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The Young Dodge Club. 
 
 THE WINGED LtON 
 
 OB. 
 
 STORIES OF VENICE. 
 
 BY 
 
 PROF. JAMES DE MILLE, 
 
 AVmOB OF "THE B. O. W. a," "THE BOYS OP OBAND PHE SOHOOL," 
 
 "LOST IN THE TOO," " FIEB IN TIIK WOOUS," '•PICKED 
 
 in? ADBIFT," "THE TBEA8CBB OF THE SEAS," 
 
 "AMONG THE BBIQANIIS," ETC. 
 
 ZJLIiUSTBATED, 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 NETV YORK 5 
 
 CHASLES T. DILLINGHAM, 
 
 1877. 
 

 
 ... , ,^'h, -.i,^f,-r ■ "..; 
 
 • ■: r J ■■■■>- 
 
 Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
 No. 19 Spring Lftoe. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A Rash Plan. - A Mournful Separation. — Truant Boys. '^" 
 
 — Breaking Faith. -A Surprise. — The Beautiful 
 Stranger. — Give and David find Themselves the 
 chosen Protectors of Beauty in Distress. . . „ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A New Friend. — The Young Artist. - A Strange Rail- 
 way Station. ~ A Wonderful City. — The Grand Canal. 
 
 — The Winged Lion. — A Story of St. Mark the 
 Evangelist. — Pleasant Lodgings. . . , . 
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 St. Mark's and its Wonders. - The Story of the Demon 
 Ship. — The Great Barbarossa. — The Artist's Home. 
 
 — The Two Mysterious Pictures 
 
 CHAPTEF IV. 
 
 V^ernon reads to his Guests the Story of Antenore and 
 GalbajOji .... 
 
 8 
 
 24 
 
 39 
 
 S3 
 
i CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Second Story. — The Wonderful Adventures of 
 Soranzo 66 
 
 CHAPTER VI. ''""'" "' 
 
 Poor Old Uncle Moses. — Deep Anxiety. — Pursuit of 
 the Fugitives. — Bologna. — Ferrara. — Padua. — The 
 Track lost. — Heroic Resolve of Uncle Moses. — On 
 to Venice. • 87 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Pleasant Party in Venice. — How to find a Missing 
 Relative. — The Story of the Beheaded Doge. . ,^,,^ 99 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Dungeons of the Inquisition. — The Bridge of Sighs. 
 — The Story of a Life-long Vengeance. . . . 109 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Race Three Hundred Feet up into the Air. — The 
 Story of the Origin of Venice. — The Story of the 
 Jealous Artist i»8 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Another Call on the Police, with the Result thereof. — 
 The Story of the Ambitious Money- Lender, and his 
 Malignant Plot . 134 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 The Story of Fatima. . . . , . • . 151 
 
CONTENTS. 6 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Uncle Moses still on the Search. — On to Venice. — The 
 Hotel Zeno. — Distressing Disappointment. — A Visit 
 ♦o the Venetian Police. — Frank and Bob go the 
 Rounds. — A Wonderful City. — Lost. . . .17a 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Early Bird catches the Worm. — Bob's Early Rising, 
 and what came of it. — A Bath in the Grand Canal. — 
 The Approach of the Enemy. — Flight and Pursuit. — 
 The Dungeons of Venice 184 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Another Lost Boy. — Terror and Despair of Uncle Moses. 
 — A Wild Search. — Another Visit to the Police. — 
 New Disappointment. — The End of it all. . . 191 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 New Wanderings and more Stories. — The Espousals of 
 the Adriatic. — The Capture of Constantinople. . . 202 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Up the Grand Canal. — The Rialto. — The old Original 
 Ballad of Shylock. — The Conspiracy of Thiepolo. . 220 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Outer Sea. — A Distant View of Venice. — The 
 Brides of Venice — The Story of the War of Chiozza. 234 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 Afloat. — In a Gondola. — Romantic Situation. — The 
 Story of the Three Artists 251 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Vernon Visits the Police. — Strange Tidings. — Off to the 
 Hotel Zeno. — Disappointment. — Clive and David find 
 out the Error of their Ways. . . ' , . . 261 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The End of Happiness. — The Cheerful Vernon. — Gra- 
 de's Resolution. — A Lost Day. — Verona. — Inquiries. 
 
 » 
 
 — The Right Track. — The Amphitheatre at Sunset. 
 
 — An Interesting Conversation. .... 272 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The Mournful Uncle Moses, — Marius among the Ruins 
 of Carthage. — Uncle Moses startled. — A New Ac- 
 quaintance 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Wonderful Change in Uncle Moses. — The New Friend. 
 
 — New Resolves. — Application 4o the Police. . .294 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Clive and David. — Unwelcome Visitors. — Arrested. — 
 Hauled to Prison. — The Dungeons of Venice. — De- 
 spair of the Captives 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The Police once more. — An Affecting Meeting. — Grand 
 Reunion at the Hotel Zeno. — Uncle Moses causes a 
 Great Surprise 312 
 
THE YOUNO DODOE CLUB. 
 III. 
 
 THE WINGED LION; 
 
 OB, 
 
 STORIES OF VENICE. 
 
 «^«» > 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A rash Plan. — A mournful Separation. — Truant Boys. 
 — Breaking Faith. — A Surprise. -^ The beautiful Stran- 
 ger. — Clive and David find themselves the chosm Pro- 
 jectors of Beauty in Distress. 
 
 FTER spending a few weeks in Florence, 
 Uncle Moses and his young friends began 
 to discuss the important question of tlieir 
 next movements ; and here a difficulty arose which 
 led to many odd adventures. As for Uncle Moses, 
 that worthy man would gladly have left Italy alto- 
 gether, and gone on as fast as possible to his desti- 
 nation ; but the very hint of such a thing roused 
 so great a storm of opposition and reproach that 
 he did not press it further. Leave Italy, indeed I 
 That was not to be thought of. They had man^ 
 places still to visit, and many adventures still to 
 encounter. Bologna, Ferrara, Padua, Milan, Turin, 
 
 11 
 
12 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Genoa, — all these cities lay before them; and great- 
 er than all, one which drew them onward with a 
 stronger fascination. For of all the cities of the 
 old world none had ever seemed so attractive 
 and 80 wonderful as Venice. Its unique situation ; 
 its romantic history ; its splendid monuments ; its 
 canals, gondolas, towers, and palaces; its dark 
 secrets ; its alluring mystery, — all served to throw 
 a spell over their minds. 
 
 There was but one opinion, therefore, among the 
 boys as to Venice ; but their views were widely 
 different as to the time of starting. Frank and 
 Bob preferred waiting in Florence for another 
 week, and then going straight to Venice without 
 stopping at the intervening cities; Clive and 
 David, on the other hand, much as they loved 
 Florence, were anxious to visit Bologna, Ferrara, 
 and Padua. Prolonged argument only made each 
 side more eager in the assertion of its own prefer- 
 ences. The question was argued long and hotly, 
 and only ended in each side maintaining its own 
 view, and blaming the other for obstinacy. 
 
 David and Clive talked the matter over, and at 
 length came to an important decision. This was, 
 to go on ahead, leaving the others behind. They 
 could then visit the intervening cities, and after- 
 wards they could all join one another at Padua or 
 Venice. But to this plan it was first necessary to 
 obtain Uncle Moses' consent. - 
 
 No sooner was it ijientioned than Uncle Moses 
 
A MOURNFUL SEPARATION. 13 
 
 'ourst forth with exclamations of amazement and 
 h^ rvor. " To separate ! " * he cried. *' Never 1 " 
 He declared that it would be ruin to all of them, 
 and that his anxiety would be the death of him. 
 Clive and David were prepared for this refusal; 
 30 they waited patiently till the first storm had 
 passed, and then returned to the charge. They 
 teased and coaxed, and tried to show their timid 
 relative that his fears were groundless. Frank 
 and Bob thought it a good idea, and magnani- 
 mously joined the others in their efforts to per- 
 suade. Before this combined attack Uncle Moses 
 grew more yielding, and at length, in a moment of 
 weakness, was rash enough to give something like 
 an assent. 
 
 But in assenting to their proposal he made some 
 stipulations. One was, that they should not go 
 farther than Bologna. Another was, that they 
 should all join one another in two or three days. 
 These terms were agreed to, and Clive and David 
 in great glee began to prepare for their departure. 
 
 But in the mind of Uncle Moses there was some- 
 thing very different from glee. No sooner had his 
 reluctant assent been wrung from him than heavy 
 clouds of anxiety began to roll over that good 
 man's gentle heart He repented greatly, and 
 tried to dissuade them. He told them that they 
 were too young, and that they could not be 
 trusted alone on such a journey. To this Clive 
 and David replied with a laugh, and informed 
 
14 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Uncle Moses that he was the only one of the party 
 who was in any danger when alone. 
 
 And so there was, on the side of Uncle Moses, 
 a very mournful parting. 
 
 "You'll be sure and take care of yourselves, dear 
 boys/' he wailed forth, as he bade them good by at 
 the station. 
 
 " 0, yes," was the cheery reply ; " and mind, 
 Uncle Moses, don't you go and get into trouble." 
 
 These were their last words : the train rolled 
 ofif, and Uncle Moses went back to his lodgings 
 with his heart full of sadness, and his mind full of 
 dismal forebodings. 
 
 The two boys felt full of delight at thus start- 
 ing off alone. Their minds were full of a glorious 
 sense of freedom ; and the only che'^k upon their 
 joy was the thought that this freedom was to be 
 of such short duration. Still they determined to 
 make the most of it while it lasted ; and with this 
 laudable design they began, even in the railway 
 carriage, to give vent to their exuberant spirits, 
 to the slight surprise of other passengers. They 
 sang songs ; they screamed ; they made gestures ; 
 they tol i stories ; they quoted poetry ; and every 
 minute made some plan which, on the following 
 minute, was superseded by another new one. In 
 this frame oi mind they reached Bologna. 
 
 On stepping forth from the cars they found, to 
 their disappointment, that the weather had changed. 
 The brilliant sunshine and deep blue skies of Flor- 
 
VISIT TO BOLOGNA. 16 
 
 ence were no longer to be seen. Instead ot this, 
 they saw overhead nothing but dull; leaden- colored 
 clouds, while a thick drizzle filled the air. As 
 they went to the hotel, they saw that Bologna was 
 a gloomy city, with dull-gray houses and narrow 
 streets, and with nothing whatever to alleviate 
 this depressing exterior. However, they strug- 
 gled against their feelings of despondency, and 
 after dinner they went out to see the town. 
 
 Two or three hours' walk in a drizzling rain, 
 and visits to dreary churches, did not reconcile 
 them to Bologna. On their return to the hotel, 
 they both came to the opinion that Bologna might 
 be a very good place for sausages, but that it was 
 a very mean place for tomiots. The prospect of 
 waiting here for three long days was most miser- 
 able ; so miserable, indeed, that they thought of 
 going back to Florence. 
 
 It was David who first proposed another plan. 
 That plan was to go on to Ferrara. 
 
 " It's a magnificent city," said David ; " full of 
 palaces and historical associations. There Tasso 
 lived, and Ariosto. Let's go there." 
 
 " But we promised Uncle Moses to wait at Bo- 
 logna," objected Clive. 
 
 " Certainly," said David. " We'll come back 
 here again, and meet them. But just now, in- 
 stead r " staying in this gloomy hole, it will be a 
 great deal better to spend the time in some decent 
 place." 
 
16 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 "That's a fact," said Clive. "Ml be all the 
 same, of course; to Uncle Moses." 
 
 " Of course," said David ; " he merely wants to 
 meet us here." 
 
 So they agreed upon this, and the next morning 
 went on to Ferrara full of high hopes. 
 
 On reaching Ferrara they found themselves in 
 a dreary city, with wide grass-grown streets, on 
 which but few people were visible. There was a 
 depressing dullness about the place, against which 
 it was impossible to struggle. Added to this was 
 the hateful drizzle which had . followed them as 
 if on purpose to disappoint and humiliate them. 
 They tried to keep up their spirits, but in vain. 
 They visited the churches, they looked with lack- 
 lustre eyes at the cell of Tasso, and strolled lan- 
 guidly through the Museum. After this they went 
 to the railway station, as though the most attrac- 
 tive place in Ferrara was the way that led out of it. 
 Here they studied the time-tables, and neither said 
 a word. 
 
 " At two o'clock," said David, suddenly, " the 
 train goes through for Padua." 
 
 " Well," said Clive. 
 
 " I wonder why we mayn't go to Padua," said 
 David, innocently. " We can stay the night, and 
 come back to Bologna to-morrow, and meet Uncle 
 Moses." 
 
 " Will Uncle Moses leave Florence to-morrow ? " 
 
 " No, nut till the day alter. We were to have 
 three days, and he would leave on the fourth." 
 
ARBIVAL IN PADUA. 17 
 
 " Well," said Clive, " we may as well be in Padua 
 as in Ferrara." 
 
 " A great deal better," said David. " For my 
 part, 1 can't stand this place any longer. It's 
 worse than Bologna." 
 
 " Ten times worse," said Clive. 
 
 The boys now went back to the hotel, got their 
 little valise, which contained all their luggage and 
 then, returning to the station, waited for the train. 
 It came in due time, and so they soon found them- 
 selves in Padua. But although they had hoped for 
 some b ter fortune in this city, they were doomed 
 to disap^. ointment. The drizzling rain still con- 
 tinued, and they had grown so weary of churches 
 and museums that they uid not care to visit any 
 more. They strolled through the streets till they 
 were tired, and finally took refuge in the magnifi- 
 cent Caf^ Pedrocchi, where they ordered a sumptu- 
 ous dinner, and whiled away the time till dark. 
 
 Over this repast they began to grow refreshed, 
 and amused themselves with discussing the situ- 
 ation. 
 
 " And so," said David, " we have to go back to- 
 morrow. Well, all that I can say is, we've had a 
 mean sort of excursion." 
 
 ^' It'll never do to own up to Frank and Bob," 
 said Clive. " We must hold our tongues." 
 
 " I dare say they've had no end of fun," said 
 David, gloomily. " Florence is such a perfect 
 paradise. What fools we were 1 " 
 2 
 
18 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 There was a silence for a time, iu which each 
 one meditated over his late folly. 
 
 " I say, Dave," said Clive, at length. 
 
 " What ? '' 
 
 " Suppose we go on to Venice." 
 
 " What I " cried David, in amazement. 
 
 " The fact is," said Clive, " I've been thinking 
 about it all day." 
 
 " Well, for tliat matter," said David, " so have I." 
 
 " You see," said Clive, " Bologna is such a hor- 
 rible place that I never want to see it again." 
 
 " No more do I." 
 
 " I'd rather wait here than go back. But since 
 we are here, why, we might as well go on at once 
 to Venice." 
 
 " But what'U Uncle Moses do ? " 
 
 " 0, we can write him." 
 
 " W'lere ? At Bologna ? " ' 
 
 " No ; Florence. lie won't leave till the day 
 after to-morrow. We can write to-night. He'll 
 get our letter to-morrow. We'll tell him all about 
 it, and where we are going." 
 
 " Capital ! " cried David. " I thought of Venice, 
 too ; but somehow it didn't seem fair to Uncle 
 Moses, Of course his anxiety is only his timidity. 
 We can go round the world safe enough. If we 
 write him, it will be all that is wanted. He may 
 just as well meet us at Venice as at Bologna." 
 
 " Of course," said Clive ; " and then, you know, 
 neither Frank nor Bob wants to go bothering about 
 
LETTER TO UNCLE MOSES. 19 
 
 these stupid towns. They'll be glad to have it all 
 settled in this way. And Uncle Moses'U be just 
 as glad as the others, for he thinks every town that 
 he misses so much gain for himself. We're almost 
 as near at Venice as at Bologna ; and we'll save 
 them from a fit of the blues." 
 
 That night the boys concocted a letter. Clive 
 wrote it. The letter was not very long. It gave 
 a brief account of their proceedings, and of their 
 intention to go to Venice. They mentioned a 
 hotel, the name of which they learned from their 
 landlord ; and in this way they arranged every- 
 thing for Uncle Moses, so that he could find them 
 without any difficulty. They knew that they were 
 violating the strict letter of their promise to Uncle 
 Moses, but they thought that they were keeping it 
 in a general way, and that it would be all right so 
 long as they had arranged to meet at the specified 
 time. After all, Venice would be a better place 
 for their reunion than Bologna. 
 
 That night they mailed the letter, and the next 
 day they were rolling away in the train for Venice, 
 which was only forty miles away. 
 
 On entering the train they found themselves in 
 a compartment with two others — a gentleman and 
 a lady. The lady was very young and exceedingly 
 pretty, with a very sweet face and a profusion of 
 blonde hair. She looked rather sad, and both the 
 boys felt themselves drawn towards the beautiful 
 stranger with feelings of deep sympathy. She did 
 
20 THE WINGED LION. t 
 
 ''1 
 
 not look like an Itulijin, but rather Mko an English 
 lady ; or still more, like an American. What iiiade 
 them take a deeper interest in her was the fact 
 that she looked at them very earnestly, and f.«eemed 
 ^8 though she would like to speak to them. 
 
 Tlie other passenger was a young mnn with a 
 fine frank face, dark hair rather long, and dark 
 eyes, which rested occasionally on the boys with 
 a glance of kindly sympathy, mingled with mirth- 
 fulness. Tiie lady and the gentleman were evi- 
 dently not acquainted, for they were seated at a 
 distance from one another, and on opposite sides 
 of the compartment. David and Clive took the 
 middle seats, sitting opposite to each other, and 
 Clive was thus brought within sight of the lady. 
 
 This lady looked at him very often, and very 
 fixedly, occasionally stealing a glance at David. 
 Clive admired her face very much. She was evi- 
 dently very young, for her face was girlish, and 
 she had a timid way about her which made him 
 wonder. 
 
 At last the lady leaned forward and spoke to 
 him. 
 
 " Do you know anything about Venice ? " she 
 asked, in a sweet, low voice. 
 
 " 0, w^ell, not very much," said Clive, wishing to 
 be of assistance to her, and not cari:ag to confess 
 his ignorance. From the tone of hei* voice Clive 
 knew at once that she was an American lady, and 
 80 his interest in her grew stronger than ever. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL 8TRAKGEB. 21 
 
 " If there is anything that I can do," he added, " I 
 shall be very happy indeed." 
 
 " You are from America ? " said the lady. 
 
 " Yes," said Clive, " from Boston." 
 
 " 0, 1 am so glad I " said she. " I've been so 
 awfully frightened I and I am yet. I was going to 
 Venice with my aunt. We left Milan early this 
 "morning. She got out at Verona for something, 
 and told me not to leave the train till she should 
 come back. I waited — when suddenly the train 
 left. My poor aunt' did not come. She must have 
 been left behind. At first I thought of getting out 
 at the next station, and going back ; but, then, I 
 don't know Italian, and I thought that dear auntie 
 would come after me. I was dreadfully terrified 
 and confused, and so I've been coming on, with a 
 vague idea of waiting for her at Venice. It seems 
 to me that it will be the wiser course." ^ 
 
 " 0, yes," said Clive, who was fuller of sympathy 
 than ever, " I should think that it was your best 
 plan." 
 
 " We know of a very nice hotel at Venicfe," 
 chimed in David. " We are going there to wait 
 for our friends, who are coming to join us to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " And you can stay at the same place," said 
 Clive, " and wait for your aunt." 
 
 " It's the Hotel Zeno," said D^vid. " It's a very 
 comfortable hotel. Our landlord at Padua recom- 
 mended it highly." 
 
 I 
 
22 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " O, thank you very much," said the lady : " I'll 
 go with you. I'm very glad that I've met with 
 you. You remind mo of my two dear little broth- 
 ers at home. I'm not a bit troubled about myself, 
 but I'm so dreadfully worried Joout poor dear 
 auntie ; for, you know, she doesn't know anything 
 about travelling, and I'm afraid she'll go out of 
 her senses when she finds herself left behind, and 
 separated from me." 
 
 " 0, well," said Clive, " I'll tell you what we'll 
 do ; we'll send back telegrams immediately." 
 
 The mention of telegrams seemed to give great 
 relief to the little lady. She thanked them, and 
 told them that they had taken a great load off lier 
 minjd. And now they all chatted together like 
 children. For the young lady was herself but just 
 out of girlhood, and had all the simplicity and inno- 
 cence of that sweet season. Clive and David wore 
 charmed beyond all expression by her lovely faca 
 and her winning ways. They grew lapidly inti- 
 mate, as boys and girls generally do, and Clive and 
 David told all about themselves, and their new 
 friend told all about herself. 
 
 Her name was Gracie Lee. She insisted that 
 they should call her by her Christian name. 
 
