"
Ah, yes, they could wait--in such a smiling world, under a sky so
exquisite, gliding over the opal of the still lagoons at twilight.
But old Girolamo, sure now of the decree which should number his
daughter among the patricians of this Republic where, through long
generations, his family had made their boast that they represented the
people, was in a feverish mood--grave, elated, sad by turns, unwilling
to confess to the loneliness which was beginning to gnaw at his heart,
for Marina was his life; he did not think he could live without her; he
_knew_ he could not live and see her unhappy beside him; and he was old
to learn the new, pathetic part he must play--the waiting for death,
quite alone in the old home.
And those others,--in the sumptuous palace on the Canal Grande,--would
they prize the treasure which was the very light of his life, that he
should break his heart to yield her up?
He could have cried aloud in his anguish, as he sat waiting for the
happy plash of the returning gondola, the princely gondola of the Ca'
Giustiniani, bringing those two before whom life was opening in a golden
vista; but as the slow ripples breaking over the water brought them
nearer, his heart girded itself again with all his chivalrous strength,
lest he should dim the glad light in his beloved one's eyes--lest he
should seem ungenerous to the brave young knight who had dared the
displeasure of his house and of the Republic for the love he bore his
daughter.
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