The Doge buried his face in his hands and drew a deep breath more pitiful than a sob, which, as it went free of the lungs, seemed to leave an empty ruin of what had once been a splendid edifice.  He was in striking contrast to Mary, who, throughout the story fondly regarding him, had remained as straight as a young pine.  Now, with her rigidity suddenly become so pliant that it was a fluid thing mixed of indignation, fearlessness, and compelling sympathy, she sprang to his side.  She knew the touchstone to her father’s emotion.  He did not want his cheek patted in that moment of agony.  He wanted a stimulant; some justification for living.

“There is no shame in believing in those who speak fairly!  There is honor, the honor of faith in mankind!” she cried penetratingly.  “There is no shame in being the victim of lies!”

“No!  No shame!” the Doge cried, rising unsteadily to his feet under the whip.

“And we are not afraid for the future!” she continued.  “And the other men and women in Little Rivers are not afraid for the future!”

“No, not afraid under this sun, in this air.  Afraid!”

An unconquerable flame had come into his eyes in answer to that in Mary’s.

“The others have asked me to act for them, and I think I may yet save our rights,” said Jack.  “Will you also trust me?”

“Will I trust you, Jack?  Trust you who gave up your inheritance?” exclaimed the Doge.  “I would trust you on a mission to the stars or to lead a regiment; and the wish of the others is mine.”

Jack had turned to go, but he looked back at Mary.

“And you, Mary?  I have your good wishes?”

He could not resist that question; and though it was clear that nothing could stay him—­as clear as it had been in the arroyo that he would keep his word and face Leddy—­he was hanging on her word and he was seeing her eyes moist, with a bright fire like that of sunshine on still water.  She was swaying slightly as a young pine might in a wind.  Her eyes darkened as with fear, then her cheeks went crimson with the stir of her blood; and suddenly, her eyes were sparkling in their moisture like water when it ripples under sunshine.

“Yes, Jack,” she said quietly, with the tense eagerness of a good cause that sends a man away to the wars.

“That is everything!” he answered.

So it was!  Everything that he could ask now, with his story and hers so fresh in mind!  He started up the path, but stopped at the turn to look back and wave his hand to the two figures in a confident gesture.

“Luck with you, Sir Chaps!” called the Doge, with all the far-carrying force of his oldtime sonorousness.

“Luck! luck!” Mary called, on her part; and her voice had a flute note that seemed to go singing on its own ether waves through the tender green foliage, through all the gardens of Little Rivers, and even away to the pass.

“Mary!  Mary!” he answered, with a ring of cheeriness.  “Luck for me will always come at your command!”