 " If you were grown-up young men," said she, 
 " I should not have dared to speak to you ; but 
 you are boys, and you are so like my little broth- 
 ers that when you came in I could have cried for 
 joy. And 'I'm not so very much older than you, 
 
 I 
 
THE 8T*..iNGER'fl PHOTECTORS. 23 
 
 either ; bo I'll pretend that you are my brothers, 
 Fred and Harry, only I'll call you by your own 
 names." 
 
 All this was delightful to such romantic boys as 
 Clive and David. Here was an adventure far dif- 
 ferent from their old ones ; this lovely little stran- 
 ger, who looked out at them so sweetly witli her 
 blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks, and golden hair. 
 They were all young and fresh, and unspoiled by 
 the world ; and being thrown upon one another in 
 this way, ic made them feel like old friends. Gracie 
 felt all her anxiety removed ; and Clive and David 
 had a fine sense of responsibility, for Gracie had 
 thrown herself upon their protection, and looked to 
 them to find her lost relative. This, of course, they 
 both felt sure of doing. 
 
24 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A new Friend. — The young Artist. — A strange Railway 
 Station. — A wonderful City. — The Grand Canal. — 
 The Winged Lion. — A Story of St. Mark the Evangelist. 
 — Pleasant Lodgings, 
 
 (HE young man who ^7as sitting opposite to 
 David had heard every word of the conver- 
 sation; and had at times stolen glances at 
 the sweet face of Gracie Lee, without venturing, 
 however, to intrude himself upon her. At length, 
 as David's eyes wandered about, he caught sight 
 of the stranger, who was looking at him with a 
 careless smile. 
 
 " You have never been in Venice before — have 
 you ? " said the stranger. 
 
 " No," said David, who could not help taking a 
 liking to the young man, both on account of his 
 face and the tone of his voice. 
 
 *' It's rather an awkward place to land in," said 
 the other. " I'm an old inhabitant, and if there's 
 anything I can do, why, I can only say I shall be 
 very glad to do it." 
 
 ^ " Why, you must be an American," said David, 
 in surprise, as his ear detected the beloved intona- 
 tions and accent of hia native land. 
 
THE YOUNG ARTIST, 25 
 
 " 0, yes," said the young man, with a laugh, " I 
 was born under the shadow of the State House, and 
 was raised in the Boston Latin School. I'm an 
 artist — living here with ray mother. I've been 
 living in Venice two or three years — studying 
 Titian, you know.'' 
 
 " How splendid 1 " said David, to whom an artist 
 studying Titian seemed almost like an angelic 
 being. 
 
 Gracie stole a sh/ look at the stranger, and then 
 whispered to Clive, — 
 
 " How fanny 1 He's from Boston, too 1 " 
 
 " My name," said the stranger, " is Vernon — 
 F:ul Vernon. I know yours already, you know, 
 as you've been mentioning it ; and if you're going 
 to stay at Venice for any length of time, why, per- 
 haps you would like to see the city. I'll give you 
 my address, and show you the sights." 
 
 David was delighted at this. What guide could 
 be equal to an artist — and an American? He 
 thanked Vernon very emphatically. Vernon went 
 on talking in a very pleasant way about Venice, 
 i*xid David liked him better and better every mo- 
 ment. So David and Vernon talked, while Gracie 
 and Clive carried on another conversation by them- 
 selves ; yet both heard every word that Vernon 
 said. 
 
 At length they reached Venice. Vernon in- 
 formed David that he would get a boat, and that he 
 would go with them as ^ -^ •>•* the Hotel Zeno. This 
 
26 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 was not altogether intelligible to David, who 
 thought rather of taking a cab ; but soon his mean- 
 ing was apparent. For on emerging from the sta- 
 tion, the party found themselves not on a street, 
 but a canal ; while before them there was a large 
 number of gondolas, with that peculiar shape which 
 had become familiar to their eyes from pictures. 
 Some of these were of large size, and had the word 
 Omnibus painted on the outside. All the rest were 
 painted black, and had a little cabin at the stern, 
 with a canopy over it formed of black cloth. One 
 of these Vernon had engaged. 
 
 " I hope you will pardon me, Miss Lee,'' said 
 Vernon, approaching Gracie with a pleasant smile, 
 " if I do not stand upon ceremony. But in the cars 
 I couldn't help hearing what you said ; and as I 
 know all about this country, it occurred to me that 
 I could be of service to you towards finding your 
 aunt. I know the chief of police here, and I can 
 get them to send off messengers to Verona — that 
 is, if your aunt does not turn up. Meanwhile I 
 can make myself useful by showing you where tlie 
 hotel is. My mother is living here, and I think she 
 knows some of your people in Boston, and I'm sure 
 you would like to see her. You know Venice is 
 like a ship at sea, and we Americans who live here 
 always feel our hearts grow warm towards any of 
 our fellow-countrymen." 
 
 It was v^.ite evident that Vernon's last words 
 were true as far as regarded one at least of the 
 
A WONDERFUL CITY. 27 
 
 people of his native land ; for his heart did certainly 
 feel .an unusual warmth as he spoke to his fair 
 young fellow- citizen. As for Gracie, she seemed 
 much pleased. 
 
 " 0, thank you," said she ; " that will be very 
 nice indeed, if you really could manage to send 
 some one." 
 
 " 0, I'll manage it," said Vernon, eagerly ; " for 
 that matter, I'll go myself. So you need not give 
 yourself any further anxiety. Tliink of Italy as 
 though it were Massachusetts. Travelling here is 
 just as safe, and easy, and simple, as there. Yi)ur 
 aunt will be well cared for wherever she is, and I 
 hope that you will find yourself well cared for, too." 
 
 Gmcie felt very grateful, and could not help 
 thinking that it was very fortunate for her to have 
 found some one who was so well able to hunt up 
 her lost aunt. Vernon's manner, too, was so cor- 
 dial, so devoted, and withal so respectful, that her 
 natural timidity was quickly dispelled, and she 
 found herself talking with this new acquaintance 
 with the utmost ease and confidence. 
 
 Soon they were all in the be i, and moving along 
 through this wonderful city. The first thing that 
 they noticed was the marvellous stillness around 
 them. In other cities there are always the noise of 
 wagons passing over stone pavements, the cries 
 of people, and the confused murmur formed out of 
 all the aggregated sounds of a busy multitude. 
 But here there was nothing of the kind. All was 
 
28 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 still. The streets were streets of water. Water 
 was the pavement. Over this glided all the people 
 in boats, noiselessly. Foot-passen ors, carriages, 
 wagons, carts, horses, all the varied modes of trans- 
 portation common to other cities, were here reduced 
 to one uniform fashion — the fashion of rowing in 
 boats. The gondoliers stood and propelled the 
 boats by pushing with their oars. The streets were 
 real streets, after all ; lor on each side rose lofty 
 houses, whose windows looked out upon these 
 streets, as in other cities. Their doors opened out 
 on the street also; but here, if one wished to leave 
 his house, he had to step from the front door into 
 a gondola. 
 
 In this way they passed along. Other boats 
 were going in the same direction. All was silent, 
 and the silence was never broken by any sound, 
 except at times, when, on turning a corner, the gon- 
 dolier would utter a peculiar cry, to give notice to 
 any boat that might be coming from an opposite 
 direction. 
 
 " I say, Dave," said Clive, " this sort of thing is 
 a little ahead of Bologna, and Ferrara, and Padua." 
 
 " I bot it is," said David, who enjoyed the situa- 
 tion as much as Clive. 
 
 At length the gondola shot out from a narrow 
 canal into one which was four times as broad as 
 any which they had thus far seen. The view here 
 was magnificent. On either side rose stately man- 
 sions, whose marble fronts were displayed with 
 
THE GRAND CANAL. 29 
 
 lavish adoniments, and in richly decorated styles 
 of architecture. Boats passed up and down, enli- 
 vening the scene. In the distance, above the tall- 
 est houses, rose a lofty tower. 
 
 " I know this place," said Clive. " It must be 
 the Grand Canal." 
 
 " Yes," said Vernon, " you are right. There's 
 nothing like this in any other city." 
 
 At length the boat stopped before a mansion, 
 whose marble front, adorned with splendid decor^i- 
 tions, rose for many stories above them. Marble 
 steps afforded an entrance from the gondola, through 
 a lordly portico, into the mansion. 
 
 '' Is this the Hotel Zeno ? " asked Clive. 
 
 "^Yes," said VernoUj " It was once the Zeno 
 Palace ; but most of the Venetian palaces are now 
 hotels and boarding-houses ; and the name of the 
 greatest of all the Venetian heroes is now fallen to 
 this. But such is life. 
 
 * Imperial Cajsar, dead and turned to clay, 
 May stop a hole to keep the wind away.' 
 
 And so most people now only think of Carlo Zeno 
 in connection with this hotel." 
 
 They now entered, and all were shown to very 
 handsome apartments. Vernon went away, prom- 
 ising to see them again before long. 
 
 He kept his promise. Before an hour had passed 
 he was back again. This time he brought with 
 bun an elderly lady, whom he introduced as his 
 
30 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 mother. She had a soft, low voice, and a sweet 
 and gracious face, which at once gained their 
 hearts. Gracie especially felt the quiet charm of 
 this dear old lady, and before long they were wan- 
 dering in thought far away, and Mrs. Vernon was 
 telling* Gracie of her past life in Boston, and ask- 
 ing after Boston news. Vernon talked with the 
 boys, but kept his ears and eyes open, and noticed 
 everything that Gracie said or did. 
 
 And now a new arrangement was made. Mrs. 
 Vernon insisted that Gracie should go home with 
 her, and stay with her until her aunt should come 
 to Venice. A young girl like Gracie, she said, 
 should not be left alone without friends in a great 
 hotel. Her persuasions were not without effect. 
 Gracie herself felt a little timid at the idea of being 
 all alone, with no friends except Clive and David, 
 and Mrs. Vernon seemed to her like a mother. 
 And so, with many apologies and excuses, she at 
 last accepted the kind invitation. Meanwhile Ver- 
 non had been giving the same invitation to the 
 boys. At first they declined with many thanks; 
 but Vernon was so urgent that at last they ac- 
 cepted it, and at length the whole party retired 
 from the Hotel Zeno. 
 
 And now, once more in a boat, they passed down 
 the Grand Canal, which presented a more striking 
 appearance as they went on. At length the canal 
 Ijroadeued into a wide expanse of water ; and close 
 by, on their left, they saw a landing-place, which 
 
THE EMBLEM OF VENICE. 31 
 
 seemed to lead to a great square. Here very many 
 gondolas were drawn up, and just beyond, two 
 lofty pillars arose ; one of which was surmounted 
 by a statue of a man, and the other by a statue 
 representing a Winged Lion. Beyond this they 
 saw that same lofty tower which had met their 
 gaze far up the Grand Canal, and in the distance 
 a row of magnificent edifices. Bordering on the 
 canal, a little farther on, there was a stately palace, 
 and behind this, fronting on th*^ inner square, was 
 a cathedral with many domes. 
 
 " This," said Vernon, " is the Piazza of St. Mark; 
 and just here, near the pillars, is the Piazzetta, or 
 little square. That is the Ducal Palace ; that church 
 with the domes is the Cathedral of St. Mark, and 
 the tower belongs to it, although it stands apart 
 from it, as is often the case in Italy." 
 
 " What is that Winged Lion ? " asked Clive. 
 
 " That," said Vernon, " is the Lion of St. Mark. 
 It is the symbol of Venice — like the British Lion, 
 the symbol of British power — or like the Ameri- 
 can Eagle, our own majestic fowl. The Winged 
 Lion was once a powerful beast, and was respected 
 all over the Mediterranean, when the British Lion 
 was but a small animal, and long before the Ameri- 
 can Eagle was hatched." 
 
 '* I'm afraid," said Gracie, shyly, " that you are 
 just a little bit flippant. It seems like irreverence 
 to call these glorious symbols fowls and beasts." 
 
 " Then I'll never call them so again as long as I 
 
82 THE WINOEI> LION. 
 
 live," said Vernon, with an absurd air of contrition, 
 which made them all laugh ; '* and I'm sure I didn't 
 mean any harm." 
 
 " But what is the meaning of a Winged Lion ? " 
 asked Gracie. " No lion has wings." 
 
 ** That's the very question," said Vernon, " that 
 an Austrian ambassador once asked of a Venetian. 
 Now, you know the Austrian symbol is a double- 
 headed eagle ; and do you know what the Venetian 
 replied ? '^ 
 
 " No," said Gracie ; ^' I'm sorry to say I'm awfully 
 ignorant. My education has been frightfully neg- 
 lected." 
 
 " Well," said Vernon, " the Austrian asked the 
 Venetian in what part of the world winged lions 
 are found ; and the Venetian replied, in the same 
 country where they have double-headed eagles." 
 
 *' Well done for the Venetian," said Clive. 
 
 " 0, it wasn't a very clever thing to say," said 
 Vernon. " I only tell the story because it's one of 
 the regular things that one has to say to every new 
 visitor." 
 
 ** But why did they take a Winged Lion for their 
 symbol in the first place ? " asked Gracie. 
 
 " Ah, well," said Vernon. " * Thereby hangs a 
 tale.' " 
 
 " 0, tell it, tell it by all means," said Gracie. 
 " I'm awfully fond of stories." 
 
 Vernon laughed in his usual pleasant fashion, 
 and began : — 
 
VERNON'S EXPLANATION. 33 
 
 " Well, yon know, in the first place, the lion be- 
 longs to St. Mark. It has been taken for his sym- 
 bol ever since the time of the apostles. The reason 
 of this is, that the vision of Ezekiel, where he sees 
 the cherubim, you know, describes them as having 
 four faces, or, as some say, four distinct forms ; 
 that is, a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle. Now, 
 these have always been taken by the church to 
 represent the four evangelists — the man repre- 
 senting St. Matthew ; the lion, St. Mark ; the ox, 
 St. Luke ; and the eagle, St. John." 
 
 " 0, I'm very glad to know all that,'^ said Gracie. 
 " I'm sure I never heard it before. And that is 
 why St. Mark has the lion. Well, as an American, 
 I feel inclined to take St. John as the patron saint 
 of our country, for his emblem is the eagle. But 
 how did St. Mark's lion happen to have wings ? " 
 
 " Well, that arose," said Vernon, ^' from" the vis- 
 ion of the prophet Daniel. In his vision he sees 
 four living things — •' the same as Ezekiel — a man, 
 a lion with eagle's wings, an ox, and an eagle. 
 These also were taken to represent the evangel- 
 ists ; and so, you see, the Lion of St. Mark gained a 
 pair of wings, which wings you may see on that 
 statue." 
 
 " How did Venice happen to choose St. Mark for 
 its patron saint?" asked Gracie. "Why not St. 
 Peter ? or St. Paul ? or St. Bartholomew ? For my 
 part, I've always had a weakness for St. Bartholo- 
 mew. It's such a nice name, you know.'' 
 8 
 
34 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Vernon laughed again. " Bartholomew I " said he. 
 " Why Bartholomew more than Nathaniel ? The 
 names belonged to the same man. Bartholomew 
 means the son of Tolmaeus, or Tholemew, and that 
 party was Nathaniel's father." 
 
 " Well," said Gracie, *' I think it's a shame. I've 
 been going to Sunday school all my life, and no- 
 body ever told me all that. But how do you hap- 
 pen to know so much about church history ? Why, 
 you ought to write one for the use of Sunday 
 schools. But never mind. Go on and tell how the 
 Venetians happened to choose St. Mark." 
 
 " St. Mark, you know," began Vernon, '^ accord- 
 ing to legend, which is very likely to l?e true, died 
 at Alexandria, and was buried there. His tomb 
 was much revered by the Christians, who believed 
 that miracles were wrought there. After the Mo- 
 hammedans captured the place, the Christians still 
 kept up their reverence, and at length the Moham- 
 medans also caught the supferstition, and used to 
 bring their sick friends there to be healed. At 
 last, one of the Mohammedan rulers, who did not 
 believe in St. Mark, being in want of marble for a 
 new palace, determined to destroy his church, and 
 appropriate the stones for his own purposes. The 
 priests were in a great way. They were afraid 
 that the remains of the apostle would be dese- 
 crated, and the-lower orders generally were equal- 
 ly afraid of losing the relics which wrought such 
 miracles. So the governor promised to transfer 
 the remains to some other place. 
 
*ST. MARK. 35 
 
 " At that very time there happened to be a num- 
 ber of Venetian ships in port, and the captain of 
 one of them, hearing of what was going on, deter- 
 mined to try to secure the sacred relics of the apos- 
 tle for his own city. So he had an interview with 
 the priests who had charge of the tomb ; pointed 
 out the dangers that would always threaten the 
 grave of a Christian saint among a Mohammedan 
 population ; and how desirable it would be to have 
 the body transferred to a safer place : a large bribe 
 was added to the arguments, and all together were 
 so persuasive that the priests consented. 
 
 " The work, however, was not easy. The wor- 
 shippers were numerous, and might detect the act. 
 At length they made an opening in the lower part 
 of the coffin, through which they removed the body 
 of St. Mark, and immediately afterwards put in its 
 place the body of another saint, who, however, was 
 of inferior grade. This removal was attended by 
 a very wonderful circumstance. For no sooner 
 had the body of St. Mark been brought forth into 
 the open air than an odor was wafted forth from it, 
 through all the surrounding space, of such exqui- 
 site sweetness that all who came near the church 
 were amazed and delighted at the heavenly fra- 
 grance. Inquiries were made, and the tomb was 
 narrowly inspected ; but none of the examiners 
 were able to detect any difference. Thus they 
 succeeded in removing the body from the tomb. 
 
 " The next trouble was about getting it on ship- 
 
86 THE WINGED iSoN. 
 
 board. This was effected by an ingenious device. 
 The body was wrapped up so as to look as little 
 like a human form as possible, and then, as it was 
 carried through the streets, men went before* it 
 crying out, ' Pork ! Pork 1 ' Now, as pork is an 
 unclean thing among Mohammedans, and an object 
 of horror, those whom they encountered were far 
 more eager to get out of the way than to examine 
 the precious bundle. 
 
 " A further trial yet remained. A search was 
 always made by the city police before any ship was 
 allowed to leave port, so as to see that no runaway 
 slaves should escape, and no prohibited articles of 
 commerce be taken away. There was great dan- 
 ger that all their troubles might prove fruitless, 
 since such a thing as the body of an evangelist 
 would be discovered only too easily. But the wits 
 of the Venetian captain were again able to d«vise 
 a means of escape. He caused the body to be 
 rolled up inside the sail, which was then furled 
 close to the yard-arm. In this way it eluded all 
 examination, and even suspicion. This was the 
 last of the great trials, and nothing further hap- 
 pened until St. Mark arrived in safety at that city 
 which was thenceforth to be forever associated 
 with his name. 
 
 " The joy of the Venetians at this great acquisi- 
 tion was unbounded. All the city turned out to 
 receive the precious remains. The doge, and all 
 
8T. MA UK. 87 
 
 the chief nobloa, the clergy, the entire population, 
 came. to do liiin honor. Solemn services were held, 
 accompanied with the pomp of magnificent cere- 
 monies, and splendid processions, and feasting, and 
 music, and universal joy. St. Mark was taken as 
 the patron saint of Venice. His lion — with eagle's 
 wings — became her symbol, and the battle-cry of 
 her warriors was to be the name of the saint. 
 
 " So there is Llie lion ; and they used to have a 
 very interesting fashion : in peace an open book 
 was placed under his paws ; but in time of war the 
 book was removjd, and a drawn sword placed there 
 in its stead." 
 
 While they Lad been looking at the Piazza, with 
 its edifices and towers, and Vernon had been talk- 
 ing, the boat had stopped; but no> *t resumed its 
 progress, and before long they came to their desti- 
 nation. It was a lofty house, at a corner where 
 one of the canal streets ran up from the Grand 
 Canal. Here they landed, and went up to a 
 handsome suite of apartments in the second story, 
 from the windows of which there was a magnifi- 
 cent view of the harbor and the suburbs of the 
 city. 
 
 " If you will give me your aunt's address," said 
 Vernon to Gracie, " I will go off at once and get 
 the police to see about her." 
 
 " 0, thank you," said Gracie, earnestly. "I shall 
 feel so much relieved 1 " 
 
38 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 She then wrote down in Vernon's pocket-book 
 the name of her aunt : — ^ 
 
 Vernon now hurried off, and was gone about an 
 hour. 
 
 ** You need givo yourself no further anxiety," 
 said he on his return. " The police will send a mes- 
 senger by the first train to-morrow, and at the same 
 time they will keep a record of all who arrive in 
 the city, and let m« know." 
 
 This information filled Gracie with delight. She 
 felt confident now that she would soon see her 
 aunt. 
 
