The gondolier laughed in real indifference at her affected scorn.  But remembering his errand, he quickly assumed a graver air, and endeavored to still the resentment of his fickle mistress by a more respectful manner.

“St. Mark protect me, Annina!” he said.  “If we are not to kneel before the good priore together, it is no reason we should not bargain in wines.  Here have I come into the dark canals, within stone’s throw of thy very door, with a gondola of mellow Lachryma Christi, such as honest ’Maso, thy father, has rarely dealt in, and thou treatest me as a dog that is chased from a church!”

“I have little time for thee or thy wines to-night, Gino.  Hadst thou not stayed me, I should already have been abroad and happy.”

“Close thy door, girl, and make little ceremony with an old friend,” said the gondolier, officiously offering to aid her in securing the dwelling.  Annina took him at his word, and as both appeared to work with good will, the house was locked, and the wilful girl and her suitor were soon in the street.  Their route lay across the bridge already named.  Gino pointed to the gondola as he said, “Thou art not to be tempted, Annina?”

“Thy rashness in leading the smugglers to my father’s door will bring us to harm some day, silly fellow!”

“The boldness of the act will prevent suspicion.”

“Of what vineyard is the liquor?”

“It came from the foot of Vesuvius, and is ripened by the heat of the volcano.  Should my friends part with it to thy enemy, old Beppo, thy father will rue the hour!”

Annina, who was much addicted to consulting her interests on all occasions, cast a longing glance at the boat.  The canopy was closed, but it was large, and her willing imagination readily induced her to fancy it well filled with skins from Naples.

“This will be the last of thy visits to our door, Gino?”

“As thou shalt please.  But go down and taste.”

Annina hesitated, and, as a woman is said always to do when she hesitates, she complied.  They reached the boat with quick steps, and without regarding the men who were still lounging on the thwarts, Annina glided immediately beneath the canopy.  A fifth gondolier was lying at length on the cushions, for, unlike a boat devoted to the contraband, the canopy had the usual arrangement of a barque of the canals.

“I see nothing to turn me aside!” exclaimed the disappointed girl.  “Wilt thou aught with me, Signore?”

“Thou art welcome.  We shall not part so readily as before.”

The stranger had arisen while speaking, and as he ended, he laid a hand on the shoulder of his visitor, who found herself confronted with Don Camillo Monforte.

Annina was too much practised in deception to indulge in any of the ordinary female symptoms, either of real or of affected alarm.  Commanding her features, though in truth her limbs shook, she said with assumed pleasantry—­