hes it was fanned. In short, for three long and bitter years
did I pass the life of the damned--sustained only by the hope of
liberating my father, and cheered by the love of this innocent!"

"Poor Jacopo, thou art to be pitied! I will remember thee in my
prayers."

"And thou, Gelsomina?"

The keeper's daughter did not answer. Her ears had drunk in each
syllable that fell from his lips, and now that the whole truth began to
dawn on her mind, there was a bright radiance in her eye that appeared
almost supernatural to those who witnessed it.

"If I have failed in convincing thee, Gelsomina," continued Jacopo,
"that I am not the wretch I seemed, would that I had been dumb!"

She stretched a hand towards him, and dropping her head on his bosom,
wept.

"I see all thy temptations, poor Carlo," she said, softly; "I know how
strong was thy love for thy father."

"Dost thou forgive me, dearest Gelsomina, for the deception on thy
innocence?"

"There was no deception; I believed thee a son ready to die for his
father, and I find thee what I thought thee."

The good Carmelite regarded this scene with eyes of interest and
indulgence; tears wetted his cheeks.

"Thy affection for each other, children," he said, "is such as angels
might indulge. Has thy intercourse been of long date?"

"It has lasted years, father."

"And thou, daughter, hast been with Jacopo in the cell of his parent?"

"I was his constant guide on these holy errands, father."

The monk mused deeply. After a silence of several minutes he proceeded
to the duties of his holy office. Receiving the spiritual confession of
the prisoner he gave the absolution with a fervor which proved how
deeply his sympathies were enlisted in behalf of the youthful pair. This
duty done, he gave Gelsomina his hand, and there was a mild confidence
in his countenance as he took leave of Jacopo.

"We quit thee," he said; "but be of heart, son. I cannot think that even
Venice will be deaf to a tale like thine! Trust first to thy God, and
believe that neither this faithful girl nor I will abandon thee without
an effort."

Jacopo received this assurance like one accustomed to exist in extreme
jeopardy. The smile which accompanied his own adieux had in it as much
of incredulity as of melancholy. It was, however, full of the joy of a
lightened heart.

CHAPTER XXX.

"Your heart
is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse
Appearances; and v