o."

"I think you would come back to me," she answered. "But if I ran away,
would you follow me?"

"You will not run away." He spoke quietly and confidently, still holding
her hand, as if he were talking to it, while he felt the breath of her
winds upon his forehead.

"No," she said, and there was a little silence.

"I have but one fear," he began, at last. "If I were ruined, what would
become of you?"

"Have you lost at play again to-night?" she asked, and in her tone there
was a note of anxiety.

Contarini laughed low, and felt for the wallet at his aide. He held it
up to show how heavy it was with the gold, and made her take it. She
only kept it a moment, but while it was in her hand her eyelids were
half closed as if she were guessing at the weight, for he could not see
her face.

"I won all that," he said. "To-morrow you shall have the pearls."

"How good you are to me! But should you not keep the money? You may need
it. Why do you talk of ruin?"

She knew that he would give her all he had, she almost guessed that he
would commit a crime rather than lack gold to give her.

"You do not know my father!" he answered. "When he is displeased he
threatens to let me starve. He will cut me off some day, and I shall
have to turn soldier for a living. Would that not be ruin? You know his
last scheme--he wishes me to marry the daughter of a rich glass-maker."

"I know." Arisa laughed contemptuously, "Great joy may your bride have
of you! Is she really rich?"

"Yes. But you know that I will not marry her."

"Why not?" asked Arisa quite simply.

Contarini started and looked up at her face in the dim light. She was
bending down to him with a very loving look.

"Why should you not marry?" she asked again. "Why do you start and look
at me so strangely? Do you think I should care? Or that I am afraid of
another woman for you?"

"Yes. I should have thought that you would be jealous." He still gazed
at her in astonishment.

"Jealous!" she cried, and as she laughed she shook her beautiful head,
and the gold of her hair glittered in the flickering candle-light.
"Jealous? I? Look at me! Is she younger than I? I was eighteen years old
the other day. If she is younger than I, she is a child--shall I be
jealous of children? Is she taller, straighter, handsomer than I am?
Show her to me, and I will laugh in her face! Can she sing to you, as I
sing, in the summer nights, the songs you like and those I learned by
the Ku