r, sought the private apartments of the Doge, where Marina
with her maidens was waiting for him, he found her lying back, wan and
spiritless, in one of the great gold and crimson arm-chairs of the state
salon; her eyes were closed, her lips were moving in prayer, but her
rosary had dropped from her weak clasp. Some of her maidens, as thus
doing their lady truest service, were still kneeling with hopeless
petitions to the Holy Mother to avert the doom from Venice; but one, the
Lady Beata, who was tenderly devoted to her, had not ceased from efforts
to rouse her with nameless little gracious cares. She was watching for
Marcantonio, to whom she signed eagerly to hasten, as the guard of the
Doge permitted him to pass the doorway.

"Thus hath our lady been, and naught hath moved her," she said low, and
in distress, "since the Secretary of the Serenissimo, who with much
futile reasoning hath sought to change her, hath taken his leave, save
that ever and anon she hath opened her eyes to watch the door and bid us
pray for Venice."

Her husband had reached her side and taken her listless hand before
Marina had noticed his approach; but there was no smile in her eyes as
she raised them to his--only a look of unutterable misery.

"Is there no hope?" she questioned. Her fingers, weakly folded about
his, were burning.

He controlled himself with a great effort.

"Yes, carina, every hope. All is well; and the Serenissimo hath been
most gracious. To-morrow, when thou hast had thy rest, he will send to
thee the Reverend Counsellor Padre Maestro Paolo, that he may quiet all
thy fears. For all is well."

She tried to draw him nearer, but her hand dropped powerless. "The
vote?" she questioned, with her eager eyes; and, more falteringly, with
that hoarse, broken whisper which pierced his heart.

"It is well," he answered her tenderly. "Carinissima, all is well."

She fixed him with terror-stricken eyes, in which her soul seemed
burning and her lips moved with a question he could not hear. He bent
closer, touching her cheek caressingly.

"The vote?" she had asked again.

"Tell her the count," said the Lady Beata, with an imperious touch on
his wrist; "it is killing her."

The Senate had adjourned in triumph; without a dissenting voice Venice
had rallied to the support of her prince. Marcantonio had thought he
should be proud to tell her of this unanimous action of their august
body, which could not fail to restore her confidenc