of a disused window that was
concealed by a tapestry, and she went into the larger room and lay down
among the cushions by the balcony. When Contarini came, a few minutes
later, she seemed to have fallen asleep like a child, weary of waiting
for him.

So far both she and Aristarchi looked upon Zorzi, who did not know of
their existence, with a friendly eye, but their knowledge of his love
for Marietta was in reality one more danger in his path. If at any
future moment he seemed about to endanger the success of their plans,
the strong Greek would soon find an opportunity of sending him to
another world, as he had sent many another innocent enemy before. They
themselves were safe enough for the present, and it was not likely that
they would commit any indiscretion that might endanger their future
flight. They had long ago determined what to do if Contarini should
accidentally find Aristarchi in the house. Long before his body was
found, they would both be on the high seas; few persons knew of Arisa's
existence, no one connected the Greek merchant captain in any way with
Contarini, and no one guessed the sailing qualities of the unobtrusive
vessel that lay in the Giudecca waiting for a cargo, but ballasted to do
her best, and well stocked with provisions and water. The crew knew
nothing, when other sailors asked when they were to sail; the men could
only say that their captain was the owner of the vessel and was very
hard to please in the matter of a cargo.

In one way or another the two were sure of gaining their end, as soon as
they should have amassed a sufficient fortune to live in luxury
somewhere in the far south.

A change in the situation was brought about by the appearance of Zuan
Venier at the glass-house on the following morning. Indolent, tired of
his existence, sick of what amused and interested his companions, but
generous, true and kind-hearted, he had been sorry to hear that Zorzi
had suffered by an accident, and he felt impelled to go and see whether
the young fellow needed help. Venier did not remember that he had ever
resisted an impulse in his life, though he took the greatest pains to
hide the fact that he ever felt any. He perhaps did not realise that
although he had done many foolish things, and some that a confessor
would not have approved, he had never wished to do anything that was
mean, or unkind, or that might give him an unfair advantage over others.

He fancied Zorzi alone, uncared for, pe