Supposing that the political opponents, who already hated him so bitterly, could have seen him slinking from door to door at midnight with an unconscious lady in his arms--what would they have said?
He ceased laughing; the fit passed--indeed it was no laughing matter.
Then he thought of the first night of their strange communion, that night before he had returned to London.

The seed sown in that hour had blossomed and borne fruit indeed.

Who would have dreamed it possible that he should thus have drawn Beatrice to him?
Well, he ought to have known.

If it was possible that the words which floated through her mind could arise in his as they had done upon that night, what was not possible?
And were there not other words, written by the same master-hand, which told of such things as these: "'Now--now,' the door is heard; Hark, the stairs! and near-- Nearer--and here-- 'Now'! and at call the third, She enters without a word.
Like the doors of a casket shrine, See on either side, Her two arms divide Till the heart betwixt makes sign, 'Take me, for I am thine.' First, I will pray.

Do Thou That ownest the soul, Yet wilt grant control To another, nor disallow For a time, restrain me now!" Did they not run thus?
Oh, he should have known! This he could plead, and this only--that control had been granted to him.
But how would Beatrice fare?
Would she come to herself safely?
He thought so, it was only a fainting fit.