for me and thee alone--_and least of all for the ear of Venice_. But
thou knowest--if it were no more than that the way of a crown be not
easy for a young and guileless maid--some one of her own should be with
her in that strange land; and he should be wise in counsel."

"As thou?--who dost so qualify thyself?" she asked with a pitiful
attempt to rally him--for her heart was sore. "What shall I do without
thee--Aluisi!" Her voice had suddenly broken in yearning. It was not
often that such emotion escaped her. He folded her hand more closely as
they sat on in the silence, in the falling twilight, and his eyes
wandered down the length of the splendid ancestral hall, while his
resolve strengthened within him--the knights and ladies of the house of
Cornaro for centuries back leaning to him out of the quaint carving of
their time-dimmed frames--fading from him, like ghosts, into the gloom
of the distant corners, yet holding him with a strange, vital
fascination--for it was much to leave. The very tapestries rustled with
the legends of the Cornelii of long, long ago, on the shores of the Rivo
Alto, before the story of Venice had won its honored place in the
chronicles of nations--yet not the less for their indistinguishable
outlines and mythical color were they woven into the proud consciousness
of the duty the Cornari owed their own.

Memories of the state his Mother had held here rose to meet
him--memories of his Father, who had been a power in Venice. How could
he ask the Lady of the Bernardini, with her whitening hair, to leave it
all for Cyprus? Yet that was in his thought. He could not frame the
words; it was too much to ask--he must leave it to come from her.

"Is thy fear not to be spoken?" she asked at last. "And must we accept
it for the Caterina--who is very fair and tender?"

"It is the ways of Cyprus that I fear," he answered quickly; "and of
that strange people--a blending of half-pagan races with the blood of
France and Greece. But, Madre mia--there must be no echoes from the
Council-Chamber--none of our talk beyond thine own discreet hearing--it
would but harm her. And for _acceptance_--'must we _accept_ it for the
Caterina?'--thou dost ask--it is an empty word! The will of Venice is
_set_ to do this thing."

"Yet our cousin Marco--the child's own father--goeth not heavily; he
hath no fear."

"He is mad with the glory of it--after Venice's own temper."

There had been some further talk--not over-much dw