by common laws. She was no common woman, and her whole life
was characterized by mystery. She was known in Venice as the "Spanish
Gipsy;" was supposed to be secretly a Jewess, and had only escaped
from being punished as a sorceress by her profound and most exemplary
public devotions. But she was known, nevertheless, as an enchantress,
a magician, a prophetess; and her palmistry, her magic, her symbols,
signs and talismans, were all held in great repute by the
superstitious and the youthful of the ocean city. Giovanni Gradenigo
himself, obeying the popular custom, had consulted her; and now, as he
heard her voice, he raised his eyes, and started forward with the
impulse of one who suddenly darts from under the gliding knife of the
assassin. Before Nicolo could interfere, he had leapt down the steps,
and darted to the quay from which the old woman was about to step into
a gondola. She awaited his coming with a smile of peculiar meaning, as
she repeated her inquiry:

"Why are not you at Olivolo?"

He answered the question by another, grasping her wrist violently as
he spoke.

"Did you not promise that she should wed with me--that she should be
mine--mine only?"

"Well!" she answered calmly, without struggling or seeking to
extricate her arm from the strong hold which he had taken upon it.

"Well! and even now the rites are in progress which bind her to Ulric
Barberigo!"

"She will never wed Ulric Barberigo," was the quiet answer. "Why left
you Olivolo?" she continued.

"Could I remain and look upon these hated nuptials--could I be patient
and see her driven like a sheep to the sacrifice? I fled from the
spectacle, as if the knife of the butcher were already in my own
heart."

"You were wrong; but the fates have spoken, and their decrees are
unchangeable. I tell you I have seen your bridal with Francesca Ziani.
No Ulric weds that maiden. She is reserved for you alone. You alone
will interchange with her the final vows before the man of God. But
hasten, that this may find early consummation. I have seen other
things! Hasten--but hasten not alone, nor without your armor! A sudden
and terrible danger hangs over San Pietro di Castella, and all within
its walls. Gather your friends, gather your retainers. Put on the
weapons of war and fly thither with all your speed. I see a terrible
vision, even now, of blood and struggle! I behold terrors that
frighten even me! Your friend is a man of arms. Let your war-galleys
be