XXIX
The yellow lamp flames were burning late in the cabinet of Girolamo Magagnati, who took less note of the difference between evening hours and those of early dawn since there was no longer in his household a beloved one to guard from weariness. Nay, the night was rather the time in which he might forget himself and plunge more whole-heartedly into his schemes of work—financial or creative. For the world was surely on the eve of discoveries important to his art, and it would be well if he might secure them, before his working days should pass, for the Stabilimento Magagnati.
Piero Salin stood in the doorway as he glanced up from the drawings that littered his table—the dark oak table which had seemed a centre of cheer to Girolamo, when, in this very chamber, his child had made a radiance for him in which the lines of his life shone large and satisfying.
Girolamo never seemed to remember that this son-in-law was a great man among the people; to him he was only Piero Salin, barcariol; the single token of the old man''''s favor was that in his thought he no longer added the despicable word toso ; and it was a proof that he was mellowing with the years, for Girolamo never forgot this unwelcome and dishonorable past, and Piero was always ill at ease in his presence.
\"Messer Magagnati,\" he began awkwardly, twirling his black cap in his \"Enter,\" said Girolamo, with a reluctance not wholly concealed by his attempt at courtesy, for he felt the moments to be the more precious that the dawn was near; but the invocation of the sailor''''s patron saint portended a journey. \"Verily, Piero, thy comings and goings have been, of late, so frequent that one learns the wisdom of not mourning over-much when thou dost crave an ave at the shrine of San Nicolò. May he grant thee favoring breezes! Thou art in favor with the Ten, they tell me.\"
Piero shrugged his shoulders. \"Favor or disfavor,\" he said, \"it is but the turning of the head—and both may lead to that place of unsought distinction between San Marco and San Teodoro, if the orders of their Excellencies bring not the end they sought. But it matters little—a candle flame is better blown out than dying spent.\"
\"And whither art thou bent on the morrow?\"
\"Nay, Messer Girolamo, that is not mine own secret. But this word would I leave with thee; if, perchance, I return not before many days, seek me on the border-land—at the point nearest Roman dominions.\" He had come close to the old merchant, and uttered the last words in a tone very low and full of meaning.
Girolamo started. \"On the border-land of Rome!\" he echoed. \"This mission of thine is then weighty; and thou fearest——\"
\"Nay, I fear naught,\" said Piero haughtily. \"But the times are perilous; and later, if thou would''''st seek me, thou hast the clew. But of the mission, to which I am sworn in secrecy, let it not be known that I have so much as named it—it would argue ill for me and thee. And the clew is for thy using only. Meanwhile, forget that I have spoken. The Ave Maria will soon waken the fishers of Murano. Addio !\"
But he still waited as if he had not uttered all his mind. Girolamo studied his face closely.
\"There is more,\" he said. \"Speak!\"
\"By the Holy Madonna of San Donato!\" said Piero, casting off his restraint with a sudden impulse, \"if I come not back, I would have thee know that if ever there came a chance to me to serve Marina—the Lady Marina of the Giustiniani—I, Piero, barcariol or gastaldo, would serve her as a soldier may serve a saint. For she hath been good to the Zuanino. Ay, though it cost me my life, I would serve her like a saint in heaven!\" he repeated. Then, flushed with the shame of such unwonted speech and confession, he hastened to the door, and his steps were already resounding on the stone floor of the passage when Girolamo recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to follow him into the shadow and command him to stop.
\"Thou hast seen my daughter—thou hast news of her?\"
\"Ay, yestere''''en, at the Ave Maria, I spoke with her, in Santa Maria dell'''' Orto, coming upon her kneeling before the great picture of Jacopo Robusti—she, saint enough already to wear a gloria and looking as if the heart of her were worn away from grief! She hath need of thee daily, for her love for thee is great, and death not far.\"
\"Tell it plainly!\" commanded Girolamo, hastening after the retreating figure and violently grasping his arm to detain him. \"Have I failed to her in aught? She is soul of my soul! Maledetto! why dost thou break my heart?\"
\"Look to thine other son-in-law!\" Piero retorted wrathfully; \"him of the crimson robe who sits in the Councils of Venice, and findeth no cure for thy daughter—dying of terror beside him.\"
\"It is a base slander!\" cried old Girolamo, trembling with anger and fear. \"Never was wife more beloved and petted! Marcantonio hath no thought, save for Marina and Venice!\"
\"Ay, ''''for Marina and Venice,''''\" was the scornful answer, \" but Venice first . Splendor and gifts and the pleasing of every whim, if he could but guess it—gold for her asking, and her palace no better than a cross for her dwelling; for the one thing she needeth for her peace and life he giveth not!\"
\"What meanest thou?\" cried Girolamo, furiously. \"Hath he not spent a fortune on physicians—sparing nothing, save to torment her no more, since their skill is but weariness to her! She is eating her heart out for this quarrel with Rome—which no man may help, and it is but foolishness for women to meddle with; and she hath ever been too much under priestly sway. Why earnest thou hither this night?\"
\"For this cause and for no other,\" said Piero solemnly, \"that thou mightest find me, if need should be for any service to her. And to swear to thee, by the Madonna and every saint of Venice, that I would give my life for her!\"
But old Girolamo grew the angrier for Piero''''s professions of loyalty. \"Shall her father do less than thou?\" he questioned, wrathfully. \"On the morrow will I go to her, and leave her no more until she forgets.\"
\"By all the saints in heaven, and every Madonna in Venice, and our Lady of every traghetto!\" Piero exclaimed, as he wrenched himself away from Girolamo''''s angry grasp, while the old man staggered against the wall, still holding a bit of cloth from the gondolier''''s cloak in his closed hand, \"I am vowed to my mission before this dawn! What I have spoken is for duty to thine house, and not in anger—though I could color my stiletto in good patrician blood and die for it gaily, if that would help her!\"