It was the hour of the Ave Maria, and Marina roused herself from her sad reverie.  The clouds piled themselves in luminous masses and drifted into the hollows of the wonderful Euganean hills, and a crimson sunset tinged peaks and clouds with glory, as Padua with its low arcaded streets, and San Antonio—­cousin to San Marco in minarets and Eastern splendor—­and the Lion of Saint Mark upon his lofty column, closed the vista of their weary day.  The chimes of Venice were too far for sound, but from every campanile of this quaint city the vesper bells, solemn and sweet, pealed forth their call to prayer—­as if no threat of Rome’s displeasure made a discord in their harmony.

XXXI

Piero had watched all night before the little inn of the “Buon Pesce,” impatient to meet and conquer his fate, while above, in an upper room, the ladies Marina and Beata tried to sleep; but before the dawn they were off again, down by the way of the brown, rolling river, taking the weary length to Brondolo and the sea.

There were two gondolas now, and the men in each pulled as if the prize of a great regatta awaited them—­Nicolotti against Castellani—­and silently, saving voice and strength for a great need.

It might have seemed a pleasure party, save for the stress of their speed, as they swept by the groves of poplar and catalpa, which bordered the broad flood, to the sound of the waters only and the song of the birds in the wood; water-lilies floated in the pools along the shore; currents of fragrance were blown out to them on wandering winds; and in the felze, as they were nearing Brondolo, Marina and the Lady Beata, soothed by the gliding motion and the monotonous plash of the oars into the needed sleep which the night had failed to bring them, were unaware of the colloquy between Piero and his gondolier.

“Antonio!” Piero called cautiously to the man who was rowing behind the felze, “I have somewhat to say to thee; are there those within thy vision who may hear our speech?”

“Padrone, no; but the time is short for speaking much, for we reach the lock with another turn of the Brenta.”

“May the blessed San Nicolo send sunshine to dazzle the jewels in the eyes of Messer San Marco till we are safe beyond it and out of Chioggia!” Piero exclaimed fervently.  “And thou, Antonio, swear me again thy faith—­or swear it not, as thou wilt.  But thou shalt choose this moment whom thou wilt serve; and it shall go ill with thee if thou keep not thy troth.”

“By San Marco and San Teodoro,” Antonio responded readily, crossing himself devoutly as he spoke, “I swear to do thy bidding, Messer Gastaldo.”

“And thou wilt die for the people against the nobles if need should be?”

“If thou leadest, Gastaldo Grande.”

“Hast thou a pouch beneath thy stiletto where thou mayest defend with thy life what I shall give thee?”