thou callest a State expires with the setting of this sun.  Hark, to the tramp without; hark to the roar of voices!  Room there, ye dead!—­room in hell for Robespierre and his crew!”