Marina looked on with offended
eyes; her father consenting, yet only half-convinced, atoning for this
lessening of the family dignity by the elegance of the feast he had
provided, and all permitted bravery in the gondolas that were waiting to
take them thence.
The ups and downs of her childish courtship had culminated in more tears
and jealousies than usual on the previous day, but these were secrets
between the lovers, and quite unguessed by father or sister. But when
the wedding oration had been preached over those twelve bridal pairs,
and the wedding benediction had been granted, it was _not_ Gabriele, the
boyish betrothed of Toinetta, who brought the blushing bride, partly in
triumph and partly in pique, to her father's side, but Piero Salin, the
handsomest gondolier on the lagoons, the most daring and dreaded foe of
all the established traghetti. It had been impossible for the spectators
from the body of the church to follow closely the movements of the
twelve white-robed maidens with their attendant swains while the
ceremony was progressing in the dim recesses of the choir, and the
surprise and dishonor this unexpected _denouement_ brought upon the home
were nothing to the unhappiness in store for the childish bride, whose
latest and wildest freak brought neither wisdom for self-discipline nor
power to endure that relentless criticism which ceased only when a
little one lay in the place of the child-mother, who had been too weak
to cope with the worries of the year that had followed upon that
unhappy day in San Pietro.
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