“Dearest!  Thou hast a mother—­a father to share thy tenderness.  Duty to them will make thee happy!”

“Now I can speak, and thou shalt see how I will vindicate thy name.”

She arose from the arms of her lover, who, notwithstanding his bonds, released his hold of her slight form with a reluctance greater than that with which he parted with life.  The struggle in the mind of Jacopo seemed over.  He bowed his head passively to the block, before which he was kneeling; and it is probable, by the manner in which his hands were clasped, that he prayed for her who left him.  Not so Gelsomina.  Parting her hair over her spotless forehead with both hands, she advanced towards the fishermen, who were familiar to her eye by their red caps and bare limbs.  Her smile was like that which the imagination would bestow on the blessed, in their intercourse of love.

“Venetians!” she said, “I cannot blame you; ye are here to witness the death of one whom ye believe unfit to live——­”

“The murderer of old Antonio!” muttered several of the group.

“Aye, even the murderer of that aged and excellent man.  But when you hear the truth, when you come to know that he whom you have believed an assassin, was a pious child, a faithful servant of the Republic, a gentle gondolier, and a true heart, you will change your bloody purpose for a wish for justice.”

A common murmur drowned her voice, which was so trembling and low as to need deep stillness to render the words audible.  The Carmelite had advanced to her side, and he motioned earnestly for silence.

“Hear her, men of the Lagunes!” he said; “she utters holy truth.”

“This reverend and pious monk, with Heaven, is my witness.  When you shall know Carlo better, and have heard his tale, ye will be the first to cry out for his release.  I tell you this, that when the Doge shall appear at yon window and make the signal of mercy, you need not be angry, and believe that your class has been wronged.  Poor Carlo——­”

“The girl raves!” interrupted the moody fishermen.  “Here is no Carlo, but Jacopo Frontoni, a common bravo.”

Gelsomina smiled, in the security of the innocent, and regaining her breath, which nervous agitation still disturbed, she resumed—­

“Carlo or Jacopo—­Jacopo or Carlo—­it matters little.”

“Ha!  There is a sign from the palace!” shouted the Carmelite, stretching both his arms in that direction, as if to grasp a boon.  The clarions sounded, and another wave stirred the multitude.  Gelsomina uttered a cry of delight, and turned to throw herself upon the bosom of the reprieved.  The axe glittered before her eyes, and the head of Jacopo rolled upon the stones, as if to meet her.  A general movement in the living mass denoted the end.

The Dalmatians wheeled into column, the Sbirri pushed aside the throng on their way to their haunts; the water of the bay was dashed upon the flags; the clotted saw-dust was gathered; the head and trunk, block, basket, axe, and executioner disappeared, and the crowd circulated around the fatal spot.