money, and become a happy and distinguished man. This is the advice of
sober friendship; yet the promises I hold out to you are fairer than
those of Mejnour."

"Mervale," said Glyndon, doggedly, "I cannot, if I would, yield to
your wishes. A power that is above me urges me on; I cannot resist
its influence. I will proceed to the last in the strange career I have
commenced. Think of me no more. Follow yourself the advice you give to
me, and be happy."

"This is madness," said Mervale; "your health is already failing; you
are so changed I should scarcely know you. Come; I have already had your
name entered in my passport; in another hour I shall be gone, and you,
boy that you are, will be left, without a friend, to the deceits of your
own fancy and the machinations of this relentless mountebank."

"Enough," said Glyndon, coldly; "you cease to be an effective counsellor
when you suffer your prejudices to be thus evident. I have already had
ample proof," added the Englishman, and his pale cheek grew more pale,
"of the power of this man,--if man he be, which I sometimes doubt,--and,
come life, come death, I will not shrink from the paths that allure me.
Farewell, Mervale; if we never meet again,--if you hear, amidst our old
and cheerful haunts, that Clarence Glyndon sleeps the last sleep by the
shores of Naples, or amidst yon distant hills, say to the friends of
our youth, 'He died worthily, as thousands of martyr-students have died
before him, in the pursuit of knowledge.'"

He wrung Mervale's hand as he spoke, darted from his side, and
disappeared amidst the crowd.