"May fate preserve you!" said Nina, with a foreboding sigh.

"Fate!" cried Rienzi; "there is no fate! Between the thought and the
success, God is the only agent; and (he added with a voice of deep
solemnity) I shall not be deserted. Visions by night, even while thine
arms are around me; omens and impulses, stirring and divine, by day,
even in the midst of the living crowd--encourage my path, and point my
goal. Now, even now, a voice seems to whisper in my ear--'Pause not;
tremble not; waver not;--for the eye of the All-Seeing is upon thee, and
the hand of the All-Powerful shall protect!"

As Rienzi thus spoke, his face grew pale, his hair seemed to bristle,
his tall and proud form trembled visibly, and presently he sunk down on
a seat, and covered his face with his hands.

An awe crept over Nina, though not unaccustomed to such strange and
preternatural emotions, which appeared yet the more singular in one who
in common life was so calm, stately, and self-possessed. But with every
increase of prosperity and power, those emotions seemed to increase
in their fervour, as if in such increase the devout and overwrought
superstition of the Tribune recognised additional proof of a mysterious
guardianship mightier than the valour or art of man.

She approached fearfully, and threw her arms around him, but without
speaking.

Ere yet the Tribune had well recovered himself, a slight tap at the door
was heard, and the sound seemed at once to recall his self-possession.