“Cruel!” said Irene, falteringly, and in her turn alarmed.  “Dost thou speak in earnest?”

“Tell me, ere I answer you, tell me this:  come death, come anguish, come a whole life of sorrow, as the end of this love, wouldst thou yet repent that thou hast loved?  If so, thou knowest not the love that I feel for thee.”

“Never! never can I repent!” said Irene, falling upon Adrian’s neck; “forgive me!”

“But is there, in truth,” said Adrian, a little while after this lover-like quarrel and reconciliation, “is there, in truth, so marked a difference between thy brother’s past and his present bearing?  How knowest thou that the time for action is so near?”

“Because now he sits closeted whole nights with all ranks of men; he shuts up his books,—­he reads no more,—­but, when alone, walks to and fro his chamber, muttering to himself.  Sometimes he pauses before the calendar, which of late he has fixed with his own hand against the wall, and passes his finger over the letters, till he comes to some chosen date, and then he plays with his sword and smiles.  But two nights since, arms, too, in great number were brought to the house; and I heard the chief of the men who brought them, a grim giant, known well amongst the people, say, as he wiped his brow,—­’These will see work soon!’”

“Arms!  Are you sure of that?” said Adrian, anxiously.  “Nay, then, there is more in these schemes than I imagined!  But (observing Irene’s gaze bent fearfully on him as his voice changed, he added, more gaily)—­but come what may, believe me—­my beautiful! my adored! that while I live, thy brother shall not suffer from the wrath he may provoke,—­nor I, though he forget our ancient friendship, cease to love thee less.”

“Signora!  Signora! child! it is time! we must go!” said the shrill voice of Benedetta, now peering through the foliage.  “The working men pass home this way; I see them approaching.”

The lovers parted; for the first time the serpent had penetrated into their Eden,—­they had conversed, they had thought, of other things than Love.

Chapter 2.III.  The Situation of a Popular Patrician in Times of Popular Discontent.—­Scene of the Lateran.

The situation of a Patrician who honestly loves the people is, in those evil times, when power oppresses and freedom struggles,—­when the two divisions of men are wrestling against each other,—­the most irksome and perplexing that destiny can possibly contrive.  Shall he take part with the nobles?—­he betrays his conscience!  With the people?—­he deserts his friends!  But that consequence of the last alternative is not the sole—­nor, perhaps, to a strong mind, the most severe.  All men are swayed and chained by public opinion—­it is the public judge; but public opinion is not the same for all ranks.  The public opinion that excites or deters the plebeian, is the opinion of the plebeians,—­of