history. There he stood, stern as
well as sad, leaning, as if for support, upon the arm of his kinsman,
Nicolo Malapieri. Hopeless, helpless, and in utter despair, he thus
lingered, as if under a strange and fearful fascination, watching the
progress of the proceedings which were striking fatally, with every
movement, upon the sources of his own hope and happiness. His
resolution rose with his desperation, and he suddenly shook himself
free from his friend.

"I will not bear this, Nicolo," he exclaimed, "I must not suffer it
without another effort, though it be the last."

"What would you do, Giovanni," demanded his kinsman, grasping him by
the wrist as he spoke, and arresting his movement.

"Shall I see her thus sacrificed--delivered to misery and the grave!
Never! they shall not so lord it over true affections to their loss
and mine. Francesca was mine--is mine--even now, in the very sight of
Heaven. How often hath she vowed it! Her glance avows it now. My lips
shall as boldly declare it again; and as Heaven has heard our vows,
the church shall hear them. The Patriarch shall hear. Hearts must not
be wronged--Heaven must not thus be defrauded. That selfish, vain
woman, her mother--that mercenary monster, miscalled her father, have
no better rights than mine--none half so good. They shall hear me.
Stand by me, Nicolo, while I speak!"

This was the language of a passion, which, however true, was equally
unmeasured and imprudent. The friend of the unhappy lover would have
held him back.

"It is all in vain, Giovanni! Think! my friend, you can do nothing
now. It is too late; nor is there any power to prevent this
consummation. Their names have been long since written in the 'Book of
Gold,' and the Doge himself may not alter the destiny!"

"The Book of Gold!" exclaimed the other. "Ay, the 'Bride of Gold!' but
we shall see!" And he again started forward. His kinsman clung to him.

"Better that we leave this place, Giovanni. It was wrong that you
should come. Let us go. You will only commit some folly to remain."

"Ay! it is folly to be wronged, and to submit to it, I know! folly to
have felt and still to feel! folly, surely, to discover, and to live
after the discovery, that the very crown that made life precious is
lost to you forever! What matter if I should commit this folly! Well,
indeed, if they who laugh at the fool, taste none of the wrath that
they provoke."

"This is sheer madness, Giovanni."

"Release