WONDERS OF ST. MARK. 89 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Si. Mark's and its Wonders. — The Story of the Demon 
 Ship. — The Great Barbarossa. — The Artist's Home, — 
 The two mysterious Pictures, «• 
 
 FTER taking lunch they all set forth to see 
 the city, and first of all they went to the 
 Piazza of St. Mark. 
 
 Here they saw a spacious square surrounded by 
 magnificent edifices. The lofty tower of St. Mark 
 arose three hundred and fifty feet in the air. The 
 Ducal Palace, with its long front adorned with pil- 
 lars and arches, displayed its noble dimensions, 
 and opened before them those dread portals which 
 in former ages were the avenue to so much mys- 
 tery and iniquity. The three tall flag- staffs lifted 
 to heaven, not the Lion of Venice, nor the Double 
 Eagle of Austria, but the banner of regenerated 
 Italy. But the pride and glory of the Piazza, and of 
 all Venice, was the magnificent Cathedral of St. 
 Mark, and it was to this that Vernon first conducted 
 them. 
 
 They saw a splendid edifice built of white mar- 
 ble, and crowned with a cluster of swelling domes, 
 which gave it an appearance rather of Aladdin's 
 
40 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Palace than of a Christian church. The whole front 
 was ornamented witli an immense number of col- 
 umns, formed of every kind of precious marble, 
 polished so as to show the richest and most gor- 
 geous colors. They saw five noble portals opening 
 into the Cathedral, and over each a vaulted recess 
 that blazed with gold, whereon were mosaic pic- 
 tures wrought in the most brilliant tints. Imme- 
 diately over the cliief portal they saw r, deep re- 
 cess, in which stood four bronze horses, — emblems 
 not of the peaceful services of religion, but rather 
 of the proud achievements of war, and carrying the 
 mind back from the modern republic of Venice to 
 the ancient republic of Rome. 
 
 Entering, they found the interior fully corre- 
 sponding with the promise of the exterior. Every- 
 thing seemed to blaze with gold and brilliant col- 
 oring. The floor, the walls, the vaulted roof, the 
 lofty domes, were all covered with mosaic pictures 
 wrought on gilded background. David and Clive 
 had seen St. Peter's, and therefore were not so 
 deeply impressed by all this splendor as Gracie. 
 She had never yet seen anything half so gorgeous, 
 and was loud in her expressions of admiration. 
 
 " How did the Venetians happen," she asked, at 
 length, " to lavish such an enormous amount of 
 treasure on St. Mark ? " 
 
 " 0, why, I'm sure they had every reason to 
 do so/^ said Vernon. " He was their patron saint. 
 He gave them victory by land and sea. They 
 
A LEGEND. 41 
 
 gained all this by these victories, and the least they 
 could do was to give some of it to him." 
 
 " It seems to me rather a i'unny thing for a saint 
 and an evangelist to do," said Gracie, " to become 
 a sort of Christian Mars." 
 
 " 0, but St. Mark was just as useful in peace," 
 said Yernon. " I'll tell you a story if you like. It's 
 a well-known legend of Venice, and is called 
 
 The Demon Ship. 
 
 " In the year 1341 there was a great inundation. 
 The waters of the Adriatic, rising at the furious 
 impulse of a prolonged arid terrible storm, raged 
 about the city, overflowing the basements of the 
 houses, and sweeping over the Piazza of St. Mark's 
 till the billows of the sea broke against the Ducal 
 Palace, and the Tower of St. Mark's, and the Cathe- 
 dral. Panic seized upon the city. The terror was 
 universal. The horrified people thronged to im- 
 plore the aid of their patron saint, and the clergy 
 with the people standing deep in the water, which 
 was now all over the Cathedral floor, sent up peti- 
 tions to invoke the interposition of Heaven. 
 
 " It was on a night when the storm and the 
 greatest terror were at their height, that a poor 
 fisherman, who was in his boat, at the bank of the 
 Piazza, was accosted by a stranger, who had waded 
 through the darkness towards him. This stranger 
 wished to be taken to San Giorgio Maggiore. On 
 the refusal of the fisherman, the other persisted, 
 
42 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 and offered to give him a large sum for his services. 
 The fisherman was poor, and had never in all his 
 life had such a chance of gaining so large a sum ; 
 yet the offer would not have tempted him to go. 
 But there was something about the stranger which 
 filled the fisherman with awe, and seemed to take 
 away from him the power of refusal. Under this 
 influence he prepared to obey, and taking his 
 oars in silence, he put forth with the feeling of 
 one who is going to certain death, and who has no 
 power to fly. 
 
 " The storm was fierce, and even in the shelter 
 of the city the sea ran high; and the fisherman, 
 after rowing some distance, began to think that 
 his awful companion had sorae protective power. 
 At length the boat reached its destination, and 
 there stood a figure as if waiting for them. This 
 one got on board, and the fisherman felt for him 
 something of the same awe which the first passen- 
 ger had inspired. 
 
 " He was now ordered to row out to the mouth 
 of the harbor. This time he did not dare to refuse ; 
 and besides, the very awe which kept him silent 
 was associated with a conviction that his myste- 
 rious companions had power to save liim from dan- 
 ger. And so, witli this mixture of awe and confi- 
 dence, ho put forth all his efforts. At every mo- 
 ment the waves grew higher and more threatening. 
 Never before had the fisherman known such a 
 storm, and under ordinary circumstances it could 
 
A LEGEND. 43 
 
 not have lived in such a sea ; but now the boat 
 breasted the stormy waves right gallantly, and at 
 length reached the mouth of the harbor without 
 having shipped a drop of water from all those angry 
 waves. 
 
 " Here the sea was terrific, and the storm raged 
 worse than ever, 'at every moment rising to fresh 
 fury and growing to a hurricane. But all the rage 
 of the waves and the wrath of the storm was un- 
 noticed by the fisherman in the presence of another 
 spectacle which appeared before his eyes. 
 
 " For here, as he looked forth, he saw a huge 
 galley driving down straight towards him, as though 
 seeking to enter the city. But it was no ship 
 in distress seeking a port, no ship of mortal man, 
 that thus drove down before the gale. The strange 
 ship was as black as midnight, with blue sulphur- 
 ous flames disclosing her outlines and also her 
 terrific crew. For the crew were all demons, who 
 swarmed all over her masts and rigging, looking 
 forth with furious eyes, gesticulating like maniacs, 
 and howling and shrieking out words and impreca- 
 tions that made his blood curdle within his veins, 
 and his hair bristle with horror. Amid the din and 
 uproar he could distinguish the words, over and 
 over repeated with hideous curses — * Up with the 
 storm and sea I Down with Venice I Sink her in 
 the waters I ' 
 
 " At this moment his companions rose, making 
 the sign of the cross, and the first passenger, in a 
 stern voice of command, bade the demons to vanish. 
 
44 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 *^ Scarce had the words been uttered than there 
 was an instantaneous change. A wild and dreadful 
 shriek rang out through the sky, the demon ship 
 all seemed to collapse and tumble in upon itself, 
 and vanished away utterly. The sea grew calm, 
 the wind ceased, and deep silence reigned all 
 around, while from afar there came to the ears of 
 the astonished fisherman the sweet sounds of the 
 bells of St. Mark's. 
 
 " At a sign from the elder of the passengers the 
 fisherman now rowed back to San Giorgio, where 
 the two got out. > 
 
 " * Go to the governor,' said the first passen- 
 ger, * and tell him that but for us Venice would 
 have been destroyed. I am St. Mark. My com- 
 panion is St. George.' Then, taking a ring from 
 his finger, he added, * Show them this, and tell 
 them to look for it in my treasury, whence it will 
 be found missing.' 
 
 '* The fisherman did as he was told. On exami- 
 nation the ring was found missing, and the fisher- 
 man's story w^as believed. They gave him a hand- 
 some reward and an annual pension. In addition 
 to this, solemn services were instituted in honor of 
 the saints who had interposed to save Venice from 
 so direful a calamity." 
 
 " Well," said Gracie, " if a city does have -c. patron 
 saint, it seems to me that fighting off demon ships 
 is more in accordance with his Christian character 
 
THE GREAT BARBAR0S8A. 46 
 
 than subduing foreign countries ; and so I'm much 
 obliged to you for your story." 
 
 Vernon now took them to a place where there 
 was a diamond- shaped slab of polished porphyry set 
 in the pavement. 
 
 " This," said he, " is the place where the Emperor 
 Frederic Barbarossa knelt when he made his sub- 
 mission to the pope." 
 
 " You will have to tell me all about it," said 
 Gracie," for I'm sorry to say that I know abso- 
 lutely nothing about the Emperor Frederic Bar- 
 barossa." 
 
 " I'll try and make the story as short as possible," 
 said Vernon, " so as not to be tiresome." 
 
 And with this he proceeded to tell the story of 
 
 The Great Barbarossa. 
 
 *' The war between Pope Alexander and the Em- 
 peror Frederic Barbarossa had been raging for 
 seventeen years. At length the emperor had lost 
 his power on the sea, and the time soon came 
 when he was to lose it on the land. The league 
 of the Lombard cities had proved thus far invinci- 
 ble, and now stood before him with a great army 
 to fight the last battle for their liberties. Frederic 
 hastened against them with a greater army, and 
 the two opposing forces met at Legnano, where 
 they fought one of the greatest battles of modern 
 times. But Frederic had traitors in his camp, and 
 Guelph, who led one quarter of his forces, held back 
 
46 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 from the contest. Frederic was defeated. His 
 army was ruined, and he who had in the morning 
 been the mightest ruler in Europe, in the evening 
 fled from the field, with the prospect of irremedia- 
 ble ruin lowering all around him. 
 
 " His grand army was lost. Guelph was false. 
 The followers of Guelph were preparing to stir up 
 all Germany against him. In the days of his power 
 he had scoffed at the curse of the pope ; but now 
 that he was a fallen man, the anathema crushed 
 him into tlie dust. Never again could he hope to 
 rise until that was taken away. 
 
 " Besides this, he thirsted for vengeance on the 
 traitor to whom he attributed his ruin. For the 
 sake of this he determined to sacrifice his pride. 
 To get rid of the ban of the church — the terrible 
 curse — was his first and most pressing necessity. 
 Upon this he resolved, and he resolved also to sub- 
 mit even to the lowest humiliation if he might but 
 accomplish this. 
 
 " Once before a Roman emperor had humbled 
 himself before a pope, and had shown to the 
 world that the invisible weapons of the church 
 were far stronger than arms of steel or disciplined 
 legions of valiant warriors. The world was now 
 to learn this lesson a second time. The Emperor 
 Henry IV. had humbled himself before Gregory 
 VII. at Canossa ; and now Frederic Barbarossa went 
 to repeat this act of self-abasement before Alex- 
 ander at Venice. 
 
THE GREAT BARBAROSSA. 47 
 
 " Venice heard and was glad. It was considered 
 a triumph for the proud and valiant republic. The 
 glory was Alexander's, but Venice would share 
 that glo^'\ She had already humbled the emperor 
 at sea. She could share in the triumph of those 
 who had humbled him at Lv gnano. She had helped 
 the pope with her powerful arm in the days of his 
 exile ; she would now take a part in his triumph. 
 The emperor was to bow down before the pope, 
 but he was to do this act in Venice, and Venice 
 should look on, and see it, and be glad. 
 
 " The emperor landed at the Piazzetta. The 
 doge and all the nobility were there to receive him 
 — an imposing cort6ge, representing all that was 
 great or illustrious in Venice. In this way he was 
 received, and then was conducted to the Piazza. 
 
 " Theref, on a chair in front of St. Mark's, sat the 
 pope, his mighty antagonist, — mighty, yet poor — 
 the man who had fought with him so long, and who 
 had won at last. He was clad in his pontifical 
 vestments, with the triple crown upon his head, 
 while around him stood a brilliant assemblage of 
 cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and other high ec- 
 clesiastics. All stood except the pope. He alone 
 was seated, and he waited with a calm and tranquil 
 face for the emperor. 
 
 " The emperor came forward. Then he uncov- 
 ered and prostrated himself, casting aside at the 
 same time his purple mantle. Then he kissed the 
 foot of the pope. 
 
48 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " And BO there lay prostrate the mighty Fred- 
 eric Barbarossa, Holy Roman Emperor, Lord of 
 Germany and Italy, who claimed to be first mon- 
 arch on earth. As he lay there thus prostrate, all 
 the past came before the mind of Alexander. He 
 had fought long and bravely. He had known the 
 lowest depths of misfortune. He had known want 
 and exile. He had been insulted, and persecuted, 
 and hunted down over all Italy, by land and sea. 
 He had known what it was to bo alone, with noth- 
 ing to rely on but his own inflexible soul. Now, at 
 last, he had reached the hour of his triumph, and of 
 that triumph he was not willing to lose one jot or 
 tittle. He would enjoy it to the uttermost by 
 abasing Federic to the uttermost. 
 
 " He placed his foot upon the head of the pros- 
 trate emperor, and said these words of Scripture : — - 
 
 " ' Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder j 
 the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample 
 under foot.' 
 
 " From this bitter insult Frederic's soul revolted. 
 
 " ' It is not to yoUy said he, in an indignant voice 
 — Mt is not to you, that I bow ; it is to St Peter.^ 
 
 " Upon this the pope placed his foot a second 
 time, and more firmly, upon the emperor's head. 
 
 " ' It is both to me and St. Peter,' he said. 
 
 " With this he was satisfied, and after this the 
 reconciliation was effected, and the anathema was 
 taken off, and the emperor restored to communion 
 with the church amid the most magnificent cere- 
 monies." 
 
ENCOMIUMS ON VENICE. 49 
 
 It was now too lato in the day to visit tlio Dnoal 
 Palace ; bo, after wjilkinj? about tho Piazza for a 
 wliilo, they returned to the gondola, and went up 
 and down the Grand Canal. Venice appeared more 
 beautiful and more picturesque than ever. Crowds 
 of boats were out, and murmurs of conversation 
 came over the water, mingled with the voice of 
 song and the sharp cry of tho gondoliers. Then 
 came sunset, and our party returned to Vernon's 
 house. 
 
 After dinner, Vernon set himself to the pleasing 
 task of amusing his guests, in which there was not 
 the slightest difficulty, for they all were in the high- 
 est possible spirits. 
 
 Clive and David were loud in their expressions 
 of delight. Never had they seen any place which 
 was equal to Venice. Naples, and Florence, and 
 even Rome, were inferior. 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear that," said Gracie. " I've 
 been half afraid, while I was enthusiastic about 
 Venice, that you would crush me with your supe- 
 rior knowledge, and fling at my devoted head those 
 very cities — Naples, and Florence, and Rome. 
 And what makes it ever so much nicer is, that I 
 feel so much at ease about poor dear auntie. I 
 suppose I shall hear about her to-morrow — shan't 
 I, Mr. Vernon ? " 
 
 " Well, hardly to-morrow," said Vernon. " You 
 see they will send their messenger to-morrow, and 
 4 
 
50 THE WINGKD LION. 
 
 it is not likely that ymi will hear anything of her 
 until tho diiy after, inile88 who comes hero." 
 
 " (), well," said Oracio, with a little sigh, " I 
 shall leave it all to you and the police." 
 
 '* The day after to-morrow," said Clive. " I sup- 
 pose Uncle Moses v/ill bo hero by thiit time.'* 
 
 " They'll be sorry enough," said David, '• that 
 they didn't come with us — won't they?" 
 
 " Won't they, though 1 " said Clive. '' I bet they 
 will." 
 
 Vernon was attentive to all his guests, but to 
 Gracie he was most devoted. In fact, Gracio was 
 one to whom every one felt inclined to devote him- 
 self, and David and Clive looked at her with that 
 chivalrous homage which is felt by every high- 
 minded boy for youth, and loveliness, and elegant 
 refinement. All these were present in Gracie. She 
 was like a sunbeam in the artist's home ; her name 
 was appropriate indeed, for there was an ineffable 
 grace in her Ijok, her attitude, her gestures, while 
 in her voice there was a certain indefinable charm 
 which was irresistible. 
 
 " He's awfully fond of Gracie," whispered Clive 
 to David, as Vernon sat and talked with her. 
 
 " So am I," said David, with a low groan. 
 
 " You're not half bo fond of her as I am," said 
 Clive. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said David ; " you don't begin even to 
 understand what it is to feel as I feel." 
 
 " 1," said Clive, " I not understand ! Let me 
 tell you, mister — " 
 
VERNON^S PICTURES. 61 
 
 But hero they wore interrupted by Vernon. 
 
 " Come, boya," said ho ; " I'm goin|^ to show some 
 of my pictures : would you like to sec them ? " 
 
 Wouldn't they, though ' 
 
 The invitation was received witli enthusiasm, 
 and Vernon led tho way to an adjoining apartment, 
 which was fitted up as a studio. Hero there was 
 an easel with an unfinished picture. At one side 
 of tlio room was another picture, and to this Ver- 
 non led them. 
 
 It represented a scene in a Venetian palace. 
 There was a young man, thin and haggard, to whom 
 an elderly lady was clinging. Opposite these sat 
 an old man, richly dressed as a Venetian noble. 
 He held a letter in his hands, which he appeared to 
 be reading. The chiei point in this picture w^.s the 
 old man's face. There was horror in it, anc. amaze- 
 ment, together with remorse ; and it seemed as if 
 all these, struggling together, had quite over- 
 whelmed him. 
 
 They all looked in profound silence, and Gracie 
 at length asked what it v^as about. 
 
 " I will tell you afterwards," said Vernon ; " but 
 before I tell you I should like to show you this 
 picture. It is not quite finished, but you can see 
 what the idea is.'' 
 
 This was the picture on the easel. It was a 
 scene in a masquerade. They recognized the 
 place, for it was the Grand Piazza. Amid the crowd 
 there were three in masks. Two of these appeared 
 
52 THE WINGED LTON. 
 
 to be lovers, who were shrinking back as if in fear ; 
 the third was a large, stern man, somewhat elderly, 
 who was tlie chief figure. From behind his mask 
 the artist had succeeded in suggesting an expres- 
 sion of intense rage and fur}'', which was stamped 
 upon his cruel mouth, and gleamed from his fiery 
 eyes. 
 
 " 1 wish we couid know what these pictures are 
 about," said Gracie. 
 
 " I have the stories written out," said Yernon, 
 " and I'll read tliem to you, if you care to hear 
 them. After that you can look at the pictures 
 again, and let me know what you think of them." 
 
 They all returned to the room now, and Vernon, 
 producing some manuscripts, began to read. 
 
AIJTENORE AND GALBAJO. 53 
 
 CHAPTEK lY. 
 
 Vernon reads to his Guests the Story of Am', nore and 
 
 Galbajo, 
 
 NTENORE was one of the haughtiest nobles 
 of Venice. No one was so jealous as he 
 about the rights and privileges of the pa- 
 trician class, so obstinate in his refusal to grant 
 any concessions to the lower orders, or so indig- 
 nant at what he called their presumption, when 
 any of them ventured by a fortunate speculation 
 to increase his means, and rise a little in the scale 
 of being. For there were many of these far be- 
 neath Antenore in rank, who had dared to make 
 money, and to exhibit the signs of wealth in their 
 persons and surroundings. With these he was 
 compelled to have business connection, to traffic 
 with them, to talk with them on the Piazza : but 
 such intercourse was always revolting to his pride. 
 Among those who most particularly excited his 
 dislike was the merchant Galbajo. His wealth 
 was great ; he had made it all himself ; and yet 
 he showed none of that vanity and self-assertion 
 which often mark ^.he self-made man. He vv^as 
 popular among the men of his own order, and his 
 
54 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 simple and unaffected manners might have dis- 
 armed resentment everywhere. But Galbajo was 
 too prosperous ; he had a genius for money-mak- 
 ing, and he could not remain free from the assaults 
 of envy and detraction. For this man of the peo- 
 ple presumed to be fortunate when others were 
 unfortunate ; in boldness of speculation, and in ex- 
 tent of enterprise, he began to rival the great 
 merchant prin?es themselves ; and his uniform 
 success was such that Antenore darkly hinted at 
 mysterious violations of the law. The truth was, 
 that Galbajo had an unusual talent for commercial 
 enterprises ; he was daring, yet prudent ; watch- 
 ful, yet bold : moreover his household was simple, 
 and his personal expenditure small, so that all his 
 gains were kept to accumulate in his hands ; while 
 the wealthy nobles, who lived in great state, ex- 
 pended their money as fast as they made it. All 
 this excited jealousy. Antenore's malicious hints 
 stirred up suspicion, and large numbers of people 
 were influenced by him to look upon Galbajo as a 
 successful knave and hypocrite, who under a pre- 
 tence of great simplicity concealed a long career 
 of duplicity and crime. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs, when one day a 
 ship arrived from Smyrna for Galbajo. It was 
 just the time when the truce with the Turks had 
 ended, and war had recommenced. All other 
 merchants had recalled their ships. These ships 
 were in the docks, and the merchants were idle, 
 
ANTENORE AND GALBAJO. 65 
 
 without much hope of resuming active enterprises. 
 At such a time as this the arrival of Galbajo's ship 
 excited universal comment, and Antenore intensi- 
 fied the suspicions that were expressed. Who 
 was G'llbajo, that he could do business when all 
 other merchants arc idle ? How does it happen 
 that he alone is not affected by the war ? There 
 must bo some reason for this ; and the reason is, 
 that he has a secret and treasonable understanding 
 with the enemy. Such were Antenore's words, 
 and these sentiments were soon so wide-spread 
 that the government took it up, and Galbajo was 
 arrested. 
 
