“You are suddenly very considerate.”

“No, I have not been considerate.  I could not be, without acting a lie to you, by letting you believe that I meant to marry Messer Jacopo, and I will not do that any longer, since I know that it is a lie.  But I cannot see the use of saying anything more.”

“You had better tell me the whole truth, rather than let me think something that may be much worse,” answered Beroviero, changing his attitude.

“There is nothing in the truth of which I am ashamed,” said Marietta, holding up her head proudly.  “I have done nothing which I did not believe to be right, however strange it may seem to you.”

Once more their eyes met and they gazed steadily at each other; and again the blush spread over her cheeks.  Beroviero put out his hand and touched the folded mantle.

“Marietta,” he said, “Zorzi has stolen my precious book of secrets, and has disappeared with it.  They tell me that he also stole this mantle, for it was found here just after he was arrested last night.  Is it true, or has he stolen my daughter instead?”

Marietta’s face had darkened when he began to accuse the absent man.  At the question that followed she started a little, and drew herself up.

“Zorzi is neither a thief nor a traitor,” she answered.  “If you mean to ask me whether I love him—­is that what you mean?” She paused, with flashing eyes.

“Yes,” answered her father, and his voice shook.

“Then yes!  I love him with all my heart, and I have loved him long.  That is why I will not marry Jacopo Contarini.  You know my secret now.”

Beroviero groaned aloud, and his head sank as he grasped the arms of the chair.  His daughter loved the man who had cheated him, betrayed him and robbed him.  It was almost too much to bear.  He had nothing to say, for no words could tell what he felt then, and he silently bowed his head.

“As for the accusations you bring against him,” Marietta said after a moment, “they are false, from first to last, and I can prove to you that every one of them is an abominable lie.”

“You cannot make that untrue which I have seen with my eyes.”

“I can, though Zorzi has the right to prove his innocence himself.  I may say too much, for I am not as generous as he is.  Do you know that when they tried to kill him in the furnace room, and lamed him for life, he told every one, even me, that it was an accident?  He is so brave and noble that when he comes here again, he will not tell you that it was your own son who tried to rob you, who did everything in his power to get Zorzi away from this room, in order to search for your manuscript, and who at last, as everything else failed, persuaded the Governor to arrest him.  He will not tell you that, and he does not know that before they had taken him twenty paces from the door, Giovanni was already here, locked in and trying the stones with a hammer to find out which one covered the precious book.  Did Giovanni tell you that this morning?  No.  Zorzi would not tell you all the truth, and I know some of it even better than he.  But Zorzi was always generous and brave.”