even here the pale sea-holly and the evening primrose made
redeeming spots of beauty, with their faint hues of violet and yellow;
and a distant water-meadow shimmered like the sea, with the tender blue
of the spreading lavender.

They had passed Fusina, and the lagoon lay silvery, like a trail of
moonlight behind them--Venice in the distance, opalesque, radiant, a
city of dreams. The clouds above them, beautiful with changing sunset
lights, were no longer mirrored on a still lagoon, but mottled the
broken surfaces of the river with hues of bronze and purple, between the
leaves of the creeping water-plants which clogged the movement of the
oars; for they had exchanged the liquid azure pavement of their "Citta
Nobilissima" for the brown tide of the Brenta. On the river's brink the
rushes were starred with lilies and iris and ranunculus, and the
fragrance of sheeted flowers from the water-meadows came to them fresh
and delicious, mingled with the salt breath of the sea, while
swallows--dusky, violet-winged--circled about their bows, teasing their
progress with mystic eliptical flight--like persistent problems
perpetually recurring, yet to be solved by fate alone.

It was the hour of the Ave Maria, and Marina roused herself from her sad
reverie. The clouds piled themselves in luminous masses and drifted
into the hollows of the wonderful Euganean hills, and a crimson sunset
tinged peaks and clouds with glory, as Padua with its low arcaded
streets, and San Antonio--cousin to San Marco in minarets and Eastern
splendor--and the Lion of Saint Mark upon his lofty column, closed the
vista of their weary day. The chimes of Venice were too far for sound,
but from every campanile of this quaint city the vesper bells, solemn
and sweet, pealed forth their call to prayer--as if no threat of Rome's
displeasure made a discord in their harmony.

XXXI

Piero had watched all night before the little inn of the "Buon Pesce,"
impatient to meet and conquer his fate, while above, in an upper room,
the ladies Marina and Beata tried to sleep; but before the dawn they
were off again, down by the way of the brown, rolling river, taking the
weary length to Brondolo and the sea.

There were two gondolas now, and the men in each pulled as if the prize
of a great regatta awaited them--Nicolotti against Castellani--and
silently, saving voice and strength for a great need.

It might have seemed a pleasure party, save for the stress of their
spee