ar the person of my mistress, and it is a
happiness to be near it on the occasion of this early matin."

The monk was embarrassed. He looked from one to the other, in
indecision, and was about to frame some pretence to get rid of the
intruder, when Don Cainillo appeared in the middle of the room.

"Reverend monk, proceed," he said; "'tis but another witness of my
happiness."

While speaking, the noble touched the handle of his sword significantly
with a finger, and cast a look at the half petrified Annina, which
effectually controlled the exclamation that was about to escape her. The
monk appeared to understand the terms of this silent compact, for with a
deep voice he commenced the offices of the mass. The singularity of
their situation, the important results of the act in which they were
engaged, the impressive dignity of the Carmelite, and the imminent
hazard which they all ran of exposure, together with the certainty of
punishment for their daring to thwart the will of Venice, if betrayed,
caused a deeper feeling than that which usually pervades a marriage
ceremony, to preside at nuptials thus celebrated. The youthful Violetta
trembled at every intonation of the solemn voice of the monk, and
towards the close she leaned in helplessness on the arm of the man to
whom she had just plighted her vows. The eye of the Carmelite kindled as
he proceeded with the office, however; and long ere he had done, he had
obtained such a command over the feelings of even Annina as to hold her
mercenary spirit in awe. The final union was pronounced, and the
benediction given.

"Maria, of pure memory, watch over thy happiness, daughter!" said the
monk, for the first time in his life saluting the fair brow of the
weeping bride. "Duke of Sant' Agata, may thy patron hear thy prayers, as
thou provest kind to this innocent and confiding child!"

"Amen!--Ha!--we are not too soon united, my Violetta; I hear the sound
of oars."

A glance from the balcony assured him of the truth of his words, and
rendered it apparent that it had now become necessary to take the most
decided step of all. A six-oared gondola, of a size suited to endure
the waves of the Adriatic at that mild season, and with a pavilion of
fit dimensions, stopped at the water-gate of the palace.

"I wonder at this boldness!" exclaimed Don Camillo. "There must be no
delay, lest some spy of the Republic apprise the police. Away, dearest
Violetta--away, Donna Florinda! Father,