How should one who had not been born in Venice ever guess the strange fascination of that magic city for her sons, or dream with what a passion the blood of generations of Venetian ancestry surged in one''''s veins, compelling patriotism, so that it was not possible to do aught with one''''s gifts and life that did not enhance the greatness of so fair a kingdom! It was the wonderful secret of the empire of Venice that here the pride of self was counted only as a factor in the superior pride of her dominion.
Marina had been proud of his cabinet, and he took the little antique lamp she used to hold for him and unlocked the door with a tremulous hand, standing unsteadily before it and trying to hearten himself, as he ruthlessly flashed the light so that each fantastic bit came out in perfect beauty, glowing with the wonderful coloring of transparent gems.
But suddenly those fearful words of Piero''''s played riot among them, obliterating every trace of beauty, every claim of Venice, every question as to his own judgment or Marina''''s reasoning—even the ignominy of the secret flight. \" Thy daughter dying !\"
The letters blazed like stars, gleaming among his papers—glittering around the chair where Marina used to sit, climbing up into the air, closing nearer to him—wavering, writhing lines of living fire, tracing those awful words he could not forget——
\"My God!\" he cried, \"is not Marina more than all!\" There was no longer anything in life that he willed to do but to win peace for her, according to her whim.
\"Stino!\" he shrieked, with a voice louder than the clang of the rude iron bell whose rope had broken in his impetuous hand.
\"Light me a fire in the brazier, and burn me this rubbish!\" he commanded of the foreman who entered, aghast at the imperious summons, and yet more amazed at the destruction of those precious pages over which his master had spent days of brooding; but he ventured no protest.
\"And here,\" said Girolamo, with a look of relief, as the last paper shrivelled and curled into smoke, \"are the keys of these cabinets—thou knowest their contents, and that they are precious. And here shalt thou remain, as master, until my return—keeping all in order, as thou knowest how, and loyally serving the interest of the stabilimento. All moneys which I may send for thou shalt instantly remit by trusty messenger.\"
\"How long doth the Master remain away?\"
\"So long as it may please the Lady Marina, who hath need of change. And if I return not,\" Girolamo resumed, after a moment''''s pause which gave solemnity to his words, \"my will shall be found filed with the Avvogadori del Commun; and thou, Stino, shalt answer to the summons they will send thee—if I come no more.\"
\"Master!\" cried the faithful Stino, greatly troubled, for these preparations filled him with dread, and were strange indeed for so old a man who had never yet left Venice for a night. \"Life is other than we know it away from Venice; and the heart of us goes mourning for the sight and sound of the sea and the color of our skies!\"
\"Nay, Stino, I have said it,\" his master answered, unmoved by his imploring eyes.
\"When goest thou—that all may be ready?\"
\"Now; ere the dawn!\" Girolamo cried with sudden resolution. \"I would say my Ave Maria in the chapel of the Lady Marina. Rouse the gondolier, and lift the curtain that I may see how soon the day cometh.\"
\"Master, dear Master,\" said Stino tenderly, as he drew the heavy draperies aside. \"Already the sun is high, and the household hath been, these many hours, awake.\"
\"So!\" Girolamo answered with deep gravity, for the battle had been longer than he had dreamed, yet with his habitual control. \"I knew not the time—my thoughts held me. Stino, if I return not, may the saints bless thee for all thou hast been to me since the Lady Marina hath dwelt in the palazzo Giustiniani. And in my will thou art not forgotten.\"
As Girolamo issued from his own portal, closely followed by Stino and the other superintendents of the great stabilimento who were filled with foreboding at this sudden and surprising decision of their good master, several gondolas wearing the colors of the Giustiniani floated into the waterway from the broad lagoon; and with them, like a flock of sea-birds in their habits of gray and their cowls of white, came the sisters of San Donato, returning from that early chanted Mass at the palazzo Giustiniani which had been a dream of the Lady Marina''''s happier days.
The young Senator had urged his boatmen to feverish speed, and his own gondola was far in advance of the train. He bounded from his bark the moment it neared the steps, and, rushing blindly toward the dwelling, encountered his father-in-law on the threshold.
\"She is here—Marina?\" he questioned, half crazed with grief; and, forgetful of the usual courtesies, would have pushed him aside to enter. \"I have come with her maidens and her child to take her home. Let me go to her!\"
And, as Girolamo stood, dumb and dazed, \"I beseech thee—conceal her not!\"
Looking into each other''''s faces for one anguished moment, they knew, without need of further speech, that she had gone from them both.
Girolamo gave a great and bitter cry, \"My son!\" folding his arms about the younger man in measureless grief and compassion.
And when they could trust their footsteps they went desolately into the house together.
* * * * *
\"Nay,\" Girolamo had answered to every argument. \"It is for thee to remain in Venice with her child, that the Signoria be not wroth with the Ca'''' Giustiniani, and for me to seek and care for her—mayhap, if heaven be merciful, to bring her to thee again! She cannot be far to seek.\"
\"In Padua!\" cried Marcantonio, with sudden conviction. \"They will sleep in Padua to-night. It was the voice of the Lady Beata!\"