Governor and Admiral of Cyprus,
hath so great power that it should not be left for the Queen's Council
to reach him first--if there should be scheming. Being Vice-Roy of
Nikosia, he will have the will of the citizens for his following--if
need should be. And his loyalty is sure: it was he, who with our _bailo_
of Venice received Caterina's oath of allegiance, after the death of
Janus; and he will not fail her."

"Thou hast a right to thy weariness," his Mother said, laying her firm
white hand with a weight of tenderness for a moment on his head. "Thou
mindest me of thy father--so full of carefulness to be before in any
cause that he held dear. I would thou wert not lost to Venice--it was my
hope for thee--thou wouldst have been a power in her Councils."

"We would not be false to our own for any fancied glory that might be
possible for us," he answered more lightly than he had yet spoken: but
he knew that his Mother's ambitions for him were not fulfilled in this
mission to Cyprus--that she had sacrificed her heart's desire for him.

He caught her beautiful white hand and spread it tenderly out upon his
own--a hand that it had taken generations to fashion--made to command,
yet knowing when to yield--modelled with exquisite lines of grace,
goodness, courtesy, power--a hand of character, yet with delicate
flushes of pink in finger tip and palm, with a touch as tender as
strong.

"It is too hard for thee, Madre mia, away from thine old home," he said
tenderly. "There is room in the brig for thee to-morrow, if thou wilt:
and Marco for thine escort."

She shook her head: "It would be harder to live without my boy," she
said resolutely. "Now think on sleep, of which thou hast need--and----"
She half-framed the name of Margherita, yet would not utter it.

He smiled at the wistful look in her face; for he understood. "Nay,
Madre mia; such thoughts are not for me. I am a general in an alien
camp, with scarce wit enough for my tangled duty."

Then he bent his knee, and kissed her hand, in knightly fashion of the
time, as doing her reverence, whom in his heart he loved, and left
her--a little comforted by his long confidential talk.

But the Lady Beata stood for a while motionless where her son had left
her, before the long window that faced the splendid peristyle of the
palace. Between the great spaces of the columns she saw the Piazza
beyond them flooded with moonlight--white and still and absolutely
deserted. There were