dence in thy discretion hitherto, and I have
satisfaction in saying it has never failed thee, notwithstanding thou
hast necessarily been a witness of some exploits of youth which might
have drawn embarrassment on thy master were thy tongue less disposed to
silence."

"Eccellenza, yes."

Don Camillo smiled; but the gleam of humor gave way to a look of grave
and anxious thought.

"As thou knowest the person of him I have named, our affair is simple.
Take this packet," he continued, placing a sealed letter of more than
usual size into the hand of the gondolier, and drawing from his finger a
signet ring, "with this token of thy authority. Within that arch of the
Doge's palace which leads to the canal of San Marco, beneath the Bridge
of Sighs, thou wilt find Jacopo. Give him the packet; and, should he
demand it, withhold not the ring. Wait his bidding, and return with the
answer."

Gino received this commission with profound respect, but with an awe he
could not conceal. Habitual deference to his master appeared to struggle
with deep distaste for the office he was required to perform; and there
was even some manifestation of a more principled reluctance, in his
hesitating yet humble manner. If Don Camillo noted the air and
countenance of his menial at all, he effectually concealed it.

"At the arched passage of the palace, beneath the Bridge of Sighs," he
coolly added; "and let thy arrival there be timed, as near as may be, to
the first hour of the night."

"I would, Signore, that you had been pleased to command Giorgio and me
to row you to Padua!"

"The way is long. Why this sudden wish to weary thyself?"

"Because there is no Doge's palace, nor any Bridge of Sighs, nor any dog
of Jacopo Frontoni among the meadows."

"Thou hast little relish for this duty; but thou must know that what the
master commands it is the duty of a faithful follower to perform. Thou
wert born my vassal, Gino Monaldi; and though trained from boyhood in
this occupation of a gondolier, thou art properly a being of my fiefs in
Napoli."

"St. Gennaro make me grateful for the honor, Signore! But there is not a
water-seller in the streets of Venice, nor a mariner on her canals, who
does not wish this Jacopo anywhere but in the bosom of Abraham. He is
the terror of every young lover, and of all the urgent creditors on the
islands."

"Thou seest, silly babbler, there is one of the former, at least, who
does not hold him in dread. Thou wilt se