They gave the benediction and passed.

While Marcantonio, with his tender thought for Marina fresh in his heart, was waking to find only her note of farewell.

“Only because I love thee, Marco mio, I have the strength to leave thee.  And it is the Madonna who hath called me.  Forgive, and forget not thy sad Marina.”

“Marina—­” Piero began awkwardly, for argument was not his forte, and Marina had always conquered him. “‘Chi troppo abbraccia nulla stringe,’ one gains nothing who grasps too much.  Thou wast ever one for duty, and if the Senator Marcantonio will not take thee to Rome——­”

“No, Piero, he cannot; he is one of the rulers of Venice.”

“Thou, then—­his wife——­”

How could he venture to counsel her, of whose will and wisdom he had always stood in awe?  It seemed to Piero that he had already delivered an oration; yet he felt that there was more to say, but his thoughts grew confused in seeking for expression, and it was a relief to him to communicate his uncertainty to the motion of his gondola.

The unsteady movement said more to her than words, for Piero was an unfailing stroke.

“It is the men only of whom the Republic hath need,” she explained, unflinchingly; “but for the women there is no conflict of duty—­the Holy Church is first.  ’Prayers for the women and deeds for the men’—­thou hast seen it written.”

“And thy father?” Piero questioned, unconvinced, recalling the interview of a few hours before.

A quick, tender light flashed and passed in her eyes; a ray of color trembled on her cheek.  “I shall grieve him,” she said, “but he will forgive, for ever hath he bidden me choose the right.”  Her voice broke and she was silent, while she sought for some token in the folds of her robe.  “Thou wilt take him this when thou returnest, that he may know I hold him dear.”

“Marina!” he pleaded, growing eloquent, with a last desperate effort, “thou wast ever an angel to the Zuanino—­thou canst not leave thine own bimbo!”

She did not answer immediately, but she clasped and unclasped her hands passionately.  “He is safe,” she said at last, very low and struggling for control.  “He hath the blessing of the Holy Father, given when it might avail; and the little ones are ever in the care of the Blessed Mother.  It is not for my baby that I needs must go—­but for Marco and my father, and for Venice.  Santissima Maria, because thou sendest me, shalt thou not grant the strength!”

There was a silence between them while they floated on, for Piero had many things to think of.  He was accustomed to accomplish whatever he undertook, for he was not a man to fail from lack of resource, nor to be overcome by fears and scruples.  By means of his passes and his favor with the government he could reach the borders of the Venetian dominions without suspicion, from whence he would escort Marina to the nearest convent and place her in safety with