-dust; the usual accompaniments of justice in that day. By
their side stood the executioner.

At length a movement in the living mass drew every eye towards the gate
of the palace. A murmur arose, the multitude wavered, and a small body
of the Sbirri came into view. Their steps were swift like the march of
destiny. The Dalmatians opened to receive these ministers of fate into
their bosom, and closing their ranks again, appeared to preclude the
world with its hopes from the condemned. On reaching the block between
the columns the Sbirri fell off in files, waiting at a little distance,
while Jacopo was left before the engines of death attended by his
ghostly counsellor, the Carmelite. The action left them open to the gaze
of the throng.

Father Anselmo was in the usual attire of a bare-footed friar of his
order. The cowl of the holy man was thrown back, exposing his mortified
lineaments and his self-examining eye to those around. The expression of
his countenance was that of bewildered uncertainty, relieved by frequent
but fitful glimmerings of hope. Though his lips were constant in prayer,
his looks wandered, by an irrepressible impulse, from one window of the
Doge's palace to another. He took his station near the condemned,
however, and thrice crossed himself fervently.

Jacopo had tranquilly placed his person before the block. His head was
bare, his cheek colorless, his throat and neck uncovered from the
shoulders, his body in its linen, and the rest of his form was clad in
the ordinary dress of a gondolier. He kneeled with his face bowed to the
block, repeated a prayer, and rising he faced the multitude with dignity
and composure. As his eye moved slowly over the array of human
countenances by which he was environed, a hectic glowed on his features,
for not one of them all betrayed sympathy in his sufferings. His breast
heaved, and those nearest to his person thought the self-command of the
miserable man was about to fail him. The result disappointed
expectation. There was a shudder, and the limbs settled into repose.

"Thou hast looked in vain among the multitude for a friendly eye?" said
the Carmelite, whose attention had been drawn to the convulsive
movement.

"None here have pity for an assassin."

"Remember thy Redeemer, son. He suffered ignominy and death for a race
that denied his Godhead, and derided his sorrows."

Jacopo crossed himself, and bowed his head in reverence.

"Hast thou more prayers to re