he
waters, dazzling her eyes?

The rejoicings of the people speeded her; the bells of all the campanili
of Venice came echoing to the shores of the Lido; a tumult of
voices--the voices of the _popolazzo_, shrill and jubilant, called down
the blessings of all the saints upon her--of Santa Caterina--her own
name-saint, fair patron of Betrothals; of charming San Luigi--the
blessed guardian of love; of San Nicolo, Saint of the Sea; of Messer
San Marco and San Tadoro; and shrilly, above them all, rose the babel of
women's voices, invoking the Madonna, "Star of the Sea, Sancta Maria!"

But most of all, deep within her girlish soul, love speeded her--love,
grown strong through these years of waiting on the image she had
fashioned for herself as the portrait of her lord--painted with all the
glowing lights of a true and gracious heart that knew no shadows.

As the galleys passed beyond the Lido into the wider water and the
Daughter of Venice stood in her royal wedding-robes beside the Doge,
under the golden canopy of the Bucentoro, a rosy light flashing from the
circlet of rubies which, like the espousal ring of the Serenissimo, had
been consecrated with solemn mass and benediction by the Patriarch of
Venice,--did the words of the ancient rite occur to some among that
throng of nobles, perchance, as an omen?

"_Sea, we wed thee, in token of our true and perpetual dominion over
thee._"

But now, with a memory of the gracious legend of San Francisco del
Deserto--that where the birds should light the favor of Heaven would
follow, as they passed the convent on their outward way, a multitude of
birds set free from their golden cages burst upon the air with a flood
of song, inspired by their sudden liberty, then came throbbing and
overwrought, to seek shelter among the silken sails of the Cyprian
galleys--mere specks of iridescence, flashing like jewels in a chance
ray of sunlight.

The people saw and shouted, "_Benedizion della Madonna! Viva Messer San
Marco! Viva la Regina!_"

When the chimes of the campanili had dimmed to a faint cadence, like
some unuttered rhythm of thought, as the distance grew between the
outsailing fleet and all that pageantry of Venice, two faces stood forth
like visions from the bewildering pictures of the morning and dwelt with
Caterina forever.

The pleading face of the Mother deep with tenderness, yet shadowed by an
unspoken dread of the unknown that lay beyond:

And the gaze of the saintly P