“Quick, lift thy anchor, old man, and depart, my eye is sure.  I know the boat.”

“Poor Jacopo! what a curse is a tender conscience!  Thou hast been kind to me in my need, and if prayers from a sincere heart can do thee service, thou shalt not want them.”

“Antonio!” cried the other, causing his boat to whirl away, and then pausing an instant like a man undecided—­“I can stay no longer—­trust them not—­they are false as fiends—­there is no time to lose—­I must away.”

The fisherman murmured an ejaculation of pity, as he waved a hand in adieu.

“Holy St. Anthony, watch over my own child, lest he come to some such miserable life!” he added, in an audible prayer—­“There hath been good seed cast on a rock, in that youth, for a warmer or kinder heart is not in man.  That one like Jacopo should live by striking the assassin’s blow!”

The near approach of the strange gondola now attracted the whole attention of the old man.  It came swiftly towards him, impelled by six strong oars, and his eye turned feverishly in the direction of the fugitive.  Jacopo, with a readiness that necessity and long practice rendered nearly instinctive, had taken a direction which blended his wake in a line with one of those bright streaks that the moon drew on the water, and which, by dazzling the eye, effectually concealed the objects within its width.  When the fisherman saw that the Bravo had disappeared, he smiled and seemed at ease.

“Aye, let them come here,” he said; “it will give Jacopo more time.  I doubt not the poor fellow hath struck a blow, since quitting the palace, that the council will not forgive!  The sight of gold hath been too strong, and he hath offended those who have so long borne with him.  God forgive me, that I have had communion with such a man! but when the heart is heavy, the pity of even a dog will warm our feelings.  Few care for me now, or the friendship of such as he could never have been welcome.”

Antonio ceased, for the gondola of the state came with a rushing noise to the side of his own boat, where it was suddenly stopped by a backward sweep of the oars.  The water was still in ebullition, when a form passed into the gondola of the fisherman, the larger boat shot away again to the distance of a few hundred feet, and remained at rest.

Antonio witnessed this movement in silent curiosity; but when he saw the gondoliers of the state lying on their oars, he glanced his eye again furtively in the direction of Jacopo, saw that all was safe, and faced his companion with confidence.  The brightness of the moon enabled him to distinguish the dress and aspect of a bare-footed Carmelite.  The latter seemed more confounded than his companion, by the rapidity of the movement, and the novelty of his situation.  Notwithstanding his confusion, however, an evident look of wonder crossed his mortified features when he first beheld the humble condition, the thin and whitened locks, and the general air and bearing of the old man with whom he now found himself.