“Come hither, child,” he said, his voice trembling as he spoke.  “Come hither, that I may bless thee.”  Gelsomina sprang forward, and knelt at the feet of her sovereign.  Father Anselmo never uttered a clearer or more fervent benediction than that which fell from the lips of the Prince of Venice.  He raised the daughter of the prison-keeper, and motioned for both his visitors to withdraw.  Gelsomina willingly complied, for her heart was already in the cell of Jacopo, in the eagerness to communicate her success; but the Carmelite lingered to cast a look behind, like one better acquainted with the effects of worldly policy, when connected with the interests of those who pervert governments to the advantage of the privileged.  As he passed through the door, however, he felt his hopes revive, for he saw the aged prince, unable any longer to suppress his feelings, hastening towards his still silent companion, with both hands extended, eyes moistening with tears, and a look that betrayed the emotions of one anxious to find relief in human sympathies.

CHAPTER XXXI.

      “On—­on—­
  It Is our knell, or that of Venice.—­On.” 
                              Marino Faliero.

Another morning called the Venetians to their affairs.  Agents of the police had been active in preparing the public mind, and as the sun rose above the narrow sea, the squares began to fill.  There were present the curious citizen in his, cloak and cap, bare-legged laborers in wondering awe, the circumspect Hebrew in his gaberdine and beard, masked gentlemen, and many an attentive stranger from among the thousands who still frequented that declining mart.  It was rumored that an act of retributive justice was about to take place, for the peace of the town and the protection of the citizen.  In short, curiosity, idleness, and revenge, with all the usual train of human feelings, had drawn together a multitude eager to witness the agonies of a fellow-creature.

The Dalmatians were drawn up near the sea, in a manner to inclose the two granite columns of the Piazzetta.  Their grave and disciplined faces fronted inwards towards the African pillars, those well known landmarks of death.  A few grim warriors of higher rank paced the flags before the troops, while a dense crowd filled the exterior space.  By special favor more than a hundred fishermen were grouped within the armed men, witnesses that their class had revenge.  Between the lofty pedestals of St. Theodore and the winged lion lay the block and the axe, the basket and the saw-dust; the usual accompaniments of justice in that day.  By their side stood the executioner.

At length a movement in the living mass drew every eye towards the gate of the palace.  A murmur arose, the multitude wavered, and a small body of the Sbirri came into view.  Their steps were swift like the march of destiny.  The Dalmatians opened to receive these ministers of fate into their bosom, and closing their ranks again, appeared to preclude the world with its hopes from the condemned.  On reaching the block between the columns the Sbirri fell off in files, waiting at a little distance, while Jacopo was left before the engines of death attended by his ghostly counsellor, the Carmelite.  The action left them open to the gaze of the throng.