Gelsomina, after all, saw but little risk of his being known by the mercenaries who served the Doge, and, anxious to relieve him from so awkward a position, she flew back to the other end of the gallery.  Another key was applied to the door by which they had just entered, with the same result.  Gelsomina staggered back, and sought support against the waft.

“We can neither return nor proceed!” she exclaimed, frightened she knew not why.

“I see it all,” answered Jacopo, “we are prisoners on the fatal bridge.”

As he spoke, the Bravo calmly removed his mask, and showed the countenance of a man whose resolution was at its height.

“Santa Madre di Dio! what can it mean?”

“That we have passed here once too often, love.  The council is tender of these visits.”

The bolts of both doors grated, and the hinges creaked at the same instant.  An officer of the inquisition entered armed, and bearing manacles.  Gelsomina shrieked, but Jacopo moved not limb or muscle, while he was fettered and chained.

“I too!” cried his frantic companion.  “I am the most guilty—­bind me—­cast me into a cell, but let poor Carlo go.”

“Carlo!” echoed an officer, laughing unfeelingly.

“Is it such a crime to seek a father in his prison!  They knew of his visits—­they permitted them—­he has only mistaken the hour.”

“Girl, dost thou know for whom thou pleadest?”

“For the kindest heart—­the most faithful son in Venice!  Oh! if ye had seen him weep as I have done, over the sufferings of the old captive—­if ye had seen his very form shivering in agony, ye would have pity on him!”

“Listen,” returned the officer, raising a finger for attention.

The trumpeter sounded on the bridge of St. Mark, immediately beneath them, and proclamation was again made, offering gold for the arrest of the Bravo.

“’Tis the officer of the Republic, bidding for the head of one who carries a common stiletto,” cried the half-breathless Gelsomina, who little heeded the ceremony at that instant; “he merits his fate.”

“Then why resist it?”

“Ye speak without meaning!”

“Doting girl, this is Jacopo Frontoni!”

Gelsomina would have disbelieved her ears, but for the anguished expression of Jacopo’s eye.  The horrible truth burst upon her mind, and she fell lifeless.  At that moment the Bravo was hurried from the bridge.

CHAPTER XXVII.

“Let us lift up the curtain, and observe
What passes in that chamber.” 
Rogers.

There were many rumors uttered in the fearful and secret manner which characterized the manner of the town, in the streets of Venice that day.  Hundreds passed near the granite columns, as if they expected to see the Bravo occupying his accustomed stand, in audacious defiance of the proclamation, for so long and so mysteriously had he been permitted to appear in public, that men had difficulty in persuading themselves he would quit his habits so easily.  It is needless to say that the vague expectation was disappointed.  Much was also said, vauntingly, in behalf of the Republic’s justice, for the humbled are bold enough in praising their superiors; and he, who had been dumb for years on subjects of a public nature, now found his voice like a fearless freeman.