“Thou forgettest the gold, Hosea!”

“Father Abraham! what a memory am I getting in my years!  Thou sayest truth, mindful Jacopo; the gold shall be forthcoming in any event—­always provided that the affair is so managed as to leave my young friend a successful adventurer with the heiress.”

Jacopo made an impatient gesture, for at that moment he saw a gondolier pulling rapidly towards a private part of the Lido.  The Hebrew joined his companion, and the boat of the Bravo darted ahead.  It was not long ere it lay on the strand of the Lido.  The steps of Jacopo were rapid, as he moved towards those proscribed graves among which he had made his confession to the very man he was now sent to slay.

“Art thou sent to meet me?” demanded one who started from behind a rising in the sands, but who took the precaution to bare his rapier as he appeared.

“Signor Duca, I am,” returned the Bravo, unmasking.

“Jacopo!  This is even better than I had hoped.  Hast thou tidings from my bride?”

“Follow, Don Camillo, and you shall quickly meet her.”

Words were unnecessary to persuade, when there was such a promise.  They were both in the gondola of Jacopo, and on their way to one of the passages through the Lido which conducts to the gulf, before the Bravo commenced his explanation.  This, however, was quickly made, not forgetting the design of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of his auditor.

The felucca, which had been previously provided with the necessary pass by the agents of the police itself, had quitted the port under easy sail by the very inlet through which the gondola made its way into the Adriatic.  The water was smooth, the breeze fresh from the land, and in short all things were favorable to the fugitives.  Donna Violetta and her governess were leaning against a mast, watching with impatient eyes the distant domes and the midnight beauty of Venice.  Occasionally strains of music came to their ears from the canals, and then a touch of natural melancholy crossed the feelings of the former as she feared they might be the last sounds of that nature she should ever hear from her native town.  But unalloyed pleasure drove every regret from her mind when Don Camillo leaped from the gondola and folded her in triumph to his heart.

There was little difficulty in persuading Stefano Milano to abandon for ever the service of the Senate for that of his feudal lord.  The promises and commands of the latter were sufficient of themselves to reconcile him to the change, and all were convinced there was no time to lose.  The felucca soon spread her canvas to the wind and slid away from the beach.  Jacopo permitted his gondola to be towed a league to sea before he prepared to re-enter it.

“You will steer for Ancona, Signor Don Camillo,” said the Bravo, leaning on the felucca’s side, still unwilling to depart, “and throw yourself at once under the protection of the Cardinal Secretary.  If Stefano keep the sea he may chance to meet the galleys of the Senate.”