“I would give you the book if I could,” answered Zorzi.  “But I cannot.  It is hidden in such a way that it would take a long time to get it out.  That is the simple truth.  Your father and I had buried it here under the stones, but somehow your brother suspected that, and I have changed the hiding-place.  It took a whole morning to do it.”

Still Marietta did not quite believe that he could not give it to her if he chose.  It seemed as if there must always be a shadow between them, when they were together, always the beginning of a misunderstanding.

“Where is it?” she asked, after a moment’s hesitation.  “If you are in earnest you will tell me.”

“It is better that you should know, in case anything happens to me,” answered Zorzi.  “It is buried in that big jar, in some three feet of broken glass.  I had to take the glass out bit by bit, and put it all back again.”

As Marietta looked at the jar, a little colour rose in her face again.

“Thank you,” she said.  “I know you trust me, now.”

“I always have,” he answered softly, “and I always shall, even when you are married to Jacopo Contarini.”

“That is still far off.  Let us not talk of it.  You must get ready to leave this place before morning.  You must take the skiff and get away to the mainland, if you can, for till my father comes you will not be safe in Venice.”

“I shall not go away,” said Zorzi firmly.  “They may not try to arrest me after all.”

“But they will, I know they will!” All her anxiety for him came back in a moment.  “You must go at once!  Zorzi, to please me—­for my sake—­leave to-night!”

“For your sake?  There is nothing I would not do for your sake, except be a coward.”

“But it is not cowardly!” pleaded Marietta.  “There is nothing else to be done, and if my father could know what you risk by staying, he would tell you to go, as I do.  Please, please, please—­”

“I cannot,” he answered stubbornly.

“Oh, Zorzi, if you have the least friendship for me, do what I ask!  Do you not see that I am half mad with anxiety?  I entreat you, I beg you, I implore you—­”

Their eyes met, and hers were wide with fear for him, and earnestness, and they were not quite dry.

“Do you care so much?” asked Zorzi, hardly knowing what he said.  “Does it matter so much to you what becomes of me?”

He moved nearer on the bench.  Leaning towards her, where he sat, he could rest his elbow on the broad arm of the low chair, and so look into her face.  She covered her eyes, and shook a little, and her mantle slipped from her shoulders and trembled as it settled down into the chair.  He leaned farther, till he was close to her, and he tried to uncover her eyes, very gently, but she resisted.  His heart beat slowly and hard, like strokes of a hammer, and his hands were shaking, when he drew her nearer.  Presently he himself sat upon the arm of the chair, holding her close to him, and she let him press her head to his breast, for she could not think any more; and all at once her hands slipped down and she was resting in the hollow of his arm, looking up to his face.