when brave faces are set as
stone and freezing hands grasp frozen ropes, and the shadow of death
rises from the waves and stands between every man and his fellows. We
shall ask, and we shall receive. Out of noon-day shadow, out of the
starlit dusk, out of the driving spray of the midtempest, one face will
rise, one hand will touch our own, one loving, lingering glance will
meet ours from eyes that have no look of love for us in them now. These
things our lady nature will give us of all those we have given her. But
of the others, we shall not ask for them, and she will mercifully forget
for us the bitterness of their birth, and life, and death.

CHAPTER VII.

"I THOUGHT I was never to see you again," observed the Marchesa, as
Beatrice and San Miniato came to her side.

"Judging from your calm, you were bearing the separation with admirable
fortitude," answered the Count.

"Dearest friend, one has to bear so much in this life!"

Beatrice stood beside the table, resting one hand upon it and looking
back towards the place where she had been sitting. San Miniato took the
Marchesa's hand and raised it to his lips, pressed it a little and then
nodded slowly, with a significant look. The Marchesa's sleepy eyes
opened suddenly with an expression of startled satisfaction, and she
returned the pressure of the fingers with more energy than San Miniato
had suspected. She was evidently very much pleased. Perhaps the greatest
satisfaction of all was the certainty that she was to have no more
trouble in the matter, since it had been undertaken, negotiated and
settled by the principals between them. Then she raised her eyebrows
and moved her head a little as though to inquire what had taken place,
but San Miniato made her understand by a sign that he could not speak
before Beatrice.

"Beatrice, my angel," said the Marchesa, with more than usual sweetness,
"you have sat so long upon that rock that you have almost reconciled me
to Tragara. Do you not think that you could go back and sit there five
minutes longer?"

Beatrice glanced quickly at her mother and then at San Miniato and
turned away without a word, leaving the two together.

"And now, San Miniato carissimo," said the Marchesa, "sit down beside me
on that chair, and tell me what has happened, though I think I already
understand. You have spoken to Beatrice?"

"I have spoken--yes--and the result is favourable. I am the happiest of
men."

"Do you mean to say