 The explanation which he gave to his judges 
 was simple and straightforward. According to 
 this, his ship had left Smyrna before the outbreak 
 of the war, but had met with various unavoidable 
 delays. A tempest had forced her to take refuge 
 in Corfu, where she had been overhauled, and re- 
 ceived repairs. This would account for the arrival 
 of the ship from a Turkish port in time of war. 
 
 This simple explanation, however, was not re- 
 ceived. The influence of Antenore was strong, 
 and his dark suggestions were listened to only 
 too readily. Galbajo's statement was taken to be 
 the cunning invention of one who had prepared 
 himself for the possibility of discovery, and had 
 armed himself against it. It was plausible, but 
 the accusation was more probable. It was more 
 likely that Galbajo should be successful as a rogue 
 
56 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 than as an honest man. The result was, that Gal- 
 bajo was found guilty. The sentence was a severe 
 one. He was condemned for plotting treason 
 against the state. The ordinary punishment was 
 death ; but, as there was some flaw in the evidence, 
 the judges gave him the benefit of the doubt, and 
 were willing to consider the charge as not exactly 
 proved. His lifi^ would therefore be spared, and 
 the ctate would be satisfied with banishing him for 
 life. At the same time one half of his property 
 was to be confiscated. ^ - * > ^ .-^ 
 
 The confiscation of one half of Galbajo\s property 
 meant the loss of nearly all, for it was disposed of 
 by a forced sale, and in time of war, too, so that it 
 was virtually sacrificed. Then, after the loss of all, 
 the unfortunate Galbajo found before him a still 
 greater loss — that of his country. His sentence 
 was banishment for life, and with the wreck of his 
 property he prepared to leave. Ho knew well who 
 it was that had been at the bottom of all his mis- 
 fortunes. An tenor e never had taken any pains to 
 conceal his hate, and Galbajo had heard of all his 
 words and acts. But opposition was useless, and 
 resistance impossible ; so he submitted without a 
 word, and left the unjust city to go in his old age 
 on a far distant exile. 
 
 The war now went on. The Turks were trl- 
 nmphant everywhere. The Venetian fleets were 
 driven from the sea, and the Crescent flag waved 
 proudly where once had floated the haughty Lion 
 
ANTENORE AND GALBAJO. 67 
 
 of St. Mark. Defeat followed defeat. The Vene- 
 tians sank into despondency. At length all these 
 misfortunes culminated in the tidings which came 
 one day — that the last fleet of the republic had 
 been worsted in a great naval action ; that it had 
 fled in disgrace, with the loss of half its ships ; 
 that thousands of Venetians had been made prison- 
 ers ; and that the command of the seas was lost for- 
 ever. With the general distress we have nothing 
 to do. It is enough to add, that among those who 
 were captured by the Turks was the only son of 
 Antenore. 
 
 To that unhappy noble this blow was a crushing 
 one. All the hopes of his family had been centred 
 upon this voung man ; for he was the only son, and 
 the last prop of an ancient house. To him, and to 
 him alone, the father looked as his successor to the 
 proud honors of the Antenori, and as the stay and 
 solace of his declining years. Now he was gone, 
 and with him the family name and family fame 
 would sink into oblivion. 
 
 There was no hope whatever to Antenore. It 
 was not then as it is now, in this nineteentli cen- 
 tury, when civilized nations are at war, and efforts 
 are made to alleviate its inevitable horrors ; when 
 the prisoners are treated with humanity, and have 
 hopes of speedy exchange. War in this age was 
 very different, and especially so when it was war 
 between Turks and Christians. In one sense 
 there was always war with the Turks. The Mo- 
 
68 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 hammcdans would never consent to make peace. 
 They always called it a truce, and made it for a 
 stipulated term of years, but always merely for their 
 own convenience. During these times of truce, 
 there was often an exchange of prisoners, and also 
 a chance for ransoming Christian captives, if they 
 could only be found. But now all chance of ex- 
 change or ransom was far, far away, for the war 
 had only begun. Years must pass before it could 
 be ended ; and who could say whether Venice her- 
 self might survive until then. All those years the 
 captive must languish. The thought was anguish 
 to Antenore. Willingly would he have given his 
 own life to redeem that beloved son from captivity. 
 Such a fate was worse than death. For death, 
 with all its horror, once past, might be endured, 
 and the bereaved ones might be soothed by time ; 
 but captivity forced itself forever on the thoughts ; 
 and the wretched father bore with him always the 
 image of his son, pining in chains, fainting under 
 the scourge, or dying daily of a broken heart. 
 
 The Palazzo Antenore was shrouded in gloom. 
 All joy was banished. The stricken mother sank 
 under this blow, and could only wish for death. 
 The father tried to bear it with a Stoic's pride ; 
 but pride was only a poor support when mental 
 anguish was undermining all the foundations of 
 life. Yet still he struggled as well as he could 
 against his deep affliction, and tried to find in the 
 routine duties of his official station some means of 
 distracting his thoughts. 
 
ANTENORE AND OAI.BAJO. 59 
 
 At length, one day there came a galley to 
 Venice. A young man disembarked, and, taking 
 a gondola, proceeded to the Palazzo Antenore. 
 The vast pile looked gloomy and deserted. A 
 few servants stood in the hall with dreary and 
 dejected looks. No longer were there those gay 
 throngs which of old had filled the great house 
 with life and animation. All was desolation and 
 melancholy. . ,. . 
 
 The young man rushed in. The servants stared 
 in amazement. He dashed by them without a 
 word, ascending the grand staircase, and travers- 
 ing the great gallery, whose walls were covered 
 with pictures, until at length he reached a room at 
 the end. This he entered. 
 
 There was but one occupant in the room — an 
 old man, who sat with his head bowed in his 
 hands. So absorbed was he in his thoug!its that 
 he neither saw nor heard the new comer. The 
 young man stood for a moment, and then went up 
 to him. V . . 
 
 ^'Father! 
 
 It was but a single word. At the sound of that 
 word, and of that voice, the old man started to his 
 feet, and stared at the new comer with a white face, 
 and something like horror in his look. 
 
 " 0, my son I " he moaned ; " 0, my son ! Is it all 
 over ? Do you come from the dead to tell — ! " 
 
 " The dead ! " cried the other, catching the old 
 man in his embrace. " No, thank God 1 I am alive. 
 
60 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 I have just arrived, and have hurried here to bring 
 you the good news." 
 
 The old man trembled, but it was with excess of 
 litter joy. He could not say one word ; but holding 
 his beloved son in his arms, he clung to him, and 
 sobbed convulsively. ; v 
 
 " My mother," said the young man, " how is she ? 
 Is she — is she alive?" -. . 
 
 " Yes," said Antenore. " O, yes, come — come 
 and raise her up from her despair. Come and 
 show her that her son yet lives. But no — wait 
 — not yet — the shock will be too much. Let me 
 go first, and prepare her. Wait." 
 
 He retired hastily, and after a few moments' ab- 
 sence returned. Another was with him, wild with 
 joy. It was the mother, who bad read the wonder- 
 ful news in her husband's face, and without waiting 
 for any words, had hurried forth to meet her son. 
 
 That meeting cannot be described. For a long 
 time nothing was uttered except ejaculations ex- 
 pressive of every variation of love, wonder, and 
 joy. But at last, as the first rush of feeling began 
 to subside, they were eager to know how he had 
 escaped, or whether he had been a captive at all. 
 
 " A captive I " said the young man. " Ay, that I 
 have been, and I have tasted all the utmost bitter- 
 ness of such a lot. But Heaven had pity on me, 
 and sent to me, in my misery, the noblest of men. 
 He saved me." 
 
 " Saved you ? What I " cried Antenore. " Is 
 
ANTENORE AND GALEA JO. 61 
 
 there any living man who has done this thing ? 
 that I could see him ! Is ho here ? Did ho come 
 with you ? Why did you not bring him with you ? 
 O thit I could see him I If he is poor, I would 
 share with him all that I have in the world ; if he 
 is rich, I would seek to keep him here with mo ; 
 and in either case, I would fall on my knees before 
 him, and tell him that 1 thanked him as I thank 
 my God." 
 
 " ITe did not come with me," said the son ; " he 
 is a Greek. He is rich also, and needs no reward. 
 God alone can reward him ; we never can. His 
 name is Angelus." ' ;• ^ ;' .■ 
 
 " Angelus I Rightly is he called Angelus," 
 cried Antenore, " for he has been an angel, sent 
 by Heaven to restore my son. Is he indeed a 
 mortal man ? A Greek ! Impossible. Are you sure 
 that he is a mortal man ? " 
 
 " He is a man," said the son, " yet the noblest 
 of men. He saw me languishing, sick, broken- 
 hearted, dying. He purchased me. He took me 
 to his home. He nursed me, and brought me back 
 to life and health. Never did any one man show 
 such love to another. It was as though my own 
 father had found me, and had saved me. And I 
 loved him as a son, for I saw that he loved me as 
 a father. 0, father ! 0, mother ! pray while you 
 live for the noble Angelus, who saved me from 
 my agony. And he, too, had his sorrows. I could 
 see that he was a man of woe — a man who had 
 
62 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 suffcrcfl somo groat borcavomcfnt. It seemed to 
 me always as if lie had lost an only son, and 
 that I reminded him of that son, and therefore he 
 loved me." 
 
 The aged parents sat close by their son, each 
 holding a hand. There seemed to them something 
 inexpressibly sad in this description of Angelas — 
 the one who had lost an only son. Tears came to 
 their eyes ; they pressed more closely the hands of 
 that dear one who had been lost, but restored. 
 
 " It was his very love for me," continued the 
 son, " which sent me home. Had his love been 
 less, he might have kept me, and merely sent word 
 to you of my safety ; but ho loved me so well that 
 he sacrificed even his own feelings ; and I know 
 this, for he told me so himself. ' Your father,' 
 said he to me, ' does not love you better than I. 
 It is because I love you so well, that 1 can bear 
 to give you up. I shall be happier in your happi- 
 ness than in my own. I shall miss you ; but I 
 shall always console myself that you are happy 
 with your parents, and in your dear native land.' " 
 
 " Did he say that ? " said Antenore, in a falter- 
 ing voice. " Did he say that ? Then, 0, my son, 
 I can find it in my heart to wish that you had 
 staid with him longer, and merely sent me word 
 of your safety." 
 
 " I proposed this," said the son, " but he would 
 not consent. ' No,' said he ; ' go home. Your par- 
 ents are old. Go now, or you may never see them 
 again ; ' and so I left him." 
 
ANTENORE AND GALBAJO. 63 
 
 " 0, may tho Lord of mercy bless the man who 
 showed such love and mercy to my son ! " 
 
 Such was the ejaculation of Antcnoro at the con- 
 clusion of his son's story. 
 
 " He gave mo a letter," said the son, " for you." 
 
 " A letter I for me I " said Antenoro. " 0, lot me 
 see it." 
 
 Tho son drew forth a letter from his pocket, and 
 handed it to his father. Antenoro drew off a little, 
 and with a face of eager and joyous anticipation, 
 broke the seal. He road tlie following : — 
 
 " With this letter you will receive back to your 
 heart your only son, the last of your line. It is 
 not because he is an Antenore that I have helped 
 him, but because I was won, in spite of myself, by 
 his face, by his looks, and by the tones of his voice ; 
 for they all brought back before mo my beloved, 
 my lost Venice. Banished by you, I came to 
 Alexandria, and live here in disguise as a Greek ; 
 but my heart clings to my country, and for me 
 there is nothing but misery in exile. I have 
 wealth and comforts, but these are nothing. I 
 met your son by chance, and I Icved him as my 
 own son, for he was a Venetian. Willingly would 
 I have kept him with me to soothe my exile, but 
 I loved him too well for that, and so I send him 
 home. Take him, then, for j^ou are his father ; 
 take him — a gift from the man you most hate ; 
 take him from the man whom you never expected 
 
64 TT/B WINGED LION. 
 
 to find yonr benefactor; for know, Antenore, 
 that the deliverer of your only bol from slavery is 
 — the banished Galbajo." 
 
 Antenore dropped the letter from his trembling 
 hands. II is face lost that flush of joy which his 
 Ron's return had brought, and was now livid with 
 horror. Ho could only gasp one word, and that 
 was, — 
 
 " Galhojo / " 
 
 Ho was overwhelmed now with remorse and 
 bitter self-reproach. Now he learned, when too 
 late, the true character of that man whose noble 
 heart had been well nigh broken by the torments 
 which had been inflicted upon him. And why ? 
 For no otlior cause than a cursed jealousy. And 
 this was his return. His joy at the sight of his 
 son was marred by this remorse, and he felt that 
 he could never know peace of mind again until he 
 should see Galbajo in Venice. 
 
 To this work he now devoted himself. He was 
 successful. Antenore's explanations, and his story 
 of Galbajo's noble conduct, together with the influ- 
 ence which he had in high quarters, led to meas- 
 ures which ended in an order for the termination 
 of the period of banishment. A Turkish prisoner 
 was found, who was released in order to convey to 
 Alexandria the welcome news. Galbajo received 
 the letters sent him, and succeeded in eftecting his 
 escape. Ho at length returned to Venice, and 
 
ANTENORE AND OALBAJO. 65 
 
 there Antennro fulfilled the promise that he had 
 made in the first meeting with his son ; ail the fer- 
 vent gratitude to his son's benefixctor, which he 
 had then expressed, was now plainly manifested ; 
 and the old jealous hatred gave way to respectful 
 affection and intimate friendship. 
 
 6 :■ .. ^ 
 
 
66 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER V. : , 
 
 T^e second Story. — The wonderful Adventu7'es of 
 
 Soranzo. 
 
 ^T was a great festival at St. Mark's. The in- 
 terior of the gorgeous clmrch WiiS filled with 
 a devout multitude. The altars Avere all 
 ablaze with lights, which flashed upon the poHshed 
 marbles and the gilded domes. The smoke of in- 
 cense rolled on high ; the peal of the organ came 
 reverberating along the arches ; and the antipho- 
 nal chant of the choristers mingled with the intoning 
 of the priests, or the miserere of five thousand wor- 
 shippers. 
 
 One young man there was m that great crowd 
 who did not seem to be joining in the common 
 worsi 0. The object of his worship was not " Our 
 Lady," but nevertheless it was a lady of slender 
 and graceful figure, who was kneeling with droop- 
 ing head upon the stone pavement not far away. 
 He, too, was kneeling, yet in such a way that he 
 could look at her; and his eyes never removed 
 themselves from her. It was a face of exquisite 
 beauty, of classic features, with that creamy white 
 complexion which is so rarely found, and which 
 
THE SECOND STORY. 67 
 
 was long the boast of Venetians as the chief charm 
 of their women. The head was bent forward, the 
 downcast eyes sought the pavement, and the long, 
 silken fringe of eyelashes hid them from sight. As 
 the young man gazed, she raised herself and looked 
 full towards him. Their eyes met^ a slight flush 
 passed over her face, a quick smile over her lips. 
 It was a recognition, but it was only of a moment's 
 duration, for her eyes once more fell, and she did 
 not raise them again. 
 
 At length the service was over, and the crowd 
 began to disperse. The young lady walked away 
 along with an elderly woman, her attendant. The 
 young man followed close, and in the crowd suc- 
 ceeded in slipping a letter into the lady's hand, 
 which letter was taken by the other as naturally 
 as though she had expected it. Then she passed 
 away. 
 
 Bianca Polani, the young lady just mentioned, 
 belonged to one of the greatest families in Venice. 
 Her father had won distinction at home and abroad, 
 and was noted for his insatiable ambition. To rise 
 higher and higher had always been his aim: to 
 those above him he was obsequious, to those be- 
 low him tyrannical ; and if he loved his beautifu"'. 
 daughter, it was rather because he saw in her the 
 means of making some lofty alliance by which 
 he might gain additional rank or power. From 
 su3h a man the lady Bianca's lover, Soranzo, could 
 never hope to receive any favors whatever. Noth- 
 
 
68 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 ing was against Soranzo but his poverty ; yet this, 
 in Venice, was a dire offence. It was always a 
 purse-proud community — an aristocracy of mer- 
 chant princes, who prided tliemselves on their lin- 
 eage, it is true, yet always allowed the genealogi- 
 cal tree to be influenced by the ledger. Soranzo's 
 family was of great renown. His name was in- 
 scribed on the Libro d' Oro, the Golden Book, which 
 contained the names of the Venetian nobles. Doges 
 had been chosen in former' ages out of that illustri- 
 ous lino. Their very downfall had been glorious. 
 It was during the war of Chiozza. The Sbranzi 
 had given up everything that they possessed in the 
 hour of their country's direst need, and after the 
 struggle was over, nothing waS left but the walls 
 of their ancestral palace. True, the state had en- 
 deavored to reward all those who had done it ser- 
 vice, but its rewards were chiefly in rank and 
 h )nors. The wealth of the Soranzi never came 
 back. Nothing was left but their glorious past ; 
 and Giuglio Soranzo entered upon life, the owner 
 of a splendid name, and an empty palace, which 
 was going to ruin from its very vastness. He had 
 seen Bianca, and loved her. His love was returned. 
 They had met and told their mutual love. But 
 their meetings had to be clandestine, for the poor 
 Soranzo could not be admitted to pay his attentions 
 to the daughter of the wealthy Polani. 
 
 On this occasion, Soranzo had given Bianca a 
 note which imparted very important intelligence. 
 
WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF SORANZO. 69 
 
 For the young man, full of energy and hope, could 
 no longer live in idleness at Venice. His very de- 
 sire to win Bianca prompted him to be up and 
 doing. He had, therefore, offered his services to 
 the government. His offer had been accepted, and 
 the letter informed Bianca of his speedy depar- 
 ture. It also implored her to grant him a final 
 meeting on the following evening. There was to 
 be a masquerade on the Piazza. He would expect 
 her. 
 
 So beautiful and wealthy a maiden as Bianca was 
 not without crowds of suitors, but among them all 
 by far the most distinguished was Malapieri. He 
 was about as old as Bianca's father, — a noble of 
 immense wealth f id great distinction. He had 
 lost his first wife, and was anxious to place the 
 beautiful Bianca over his household. To Polani 
 this proposal was most acceptable. An alliance 
 with Malapieri would give him that additional 
 strength which he desired, in order to advance 
 himself in the state ; and therefore, so far as he 
 could act in the matter, the affair was decided. 
 Far different, however, was it with Bianca. Apart 
 from her love of Soranzo, she could never have 
 consented to become the wife of Malapieri. He 
 was old, and harsh, and abhorrent. She both hated 
 and feared him. To pass her life with such a man 
 would be terrible. Her family, however, treated 
 her rep ignance with indifference. They set it 
 down as a young girl's whims. At the same time 
 
70 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 they suspected that she might have some love 
 affair. These suspicions were communicated to 
 Malapieri, and Bianca became closely watched. 
 
 Bianca, however, had one faithful friend. This 
 was the old attendant already mentioned. She 
 had taken care of Bianca all her life, and knew all 
 her secrets, not excepting even this. It was by 
 her connivance that Soranzo had been able to speak 
 to his love, and with her assistance Bianca expected 
 to see him again. 
 
 The masquerade took place. Bianca went there 
 with her attendant, wearing a dress which Soranzo 
 knew, and she was at once accosted by her lover. 
 
 " I cannot live without you," said he j " and 
 therefore I am going to leave you." 
 
 " To leave mo ! " she repeated, mournfully. 
 
 " Yes ; that is my only hope.. I wish to win dis- 
 tinction, and wealth also. I have got a post in the 
 fleet that is going to Negropont." 
 
 " Negropont ? " 
 
 Bianca could say nothing ; she could only repeat 
 these words, which seemed to her full of despair. 
 
 " It is best," said Soranzo. " I shall have a 
 chance to distinguish myself Trust me ; when I 
 come back, I shall no longer be obliged to stand 
 outside your door." 
 
 Other words followed, in the midst of which Bi- 
 anca suddenly caught Soranzo's arm with a convul- 
 sive grasp. 
 
 " He knew us I " she murmured. 
 
MALAPIERI ALARMED. 71 
 
 "He? Who?" 
 
