In the centre of the kiosk was the fountain, whose alluring voice
had tempted Tancred to proceed further than he had at first dared to
project. He must not retire without visiting the waters which had been
speaking to him so long. Following the path round the area of roses,
he was conducted to the height of the acclivity, and entered the kiosk;
some small beautiful mats were spread upon its floor, and, reposing upon
one of them, Tancred watched the bright clear water as it danced and
sparkled in its marble basin.
The reader has perhaps experienced the effect of falling water. Its
lulling influence is proverbial. In the present instance, we must
remember that Tancred had been exposed to the meridian fervour of a
Syrian sun, that he had been the whole day under the influence of that
excitement which necessarily ends in exhaustion; and that, in addition
to this, he had recently walked some distance; it will not, therefore,
be looked upon as an incident improbable or astonishing, that Lord
Montacute, after pursuing for some time that train of meditation which
was his custom, should have fallen asleep.
His hat had dropped from his head; his rich curls fell on his
outstretched arm that served as a pillow for a countenance which in the
sweet dignity of its blended beauty and stillness might have become an
archangel; and, lying on one of the mats, in an attitude of unconscious
gracefulness, which a painter might have transferred to his portfolio,
Tancred sank into a deep and dreamless repose.
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