he color deepened in her cheeks and the pencil strokes came more
falteringly, but she answered nothing.

"Nay, then!" he exclaimed, more brusquely than his wont, as he stretched
out his hand and arrested her movement. "What I have to say to thee
importeth much."

She flushed and paled with the struggle of the moment, then a beautiful
calm came over her face; she laid down her pencil and, quietly dropping
her hands in her lap, she turned to him with a smile that might have
disarmed an angrier man--it was full of tenderness, though it was
shadowed by pain.

It relaxed his sternness, and, after a moment's hesitation, he came
around the table and sat down beside her.

"To-night is the fete at Ca' Giustiniani, for the young noble of their
house."

He waited for her to speak, but she did not tremble now, though he was
searching her face.

"Yes, father, I know."

"And, Marina--I do not understand--and it is a grief to me----"

She nestled to him closely and tried to slip one of her slender hands
between his, which were tightly strained together in a knotted clasp, as
if he would make them the outlet for some unbearable emotion.

The previous evening was the first they had not passed together since
the death of Zuanino; her father had sent her word that he had matter
which would occupy him alone, and all day Marina had been heavy-hearted,
going at matins and at vespers quite alone to the Madonna at the Duomo,
that she might take comfort and counsel.

Girolamo did not respond to her caress, though his tone softened a
little as he proceeded with his tale and her arm stole round him.

"Yesterday, at the stabilimento Beroviero, we were summoned by a call of
our Capo of the Ten to witness the approval that should be passed on the
exhibit of that stabilimento; we all, of the Guild of Murano, were there
as always. And foremost among the productions, most marvelous for
beauty, was a fabric of their lucent crystal--thou knowest it, Marina?
My child--how came thy face there? _Thy_ face, Marina--set round with
lustrous pearls!"

He folded her to his breast with sudden passion, and stooped his head to
her shoulder for an instant, lifting it quickly that she might not feel
the sobbing of his breath which, even more than his broken words,
betrayed his anguish.

"Dearest father, it was because I loved thee so much that I would not
have thee suffer from my pain, that I told thee not. Never again will I
hold aught from thee."