 Bianca looked towards a man who had just passed. 
 
 " It is Malapieri 1 '"' she said, in a frightened voice. 
 " I know his dress. He stared at us so fiercely 
 that his eyes were like coals of fire. He must be 
 watching us." 
 
 Soranzo knew very well what Malapieri's atten- 
 tions were; and lie thought it quite probable that 
 the aged lover was jealous. 
 
 . ■ " 0, never mind/' said he. "That danger is re- 
 moved. For Malapieri is to command the fleet, 
 and so he will not trouble you till he returns." 
 
 "Malapieri I" cried Bianca, in consternation; 
 " and you I — are you going with him ? " 
 
 " 0, yes. Malapieri's appointment was very sud- 
 den. He did not like it, but could not get out of 
 it. It came in a very flattering way, although I 
 dare say there are some who would be very well 
 pleased if he never came back." 
 
 " I know one person," said Bianca, with a little 
 sigh. ^ 
 
 Their interview soon ended. Like others, it was 
 very short, and soon the two lovers had bidden each 
 other a long farewell. 
 
 The forebodings which Bianca had felt as to So- 
 ranzo's sailing under Malapieri were soon proved 
 to be well founded The position of Malapieri gave 
 him absolute power over all in the fleet ; all felt his 
 severity ; but most of all, Soranzo. He had dis- 
 covered that this youth was the object of Bianca's 
 
72 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 favor, without whom the young naiden might per- 
 haps have been won by himself, without a father's 
 coercion. Malapieri was therefore full of jealous 
 fury, and set himself on the watch to gratify his 
 passion by the ruin of his rival. The task was not 
 a difficult one. Words of bitter insult which he 
 addressed to Soranzo were resented somewhat 
 warmly, whereupon the young man was at once 
 arrested and put in irons. It was a wanton exer- 
 cise of authority, and an unlawful act, for no Vene- 
 tian noble could bo put in irons except by the 
 Council of Ten. But Malapieri was resolved to 
 take the consequences, and felt confident in being 
 able to hold his own against the friendless youth. 
 
 On reaching the mouth of the Adriatic Sea, a 
 Turkish fleet appeared. It was not superior in 
 numbers to that of Malapieri, but nevertheless the 
 Venetian admiral resolved to avoid an engage- 
 ment. The government, he said, had sent him to 
 take supplies to Negropont, and a sea fight, even 
 if successful, might ruin the purpose of the expe- 
 dition. He tliercfore steered in another direction, 
 and the Turkish fleet set forth in pursuit. Now, 
 when Soranzo had been thrown in irons, he had 
 been transferred to one of the galleys, which was 
 the smallest and slowest in the fleet As the chase 
 went on, this galley fell behind the others. Her 
 captain s' ,^nalled, but in vain. Malapieri paid no 
 attention to the signals, but urging on the rest of 
 the fleet to the utmost, fled at full speed. The 
 
AN END TO SORANZO'S HOPES. 73 
 
 Turks, meanwhile, pursued with equal vigor, and 
 soon overhauled Soranzo's galley. In an instant it 
 was boarded and captured, and all were made pris- 
 oners. After this the Turks kept up the pursuit 
 for some time, but without gaining on the fugitives, 
 until at last, as evening came, the Turkish admiral 
 signalled to return. 
 
 So ended the bright hopes of Soranzo. Stopped 
 short before he had a chance to strike a single 
 blow ; instead of renown, captivity ; instead of Bi- 
 anca, a brutal Turkish master ; he might well have 
 sunk into despair. The faint hope remained of 
 being captured by a Venetian fleet, but even this 
 died out, and he found himself at last landed at 
 Smyrna, where lie was handed over with some oth- 
 ers to a Turkish aga, who lived at Yourla, a sea- 
 port near by. 
 
 Malapieri succeeded in reaching Negropont ; but 
 here a series of disasters befell him. The Vene- 
 tians were beset by the Turks. Post after post fell 
 into the hands of the enemy. The island proved 
 untenable. It was lost to Venice, and at length the 
 unfortunate admiral returned in a single miserable 
 galley, leaving the rest of his fleet in the hands of 
 the Turks, or at the bottom of the sea. His arri- 
 val caused consternation in Venice. It seemed 
 ominous of the future. The dreaded Turk was 
 sweeping away from Venice, one by one, those pos- 
 sessions for which she had expended so much blood 
 and treasure. The Christian capital of the East had 
 
74 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 fallen. The Morea was lost. Candia was threat- 
 ened. Venice was insulted in her own waters, and 
 the espousal of the Adriatic was fast growing a 
 miserable mockery The Crescent was driving 
 out the Cross ; the Mediterranean was growing a 
 Turkish lake ; and soon the fierce sultan would be 
 sending his navies to attack Venice itself. Such 
 was the universal feeling; and if Malapieri escaped 
 blame, it was because all men, in their dejection, at- 
 tributed his failure to the general ill fortune which 
 had come UDon Venice. - ' 
 
 Malapieri now returned to his palace, glad that 
 he had saved his own precious life, and eager now 
 to carry through the important project of marry- 
 ing Bianca. He would make amends for his mis- 
 fortunes abroad by seeking after happiness at 
 home, and successful love should requite him for 
 unsuccessful ambition. 
 
 Meanwhile Bianca had heard all ; she had heard 
 that Soranzo had been mutinous, had been arrested, 
 and had been captured by the Turks. Malapieri 
 himself told her his own story, and added that it 
 was fortunate that Soranzo had been captured, for 
 if he had been brought back to Venice he would 
 have been executed. This speech only increased 
 Bianca's hate towards Malapieri ; yet at the same 
 time the thought of her lover's hopeless captivity 
 preyed upon her heart. She lost all taste for 
 pleasure, shut herself up, and rapidly grew ill. 
 The physician came to see her, but could do noth- 
 
IMPATIENCE OP MALAPIERI. 75 
 
 ing. In fact, Bianca's wretchedness was far be- 
 yond the skill of any physician. Her father saw 
 it all with deep concern. Her mother understood 
 the cause, and said that her heart was broken. 
 And so for a while they forbore to say anything 
 about Malapieri. 
 
 But Malapieri was impatient. He was advanced 
 in years. Bianca, he said, could afibrd to wait, but 
 he couldn't. Better to marry now, and no doubt 
 under his tender care she would soon grow better. 
 Old Polani was won over by this, and began to in- 
 sist on Bianca's marriage. He himself made a set 
 speech to her, in which he spoke solemnly of the 
 necessity of children obeying their parents. To 
 all of this Bianca said not one word, but afterwards, 
 as she lay weeping on her mother's bosom, she 
 sobbed out, " I shall die ; drive me from you if you 
 choose ; but at least you might let me die at home, 
 and not among strangers whom I hate.'' 
 
 '' 0, no," said her mother, who tried to console 
 her, though it was with tearful eyes and quaking 
 heart. " 0, no, dearest child ; you will live to be 
 the first lady in Venice — perhaps the dogaressa." 
 
 While Bianca was thus mourning and weeping, 
 Soranzo was far away in Yourla, a slave, laboring 
 with other slaves about the estate 'of his master. 
 But his ardent and impetuous nature never for one 
 moment subn^^tted to his fate ; on the contrary, he 
 always • lookeu t with sleepless vigilance to see 
 if there were any chances of escape. 
 
76 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 There were other Christian captives here, and a 
 Turkish guard was considered sufllcient to prevent 
 any attempt at escape, so that they Avere not bound. 
 With these, Soranzo discussed tho chances of 
 flight, and soon proposed to them a daring plan. 
 Out in tho little harbor was a galley, which Avas 
 used by the ap-a for certain duties to which he was 
 appointed, lucre were two hundred Christian 
 slaves on board at the oars, with a small guard of 
 Turkish marines. The plan of Soranzo was to take 
 advantage of the moment when the Turks were at 
 prayer, attack them, disarm them, seize the galley, 
 and fly. 
 
 It was a bold plan, and was crowned with com- 
 plete success. The Turks were overpowered, their 
 arms were seized, and a rush w^as then made upon 
 the galley. The marines here fired a few shots 
 without effect, and then in a panic leaped into the 
 sea. Soranzo, in a few fierce words, told the Chris- 
 tian rowers what had happened, and bade them 
 row for their lives if they hoped ever again to 
 see their country and their friends. The rowers 
 understood the whole, Hnd rowed as they had never 
 done before. The galley stood out to sea, several 
 Turkish ships of war were passed, but no pursuit 
 was made, for the galley was supposed to be on 
 duty. 
 
 On the following day they were far out at sea. 
 Here they fell in with a Turkish galle}^. Soranzo's 
 rowers were exhausted ; to fly was impossible ; to 
 
SORANZO AT THE HELM. 77 
 
 figlit was equally so, for the supply of arms was 
 inadequate. For a moment it seemed as though all 
 was lost, but before long his inventive genius, stim- 
 ulated by the desperate poril around liim, contrived 
 a plan of attack. Sending men aloft, he loosened 
 tiie fastenings of the long yard by which it was 
 bound to the mast, and also unfurled the immense 
 sail. The sail caught the wind ; Soranzo stood at 
 the helm, and directing the men to row with all 
 their might, bore down full upon the Turkish gal- 
 ley. The Turks, unprepared for this sudden at- 
 tack, hauled round so as to rake Soranzo's vessel 
 with a volley of all sorts of missiles. Soranzo re- 
 ceived the volley, but without much harm, and still 
 drove on. The Turks prepared to board. Soran- 
 zo's galley struck the enemy's quarter, and as they 
 were all crowded together there, so as to board, 
 the immense yard, with its sail loosened from its 
 fastenings by the shock of the collision, fell upon 
 them, entangling and half smothering them in its 
 folds ; so that Soranzo and his men, who poured on 
 board, captured them all without resistance. 
 
 The prize was a great one. Five hundred Chris- 
 tians were at the oars. These were freed at once. 
 Two hundred Turks laid down their arms. These 
 were distributed among the rescued Christians. 
 What was better, great stores of weapons were 
 found, sufficient to arm all the Christians in both 
 ships, so that they now felt themselves equal to en- 
 counter any Turkish force. Finallyj the Turkish 
 
78 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 prisoners were consigned to the oars, and forced 
 to row the galleys. The number, however, was 
 not quite suflicient, so that the Christians were in- 
 termingled with them. * 
 
 They now resumed their journey. For three 
 days notliing happened, but on the fourth they en- 
 countered three Turkish ships. Soranzo was bent 
 upon an encounter. In a fiery harangue he poured 
 his own spirit into his followers. " Let us not go 
 back home empty-handed," he cried. " Let us re- 
 venge ourselves on these devils for all our wrongs. 
 Those ships must be ours, or I will not survive the 
 fight." • 
 
 The men responded with a wild cheer. Up went 
 the standard of Venice to the mast-head, displaying 
 the proud blazonry of the Winged Lion of St. Mark, 
 and Soranzo bore down upon the enemy. 
 
 He had now thought upon another manoeuvre, 
 and had instructed his men to carry it out. The 
 first galley was to engage the smallest of the Turks, 
 board her, and carry her by force of superior num- 
 bers, and while fighting, free the Christian oars- 
 men. He himself determined to engage the other 
 two. 
 
 He now caused all the heaviest weights on board 
 to be placed on one side. On a given signal the 
 men were to rush to that side so as to bear down 
 the galley, and then make an attack upon the T'urks 
 from that direction. With this plan he drove upon 
 the enemy, and soon had closed with them. He 
 
CHRISTIAN ROWERS FREED. 79 
 
 steered BO as to bring liis galley between two of 
 tlio largest ; and then, just as ho reached them, he 
 gave the word of command. In an instant several 
 hundred men sprang to tho port side of the galley, 
 and bore it down deep in the water ; at tho same 
 instant all the oars on the starboard side were 
 raised high, and formed a palisade through which 
 the Turks on tho ship on that side could not pass. 
 At the same time, the Turkish galley on the port 
 side, which had drawn up close so as to board, was 
 secured with grappling-irons, and the Christians 
 flung themselves aboard of her. They freed tho 
 Christian rowers, and armed them. The struggle 
 w^as lierce, but the Turks were altogether outnum- 
 bered, and threw down their arms. 
 
 Meanwhile the starboard Turkish ship, bewil- 
 dered bv this unheard-of manoeuvre, tried to board 
 Soranzo's galley, and drew in closer, just as the ^ 
 men were assailing tho ship on the port side. The 
 sudden departure of such a body of men caused 
 Soranzo's galley to sink back to her former posi- 
 tion, in doing which, the oars of the starboard gal- 
 ley were drawn down under her bottom, and all 
 entangled and broken, while Soranzo's oars came 
 down upon the heads of the Turks on her deck, 
 filling them with confusion. 
 
 At this instant, Soranzo, with a shout, led the 
 remainder of his men into the midst of the disor- 
 dered Turks in the starboard galley. He was fol- 
 lowed by crowds of the ^reed Christian rowers 
 
80 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 from the port galley. The Turks ibught fiercely, 
 but the Christians fought with the fury of tigers. 
 The burning words of Soranzo rang in their ears, 
 and stirred them to madness. They were fighting, 
 not for life or liberty, but for revenge. They had 
 been made captive, and exiled. They haci been 
 subjected to mockery, and bloWs, and insults, from 
 wretched barbarians whom they despised ; now 
 was the hour for vengeance, when they could make 
 a fit return for all that they had sufi'ered. Again 
 the Christian rowers in this g loy were freed, and 
 lent their aid in the strife. The Turks were every- 
 where outnumbered, yet still resisted, and rallied 
 round the poop, where their commander, a huge 
 Moor, cimeter in hand, hurled defiance at his ene- 
 mies. 
 
 Towards this man Soranzo forced his way at the 
 head of his bravest followers. As he came within 
 reach, the huge Moor raised his cimeter. The next 
 instant it descended like a flash ; but Soranzo was 
 a master of fence, and as the weapon fell it struck 
 his uplifted rapier, and glided aside harmless, while, 
 in a moment after, that rapier had pierced the heart 
 of the Moor through and through. 
 
 At the fall of the Moor a cry of despair escaped 
 the Turks, They threw down their arms. The 
 Christians stopped in their career of victory. It 
 was Soranzo's stern command. 
 
 " Kill no more 1 '' he cried. " Put these prisoners 
 at the Ot*rs. We want them all, for we must cut 
 
TRIEMPH OF 80RANZ0. 81 
 
 our way throngh other Turkish fleets before we 
 reach home." v „ ■. ■ 
 
 Meanwhile the other galley had been engaged in 
 a fierce fight. But Soranzo's tactics had given the 
 Christians the advantage. They had flung them- 
 selves on board the Turk, and had at once set free 
 and armed the Christian rowers. The fight was on 
 the deck of the Turkish galley, and was kept up 
 obstinately until the fall of the Moor. Then these 
 men, seeing the surrender of the others, likewise 
 flung down their arms. The prisoners were now 
 put at the oars, and the victorious Christians pre- 
 pared to resume their voyage. 
 
 Upon looking around, Soranzo discovered, to his 
 amazement, thr.u the largest vessel was the very 
 one which had been commanded by Malapieri. It 
 had been captured at Negropont. From this, So- 
 ranzo, for the first time, knew that his enemy must 
 have met with disaster. This discovery made his 
 triumph seem all the sweeter. 
 
 And now the vestiges of the conflict were all 
 effaced. Turks replaced Christians at the oara, 
 while at the mast-head of the largest galley floated 
 a Yciietian flag, which Soranzo found on board. 
 Expecting other fights, he kept in constant prepa- 
 ration, but his anticipations were not fulfilled. No 
 more enemies appeared; and at ler^gth, far away on 
 the northern horizon, the rejoicing Christians saw 
 the lofty tower of St. Mark's. 
 
 Soranzo's fleet arrived at a time when no one 
 6 
 
82 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 was expecting anything. There were marks of 
 triumph, too, about the new comers which riveted 
 the gaze of all. High in air floated the proud Lion 
 of St. Mark's, with streamers dancing all around in 
 the breeze, while from the stern of all the ships 
 were trailed the Crescent flags of the Turks. Some 
 of the ships had a Venetian look, others weie evi- 
 dently Turkish ; yet these all formed part of some 
 triumph which the Lion of St. Mark had won — a 
 triumph most wonderful, most unaccountable, yet 
 most sweet, since it came upon the heels of so many 
 disasters. As the fleet drew nearer, it seemed as 
 though the whole population had gone forth in 
 boats. The water was covered with them. Those 
 who first reached the galleys heard the news, and 
 from them it passed to others, amplified and en- 
 larged with the usual exaggerations. A great 
 Turkish fleet had been destroyed ; five thousand 
 Christians had been freed ; such were some of the 
 rumors ; yet among all, there was one name which 
 was upon the lips of all, a name about which there 
 could bo no mistake ; a naii'ie once illustrious in 
 Venetian history, but never before associated with 
 so splendid an achievement as this — the name of 
 Soranzo ! 
 
 Soranzo came back, and all Venice had already 
 known how he had gone away. He had been dis- 
 honored by Malapieri — by that Malapieri who had 
 delivered him up as a captive to the Turk, who 
 had fled in terror from pursuers, who had lost a 
 
SORANZO AT ST. MARK'S. 83 
 
 gallant fleet, and sacrificed the lives of a valiant 
 host for nought. And here was his victim I With 
 a great fleet the base Malapieri could do nothing ; 
 but Soranzo, out of his own valor, had won a new 
 fleet for Vonice I 
 
 Thus Soranzo came back with his name on the 
 lips and in the hearts of all. It was a triumphant 
 entry. As he landed at St. Mark's, it was with 
 difficulty that his boat could reach the shore. On 
 the Piazza it was with greater difficulty that he 
 could pass. Parents saw in him the savior of th^ir 
 children ; the hero who had snatched from captivity 
 so many gallant souls ; all saw in him one who was 
 the savior of the state. He was overwhelmed by 
 the throng. The air was rent with acclamations. 
 The gallant band that followed him were be^t and 
 eagerly questioned ; and many, overcome with 
 emotion, fell upon their knees, and tried to kiss the 
 hand of Soranzo. At last he succeeded in working 
 his way through t,he crowd, and reached the Ducal 
 Palace. Here, at the head of the Giant's Stairs, 
 stood the doge, who had come forth to see with his 
 own eyes the hero of this amazing and unexpected 
 exploit, and also to exhibit the sympathy of the 
 government with this outburst of patriotic emo- 
 tion. To him Soranzo made his report, and handed 
 over to him the jewelled turban and the cimeter 
 of Noureddin — the Turkish Capitan Pasha — the 
 terror of the ^Egean Sea. 
 
 On that day there were two men who did not 
 share the general joy. 
 
84 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Ono was Malapieri. At the return of Soranzo 
 in such a way his black and cruel heart quailed 
 with terror. No ono knew so well as he the extent 
 of his own perfidy. Conscience made him cow- 
 ardly. What if Soranzo, this popular hero, should 
 now denounce him ! His own ears had heard words 
 of terror. The populace who cheered for Soranzo 
 also hurled imprecations at the name of Malapieri. 
 Against Soranzo poor and friendless it would have 
 been easy to struggle ; but how could he h^^o to 
 contend with Soranzo the hero — and popui r idol I 
 He looked far ahead. He judged of Soranzo by 
 himself, and saw himself the victim of a vengeful 
 enemy. It seemed as if all was lost. His only 
 safety lay in immediate flight. He did not linger, 
 but the very day that saw the triumph of Soranzo 
 saw the flight of Malapieri into an exile that ter- 
 minated only with death. 
 
 The other uneasy spirit was Polani. He had 
 never injured Soranzo. He had only despised him 
 and slighted him. He had also sought to draw Bi- 
 anca from him. He now feared lest Soranzo might 
 feel vengeful, and could only hope that he would 
 spare him for Bianca's sake. He determined to see 
 him at once in the hour of his triumph, to off'er his 
 congratulations, and to try whether his love for Bi- 
 anca had changed. As for Malapieri, he understood 
 well that the sun of that noble had set forever. 
 
 Thus the old Polani stood at the foot of the Gi- 
 ant's Stairs, waiting for an opportunity to speak to 
 
JOY OF BIANCA. 85 
 
 Soranzo. At length the young man camo forth, 
 and descended the steps. He saw Polani at once, 
 and with a flush of eager joy hurried towards him. 
 
 " Bianca !" he said. 
 
 The old man had been on the point of beginning 
 a solemn congratulation, but he was shrewd enough 
 to see that there was a far pleasanter subject. No 
 — he had not forgotten — that eager look, those 
 tremulous tones, showed that the stout heart which 
 never quailed in battle was all quivering with anx- 
 ious emotion at the thought of Bianca. 
 
 " She's well," said Polani, as he grasped Soran- 
 zo's hand in both of his. " She has been anxious 
 about you. She saw your ships, and heard your 
 name shouted out by the whole city. She has been 
 waiting ever since to catch a glimpse of you.'' 
 
