tian."

"Ha! Thou knowest me--'tis Battista, the gondolier that I once
entertained in my household?"

"Signore, 'tis not Battista."

As he spoke, the stranger faced the moon, in a manner that threw all of
its mild light upon his features.

"Jacopo!" exclaimed the duke, recoiling, as did all in Venice
habitually, when that speaking eye was unexpectedly met.

"Signore--Jacopo."

In a moment the rapier of Don Camillo glittered in the rays of the moon.

"Keep thy distance, fellow, and explain the motive that hath brought
thee thus across my solitude!"

The Bravo smiled, but his arms maintained their fold.

"I might, with equal justice, call upon the Duke of Sant' Agata to
furnish reasons why he wanders at this hour among the Hebrew graves."

"Nay, spare thy pleasantry; I trifle not with men of thy reputation; if
any in Venice have thought fit to employ thee against my person, thou
wilt have need of all thy courage and skill ere thou earnest thy fee."

"Put up thy rapier, Don Camillo, here is none to do you harm. Think
you, if employed in the manner you name, I would be in this spot to seek
you? Ask yourself whether your visit here was known, or whether it was
more than the idle caprice of a young noble, who finds his bed less easy
than his gondola. We have met, Duke of Sant' Agata, when you distrusted
my honor less."

"Thou speakest true, Jacopo," returned the noble, suffering the point of
his rapier to fall from before the breast of the Bravo, though he still
hesitated to withdraw the weapon. "Thou sayest the truth. My visit to
this spot is indeed accidental, and thou could'st not have possibly
foreseen it. Why art thou here?"

"Why are these here?" demanded Jacopo, pointing to the graves at his
feet. "We are born, and we die--that much is known to us all; but the
when and the where are mysteries, until time reveals them."

"Thou art not a man to act without good motive. Though these Israelites
could not foresee their visit to the Lido, thine hath not been without
intention."

"I am here, Don Camillo Monforte, because my spirit hath need of room. I
want the air of the sea--the canals choke me--I can only breathe in
freedom on this bank of sand!"

"Thou hast another reason, Jacopo?"

"Aye, Signore--I loathe yon city of crimes!"

As the Bravo spoke, he shook his hand in the direction of the domes of
St. Mark, and the deep tones of his voice appeared to heave up from the
depths of his chest.

"This is