“Thou knowest thine own errand.”

The other removed his mask, and turned his face towards the moon.

“Jacopo!” exclaimed the fisherman, gazing at the expressive Italian features; “one of thy character can have no errand with me.”

A flush, that was visible even in that light, passed athwart the countenance of the Bravo; but he stilled every other exhibition of feeling.

“Thou art wrong.  My errand is with thee.”

“Does the senate think a fisherman of the Lagunes of sufficient importance to be struck by a stiletto?  Do thy work, then!” he added, glancing at his brown and naked bosom; “there is nothing to prevent thee!”

“Antonio, thou dost me wrong.  The senate has no such purpose.  But I have heard that thou hast reason for discontent, and that thou speakest openly, on the Lido and among the islands, of affairs that the patricians like not to be stirred among men of your class.  I come, as a friend, to warn thee of the consequences of such indiscretion, rather than as one to harm thee.”

“Thou art sent to say this?”

“Old man, age should teach thy tongue moderation.  What will avail vain complaints against the Republic, or what canst thou hope for, as their fruits, but evil to thyself, and evil to the child that thou lovest?”

“I know not; but when the heart is sore the tongue will speak.  They have taken away my boy, and they have left little behind that I value.  The life they threaten is too short to be cared for.”

“Thou should’st temper thy regrets with wisdom.  The Signor Gradenigo has long been friendly to thee, and I have heard that thy mother nursed him.  Try his ears with prayers, but cease to anger the Republic with complaints.”

Antonio looked wistfully at his companion, but when he had ceased he shook his head mournfully, as if to express the hopelessness of relief from that quarter.

“I have told him all that a man, born and nursed on the Lagunes, can find words to say.  He is a senator, Jacopo; and he thinks not of suffering he does not feel.”

“Art thou not wrong, old man, to accuse him who hath been born in affluence of hardness of heart, merely that he doth not feel the misery thou would’st avoid, too, were it in thy power?  Thou hast thy gondola and nets, with health and the cunning of thy art, and in that art thou happier than he who hath neither; would’st thou forget thy skill, and share thy little stock with the beggar of San Marco, that your fortunes might be equal?”

“There may be truth in what thou sayest of our labor and our means, but when it comes to our young, nature is the same in both.  I see no reason why the son of the patrician should go free and the child of the fisherman be sold to blood.  Have not the senators enough of happiness in their riches and greatness, that they rob me of my son?”

“Thou knowest, Antonio, the state must be served, and were its officers to go into the palaces in quest of hardy mariners for the fleet, would they, think you, find them that would honor the winged lion in the hour of his need?  Thy old arm is muscular, and thy leg steady on the water, and they seek those who, like thee, have been trained to the seas.”