els,
are hurried from the sight of their kinsmen and their lovers, and the
Istrute galleys are about to depart with their precious freight.
Pietro Barbaro, the chief, stands with one foot upon his vessel's side
and the other on the shore. Still insensible, the lovely Francesca
lies upon his breast. At this moment the skirt of his cloak is plucked
by a bold hand. He turns to meet the glance of the Spanish Gypsy. The
old woman leered on him with eyes that seemed to mock his triumph,
even while she appealed to it.

"Is it not even as I told thee--as I showed thee?" was her demand.

"It is!" exclaimed the pirate-chief, as he flung her a purse of gold.
"Thou art a true prophetess. Fate has done her work!"

He was gone; his galley was already on the deep, and he himself might
now be seen kneeling upon the deck of the vessel, bending over his
precious conquest, and striving to bring back the life into her
cheeks.

"Ay, indeed!" muttered the Spanish Gipsy, "thou hast had her in thy
arms, but think not, reckless robber that thou art, that fate has
_done_ its work. The work is but _begun_. Fate has kept its word to
thee; it is thy weak sense that fancied she had nothing more to say or
do!"

Even as she spoke these words, the galleys of Giovanni Gradenigo were
standing for the Lagune of Caorlo. He had succeeded in collecting a
gallant band of cavaliers who tacitly yielded him the command. The
excitement of action had served, in some measure, to relieve the
distress under which he suffered. He was no longer the lover, but the
man; nor the man merely, but the leader of men. Giovanni was endowed
for this by nature. His valor was known. It had been tried upon the
Turk. Now that he was persuaded by the Spanish Gipsy, whom all
believed and feared, that a nameless and terrible danger overhung his
beloved, which was to be met and baffled only by the course he was
pursuing, his whole person seemed to be informed by a new spirit. The
youth, his companions, wondered to behold the change. There was no
longer a dreaminess and doubt about his words and movements, but all
was prompt, energetic, and directly to the purpose. Giovanni was now
the confident and strong man. Enough for him that there _was_ danger.
Of this he no longer entertained a fear. Whether the danger that was
supposed to threaten Francesca, was still suggestive of a hope--as the
prediction of the Spanish Gipsy might well warrant--may very well be
questioned. It was in the