Now that he could no
longer discuss these moods, how eagerly he sought for the light she
would so gladly have given him in those past, happier days!
In vain he asked of the Lady Beata whether they had discussed these
thoughts together--whether Fra Francesco had brought her the little worn
volumes.
"My lord, I know not," she answered coldly, resolved in her own heart to
tell him nothing that he did not already know, since only now it had
pleased him to concern himself with that religious attitude which was
costing Marina so dearly. For the whole strength of the love she would
once have yielded him for the asking, the Lady Beata now lavished upon
Marina, in jealous devotion.
But he could not be angry with Fra Francesco, who had only been faithful
in sharing his belief with her, while he, her husband, had refused to
help her. "My God!" he groaned; "why are we blind until the anguish
comes!"
As he drearily paced the stately chambers--so empty without Marina--what
would he not have given to hear her voice again repeat those eager
questions he had been so willing to repress! How could it ever have
vexed him that she should wish to understand the question that was
occupying Venice! But now he remembered having grown less and less
patient with her as she had returned to this theme, until, in
self-defense, she had said with gentle dignity, yet half-surprised at
his irritation:
"Marco, have a little patience with me.
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