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Turnbull, Mrs. Lawrence

"A Golden Book of Venice"


Below, in the chapel, her maidens were decking it as for a festa with
vines and blossoms which she and Marco had brought that day--that
heavenly day--from the beautiful island of Sant' Elena, wandering alone,
like rustic lovers, over the luxuriant flower-starred meadows and
through the cloistered gardens of its ancient convent, lingering awhile
in the chapel of the Giustiniani, while he rehearsed the deeds of those
of his own name who slept there so tranquilly under their marble
effigies--primate, ambassadors, statesmen, and generals; ay, and more
than these--lovers, mothers, and little ones!
And now, while she sat alone in this holy moonlight, the voices of her
maidens came in sounds of merriment through the fretted stonework of the
great window, and a sweet odor of altar candles and incense mingled with
the breath of the blossoms that was wafted up to her; for to-morrow, for
the first time since her illness, there would be matins in the chapel
of the palazzo, and Marcantonio had assured her that the new father
confessor was much like Fra Francesco--coming, also, from the convent of
the Servi, that he might seem nearer to her who had so loved the gentle
confessor.


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