her companion sought to detain her; she
was overwrought and unhappy, in spite of herself; she had no faith in
the vision of Ecciva; she felt hurt and outraged by her coldness, and
she was hastening back for one look in the true and noble face of the
Lady of the Bernardini, who mothered all these young Venetian maids of
honor in the court of Caterina, craving to express her deep loyalty to
the Queen herself by some immediate act of silent homage.

Only the Lady of the Bernardini and Margherita de Iblin were with
Caterina in the loggia, just without the palace, as Eloisa came flying
up the steps and falling on her knees covered the young Queen's hand
with passionate kisses.

"What is it, _carina mia_?" Caterina asked in alarm; "thou bringest
news? There is a courier?"

"_Niente--niente, Serenissima_--only to be near the one I love!" the
girl cried fervently; and then grew suddenly quiet, in full content
after this needed avowal.

"Poverina, thou art lonely for thy Venice, and thy people," the Queen
murmured in her own soft Italian tongue, while her fingers strayed
caressingly through the glory of red-gold hair which fell unbound about
the maid, in the fashion of those days for one of noble birth and tender
age.

But presently she withdrew her hand and motioned Eloisa to a corner
among the cushions on the curving marble slab, grotesquely wrought with
talismanic symbols, which outlined the end of the loggia where they sat.
"Thou art come a-propos: for the Lady Margherita hath promised us a tale
of ancient Cyprus, and we of Venice wish to know these legends of our
beautiful island."

"Nay, beloved Sovereign Lady;--it is not legend but simple historic
truth, which your Majesty hath granted me permission to narrate--a tale
of love and loyalty of the annals of our house; and out of it hath come
this Cyprian proverb: '_Quel che Iblin e non si puo trovar._' 'Such an
one as Iblin may no man find!'" Dama Margherita, usually so pale and
grave, was flushed and eager; her deep eyes sparkled; her breath came
fast.

The name of Joan of Iblin was revered in Cyprus and the Queen turned
towards Margherita with some comprehension of her pride in the nobility
of this ancestor who had spent himself in loyal service for the early
Kings of Cyprus, touching her hand with a light pressure, smiling her
approbation.

No feast at any court in those days was complete without this diversion
of recitation, when the nation's heroes, or some