with care, she moved with a swift step into the centre
of the piazza.

We shall not detail the progress of our heroine, as, avoiding the
commonplace gallantry that assailed and offended her ear, she went her
way on her errand of kindness. Young, active, and impelled by her
intentions, the square was soon passed, and she reached the place of San
Nico. Here was one of the landings of the public gondolas. But at the
moment there was no boat in waiting, for curiosity or fear had induced
the men to quit their usual stand. Gelsomina had ascended the bridge,
and was on the crown of its arch, when a gondolier came sweeping lazily
in from the direction of the Grand Canal. Her hesitation and doubting
manner attracted his attention, and the man made the customary sign
which conveyed the offer of his services. As she was nearly a stranger
in the streets of Venice, labyrinths that offer greater embarrassment to
the uninitiated than perhaps the passages of any other town of its size,
she gladly availed herself of the offer. To descend to the steps, to
leap into the boat, to utter the word "Rialto," and to conceal herself
in the pavilion, was the business of a minute. The boat was instantly in
motion.

Gelsomina now believed herself secure of effecting her purpose, since
there was little to apprehend from the knowledge or the designs of a
common boatman. He could not know her object, and it was his interest to
carry her in safety to the place she had commanded. But so important was
success, that she could not feel secure of attaining it while it was
still unaccomplished. She soon summoned sufficient resolution to look
out at the palaces and boats they were passing, and she felt the
refreshing air of the canal revive her courage. Then turning with a
sensitive distrust to examine the countenance of the gondolier, she saw
that his features were concealed beneath a mask that was so well
designed, as not to be perceptible to a casual observer by moonlight.

Though it was common on occasions for the servants of the great, it was
not usual for the public gondoliers to be disguised. The circumstance
itself was one justly to excite slight apprehension, though, on second
thoughts, Gelsomina saw no more in it than a return from some expedition
of pleasure, or some serenade perhaps, in which the caution of a lover
had compelled his followers to resort to this species of concealment.

"Shall I put you on the public quay, Signora," demanded the