noon
He attended the theatre ; he stole behind the scenes to converse with her ; he filled his portfolio with countless sketches of a beauty that charmed him as an artist as well as lover ; and day after day he floated on through a changing sea of doubt and irresolution , of affection and distrust . The last , indeed , constantly sustained against his better reason by the sober admonitions of Mervale , a matter-of-fact man ! The day following that eve on which this section of my story opens , Glyndon was riding alone by the shores of the Neapolitan sea , on the other side of the Cavern of Posilipo . It was past noon ; the sun had lost its early fervour , and a cool breeze sprung up voluptuously from the sparkling sea . Bending over a fragment of stone near the roadside , he perceived the form of a man ; and when he approached , he recognised Zanoni . The Englishman saluted him courteously . `` Have you discovered some antique ? ''