They broke down in each other’s arms, clasping the sword between them.

The Senator’s firm step resounded on the marble floor; they had scant time to recover themselves; but his eyes fell at once upon the magnificent goblet, and there was pleasure in his stern face.

“This, then, is of thy designing, Marcantonio,” he exclaimed, as he stooped to examine it in its case of satin and velvet.  “A veritable gift-piece!  And already thou hast won the favor of the Senate, since it hath been reported to them by our Chief of the Ten, who hath the industries of Murano in charge, that at the exhibit given yestere’en a goblet more sumptuous than that prepared for his Majesty of France was of thy designing.  The Secretary will bring thee this night a summons from the Ten to appear before them on the morrow to receive their congratulations, because of the inspiration thou hast given to our most valued industry.

“It is a rare mark of favor that it hath been confided to me,” Giustinian continued, still examining the goblet with pride, “since custom doth require that one should withdraw from the sitting of the Council when any matter touching his house is treated.  But Morosini, by grace of the Signoria, hath been with me for a moment, that there may be no misgivings of fear upon this fete-day of our house.  And to-night this summons to favor shall be presented, to honor the youngest member of the Consiglio.  Marcantonio, I am proud of thee; the Ten will be here—­every one!  And verily the goblet is beautiful.  It shall be well displayed in the great banquet hall.”

“Here, in my boudoir, where my boy hath placed it,” said the mother quickly, as the Senator would have lifted it, “since it is my gift.  And, Marco”—­She turned to him a face softened and beautified by the struggle, which had been very great, and her eyes were deep with a light which bound him to her forever.

“Marco mio, it shall be well displayed.  For I will bid my maidens circle this table whereon it rests with a wreath of roses—­white and very beautiful—­in token of thy mother’s favor.”

X

Marina, under the yellow glare of the lamp in the dark oak cabinet, worked fitfully, with broken, lifeless strokes, at the designs before her; while her father, feigning absorption in some new drawings which lay spread out within touch of his strong-veined hands, watched her furtively from the other side of the table.

“Thou art restless,” he said, suddenly and sternly; “what aileth thee?”

Her lip quivered, but she did not look up, while with an effort she steadied the movement of her hand and continued her work.  “My hand hath no cunning to-night, and it vexeth me, my father.”

“It is poor work when the heart is lacking,” he answered, in a tone charged with irritation.  “I also have seen a thing which hath taken my heart from me.”

The color deepened in her cheeks and the pencil strokes came more falteringly, but she answered nothing.