 All this was mere guess-work, yet it was per- 
 fectly true. Polani had conjectured well, and 
 knew exactly what effect this would have on Bi- 
 anca. 
 
 " Will you allow me to offer you my poor hospi- 
 tality ? " he continued ; " we should like to hear how 
 you escaped — and Bianca." 
 
 Soranzo pressed his hand fervently, and said not 
 a word. Polani understood him, and they both 
 turned to go. 
 
 It took about an hour to get through the crowd 
 of men and boats, but at length they reached the 
 Palazzo Polani. 
 
 It was all true. Bianca had heard all. In an 
 
86 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 instant she had started up from her couch, where 
 she had lain down to die of a broken heart, and 
 had come back to vigorous life, and bounding hope, 
 and exultant joy. 
 
 " Ho will be hero I " she said to her mother. 
 *' He will be here 1 He is coming to me at last I " 
 
 And she was right. She knew her father's na- 
 ture, and she knew Soranr ^'s love. As for Soranzo, 
 the triumph of that day had all been as nothing 
 compared with the deep, unutterable bliss which 
 he felt as he entered the Palazzo Polani, and caught 
 Bianca in his arms. 
 
POOR UNCLE MOSES, 87 
 
 Cn AFTER YI. 
 
 Poor Old Uncle Moses. — Deep Anxiety. — Pursuit of the 
 Fugitives. — Bolog7ia. — Ferrara. — Padua. — The Track 
 lost. — Heroic Resolve of Icicle Moses. — O71 to Venice. 
 
 ET US now return to Uncle Moses and his 
 doings. After taking leave of Clive and 
 David, the unhappy uncle looked as though 
 he had lost all that he most loved on earth. He 
 returned to the hotel. Frank and Bob were away, 
 intent upon their own amusements, and nothing 
 was left for Uncle Moses but to brood over the 
 troubles of his too anxious heart. Bitterly he re- 
 gretted that he had given his consent to this sepa- 
 ration. How could he know what might befall 
 them ? Away among strangers in a foreign land, 
 without an uncle's care, it seemed to him that they 
 were exposed to the must frightful perils. That 
 tli^y had a talent for getting into difficulties he 
 knew but too well ; and though thus far they had 
 always got out of them again without harm, yet 
 he had no assurance that this would always be so. 
 Indeed, his fears all led him to expect the oppo- 
 site, and to think that while David and Clive 
 would still have their ill luck in falling into dan- 
 
88 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 ger, tlioy would loso thoir qood luck in getting 
 out. 
 
 "Wlicn Frank and Bob returned, they were 
 Bliockcd to SCO the condition into wl.\ich tlieir 
 beloved and revered relative had worked him- 
 self. He seemed utterly prostrated, and was so 
 ill alio to rouse himself that ho could scarcely 
 speak. At first they thought that he was ill, but 
 they soon found that it was the mind that was af- 
 fected, and not the body. Now, the departure of 
 Clive and David had not made the smallest differ- 
 ence to Frank and Bob. Thev were usually ac- 
 customed to run in couples, and going to Bologna 
 seemed no more to them than going to the other 
 side of the Arno. But the anxiety and the deep 
 distress of Uncle Moses was too serious a thing to 
 be disregarded, and they perceived at once that 
 they must sacrifice all their own tastes and plans 
 to his comfort, v : y - - ..; - 
 
 It was not long before Uncle Moses told them 
 his whole mind. He told them that he could not 
 endure another day of such anxiety as this ; that 
 he was anxious to go after Clive and David ; to be 
 with them, and have them all under his own eye ; 
 as for themselves, they could enjoy themselves 
 quite as well in Bologna as in Florence ; and that 
 they must get ready to go on the following morn- 
 ing. This announcement, which was made with 
 unusual decision, was received by the two with- 
 out a \. ard of objection. 
 
UNCLE MOSES' ANXIETY. 89 
 
 " Certainly," said Frank. " It don't n .tl Ler much 
 to us, Uncle Mo. If you wish it, wo shall be quite 
 willing. At the same time you mustn't allow your- 
 self to fret and worry so much about nothing. 
 Why, if tliis goes on, you'll not be able to travel, 
 and OLG of U3 will have to go and bring them 
 back." 
 
 " Heaven forbfd ! " said Uncle Moses. " Don't 
 you hint at sich a thing. Only you let me get to 
 Bolony, an' you ain't going to catch me lettin' any 
 of you out o' my sight agin." 
 
 The prospect of going on to Bologna and rejoin- 
 ing the lost bo3'^s was so grateful to Uncle Moses, 
 that it rapidly restored him to something like his 
 usual cheerfulness. He had been brooding all day 
 long over his troubles, and now that he had made 
 a clean breast of it, he felt unspeakably relieved. 
 As for Frank and Bob, they felt quite rejoiced at 
 the change in him, and comforted him with their 
 assurances that they would meet Clive and David 
 without fail. 
 
 " Unless, indeed," said Frank, " they have got 
 so disgusted with Bologna as to come back here." 
 
 " That's an important idee," said Uncle Moses. 
 *' They might feel as bad as I did, and might be 
 comin' back just as we were goin' on. I think I'd 
 best write a short note of explanation, in case they 
 should come back." 
 
 This gave Uncle Moses something to do, and he 
 proceeded to write a letter explaining his depart- 
 
90 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 uro, which he left with the concierge, to be given 
 to Clive and David in the event of their return. 
 
 Now, there had been no very definite arrange- 
 ment as to time. The boys had specified two or 
 throe days. Afterwards, as we know, they had 
 acted on the supposition of an allowance of three 
 days, and with this understanding they wrote 
 their letter from Padua. As for Uncle Moses, he 
 had not thought of any very definite time, and to 
 leave on the next day did not seem to him likely 
 to disarrange any plans whatever. Accordingly, 
 on the very day after the momentous separation, 
 Uncle Moses, Frank, and Bob started from Flor- 
 ence, without the slightest doubt that they would 
 find David and Clive at Bologna. Before the boys 
 had left, they had chosen from Murray's Hand- 
 book a certain hotel from among those that were 
 specified therein ; and it was to this that Uncle 
 Moses at once went. Bologna looked as gloomy 
 to these as it did to the others ; and the drizzling 
 rain, and the cloudy sky, and the general gloom 
 still continued. As they drove to the hotel, Frank 
 and Bob thought of sunny Florence, and groaned. 
 At length they reached their destination, and hur- 
 rying in, they looked about eagerly, half expecting 
 to find the objects of their search. They were dis- 
 appointed, however, ajir" then they proceeded to 
 make inquiries about them. 
 
 The reply v^hich they received was one that 
 filled the questioners with amazement, and gave a 
 dreadful shock to the anxious Uncle Moses. 
 
THE LANDLORD. 91 
 
 " 0, doy af gone," said tlio landlord, who was 
 able to ' Bpik lugolia ; ' " dey af gone, yo8teda." 
 
 " Gone 1 " cried Frank. " Where ? " 
 
 He half expected to hear that they had gone 
 back to Florence in disgust. 
 
 " To Ferrara," said the landlord. 
 
 " Ferrara 1 ^' cried Frank ; and ho gave a low 
 whistle. 
 
 " 0, dey will come back,'' Baid the landlord ; 
 " dey say so ; doy will come back." 
 
 '' 0, they'll come back — will they ? " said Frank. 
 " When ? To-day ? " 
 
 " 0, yes, to-day, certamente," said the landlord j 
 " dey say so." ,.' ^* ■ ; •, 
 
 This, at least, was some consolation. 
 
 " 0, it's all right," said Frank, in a careless and 
 confident tone, trying to* cheer the wretched Uncle 
 Moses. " You see, Undo Mo, they couldn't stand 
 Bologna, and no wonder. It's a horrible hole ; so 
 they've gone on to Ferrara ; quite right, too ; but 
 Ferrara's only a few miles off, and I dare say they'll 
 be back this evening. Now, don't you fret, or worry, 
 or bother about it in the least. They'll be back 
 this evening all right. So cheer up, and don't 
 bother." 
 
 Uncle Moses tried to cheer up, but with little 
 success. Frank's words, however, gave him some 
 hope, and with this he endeavored to sustain him- 
 self. But the task was hard, and the time between 
 this and evening seemed long indeed. Upon fur- 
 
92 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 ther inquiry they learned that the evening train 
 from Ferrara would arrive at seven o'clock, at 
 wliicli time all would be decided. ..' 
 
 " We must wait till then," said Uncle Moses, 
 sadly, " though I'd much rayther go right straight 
 off to Ferrary ; but bein' as thar's'a chance of their 
 comin' back, why, I suppose we'd best wait." 
 
 " But don't look so heart-broken. Uncle Moses," 
 said Frank. " Do, for pity's sake, try to cheer up." 
 
 '' 0, don't mind me," said Uncle Moses ; " don't 
 you mind me. You jest go off an' see the town, 
 an' I'll stay in my room an' lay down, an' p'aps I'll 
 get a little sleep." ^ ( . .. - 
 
 " Yes, do," said Frank, eagerly. " Try to sleep. 
 I don't believe you slept a wink all last night." 
 
 They were now shown to their rooms, and the 
 boys, leaving Uncle Moses here, went out to see 
 the city, and did not return till evening. Their 
 opinion was the same as that which had been 
 formed by Clive and David. -';^ 
 
 " It's a dull place," said Frank, " and I don't 
 wonder they went to Ferrara, only I hope, for 
 poor Uncle Mo's sake, that they'll be back to- 
 night." 
 
 The train came in at the appointed time, and 
 Frank and Bob were at the station to receive the 
 returning wanderers. To their disappointment, 
 however, they saw nothing of them, and when 
 they returned. Uncle Moses read their feelings 
 on their faces. He said not a word, but stood 
 trembling and frightened. 
 
FERRARA, PADUA. 93 
 
 " 0, come now/' said Frank, cheerfully, " don't 
 be so agitated. Uncle Mo. The boys are all right. 
 It's impossible that any harm can have come to 
 them. They thought that they had two or three 
 days to themselves, you see, and Bologna's so dull 
 that they'll not come back here till tlie last mo- 
 ment. They'll be back some time to-morrow." 
 
 " Some time to-morrow ! " said Uncle Morop, 
 " Wal, I can't set do'»vn here and wait. I must go 
 on, too, and meet them at Ferrary. And I'll leave 
 a letter for them here, same as I did at Florence." 
 
 Uncle Moses was very much agitated, and did 
 not say a great deal, but it Avas evident that he 
 was busy with anxious thoughts. He wrote an- 
 otlier letter here, which he deposited with the 
 landlord, to be given to the boys in the event 
 of their return, and then seemed to feel a little 
 calmer. : ;v 
 
 Early on the following morning they left for 
 Ferrara. On arriving at this place, they went first 
 to the chief hotel, supposing that the boys would 
 be more likely to have lodged here than anywhere 
 else. Here they found their suppositions correct, 
 for the familiar names were there on the book of 
 visitors. But they were destined, nevertheless, to 
 fresh disappointment. Tliey wore informed that 
 the boys had remained but a few hours, and had 
 gone on to Padua. They had loft no word as to 
 their return, or as to any further movements. 
 
 This information was a freSh blow to Uncle 
 
94 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Moses, and even Frank and Bob thought the sit- 
 uation serious. It was not at all like Clive and 
 David. They were generally quiet, and not over- 
 fond of adventures. "Why they should now be trans- 
 formed into lawless vagabonds was a mystery. 
 
 Frank saw, <iowever, that Uncle Moses required 
 all his care, for it seemed as though the aged man 
 would sink under this new disappointment. ;,, 
 
 " I see how it is," said he, cheerfully. " They Ve 
 gone all about Ferrara, and have concluded to visit 
 Padua also before returning to Bologna. They 
 could not have spent more than two hours here. 
 I dare sny they are now in Padua. But of course 
 they'll be back in Bologna in time to meet us." 
 
 " But what can I do ? " wailed Uncle Moses. 
 " How can I ever see them again ? " 
 
 " Well," said Frank, " it seems to me that our 
 best plan will be to go back to Bolcgna, and wait 
 there for them to return." 
 
 Uncle Moses groaned. ' . 
 
 " I feel," said he, " jest as if them two had got a 
 start, and were agoin' off never to return. I feel 
 as if my only chance is to folly them as fast as I 
 can, and catch up to them if possible. And so I 
 don't seem to care about goin' back. My only idee 
 is, to go for'ard and catch them before they're lost." 
 
 " When will you go ? " 
 
 " Wh}", as soon as possible. You find out when 
 the next train is goin' to start for Padua." 
 
 " The next traih ? Why, that leaves at two 
 o'clock. I saw the time-table in the office." 
 
PERPLEXITY OF UNCLE MOSES. 95 
 
 " Two o'clock : very well," said Uncle Moses ; 
 " then we'll go on to Padua by that train." 
 
 " But suppose the boys go back to Bologna, 
 when we're going to Padua." 
 
 " Wal, we can try Padua first," said Uncle 
 Moses, " an' then, if we find they've gone back, 
 we can go back, too. They'l) get my letter at 
 Bolony. I told them to wait at I>olony at all haz- 
 ards, an' not to stir a step till we come back. An' 
 so they'll stay there. At the same time, if we find 
 them at Padua, it'll be so much the better." 
 
 This decision was not at all disagreeable to Frank 
 and Bob. They had several hours to wait in Fer- 
 rara, and these they spent in going about the town. 
 They were not fond of ruins, or of churches, or of 
 museums ; they were not poetical or romantic, like 
 David and Clive ; nor did they care for old associa- 
 tions, or historic names. The result was, that Fer- 
 rara seemed duller to them than it had been to 
 David and Clive, and they both voted it a slow 
 place. '■ • 
 
 " It's quite evident why they went on to Padua," 
 said Frank. 
 
 " Yes," said Bob ; " they did quite right ; but I 
 say, Frank, isn't it odd to think of solemn old 
 David and quiet Clive running such a rig as this ? 
 If we had done it, why, it would have seemed 
 natural." 
 
 " Well," said Frank, « I don't think I should have 
 done it. At any rate, I should have telegraphed 
 
96 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 to Undo Moses at Florence, or, at least, I should 
 have written. It's very careless in them. Of 
 course tliey'ro all right, and they'll turn up some- 
 where ; but meanwhile poor old Uncle Mo's fretting 
 himself into a fever. Bother take them, I say." 
 
 At two o'clock they left Ferrara, and in a short 
 time arrived at Padua. Here, as before, they went 
 to the chief hotel in the city, and once more re- 
 gained the track of the wanderers. But here, as 
 before, they found that the wanderers had gone, 
 and that this time they had proceeded to Venice. 
 
 At this information poor old Uncle Moses seemed 
 utterly crushed, and even Frank and Bob felt some- 
 thing like consternation. Thus far they had felt 
 as though their uncle's anxiety was quite unneces- 
 sary, since at all events the boys would certainly 
 come back to Bologna ; but this last act put the 
 whole matter upon quite a different footing. At 
 Bologna they had known where to go ; at Ferrara 
 and Padua their course had been easy, namely, to 
 go to the principal hotel ; but what could they do 
 now ? Venice had many hotels, from among which 
 it was difficult to choose any one that seemed likely 
 to be the abode of the fugitives. In addition to 
 this, it was incomprehensible how David and Clive 
 could ever have thought of going off in this fash- 
 ion. There was no letter for them. The landlord 
 knew nothing about their intended movements. 
 The boys had plunged into utter obscurit3^ Uncle 
 Moses was heart-broken, and Frank did not know 
 
PURSUIT OF THE FUGITIVES. 97 
 
 how to consolo him. They had shown an utter 
 recklessness, and at the same time a heartlcssness 
 whicli filled Frank with amazement, and added to 
 the difficulty of the case. 
 
 Still it was necessary to decide upon some course 
 of action. Uncle Moses seemed quite distracted 
 with anxiety and terror, so that Frank had now to 
 make all the plans for the future. 
 
 " I think," said he, " that our only course is to go 
 on to Venice." • ' - 
 
 " What can we do in Venice ? " said Uncle Moses, 
 in a hollow voice. 
 
 " Do ? " said Frank. " Why, we can hunt up 
 Dave and Clive." 
 
 " It's like hunting for a needle in a haystack," 
 said Bob. - 
 
 Uncle Moses groaned. 
 
 " 0, there needn't be any difficulty. We can get 
 the police to hunt them up." . '^ -"^ 
 
 " The police ! " said Uncle Moses, in a voice of 
 horror. " The police ! " 
 
 " Certainly," said Frank. " Why not? I've heard 
 that the police at Venice are a very efficient body 
 of men." 
 
 " So have T," groaned Uncle Moses. " That's 
 jest what I've heerd all my life. The police at 
 Venice. Why, Venice is a vast police station. 
 It's filled with spies, an' bravos, an' assassins. 
 Why, I mind readin' about it when I was a boy 
 at school. The first novel I ever read was Abel- 
 7 
 
98 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 lino, the Bravo of Venice. And I've heord about 
 the dungeons thar, an' the terrible courts, an' tho 
 torments tliey make use of. 0, I know all about 
 it. Why, tho Inquisition at Venice is tho most 
 horrible thing on airth. Tho idee of it used to 
 keep me awake at night. It's like Fox's Book of 
 Martyrs, or the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 
 To go thar is like goin' straight into the jaws of 
 Death." 
 
 *' 0, nonsense ! " said Frank. " That is all old 
 stuff. It might have been so in the middle ages, 
 but Venice now is a quiet, easy-going city, as safe 
 as Boston — part of the kingdom of Italy. At any 
 rate, we've got to go." 
 
 " Well," said Uncle Moses, heroically, " we've 
 got to go, an' for my part, I'd go after them boys,. 
 to save them, if it was into the dungeons of the 
 Inquisition themselves. Yes," he added, " if I had 
 to lie on the rack, or be tried by the Council of 
 Ten, or be broken on the wheel, or burnt at the 
 
 stake." ■ ^:{--^M■'-^,•■^, 
 
 And so, while Clive and David w^ere enjoying 
 themselves hugely with their new friends at 
 Venice, poor old Uncle Moses was overwhelmed 
 with anxiet}^ and terror at Padua. 
 
THE PARTY IN VENICE. 99 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Pleasant Party in Venice. — Hoiu to find a Missing 
 Relative. — The Story of the beheaded Doge, 
 
 ET us now retiim to the pleasant party in 
 WM Venice. ' ' ' 
 
 ' On the next morning Vernon called on the 
 Bureau of Police to see Avhat had been done about 
 Miss Lee. He learned that nothing had been done 
 thus far, but that a messenger was about to start 
 for Verona in an hour. This news he brought back 
 to Gracie, who was very anxious to know whether 
 anything had been heard. 
 
 She looked disappointed. 
 
 " I hoped/' she said, with ^ little sigh, " that they 
 might have telegraphed. Poor auntie will be in 
 despair. And did they tr}^ to find whether she was 
 in Venice or not ? " 
 
 " 0, 3'es. She is not here. She is, no doubt, in 
 Verona, and will wait there till she hears about 
 you. 1 dare say she will get the police to hunt 
 you up and take you prisoner." 
 
 " And do you think', Mr. Vernon,'' asked Gracie, 
 " that there is any chance of my hearing anything 
 of her to-day ? " 
 
100 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Vernon Rliook bis head. 
 
 '' I'm afraid not," said he. " Tlie iricssonger will 
 go to-day. lie will hardly bo able to find her in 
 time to come back by the evening train. Still, it 
 is possible, no doubt. But the best way is to allow 
 ample time, and not to be impatient. Now, I do 
 not see how the messenger can get back before to- 
 morrow. And, besides, your aunt may refuse to 
 come with him." , 
 
 '' Refuse ! How could she ? " 
 
 " 0, I was merely thinking that she might be 
 terrified at the idea of going with ? policeman, es- 
 pecially to Venice. Venice has a bad name in 
 those matters." 
 
 " Auntie's awfully timid," said Gracie. " At any 
 rate she'll write, and I'll fly back to her." 
 
 " If I could only persuade your aunt to stay in 
 Verona a little longer," said Vernon, " I would 
 make a pilgrimage there, and get her consent — ". 
 
 Gracie looked at hinj inquiringly ; then her eyea 
 Ml -- ' •... .^.-■•,:,.,. ....... 
 
 " Why ? " she said, in a little whisper. 
 
 " Why ? Because we cannot bear to have our 
 little circle broken up so soon, before we have be- 
 gun to see Venice, too ; and if you were to leave 
 us now, why, you see, all our plans would be spoiled, 
 and if I could only know that your aunt was safe, 
 and if you, too, felt at ease about her, I should 
 rather like the police to terrify her." 
 
 *' I'm sure that's very unkind," said Gracie. 
 
