hast sworn to me! Thou shalt abide by thy promise!" she
cried, seizing the oar in her trembling hand.

"Ay, Marina, I have sworn to thee," he answered, with slow pauses, "and
by our Holy Mother of San Giorgio, I will serve thee like a saint in
heaven. Yet I would thou wert in thy home again--already thou hast
broken thy heart for love of it."

The gondolas of the people were gathering about the steps of the
palaces, bringing their burdens for the day's ongoings in those
luxurious homes; the bells were calling to early Mass; the stir of life
was beginning in the city; soon, in her own palace, her little one would
wake, and Marco--She stood with straining eyes, yearning for the chance
of a face in her palace window--the bare last chance of another sight of
his dear face. She did not know that Piero was watching
her--compassionate and comprehending--while she was struggling to
outlive the agony for the very love's sake which made it so keen.

It was the only sweetness left in life for her, that this cruel parting
was yet for Marco's sake; that she might still plead with the Holy
Father for this desperate need of which Marco seemed unconscious--since,
in a vision never to be forgotten, the blessed Madre of San Donato had
confided this mission to her. She could bear everything to win such a
blessing for her beloved ones, only she must reach Rome--surely the
Madre Beatissima would let her live to reach the Holy City!

The tide was brimming the canals, rising over the water steps; the
growing light gleamed coldly on the polished marbles of her palace,
burnishing the rich gold fretwork of frieze and tracery--but not any
face of any dear one responded to her hungry longing, watching for her
in the deep spaces of the windows, in token of the love from which she
was fleeing.

This also--this last longing--she must surrender!

Her white face grew brave again; she sat down and drew her veil--the
ample _fazzuolo_ of the Muranese--more closely about her. "I am ready,"
she said, and turned her face resolutely forward.

As they rounded San Giorgio, turning into the broad Giudecca, a shoal of
little boats came over the water from Murano.

"They are the nuns of San Donato!" she said in amazement, and drawing
her veil closer. "Piero, canst thou not ask their whither?"

It was so strange, on this morning of all others, to see them turn in
the direction of Ca' Giustiniani; there came a vision of her chapel,
which her maidens were