At this moment an elegant vehicle passed the gate of the dock-yard, and stopped near the German wagoners as the last strain of their song died upon the air.

A young man, and after him an old man and a young girl richly attired, alighted from the carriage.

Those immediately around, merchants as well as workmen, stepped respectfully aside and saluted Mr. Van de Werve, whilst glancing admiringly at his daughter.  Some Italians of lower rank murmured loud enough to reach Mary’s ears:  “Ecco la bionda maraviglia.”

Mr. Van de Werve ordered his people to await him at the gate of the dock-yard, and passed on, saluting those whom he met, to the place where the Portuguese flag indicated the gondola of Lopez de Galle, which was prepared to receive him.  They threw a carpet across the plank upon which Mary was to step in passing into the gondola.  Mary, her father, and Geronimo entered the boat; the six oars dipped simultaneously into the water, and, pushed by the strong arms of the Portuguese sailors, the gondola sped rapidly through the waves.  Swift as a fish and light as a swan, it skimmed the surface of the Scheldt, and made many a turn through the numerous vessels until it had succeeded in finding an open way down the river.  Then the sailors exerted all their strength, as if to show the beautiful young girl what they were capable of in their trade.  The gondola, obeying the impulse given it by the oarsmen, bounded forward under each stroke of the oars, and gracefully poised itself on the waves caused by its rapid passage.

Complete silence reigned in the gondola; the sailors looked with timid admiration upon the beautiful countenance of the young girl.  Mary, with downcast eyes, was persuading herself that Geronimo’s uncle would undoubtedly consent to their union.  The young man was absorbed in thought, and yielded by turns to joy, hope, and fear.  Mr. Van de Werve contemplated the city, and seemed to enjoy the magnificent spectacle presented by Antwerp when seen at a distance, and which, with its lofty towers and splendid edifices, rose from the river like another Venice.

Suddenly Geronimo rose and pointed in the distance, exclaiming, joyously, “See, the Il Salvatore!”

Mary, glancing around, eagerly asked:  “Where?  Is it the vessel bearing a red cross on its flag?”

“No, Mary, it is behind the ships of war; it is that large vessel with three masts—­on its flag is a picture of the Saviour:  Il Salvatore.”

While the gondola rapidly sped on its way, the eyes of all were fixed upon the galley, in order, if possible, to distinguish the features of those who stood on deck.

Suddenly Geronimo clapped his hands, exclaiming, “God be praised!  I see my uncle.”

“Which is he?” inquired Mr. Van de Werve.

The young man replied, joyously:  “Do you not see standing on the forecastle five or six passengers who wear parti-colored dresses, with plumed hats?  In the midst of them is a man of lofty stature, completely enveloped in a brown cloak.  He has long white hair, and his silvery beard looks like snow-flakes resting on his dark mantle.  That is my old uncle, Signor Deodati.”