THE MISSTNO RELATIVE. 101 
 
 *' I know it is," said Vernon, in a tone of pro- 
 found compunction ; " but it arises from my own 
 wicked heart." 
 
 Gracie smiled at this, with a pretty air of con- 
 fusion. 
 
 "At any rate," said she, "I shall hear from 
 auntie to-morrow." 
 
 "0, yes, or the day after; and Clive here and 
 Davie will hear, too, no doubt. By the by, boys, 
 what address did you give your uncle ? " 
 
 ^'Poste llestante," said David. 
 
 " 0, so you did not mention the Hotel Zeno." 
 
 " No," said David, " I did not feel certain about 
 staying here, and thought * Poste Hestante ' would 
 be the safest and most convenient address." 
 
 " But suppose he comes on himself, how will he 
 find you ? " 
 
 " 0, he won't come on," said Clive ; " he'll write 
 first, of course. Besides, Frank and Bob will be 
 delighted to hear what we have done, and will 
 tease Uncle Moses to spend another week in Flor- 
 ence. You know they're crazy about Florence." 
 
 " 0, well," said Vernon, " that's all the better. I 
 only wish Miss Lee could feel as comfortable about 
 her aunt. However, we have this da}^ before us, 
 and I've been making a plan of action. How wotild 
 you like to see the city ? and what do you say to 
 visiting the Doge's Palace ? " •'^ 
 
 " I have no choice," said Gracie. " I don't know 
 anything about Venice, and shall be happy to go 
 wherever you take me." 
 
102 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 In a short timo tlioy set forth in a gondola, and 
 went to the Piazza of St. Mark. Here they landed. 
 
 The Doge's Palace is a large edifice which ex- 
 tends from the Grand Canal to the Cathedral of St. 
 Mark, overlooking the Piazza and the landing-place, 
 or Piazzetta. The front is adorned with rows of col- 
 umns and arches, which give it a Byzantine appear- 
 ance. The entrance looks out upon the Piazza of 
 St. Mark, and is approached by a noble stairway, 
 known as the "Giant's Stairs." At the head of 
 these are certain orifices representing the mouths 
 of lions. These are the terrible " lions' mouths '* 
 into which secret accusations were once dropped. 
 The "lions' mouths" and the "giant's stairs" figure 
 largely in the legends and the history of Venice. 
 
 Here Vernon led his companions, and pointed 
 out to them these things just mentioned. After 
 this they entered the Palace, traversed the grand 
 hall, and came to the Council Chamber. Here they 
 saw magnificent paintings, and conspicuous among 
 them the largest oil painting in the world — the 
 work of Tintoretto. Then they visited many other 
 apartments, including the Senate Chamber, and the 
 Rooms of Audience. All these were magnificently 
 furnished and adorned with paintings. 
 
 In one of these rooms they sat down. An open 
 window commanded a fine view of the Piazza, with 
 the lofty tower of St. Mark. 
 
 "Do you see the Giant's Stairs below," asked 
 Vernon. 
 
MARINO FALIERO. 103 
 
 "Yoa," saiil Gracie. 
 
 "I iiilend to bo your guide, pliilosophcr, and 
 frioud," said Vornou, " and so I must toll you all 
 about the places of import., ^ce that wo meet. Did 
 you over hear of Marino Faliero?" 
 
 " 0, yes," said G racie. " I've read Byron's play." 
 
 " It's all the saiiio," said Vernon. " I'll tell you 
 the story. I've brought it, all written out, and if 
 you care to hear it I will read it. Shall I Y or will 
 it bo *.oo much of a bore ? " 
 
 " 0, read it, by all means." 
 
 Upon this Vernon drew forth some papers, and 
 began to read 
 
 The Storv op Martno Faliero. 
 
 The formation of the Council of Ten had the 
 effect of diminishing the power of the other parts 
 of the government. In particular the office of 
 chief magistrate had been affected by it, and the 
 Doge of Venice at length became little more than 
 a mere name. 
 
 It was about forty years after the establish- 
 ment of the Council of Ten that Marino Faliero 
 was elected doge. He was one of the most distin- 
 guished citizens of Venice, sprung from one of the 
 noblest families, and with a name rendered illus- 
 trious by glorious achievements in war, and skilful 
 administration of civil affairs. 
 
 The ducal dignity, which had appeared so bril- 
 liant an object of ambition, was no sooner attained, 
 
104 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 than Marino Faliero found it nothing better than a 
 splendid mockery. In most of the affairs of state 
 he was allowed to do nothing whatever. He was 
 subjected to the most galling control, not only in 
 pubHc matters, but even in those things which 
 pertained to his private affairs. To add to all, 
 spies were set around him, and he found that the 
 position of first citizen of Venice was only that of a 
 state prisoner. "^ : 
 
 Accustomed all his life to command ; possessed of 
 great self-reliance and resolution; animated, also, 
 by honorable pride and ambition, Marino Faliero no 
 sooner found oiit the truth of this position than he 
 sought for some remedy. Circumstances hastened 
 his search. Not only was he harassed by the es- 
 pionage and restraint of the Council of Ten, but he 
 also found that he was actually exposed to insult. 
 On one occasion this insult was more bitter than 
 usual, since it was aimed not at liimself, but at his 
 wife. The offence could not be overlooked. Una- 
 ble to punish the offender himself, he denounced 
 him to the Council. The result was, that the Coun- 
 cil punished the accused by a sentence of impris- 
 onment for two months, to be followed by banish- 
 ment for one year. To the doge this punishment 
 appeared so inadequate to the offence that he re- 
 garded it almost as an indorsement by the Council 
 of the insult. His haughty spirit could not endure 
 it any longer, and he now looked about for means 
 to avenge himself. 
 
MARINO FALIERO. 105 
 
 The opportunity soon presented itself. On the 
 day after the sentence a high noble came to him to 
 seek reparation for a blow which he had received 
 from another noble. " What can I do for you," said 
 Faliero ; " think of the shameful insult tl \t has been 
 offered me, and the way in which they lAave pun- 
 ished that ribald who wrote it ; and see how the 
 Council respect my person." Upon this, the other 
 said, eagerly, " My Lord Doge, if you wish to make 
 yourself a real prince, and destroy all these your 
 enemies, I have the courage, if you will help me, to 
 make you chief of the whole state, and then you 
 can punish all of them." 
 
 Faliero at once fell in with the proposal, and 
 soon a conspiracy was organized. His nephew, 
 Bertucci, and Calendaro, a distinguished naval 
 commander, who had formerly served under Fa- 
 liero, were sent for to take part in the plot. Six 
 others were taken into the affair, and for many 
 nights in succession the scheme was discussed in 
 the Ducal Palace, until at length the whole was 
 decided. It was arranged that sixteen or seven- 
 teen leaders should be posted in various parts of 
 the city, each at the head of forty armed men, who, 
 however, were not to know their destination. On 
 the appointed day they were to raise riots among 
 themselves in order that the doge might have a 
 pretence for tolling the bell of St. Mark. At the 
 sound of the bell the whole band was to gather at 
 St. Mark's, and when the citizens should come to 
 
106 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 know the cause of the alarm, the conspirators were 
 to fall upon them and cut them to pieces. After 
 this Faliero was to be proclaimed Lord of Venice. 
 The day appointed for the rising was the 15th of 
 April, 1355 ; and so profound was the secrecy 
 which was maintained that no one dreamed of the 
 existence of the conspiracy. 
 
 But on the evening before the appointed day, 
 one of the conspirators, being anxious to save a 
 dear friend from danger, went to see him and ear- 
 nesth" entreated him to remain at home on the mor- 
 row. The friend, astonished at the singular request, 
 began to make inquiries of his visitor, and though 
 the latter at first tried to maintain secrecy, yet at 
 length he told all. The friend was filled with hor- 
 ror ; he at once arrested his informant, and then, 
 having secured him, he hurried forth to inform 
 the magistrates. These immediately procured the 
 arrest of all the members of the conspiracy, who 
 were captured at their own houses. Guards were 
 then placed at the arsenal, and distributed through 
 the city. For these the punishment was plain and 
 easy, but with the doge it would be more difficult 
 to deal. 
 
 The Council of Ten, therefore, demanded the 
 assistance of twenty nobles, who were to advise, but 
 not to vote. They then sent for the doge, who had 
 heard nothing whatever of the disclosure of the 
 conspiracy, and was arrested in the midst of his 
 palace, while friends, and guests, and visitors were 
 all around him. 
 
MARINO FALIERO. 107 
 
 The fact .f his arrest was enongh. That one 
 thing told him all that had occurred. On being 
 brought before the dread tribunal, he said not a 
 word, neither denying the charge nor seeking to 
 excuse himself. He was accordingly found guilty, 
 and condemned to be beheaded, the place of execu- 
 tion to be the landing-place of the Giant's Stairs, 
 where the doges take their oath when they first 
 enter the palace. . , 
 
 When the execution was over, one of the Coun- 
 cil of Ten went to the columns of the palace oppo- 
 site the Piazza, and holding up the bloody sword, 
 cried out, " Justice has fallen on the traitor ! " and 
 the gates being then opened, the people rushed in 
 to see the doge who had been executed. 
 
 " 0, thank you very much," said Gracie, as Ver- 
 non paused. "It brings back all Byron's play, 
 though your story presents the doge in a different 
 light. But then poets have to depart a little from 
 the actual facts of the case.'^ 
 
 " Certainly," said Vernon. " A poet is like an 
 artist, and has often to sacrifice truth to artistic 
 effect. But of course the moral is the same." 
 
 " 0, yes, I dare say it is," said Gracie. " I take 
 your word for it, especially since you put it in that 
 way. I did not think of that before. There always 
 seemed to me something wrong in a poet's depart- 
 ure from the truth ; but now that you call him an 
 artist, and speak about the artistic effect, it seems 
 
108 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 very different indeed. And, in fact, tlie poet must 
 do so, for it is his art that makes the difference be- 
 tween poetry and prose." 
 
 " Are you an artist ? " asked Vernon. 
 
 " 0, no," said Gracie ; " I should not venture to 
 call myself an artist. I can draw a little, and paint 
 a little, and — " 
 
 '' I wish I could see some of your work," said 
 Vernon, eagerly. " I should love to see some of 
 your work. 1 dare say I could give you some 
 Lints — " ; 
 
 " O, I would give anything to have you give me 
 some hints," responded Gracie, with equal eager- 
 ness. " There are a thousand things that I want to 
 know about, and — but what's the use ? " she added, 
 in a mournful voice, " when there's poor, dear 
 auntie, and — but if she were only here, and 
 safe I " 
 
 '* I declare,'^ said Vernon, " I've a great mind to 
 start off this afternoon by the train and hunt her 
 up myself. But then — " He stopped abruptly. 
 
 " O, I should think the police would be better 
 able to find her than you could be," said Gracie. 
 
 " I would go at once," said Vernon, in a low 
 voice, " but then there is a reason — " * 
 
 "What?" asked Gracie, innocently. 
 
 " Why, I don't want to break up our littl circle, 
 and," he added, in a lower voice, " I don't want to 
 go away from youJ^ 
 
DUNuEONS OP THE INQUISITION. 109 
 
 ■"■^- ^vl^:-- 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T/ie Dungeons of the Inquisition. — The Bridge of Sighs. — 
 The Story of a Life-long Vengeaiue, 
 
 URING this conversation David and Clive 
 had wandered off up and down tlie long 
 corridor. After a time Vernon and Gracie 
 came towards them, and said that they were going 
 to visit the dungeons of the Inquisition. 
 
 " This Inquisition," said Vernon, " isn't the Holy 
 Office of the Inquisition, of which you have heard 
 so much ; it had no connection with the Roman 
 Catholic church, or with religion. It was the In- 
 quisition of the Venetian state, and by Inquisition 
 is meant simply the criminal court. The name has 
 misled many ; but though the Venetian Inquisition 
 was a civil court, yet the horrors perpetrated by it 
 Avere fully equal to any that were ever done by its 
 terrible sister, the Holy Office — the Inquisition of 
 Spain." 
 
 " Or of Rome," said Clive. 
 
 " 0, no," said Vernon ; " the Inquisition at Rome 
 was but a feeble concern compared with this one. 
 But come, let us see what there is left of it. One 
 look, I think, will be enough to put an end to all 
 romantic regrets for the late of Venice." 
 
110 THE WINCED LION. 
 
 They now went on, and came to a large apart- 
 ment, quite as large as the Council Chamber, and 
 furnished quite as magnificently. This was the Hall 
 of the Inquisition. Leaving this, they descended 
 a narrow flight of stone steps, and came to a pas- 
 sage-way which was lighted by a small window. 
 
 Here Vernon stopped. 
 
 " Can you guess where we are ? " he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " This is the Bridge of Sighs," he said. 
 
 " The Bridge of Sighs ! " repeated the others, m 
 wonder. 
 
 " Yes ; look ouc of that window, and you can see 
 the canal beneath." 
 
 A stool was there, by standing on which they 
 could see that it was so. 
 
 After this they went on, and came into the terri- 
 ble prison-house. Upon the story which was on a 
 level w^ith the bridge, they saw narrow cells, 
 lighted only by a small hole in each door. These 
 were dismal enough, but were the best of all. 
 Taking lights, they went down a narrow stone 
 stairway, and found themselves on a lower story, 
 where the dungeons were smaller, and darker, and 
 more repellent. But these were not the worst, for 
 beneath these they found others in the lowest story 
 of all. These lay beneath the level of the sea, and 
 there was something in them so appalling that they 
 retreated after a very short examination. There 
 was a sense of horror over the visitors, and none 
 
THE TWO FOSCARI. Ill 
 
 of them felt able to breathe freely until they had 
 come back to their old station at the balcony. 
 
 " If you like," said Vernon, " I will read you 
 another story, which is associated with these horri- 
 ble prisons." 
 
 " 0, do," said Gracie. ^ ; 
 
 Vernon again read. 
 
 The Story of the Two Foscari. 
 
 The reign of the Doge Francesco Foscari ex- 
 tended over thirty-five years, which had been 
 marked by constant wars, during which he had 
 shown unusual ability in the management of af- 
 fairs. His courage, firmness, and wisdom had made 
 him illustrious ; and under his rule Venice had in- 
 creased in power, in territory, and in glory. Yet 
 all these things could not save him from the dread 
 power of the Ten ; and in his history may be found 
 the most awful example of that dark and baleful 
 tyranny under which Venice had sunk — a tyranny 
 which pressed heavily on all classes ; which sacri- 
 ficed innocent men to the spite of anonymous in- 
 formers, and inflicted the pangs of unspeakable 
 torment on the noblest in the state, at the instiga- 
 tion of personal malignity. 
 
 Twice in the course of his reign, Foscari had 
 handed in his resignation. It had been refused, 
 and on the second resignation an oath was exacted 
 from him that he would retain his unwelcome dig- 
 nity for life. 
 
 51 
 
112 THE WINGED LION, 
 
 Three out of four sons wore dead ; and tlio one 
 who survived, Giacopo, was a youth of noblo qual- 
 ities, before whom was the prospect of a splendid 
 career. Ho had been married to a lady of the 
 illustrious house of Contarini, and the aged doge 
 looked to this last surviving son for the support of 
 Lis declining years. ^ 
 
 Suddenly the blow fell ; which, awful as it was, 
 proved to be but the first in a series of calamities, 
 the very mention of which is terrible to every 
 generous heart. Giacopo was denounced to the 
 Council of Ten for having received presents from 
 a foreign potentatv^. The offence, if true, was but 
 a trifling one, and was probably not true at all ; but 
 before the Council of Ten accusation was enough. 
 It was their fashion not to confront the accused 
 with the accuser, but to examine him by torture ; 
 and in this instance the unhappy youth was put on 
 the rack, and submitted to the question. The 
 agonized father had to be present at tliis scene. 
 This was part of the hellish device of the miscreant 
 who had accused Giacopo. He cared not whether 
 the accused was condemned or acquitted. He 
 counted at least on having him subjected to the 
 torture, and on inflicting worse torture on the 
 wretched father. And so, on the rack, the young 
 man confessed to the crime ; and the father had to 
 announce to him the sentence by which he was 
 banished for life. Afterwards, at the special 
 prayer of the doge, his wife was allowed to ac- 
 company him. 
 
•rnE TWO lOscARi. 113 
 
 Several years passed, and Giacopo remained 
 in banishment ; wlien an event occurred which 
 brouglit down a fresh calamity upon the wretched 
 son and father. One of the Council of Ten was 
 assassinated. On that day the servant of Giacopo 
 had been seen in Venice. The Council, conscious 
 of the horrible wrong which they had done, and 
 suspecting vengeance from Foscnri, at once re- 
 called Giacopo from banishment to answer this 
 new charge of treason and assassination. 
 
 Once more the hapless son was laid upon the 
 rack, and once more the wretched fatlier had to 
 preside, and see the agony of one dearer than life, 
 — his only son, — innocent of the charge, tortured 
 by fiends from whom he could not save him. For 
 the doge was but a name, and the Council of Ten 
 held all power in their hands. Nevertheless, in 
 spite of the torment, Giacopo continued firm in 
 the protestation of his innocence ; and the ex- 
 trcmest torture was unavailing to extort from him 
 a single Avord. 
 
 Yet, although proof was wanting, the Council 
 of Ten declared him guilty, and attributed his 
 silence to the effect of witchcraft and magic. 
 Once more, therefore, they condemned him, and 
 this time they banished him to a more remote 
 place in Candia. For a while he was insane 
 through his sufferings in body and mind ; and 
 though his innocence was proved by the discovery 
 of the real assassin, still no change was made in 
 8 
 
114 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 his sentence ; and on the recovery of his reason 
 ho was sent to Candia. To add to it all, this time 
 his wife was not allowed to accompany him. 
 
 " Alone in this far-distant land, the miserable 
 Giacopo fell a victim to pining homesickness. 
 Death seemed preferable to this, when life was 
 intolerable ; and at last, in his despair, ho wrote a 
 letter to the Duke of Milan, entreating his inter- 
 cession with the Venetian government, so that ho 
 might return home, even as a prisoner. 
 
 This letter was discovered by the Venetian 
 spies, and the result was, that he was brouglit 
 home ; but it was on the charge of treasonable 
 correspondence with a foreign state. This charge 
 meant a fresh trial and renewed torture. 
 
 Once more, and for a third time, the miserable 
 Giacopo was subjected to the torture ; and the 
 miserable father, in the hideous mockery of the du- 
 cal dignity, was compelled to preside. For no less 
 than thirty times was the poor victim stretched 
 upon the rack ; bnt no torment could wring from 
 him a confession of guilt. At last, all torn, bleed- 
 ing, dislocated, and senseless, he was carried away. 
 The doge was allowed to visit him in his cell. The 
 wretched father tried to console his son, but fell 
 senseless in his agony. 
 
 All this, however, had not the slightest effect 
 on the Council of Ten. Giacopo was once more 
 punished by banishment, and once more he left his 
 beloved home for far-distant Candia, where he died 
 shortly after his arrival. 
 
THE TWO FOSCARI. 115 
 
 • 
 
 Tho misorablo father, to whom death would 
 have been welcome, continued to live on. He 
 was compelled to retain his dignity of doge, but 
 he lived secluded, and never attended any more 
 councils. His heart was broken, and there was 
 nothing left for him now but to wait patiently for 
 that death which could not be long delayed. 
 
 At length a proposal was made for the deposi- 
 tion of tho doge. Some debate followed, and at 
 length it was agreed to. So they declared the 
 office of doge vacant, ordered him to quit tho 
 palace within three days, and added to this the 
 vote of a trifling pension. 
 
 Foscari received the announcement with calm- 
 ness. He laid aside the ducal robes, and prepared 
 to go. It was suggested that he should leave by 
 the private stairway, but this he refused. " No," 
 said he, " I will descend by the same steps by which 
 I mounted thirty-five years ago." 
 
 With these words he went forth, and, supported 
 by his brother, he slowly descended the Giant's 
 Stairs. 
 
 Five days afterwards the bell of St. Mark 
 tolled to announce the eloction of a new doge. 
 Its sounds penetrated to the ears of Foscari. It 
 brought before him all his wrongs and sufferings. 
 He started up in unutterable anguish at the recol- 
 lection that crowded upon him ; some inarticulate 
 words escaped him ; but before the- peal of the bell 
 had ceased, he fell down dead. 
 
116 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 It is ovidont that such wrongs as thoso of tho 
 two Foscari must luivo arisen from soniothing 
 more tlian the wanton exorcise of tyranny on tho 
 part of tho Council of Ten. This dread tribunal 
 has crimes onougli and horrors enough to answer 
 for ; but in this case it has only a part of tho guilt 
 that arises from these cruelties. There was one 
 who stood behind them, the secret mover, who, in 
 all his acts, was but Ibllowing the impulse of a life- 
 long trust for vengeance. That one was Loredano. 
 
