he convent that the message cometh
from Rome, else were it not received in that unholy city."

And in this also Fra Francesco was obdurate. And then, for disobedience
to authority, acknowledged lawful by his own submission, came
prison--wherein he languished, always obdurate,--and death,--perhaps
from discontent or homesickness, one knows not; or from failure of his
plans; or--there was a question of torture, but one knows not if it were
true.

"No, no, it was not true!" Marina had exclaimed, quivering, when Piero
had told her the story. "It is wicked to say these things--and they are
not true!"

But now, alone--apart from all the brightness about her, from every hope
of happiness except those few brief hours with Marco--she did not know
if it might not be true; her heart was too sad to deny any pain that had
been or that might be; but Fra Francesco's sad and gentle eyes seemed to
smile upon her through whatever distance might be between them--of
this, or of any other world--without reproach for those who had bidden
him suffer, and charging her to keep her faith.

"If it be true," she said, "the end of pain is reached, and he hath won
his happiness.--Why cometh not my Marco?"

A gondola of the Nicolotti detached itself from a group of serenaders
just above the palace, was caught for a few moments among the _pali_
before the Ca' Giustiniani, and then floated leisurely down toward the
Piazzetta. She noted it idly while she sat waiting for Marco, for in the
gondola there was a graceful figure, closely wrapped, clasping her
mantle yet more closely with a hand that was white and slender enough
for one of the nobility; yet the gondolier wore the black sash of the
Nicolotti with the great hat of a bravo shading his face. "It is some
intrigue," she said, almost unconsciously, in the midst of her sad
dreaming.

"Oh, Marco, thou art come! It hath been long without thee."

"The Senate is but just dismissed," he answered, smiling fondly at the
eagerness which gave to her pale face a passing flush of health. "But
why is the Lady Beata not with thee?" he questioned abruptly.

"She is in the chapel, making it fair with flowers."

"Thou knowest it, Marina?"

"She came to me with a question but a little while ago, when Marconino
was with me--and I wished to be alone. Marco, he was so beautiful! And
the day has been a dream; I wished for no one but for thee alone."

He held her hand in a mute caress, but with preoccupation,