efore them, her partially veiled features bearing their wonted
hideous aspect, and her eyes, usually so brilliant, dimmed with tears.

"You are free," said she in an agitated voice to the Proveditore and
his son. "Our people will escort you to Fiume in all safety, and there
you will find galleys of the republic to convey you back to Venice."

At the sight of the old woman's unearthly countenance, Antonio covered
his face with his hands; the Proveditore rose from the ground deeply
moved.

"Singular being!" he exclaimed, "by this mildness and mercy you punish
me more effectually than by the bloodiest revenge you could have taken
for my cruel treatment of you."

"You owe me no thanks," was the reply; "thank rather the holy Virgin,
who sent the youth beside you to be your guardian angel, and who
delivered you into the hands of the Uzcoques at a time when they had
need of a hostage. Surely it was by the special intervention of Heaven
that the murderer of the wife was sent to serve as ransom for the
captive husband. But the atonement has come too late, the noble
Dansowich was basely ensnared into an act of violence, and his life
paid the forfeit of his wrath--he died upon the rack. And now the wily
counsellors at Gradiska compel us to release you."

She paused, interrupted by a flood of tears. After a short silence,
broken only by her sobs, she became more composed, and the Proveditore
again addressed her.

"But what," said he, "could have driven Dansowich to an act of
violence, which he must have known would entail a severe punishment?
Surely his wife's safety and the lapse of years might have enabled him
to forgive, if not to forget, the unsuccessful attempt upon her life."

"His wife's safety!" exclaimed the old woman. "Have the trials and
fatigues of the last few days turned your brain? Alas! too surely was
the rope fixed round her neck; and had you not carried off her remains
how could you have possessed her portrait, and by the devilish
stratagem of showing it to the bereaved husband, have driven him to
the act which cost him his life?"

"Gracious Heaven! what hideous jest is this?" exclaimed Marcello. "Do
I not see you living and standing before me; and think you I could
ever forget your features, or the look you gave me when hanging from
the tree? You were cut down and saved after our departure; and but a
few weeks have elapsed since my son painted your likeness, after
conveying you across the canal in his go