at she should have
trusted the ugly old man with a secret which she dared not tell her own
father.

Beroviero did not speak as she followed him down the path and stood
waiting while he unlocked the door. Then they both entered, and he laid
his cap upon the table.

"There is your mantle, my dear," he said quietly, and he pointed to it,
neatly folded and lying on the bench.

Marietta started, for she was taken unawares. While in her own room, her
father had spoken so naturally as to make it seem quite possible that
Giovanni had said nothing about it to him, yet he had known exactly
where it was. He was facing her now, as he spoke.

"It was found here last night, after Zorzi had been arrested," said
Beroviero. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Marietta answered, gathering all her courage. "We will talk about
it by and by. First, I have something to say to you which is much more
important than anything concerning the mantle. Will you sit down,
father, and hear me as patiently as you can?"

"I am learning patience to-day," said Beroviero, sitting down in his
chair. "I am learning also the meaning of such words as ingratitude,
betrayal and treachery, which were never before spoken in my house."

He sighed and leaned back, looking at the wall. Marietta dropped her
cloak beside the mantle on the bench and began to walk up and down
before him, trying to begin her speech. But she could not find any
words.

"Speak, child," said her father. "What has happened? It seems to me that
I could bear almost anything now."

She stood still a moment before him, still hesitating. She now saw that
he had suffered more than she had suspected, doubtless owing to Zorzi's
arrest and disappearance, and she knew that what she meant to tell him
would hurt him much more.

"Father," she began at last, with a great effort, "I know that what I am
going to say will displease you very, very much. I am sorry--I wish it
were not--"

Suddenly her set speech broke down. She fell on her knees and took his
hands, looking up beseechingly to his face.

"Forgive me!" she cried. "Oh, for God's sake forgive me! I cannot marry
Jacopo Contarini!"

Beroviero had not expected that. He sat upright in the chair, in his
amazement, and instinctively tried to draw his hands out of hers, but
she held them fast, gazing earnestly up to him. His look was not angry,
nor cold, nor did he even seem hurt. He was simply astonished beyond
all measure by the enormous audaci