rose in her face again.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you trust me, now."

"I always have," he answered softly, "and I always shall, even when you
are married to Jacopo Contarini."

"That is still far off. Let us not talk of it. You must get ready to
leave this place before morning. You must take the skiff and get away to
the mainland, if you can, for till my father comes you will not be safe
in Venice."

"I shall not go away," said Zorzi firmly. "They may not try to arrest me
after all."

"But they will, I know they will!" All her anxiety for him came back in
a moment. "You must go at once! Zorzi, to please me--for my sake--leave
to-night!"

"For your sake? There is nothing I would not do for your sake, except be
a coward."

"But it is not cowardly!" pleaded Marietta. "There is nothing else to be
done, and if my father could know what you risk by staying, he would
tell you to go, as I do. Please, please, please--"

"I cannot," he answered stubbornly.

"Oh, Zorzi, if you have the least friendship for me, do what I ask! Do
you not see that I am half mad with anxiety? I entreat you, I beg you, I
implore you--"

Their eyes met, and hers were wide with fear for him, and earnestness,
and they were not quite dry.

"Do you care so much?" asked Zorzi, hardly knowing what he said. "Does
it matter so much to you what becomes of me?"

He moved nearer on the bench. Leaning towards her, where he sat, he
could rest his elbow on the broad arm of the low chair, and so look into
her face. She covered her eyes, and shook a little, and her mantle
slipped from her shoulders and trembled as it settled down into the
chair. He leaned farther, till he was close to her, and he tried to
uncover her eyes, very gently, but she resisted. His heart beat slowly
and hard, like strokes of a hammer, and his hands were shaking, when he
drew her nearer. Presently he himself sat upon the arm of the chair,
holding her close to him, and she let him press her head to his breast,
for she could not think any more; and all at once her hands slipped down
and she was resting in the hollow of his arm, looking up to his face.

It seemed a long time, as long as whole years, since she had meant to
drop another rose in his path, or even since she had suffered him to
press her hand for a moment. The whole tale was told now, in one touch,
in one look, with little resistance and less fear.

"I love you," he said slowly and earnestly, and the words wer