ith an unforgiving vengeance. It was in vain that the Istrutes fought
as they had been long accustomed. It needed something more than
customary valor to meet the fury of their assailants. All of them
perished. Mercy now was neither asked nor given. Nor, as it seemed,
did the pirates care to live, when they beheld the fall of their
fearful leader. He had crossed weapons with Giovanni Gradenigo, in
whom he found his fate. Twice, thrice, the sword of the latter drove
through the breast of the pirate. Little did his conqueror conjecture
the import of the few words which the dying chief gasped forth at his
feet, his glazed eyes striving to pierce the deck, as if seeking some
one within.

"I have, indeed, had thee in my arms, but--"

There was no more--death finished the sentence! The victory was
complete, but Giovanni was wounded. Pietro Barbaro was a fearful
enemy. He was conquered, it is true, but he had made his mark upon his
conqueror. He had bitten deep before he fell.

The victors returned with their spoil. They brought back the captured
brides in triumph. That same evening preparations were made to
conclude the bridal ceremonies which the morning had seen so fearfully
arrested. With a single exception, the original distribution of the
"brides" was persevered in. That exception, as we may well suppose,
was Francesca Ziani. It was no longer possible for her unnatural
parents to withstand the popular sentiment. The Doge himself, Pietro
Candiano, was particularly active in persuading the reluctant mother
to submit to what was so evidently the will of destiny. But for the
discreditable baseness and cowardice of Ulric Barberigo, it is
probable she never would have yielded. But his imbecility and unmanly
terror in the moment of danger, had been too conspicuous. Even his
enormous wealth could not save him from the shame that followed; and
however unwillingly, the parents of Francesca consented that she
should become the bride of Giovanni, as the only proper reward for the
gallantry which had saved her, and so many more, from shame.

But where was Giovanni? His friends have been dispatched for him; why
comes he not? The maid, now happy beyond her hope, awaits him at the
altar. And still he comes not. Let us go back for a moment to the
moment of his victory over the pirate-chief. Barbaro lies before him
in the agonies of death. His sword it is which has sent the much
dreaded outlaw to his last account. But he himself is wou