ead King--a very Apollo for beauty--the pedestal heaped high
with withered tokens of loyalty and mourning.

But the mass of the waiting crowd were silent, scarcely exchanging a
whispered confidence;--so still that the long, low boom of the surf upon
the shore reached them distinctly, like a responsive heart-throb. They
could hear the storm-waves outside the port dashing wildly against the
rock-bound coast, with fierce suggestions of strife. But they knew that
within their sheltered harbor their waiting galleys rode at anchor,
ready to sail at a moment's notice--for Venice, for Rome, for
Egypt--though the flags they bore were still at half-mast, with their
King but a month dead.

There was a sense of suppressed excitement in the hush of the throng;
almost, one might have said, an atmosphere of prayer. For the great bell
of San Nicolo--the bell with that wonderful voice of melody--was ringing
softly, as for vespers; continuously, as if the people had not answered
to the call. Yet many a low-voiced "Ave" responded to the chime as now
and again some toil-worn hand lifted the rosary that hung from a girdle,
or clasped a rude cross closer.

Restless under the chiming, some simple mother who had fought for her
place in the crowd before the palace, deep in her heart besought the
blessed Madonna to forgive her because she would not yield it to kneel
at the altar in the Duomo; while leaning over the little one slumbering
on her breast, she kissed it with a meaning holy as prayer, and did not
dream that the angels were watching.

The only steady light in all the square was the soft gleam, as of
moonlight, streaming through the windows of the Duomo out into the mist,
and here and there among the crowd some face turned towards it and was
heartened.

For back of the splendid marble columns of the peristyle, when the light
from some torch flashed suddenly upon their polished surfaces, the long
lines of palace-windows lay dark; and it was growing late.

"They say that the holy sisters keep vigil this night in the Convent of
the Blessed Santa Croce," murmured a woman's voice.

"Aye," another answered her reverently, "for the love of Santa Elena and
the Holy Relic, they will bless our beautiful Lady!"

The theme unsealed their peasant tongues, for this relic brought from
the East by the Mother of Constantine, was the glory of Cyprus, and
their speech flowed more freely.

"The most Reverend our Archbishop should send for that Sa