ndola."

The old woman stood for a few moments as though petrified by what she
had just heard. At last she passed her hand slowly across her face, as
if to convince herself of her identity.

"And she you murdered resembled _me_?" she exclaimed in a trembling
voice. "It was of _me_ that the portrait was taken, and by _him_!" she
continued, pointing to Antonio with a gesture of horror and contempt.
"_My_ picture was it, that was held before Dansowich, and by _you_,
the murderer of his wife? Holy Virgin!" she exclaimed, as the truth
seemed to flash upon her, "how has my faith in thee misled me! I
beheld in this youth one sent by Heaven to aid me; but now I see that
he was prompted by the powers of darkness to steal my portrait, and
thus become the instrument of destruction to the best and noblest of
our race."

"Forgive and spare us!" exclaimed Antonio, conscience-stricken as he
remembered the admonitions of Contarini. "'Tis true, I was the
instrument, but most unwittingly. How could I know so sad an end would
follow?"

"'Tis not my wont to seek revenge," replied the old woman; "nor do I
forget that you saved my life from the fury of the Venetians."

Antonio essayed to speak, but had not courage to correct the error
into which she had been led by his strong resemblance to the gallant
stranger.

"But," she continued, "'tis time you should have full proof that the
features you painted were not those of the wife of Dansowich."

With these words she threw back her veil, unfastened some small hooks
concealed in her abundant tresses, and took off a mask of thin and
untanned lambskin, wrinkled and stained with yellow and purple streaks
by exposure to sun and storm. This mask, closely fitted to features
regular and prominent, and strongly resembling those of her
unfortunate mother, whose large, dark, and very brilliant eyes she had
also inherited, will explain the misconception of the Proveditore as
well as that of Dansowich, who had never seen his daughter in a
disguise worn only at Venice or other places of peril, and while away
from her father and his protection.

While the beautiful but still tearful Uzcoque maid stood thus revealed
before the astonished senator, and his enraptured and speechless son,
the approaching footfall of a horse at full speed was heard, and in an
instant there darted round the angle of a cliff the martial figure of
a Turk, mounted upon a large and powerful steed, of that noble race
bred in t