“Why come they not?” repeated the angry dame in a voice half-choked with passion.  “By all the saints!” she continued, with a furious look at Strasolda, “I believe thy father, Dansowich, to be the cause of this delay; for well I know it is with small good-will he pays the tribute.  But if the thieving knaves thus play me false, if the Easter gift is wanting, and for lack of jewels I am compelled to plead sickness, and pass to-morrow in my apartment, instead of, as heretofore, eclipsing every rival by the splendour of my jewels, rest assured, maiden, that thy robber friends shall pay dearly for their neglect.  A word from me, and thy father, brethren, and kinsmen grace the gallows, and their foul eyrie is leveled with dust.”

Strasolda pressed her hands upon her heart, and burst into a flood of tears.  Then throwing herself at the lady’s feet—­

“That word you will never have the cruelty to utter,” cried she.  “Bethink you, noble lady, of the perils to which they are exposed.  The bravest cannot command success, and you know not yet whether their last expedition may not have been unprosperous.”

“I!” replied her irritated mistress.  “How should I be privy to their proceedings?  But you ought to be able to give some tidings:  Wherefore did you not accompany your father this last voyage?”

“I told you, lady,” answered Strasolda, “that I was busied with plans for the deliverance of the Uzcoques now held captive in Venice.  I have brothers amongst those unfortunate prisoners, and it is the uncertainty of their fate which thus afflicts me.”

The maiden gazed tearfully and imploringly at the angry lady.  It was not without good reason that she concealed from her the fact of her father’s captivity.  The stern and inflexible Dansowich had ever viewed with an eye of disapproval the connexion between his people and the counsellors at Gradiska; and the latter, aware of this, would not have been likely to take much pains for the release of one who was unfavourable to their interests.  It was only, therefore, by representing the captive Uzcoques as less nearly connected with her, that Strasolda could hope for aid to rescue them from the hands of the Venetians.

“So much the more should you desire the arrival of the tribute!” exclaimed the lady.  “Did I not, at your request, make interest with our ambassador at Venice, that he should insist upon the surrender of the Uzcoques as Austrian subjects?  Assuredly the feeble signoria will not venture to refuse compliance.  A casket of jewels is but a paltry guerdon for such service, and yet even that is not forthcoming.  But it is not too late to alter what has been done.  If I say the word, the prisoners linger in the damp and fetid dungeons of the republic, until they welcome death as a blessing.”

“Alas, alas!” sobbed Strasolda; “have you the heart thus to add to my sorrow?  Is it not enough to know those I love in captivity, to behold my people, once so noble and heroic, degraded to the very refuse of humanity despised and detested of all men, having their dwelling on a barren rock, and earning by crime and bloodshed a precarious existence and doubtful freedom?  Is it not enough”—­