sked Marietta. "You must not speak of my
brother in that way."

"Your brother! Eh, your brother!" cried Nella in a low and angry voice,
quite unlike her own. "Do you know what your brother has done? He has
been to Messer Jacopo Contarini, your betrothed husband, and he has
told him that Zorzi is a liar, a thief and an assassin, and that he will
have him arrested to-night, if he can, and Messer Jacopo promised that
his father, who is of the Council, shall have Zorzi condemned! And your
brother has seen the Governor of Murano in Venice, and has given him a
great letter, and the Governor said that it should not be to-night, but
to-morrow. That is the sort of man your brother is."

Marietta was standing. She had turned slowly pale while Nella was
speaking, and grasped the back of a chair with both hands. She thought
she was going to faint.

CHAPTER XVI

Marrietta's heart stood still, as she bent over the back of the chair
holding it with both her hands, but feeling that she was falling. She
had expected anything but this, when Nella had begun to speak. The blow
was sudden and heavy, and she herself had never known how much she could
be hurt, until that moment.

Nella looked at her in astonishment. The serving-woman had changed her
mind about Zorzi of late, and had grown fond of him in taking care of
him. But her anger against Giovanni was roused rather because what he
was about to do was an affront to his father, her master, than out of
mere sympathy for the intended victim. She was far from understanding
what could have so deeply moved Marietta.

"You see," she said triumphantly, "what sort of a brother you have!"

The sound of her voice recalled the young girl just when she felt that
she was losing consciousness. Her first instinct was to go to Zorzi and
warn him. He must escape at once. The Governor had said that it should
be to-morrow, but he might change his mind and send his men to-night.
There was no time to be lost, she must go instantly. As she stood
upright she could see the porter's light shining through the small
grated window, for Pasquale was still awake, but in a few minutes the
light would go out. She had often been at her own window at that hour,
and had watched it, wondering whether Zorzi would work far into the
night, and whether he was thinking of her.

It would be easy to slip out by the side door and run across. No one
would know, except Nella and Pasquale, but she would have preferred