put forth, and bid them steer for the Lagune of Caorlo. There will
you win Francesca, and thenceforth shall you wear her--you only--so
long as it may be allowed you to wear any human joy!"

Her voice, look, manner, sudden energy, and the wild fire of her eyes,
awakened Giovanni to his fullest consciousness. His friend drew
nigh--they would have conferred together, but the woman interrupted
them.

"You would deliberate," said she, "but you have no time! What is to be
done must be done quickly. It seems wild to you, and strange, and
idle, what I tell you, but it is nevertheless true; and if you heed me
not now bitter will be your repentance hereafter. You, Giovanni, will
depart at least. Heed not your friend--he is too cold to be
successful. He will always be safe, and do well, but he will do
nothing further. Away! if you can but gather a dozen friends and man a
single galley, you will be in season. But the time is short. I hear a
fearful cry--the cry of women--and the feeble shriek of Francesca
Ziani is among the voices of those who wail with a new terror! I see
their struggling forms, and floating garments, and disheveled hair!
Fly, young men, lest the names of those whom Venice has written in her
Book of Gold, shall henceforth be written in a Book of Blood!"

The reputation of the sybil was too great in Venice to allow her wild
predictions to be laughed at. Besides, our young Venetians--Nicolo no
less than Giovanni, in spite of what the woman had spoken touching his
lack of enthusiasm--were both aroused and eagerly excited by her
speech. Her person dilated as she spoke--her voice seemed to come up
from a fearful depth, and went thrillingly deep into the souls of the
hearers. They were carried from their feet by her predictions. They
prepared to obey her counsels. Soon had they gathered their friends
together, enough to man three of the fastest galleys of the city.
Their prows were turned at once toward the Lagune of Caorlo, whither
the woman had directed them. She, meanwhile, had disappeared, but the
course of her gondola lay for Olivolo.

CHAPTER III.

It will be necessary that we should go back in our narrative but a
single week before the occurrence of these events. Let us penetrate
the dim and lonesome abode on the confines of the "Jewish Quarter,"
but not within it, where the "Spanish Gipsy" delivered her
predictions. It is midnight, and still she sits over her incantations.
There are vessels of uncouth s