XXX
\"Art thou sure, Marina?\"
\"Ay, Piero, though it were death to me; and death were sweeter——\"
Her hair lay like a wreath of snow across her forehead, from stress of the night''''s vigil, her lip trembled like a grieved child''''s, but in her exquisite face there was the grace of a spirit strong and tender.
He helped her silently into the gondola and steered it carefully between the pali which rose like a scattered sheaf, glowing with the colors of the Giustiniani, in the water before her palace. And thus, in the early dawn—unattended, with the sadness of death in her pallid face—the lady of the Giustiniani floated away from her beautiful home—away from happiness and love—into a future cheerless and dim as the dawn lights that were faintly tinging the sea. For the day was breaking, full of gloom, under a sky of clouds, and the wind blew chill from across the Lido.
She sat with her gray mantle shrouding her face, and neither of them spoke, while the gondola, under Piero''''s deft guidance, quickly gained the steps of the Piazzetta and passed on to San Giorgio. Then she touched his arm entreatingly.
\"Oh, let us wait one moment before we lose sight of the palazzo! Madre She stretched out her hands unconsciously, with a gesture of petition, and her mantle slipped back, exposing her pallid, pain-stricken face and her whitened tresses.
Piero was startled at the havoc the night had made, for he had seen her only the day before, in answer to her summons, when she had been far more like herself.
\"Santa Maria!\" he exclaimed, crossing himself, and awkward under the unaccustomed sense of an overwhelming compassion. \"The Holy Mother must shrive me for breaking my vow, for if San Marco and San Teodoro would give me a place between them before the matins ring again—mistaking me for a traitor—I cannot take thee from Venice. We will return,\" and already the gondola was yielding to his stroke. \"Let Marcantonio bring thee himself to Rome.\"
\"Piero, thou hast sworn to me! Thou shalt abide by thy promise!\" she cried, seizing the oar in her trembling hand.
\"Ay, Marina, I have sworn to thee,\" he answered, with slow pauses, \"and by our Holy Mother of San Giorgio, I will serve thee like a saint in heaven. Yet I would thou wert in thy home again—already thou hast broken thy heart for love of it.\"
The gondolas of the people were gathering about the steps of the palaces, bringing their burdens for the day''''s ongoings in those luxurious homes; the bells were calling to early Mass; the stir of life was beginning in the city; soon, in her own palace, her little one would wake, and Marco—She stood with straining eyes, yearning for the chance of a face in her palace window—the bare last chance of another sight of his dear face. She did not know that Piero was watching her—compassionate and comprehending—while she was struggling to outlive the agony for the very love''''s sake which made it so keen.
It was the only sweetness left in life for her, that this cruel parting was yet for Marco''''s sake; that she might still plead with the Holy Father for this desperate need of which Marco seemed unconscious—since, in a vision never to be forgotten, the blessed Madre of San Donato had confided this mission to her. She could bear everything to win such a blessing for her beloved ones, only she must reach Rome—surely the Madre Beatissima would let her live to reach the Holy City!
The tide was brimming the canals, rising over the water steps; the growing light gleamed coldly on the polished marbles of her palace, burnishing the rich gold fretwork of frieze and tracery—but not any face of any dear one responded to her hungry longing, watching for her in the deep spaces of the windows, in token of the love from which she was fleeing.
This also—this last longing—she must surrender!
Her white face grew brave again; she sat down and drew her veil—the ample fazzuolo of the Muranese—more closely about her. \"I am ready,\" she said, and turned her face resolutely forward.
As they rounded San Giorgio, turning into the broad Giudecca, a shoal of little boats came over the water from Murano.
\"They are the nuns of San Donato!\" she said in amazement, and drawing her veil closer. \"Piero, canst thou not ask their whither?\"
It was so strange, on this morning of all others, to see them turn in the direction of Ca'''' Giustiniani; there came a vision of her chapel, which her maidens were decking—of the dear altar, at which she should kneel no more—and she held her breath to hear the answer.
\"Will the most Reverend Mother bless the boat of a gondolier of the people; and his sister, who hath been ill and craveth the morning air?\" Piero, who had discarded every emblem of his office, and wore only the simple dress of the Nicolotti, put the question easily, without fear of recognition. \"And there is no great trouble in the city which calleth these illustrious ladies so early from Murano?\"
\"Nay; but the Senator Giustiniani hath prayed us for a grace to his sweet lady, for the chapel hath been closed while she hath been too ill for service; and to-day it will be opened, dressed with flowers, and we—because she loveth greatly our Madonna of San Donato and hath shown bounty, with munificent gifts, to all the parish—will chant the matins in her oratory.\"
They gave the benediction and passed.
While Marcantonio, with his tender thought for Marina fresh in his heart, was waking to find only her note of farewell.
\"Only because I love thee, Marco mio, I have the strength to leave thee. And it is the Madonna who hath called me. Forgive, and forget not thy sad Marina.\"
\"Marina—\" Piero began awkwardly, for argument was not his forte, and Marina had always conquered him. \"''''Chi troppo abbraccia nulla stringe,'''' one gains nothing who grasps too much. Thou wast ever one for duty, and if the Senator Marcantonio will not take thee to Rome——\"
\"No, Piero, he cannot; he is one of the rulers of Venice.\"
\"Thou, then—his wife——\"
How could he venture to counsel her, of whose will and wisdom he had always stood in awe? It seemed to Piero that he had already delivered an oration; yet he felt that there was more to say, but his thoughts grew confused in seeking for expression, and it was a relief to him to communicate his uncertainty to the motion of his gondola.