orgotten it; for the shock had been great and
life was at a very low ebb; had all memory gone from her of her life and
love? They thought she knew them, but she expressed no wish; she
scarcely spoke; lying listless and white under the heavy canopy of the
great carved bedstead, which had become the centre of every hope in
those two palaces on the Canal Grande, while the absorbing life of the
Ducal Palace, so little distant, was for Marcantonio as though it did
not exist. In that time of waiting--he knew not how long it was nor
what was passing--life was a great void to him, echoing with one
agonized hope; time had no existence, except as an indefinite point when
Marina should come back to him with her soul and heart in her eyes once
more.

He had gathered the few books from her oratory and boudoir, and at
intervals when he could control his thought he pored over them,
treasuring every faint pencil-line, every sentence blotted by tears, as
an indication of having specially occupied her. Now that he could no
longer discuss these moods, how eagerly he sought for the light she
would so gladly have given him in those past, happier days!

In vain he asked of the Lady Beata whether they had discussed these
thoughts together--whether Fra Francesco had brought her the little worn
volumes.

"My lord, I know not," she answered coldly, resolved in her own heart to
tell him nothing that he did not already know, since only now it had
pleased him to concern himself with that religious attitude which was
costing Marina so dearly. For the whole strength of the love she would
once have yielded him for the asking, the Lady Beata now lavished upon
Marina, in jealous devotion.

But he could not be angry with Fra Francesco, who had only been faithful
in sharing his belief with her, while he, her husband, had refused to
help her. "My God!" he groaned; "why are we blind until the anguish
comes!"

As he drearily paced the stately chambers--so empty without Marina--what
would he not have given to hear her voice again repeat those eager
questions he had been so willing to repress! How could it ever have
vexed him that she should wish to understand the question that was
occupying Venice! But now he remembered having grown less and less
patient with her as she had returned to this theme, until, in
self-defense, she had said with gentle dignity, yet half-surprised at
his irritation:

"Marco, have a little patience with me. Remember that our y