eet, this
snow-white hair--ah! not years, but unspeakable tortures transformed
the strong robust woman to a scarecrow in a few moons. And this
repulsive cackling laughter was forced out of me by that final terrible
torture, at the remembrance of which my hair still stands on end, and
my body burns as in a coat of red-hot mail. Ever since then it comes
upon me involuntarily, like a continual, irresistible spasm. Don't be
afraid of me any more, my Tonino. Ah, your heart told you long since
that you lay upon my breast as a little boy."

"'"Woman," said Antonio, "I feel that I must believe you. But who was
my father? What was his name? What was the terrible destiny which
overwhelmed him on that awful night? Who was he who adopted me? What
was it which happened in my life that still controls all my being, like
some mighty spell from some strange, unknown world, so that all my
thoughts flow away from me into some dark ocean of night? Answer all
these questions, mysterious woman; and then I shall believe you."

"'"Tonino," she said, "for your own sake I _must_ keep silence; but
soon, soon it will be time. The Fontego! the Fontego! Keep away from
the Fontego!"

"'"Ah!" he cried angrily; "I want no more of your dark sayings, to
tempt me with your unholy arts. My heart will break! You _shall_
speak--or----"

"'"No, no," she pleaded, "don't threaten me! I am your nurse--your
foster-mother----"

"'But, not waiting to hear further, Antonio rose and hurried quickly
away. From a distance he called to her, "You shall have your new cloak,
and _zecchini_ into the bargain, as many as you like."

"'To see the old Doge Marino Falieri with his youthful consort was a
wonderful sight enough. He, strong and robust enough, no doubt, but
with his grey beard, and his bronzed red face covered with a thousand
wrinkles, stepping pathetically along, keeping his head and neck erect
with some difficulty; she, loveliness personified, an angelic
expression of goodness and kindliness in her heavenly face, charm,
irresistible in her longing eyes, nobleness and dignity on her open,
lily forehead, shaded by the dark tresses, sweet smiles upon lips and
cheeks, her little head bending in exquisite meekness; bearing her
slender figure gracefully and lightsomely as she moved along--a
beautiful creature, belonging to another, higher world. Yon know the
type of angel which the old painters had the skill to imagine and
represent. Such was Annunziata. No one