 He belonged to a family which had an heredi- 
 tary feud with that of the Foscari. His uncle, who 
 had gained high distinction as admiral, was so hos- 
 tile to Foscari, that tho latter once declared that 
 he should never be doge so long as Pietro Loredano 
 lived. Shortly after this the admiral died sudden- 
 ly, it w^as rumored ,by poison. His brother also 
 died shortly after, in the same sudden way, and 
 rumor also attributed this to poison. Loredano 
 thus lost his father and his uncle. He believed 
 that Foscari had effected their destruction in this 
 way. Upon his father's tomb he caused the in- 
 scription to be placed that he had died by poison ; 
 and from that time he devoted his whole life to the 
 one purpose of vengeance. 
 
 At length he found himself in authority as one 
 of the Council of Ten — that supreme tribunal, be- 
 fore whom the doge himself was but a v/eak tool. 
 Here he had occasion to use the tremendous power 
 which had been placed in hk hands, and there was 
 
THE TWO FOSCAEI. 
 
 117 
 
 not a pang that tho Foscari sufTorod which was not 
 marked by him as so much satisiaction given to his 
 desire for rovongo. 
 
 Like most of tho Venetian nobles, Loredano 
 was engaged in commerce. When he lieard of 
 the death of Fosr-^ri, ho took down one of liis 
 ledgers, and turned to a page where there was an 
 entry among his list of debtors. 
 
 " Francesco Foscari, for the death of my father 
 and uncle." 
 
 He took his pen, and calmly wrote on tlio other 
 side, — 
 
 " By his death." • 
 
 As Vernon ended, he turned over a leaf of hia 
 manuscript, and showed a page which was ruled 
 so as to represent the page of a merchant's ledger, 
 with entries of debit and credit, «Tch as Loredano 
 might have had before him when he balanced his 
 account with Fobcari. 
 
 ^^- 
 
 <M. 
 
 zancer^eo 
 
 
 z. 
 
 <^oi in& cieain o» 'Jii'u uitcie. 
 
 lu 3 loi^uted (M <foit 
 ^laco^ ant/ aeM. 
 6^ nM etefuMiiion. 
 
118 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Race three hundred Feet up into the Air. — The Story 
 of the Origin of Venice. — The Story of the jealous 
 • Arti^i. 
 
 HOULD you like to go to the top of the 
 tower of St. Mark?" asked Vernoi of 
 Gracie. 
 
 " O, yes/' was the reply, " very, very much. I 
 should like it above all things." 
 
 " But it's a very great thing to do," said Vernon. 
 " It's very much higher than Bunker Hill Monu- 
 ment." 
 
 " 0, but I'm a capital climber," said Gracie. " I 
 assure you, Mr, Vernon, I should like it above all 
 things." 
 
 *• O, then, if that's your state of mind, we must 
 go at once," said Vernon. 
 
 Leaving the doge's palace they crossed over to 
 the Tower of St. Mark, which Avas only a short 
 distance away, and began the long ascent. Dave 
 and Clive dashed away, and ran a race to the top, 
 while Vernon and Gracie walked more slowly. 
 Vernon was determined that Gracie should not fa- 
 tigue herself, and insisted that she should take his 
 
 /Sis 
 
A RACE. 119 
 
 arm. Tin's Gracie positivelv refused to do ; but at 
 length, as Yernon made such a point of it, she con- 
 sented. The ascent wound round and round in a 
 spiral way ; it was very gradual and very easy, yet, 
 such was Vernon's anxious solicitude about Gracie 
 that he made her stop more than twenty times on 
 the way up, so as to avoid all fatigue. In this way 
 they went up, and reached the top long after Olive 
 and David ; but Gracie was not in the least tired, 
 and her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes showed 
 that the ascent had been beneficial rather than 
 exhaustive. 
 
 On looking out from their lofty position, they 
 beheld, on every side, a most magnificent view. 
 Beneath lay Venice, the peerless city of the sea, 
 with the water all around. Yet from this height 
 they Avere not able to see many of the canals, for 
 the lofty houses concealed all of them except the 
 Grand Canal, and one or two others that were close 
 by them. Towards the east lay the broad Adriatic, 
 with a blue line along the horizon, showing the 
 coast of Dalmatia ; on the west they saw the plains 
 of Italy ; on the north, the mountains ; while on the 
 south the sea faded away till in the distance it 
 blended with the horizon. 
 
 Perhaps the most wonderful thing of all was the 
 deep silence that prevailed. All was still. There 
 was no rumble from carriage- wheels, none of that 
 uproar which marks every other city. It seemed 
 like a city of the dead. 
 
120 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " Haven't you some more stories in that mann- 
 Bcript of yours ? " asked Gracie, after she had seen 
 all that was to be seen. 
 
 " 0, yes/' said Vernon, " lots of them ; but I don't 
 knowwhi" to choose. I wish to choose something 
 appropriate. Let me see. It seems to me that the 
 best thing to read just now is about the origin of 
 Venice." ■ ^: 
 
 So Vernon went on to read 
 
 The Origin of Venice. 
 
 The name of Venice is derived from that of 
 the Veneti, a people who lived upon the adjoining 
 main land, under the Roman empire. During the 
 decline of that power, they suffered much from va- 
 rious invaders, until at length the approach of At- 
 tila, " the Scourge of God," sent many of them to 
 seek for refuge in seme place which would be less 
 liable to the ravages of hostile bands. Such a 
 place they found in a cluster of little islands which 
 lay a few miles out at sea, at the head of the Adri- 
 atic. Defended by the sea from the armies that 
 ravaged Italy, they were also equally well de- 
 fended from piratical ships or hostile fleets, by sand- 
 banks and shoals that could only be traversed 
 through channels of the most intricate character. 
 This, then, was the place which the fugitive Veneti 
 chose for their refuge ; and here they settled upon 
 one of the largest islands, which boT*" he name of 
 Rialto. It was on the 25th of March, 452, when 
 
ORIGIN OP VENICE. 121 
 
 this first settlement was made. Nnmeroiis bands 
 of people followed, settling upon adjoining islands, 
 and the little community thus began that career 
 which was destined to be so splendid. Though a 
 part of the Roman empire, the Veneti governed 
 themselves, and were but rarely troubled by the 
 agents of the emperor. They had what was virtu- 
 ally a free republic ; and thus, with the great bless- 
 ings of freedom and safety, together with a good 
 government, and law, and order, they were in a 
 condition which, in comparison with that of other 
 cities, may justly be called most enviable. 
 
 Time passed o^ , and at length large numbers 
 of fugitives again came out to settle upon neigh- 
 boring islands. These were driven away by the 
 advance of Alboin at the head of his Lombards. 
 The new settlements, after a time, became con- 
 nected with the old one ; and at length, in the year 
 697, the necessity was felt of a regular organized 
 government which should blend them all into one 
 state. Twelve of the principal men were empow- 
 ered to choose a ruler, and this one thus elected 
 was called the Doge or Duke of Venice. 
 
 Venice now went on increasing in population, 
 extending its commerce, and developing its naval 
 power. During the eighth and ninth centuries, the 
 ravages of the Saracens filled all Christendom with 
 terror ; but Venice remained secure. More than 
 this, the common danger seemed to bring forth 
 more prominently the strength of this young city 
 
122 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 of the seas, to draw forth her resources, and 
 strengthen her maritime power. In one great 
 struggle of the Italians against the Eastern Roman 
 Empire, the Venetian fleet took a prominent part, 
 and gained a decisive victory; while her next 
 great victory was gained over the ruler of the new- 
 risen Western Roman Empire, the mighty Charle- 
 magne. In this struggle the fleet of the emperor, 
 which was commanded by his son Pepin, was de- 
 feated. 
 
 In the year 809 the government was made 
 stronger. By this time no less than sixty islands 
 were united in the city of Venice. Her commerce 
 extended far and wide ; her maritime power was 
 sufficient to insure her the command of the Adri- 
 atic Sea; and already the wealth and power of the 
 young republic were visible in splendid edifices. 
 
 Her power now continued to increase. Towards 
 the end of the tenth century the cities of Dalmatia 
 put themselves under her protection. At the end 
 of the eleventh century the crusades began, and 
 these mighty movements acted directly and imme- 
 diately upon Venice, increasing her population, ex- 
 tending her commerce, enlarging her naval power, 
 and developing to an immense extent all her re- 
 sources. It was during this period that she attained 
 to her highest glory. She became tlie Queen of the 
 Adriatic, the conqueror of the capital of the East, 
 the chief of all the cities on earth, when — 
 
ORIGIN OP VENICE. ' 123 
 
 " her daughters had their dowers 
 From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
 Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
 In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
 Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. 
 
 In youth she was all glory — a new Tyre ; 
 Her very by-word sprung from victory, 
 The * Planter of the Lion,' wliich through fire 
 And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea; 
 ^ Though making many slaves, herself still free, 
 
 And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite ; 
 Witness Troy's rival, Candia I Vouch it, ye 
 Immortal waves, that saw Lepanto's fight I 
 For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight." 
 
 " Thank you," said Gracie ; " that's very nice. 
 It isn't tragic. It isn't exciting. It's simply nice. 
 It's so full of information, and all that, you ^-now. 
 But as to your quotation from Byron, I think that 
 it is not so effective just now as it ought to be." 
 
 « Why not ? " 
 
 " 0, well, you know, after one has just emerged 
 from the dungeons of the Inquisition, and has all 
 the horror about one, why, one has no patience with 
 Venice. To indulge in lamentations over her fall 
 seems rather out of place. For how can one feel 
 like lamenting the fall of a state which was built 
 upon a system of wrong, and baseness, and hideous 
 cruelty ? The names of the two Foscari are enough 
 to put one out of conceit with Venice forever." 
 
 " To tell the truth," said Vernon, " that is ex- 
 actly my own feeling, and I have no sympathy 
 whatever with Childe Harold's lamentations over 
 Venice." 
 
124 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " I suppose," said Gracie, " we must regard all 
 that as the poet's art." 
 
 " You have the idea exactly/' said Vernon. " You 
 are so quick at catching hints, and so apt, that I 
 long to have you for my pupil, if it were only for a 
 short time ; for I know that you would make the 
 most brilliant progress." - : 
 
 " But, then, there's poor dear auntie I " said 
 Gracie, with a little sigh. "0, if she were only 
 here ! or somewhere so that I could hear from her I" 
 
 After seeing all that was to be seen, they de- 
 scended. Clive and David, as before, ran a race 
 down. Clive had beaten in the race up. He had 
 passed David not long after starting, and thinking 
 that David was close behind, had run all the way. 
 The exertion was tremendous, and he had reached 
 the top in such a state of exhaustion that it was 
 long before he could recover his breath ; ;,nd even 
 then he felt in that condition which is isually 
 termed shaky. As for David, he soon gave up the 
 race, and, after Clive had passed, he slackened his 
 pace to a moderate walk. He was rewarded for 
 this, for on the race down Clive soon gave out ; but 
 David, being quite fresh, kept ahead, and reached 
 the bottom long before his rival. 
 
 As for Vernon and Gracie, they did not think of 
 racing, or hurrying in any way. Vernon insisted 
 again on her taking his arm, so that she might be 
 saved from the fatigue of the descent ; and Gracie 
 again, after a first refusal, accepted the offer. 
 
PICTURES. 125 
 
 Then they came down very leisurely, — so leisure- 
 ly, in fact, that Clive and David grew tired with 
 waiting for them. 
 
 On reaching the bottom, Vernon proposed a visit 
 to some picture galleries, as this would be an easy 
 and pleasant way of passing the remainder of the 
 day. This, of course, was an agreeable proposal, 
 and they were soon seated in the gondola on their 
 way to the Academy of Fine Arts. It was a noble 
 edifice, superbly furnished, and filled with great 
 paintings, the crown and glory of which was the 
 famous " Assumption " of Titian. Vernon pointed 
 out the peculiar qualities of this great master, and 
 had many stories to tell relative to his life and 
 character. 
 
 Leaving this, they visited the Pisano and Barbe- 
 rigo Palaces, and at length they came to the Palazzo 
 Manfrini. This was a marble edifice of great 
 beauty, containing a collection of pictures as ex- 
 tensive and as excellent as that of the Academy of 
 Fine Arts. The pictures represented many artists, 
 and many schools of painting. Vernon showed 
 them works of Titian, of Tintoretto, of Rubens, of 
 Rembrandt, and many others, pointing out the dis- 
 tinguishing features of each. From a few words and 
 simple explanations thus made by a skilful artist in 
 the presence of the pictures themselves, Gracie 
 learned more than she could have gained from pro- 
 longed study of mere books. 
 
 At length they sat down by a window which 
 
126 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 looked out upon the Grand Canal, and here once 
 more Vernon produced his manuscript. 
 
 '* If you care about it," he said, " I will read you 
 a story. It's not about statesmen, or soldiers ; 
 it's about artists." 
 
 The others received his proposal with much 
 pleasure, and thereupon Vernon read 
 
 The Story of Daru and Prtuli. 
 
 Daru and Priuli had been rivals in youth, but 
 Priuli had distanced the other, and his superior 
 genius was manifest. For this Daru could never 
 forgive him ; and as Priuli went on in the full tide 
 of honor and fortune, Daru never ceased to feel 
 the bitterest jealousy, accompanied by a fierc^ 
 thirst for vengeance on the man whose only offence 
 had been his superior abilities. Outwardly, howev- 
 er, Daru professed a warm and admiring friendship ; 
 and Priuli, who was too successful to feel jealous 
 himself, was slow to suspect jealousy in others. So 
 he gave Daru credit for all the friendship that he 
 professed, which friendship the other tried to make 
 as intimate as ^^ossible. Flattery of Priuli and de- 
 preciation of himself were the means which he em- 
 ployed, and in this way he so won upon the other's 
 good will, that his confidence followed as a matter 
 of course. And now, having gained this much, 
 Daru watched every act of Priuli, in the hope that 
 sometliing would take place which might put him 
 in his power. Still the task was a tedious one. 
 
THE JEALOUS ARTIST. 127 
 
 For a simple artist like Priuli, an offence against 
 the laws was hardly possible. He had no vices. 
 Ho lived frugally. He made no debts, nor did he 
 ever gamble. All the ordinary ways by which 
 one man may lead another to ruin were tlms closed 
 to Daru, who fo xnd liimself compelled to trust to 
 the chapter of accidents. Even the quietest and 
 most -innocent men, thought Daru, will often do 
 things that may be distorted so as to seem like 
 offences of great magnitude ; all that I need is 
 patience ; something must occur at last. 
 
 At last something did occur. A French noble 
 residing at Venice had engaged Priuli to paint him 
 a picture, which Priuli had finished and had taken 
 to his lodgings. It happened that war suddenly 
 broke out between France and Venice consequent 
 upon the famous League of Cambray, and the French 
 noble found himself compelled to return home. At 
 the same time all his financial resources were cut 
 off, owing to the war ; and for the same reason he 
 found it impossible to obtain money from the bro- 
 kers. In this emergency Priuli urged him to take 
 the picture and send him the money at some future 
 time. The French noble did so, and Priuli knew 
 that the debt would be paid, as the rank and wealth 
 of the debtor placed him beyond the reach of sus- 
 picion. His confidence was well founded. Long 
 before the time had ended which he had counted 
 on as the probable duration of the debt, the money 
 was sent to him. It came by a Venetian Jew, who 
 
128 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 « 
 
 had just returned from Milttn, where he had been 
 commissioned by the French noble to give the 
 money to Priuli. 
 
 All this was well known to Baru. It seemed 
 to hiin to be the very time for which he had been 
 so long waiting. Accordingly he hastened to make 
 a chargo against Priuli, and dropped into tho dread 
 " Lion's Mouth " secret information that Priuli had 
 received money from a foreign prince with whom 
 Venice was at war. 
 
 Such a charge was a terrible one at all times. 
 The law was strict, and was watched with jealous 
 vigilance. On charges of this sort some of the 
 highest and haughtiest nobles in Venice had been 
 arrested and tried. Fame, rank, virtue, popularity, 
 all had failed to save them. All this Daru well 
 knew, and he thought that in a time like this such 
 a charge against a private man like Priuli would 
 bo certain ruin. 
 
 This was the fearful system at Venice, that any 
 man might gratify his spite by an anonymous de- 
 nunciation of an enemy on any charge whatever. 
 If the charge proved utterly unfounded, the pris- 
 c.ier was set free, yet reluctantly ; for the Venetian 
 government never let any one go free if they could 
 possibly help it ; while, if there were any ground 
 whatever for the charge, the utmost efforts were 
 put forth to extort a confession from the accused, 
 and those efforts were generally the effective work- 
 ings of the rack, or other instruments of torture. 
 
THE JEALOUS ARTIST. 129 
 
 So, when Dam learned that Priuli had been ar- 
 rested, ho felt sure that the charge would bo sifted 
 to the bottom ; that the payment of money would 
 be found out, and that in order to extort further 
 confession, Priuli would undoubtedly bo placed 
 upon the rack. 
 
 And after that, thought Daru, he'll have to Ho 
 in some dungeon till he rots ; or, if ho does get 
 out, his joints will bo too sore to allow him to paint 
 again. 0, ho, my Priidino I caro amico 1 how do 
 you like my Lady Rack ? 
 
 Meanwhile Priuli had been arrested, and brought 
 before his judges. His explanation was frank and 
 simple. He had received no money from a foreign 
 power, but had merely received payment of a debt 
 from a private person. He told the whole story so 
 that there could not be any doubt as to its truth in 
 the minds of the judges. 
 
 Now, had Priuli been a powerful noble, with 
 powerful enemies, there is no doubt that the charge 
 could have been pressed most vehemently, and 
 the rack would certainly have been applied. But 
 Priuli was not a noble. He was a simple artist. 
 He had no powerful enemies, and no one in author- 
 ity felt it to be his interest to put him to the tor- 
 ture. Moreover, the Venetians were always tender 
 to artists ; and so, as there was no motive to con- 
 demn him, h(3 was not condemned. At the same 
 time it was not in accordance with their policy to 
 set any prisoner free too quickly. The Venetian 
 9 
 
130 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 governmont lived, and moved, and bad its boin^^ in 
 a system of fiondisb cruelty and never-ending ter- 
 rorism, wbicli was always carried out to tbo fullest 
 possible extent. Priuli, tberefore, after bis exami- 
 nation, was remanded to bis prison. 
 
 lUit tbo Venetian government, witb its count- 
 less spies, kept note of all tbe doings of tlio people. 
 Seldom was it tbat any one was denounced witbout 
 tbeir finding out wbo tbo informant was. Tbeir 
 policy was to question tbe prisoner as to all bis 
 friends and associates, bis business, his acts, and 
 even bis tbougbts. From all tbese tbey could 
 judge with cool and subtle penetration as to the 
 motives of the information, and tbe name of tbe in- 
 former. So it was in this case ; and it did not re- 
 quire much acuteness to perceive tbat Daru was 
 the enemy. 
 
 The Venetians, moreover, were a commercial 
 people, and always sought to get the greatest pos- 
 sible benefit from the smallest possible outlay. It 
 seemed shocking to all principles of business to let 
 a man like Priuli live in idleness in a dungeon, 
 when be might be so much better employed. And 
 so, being in want of a picture for the Ducal Palace, 
 they gave him a commission to paint one of a cer- 
 tain size upon some event in Venetian history. Ho 
 was removed to a comfortable room, where he could 
 work at his ease, and everything \vas furnished him 
 which he desired. In this way they accomplished 
 many things. They retained the prisoner in his 
 
THE JEALOUS AHTIST. 131 
 
 prison, yet tlioy made that prisoner as comfortable 
 as a free man. They also utilized his genius and 
 his industry in their own behalf, and by giving him 
 agreeable employment prevented him from sinking 
 into despondency. 
 
 Meanwhile Daru was exulting in the complete- 
 ness of his vengeance. He thought of Priuli, 
 racked, tormented, prostrated in body and mind, 
 no longer able to outshine him. Even if he should 
 now be freed, ho thouglit, he can no longer have 
 the mind to conceive or the hand to execute. This 
 would make him the first artist in Venice, and to 
 him would come all those lucrative orders which 
 had formerly fallen to the lot of Priuli. With these 
 thoughts lie solicited from the government a com- 
 mission for the execution of that very work, which, 
 unknown to him, had already been intrusted to 
 Priuli. He had heard that the work had been de- 
 cided on, and thought that he had the, best claim 
 to it. 
 
 His request was granted. At the same time 
 certain conditions were imposed. Another artist, 
 he was told, had already been engaged ; but the 
 government was willing to let him take it if he 
 would consent to let its acceptance be subject to 
 the approval of a committee which should judge 
 between his work and that of the other artist. 
 
 To this Daru gladly consented. Who the other 
 artist might be did not concern him in the least. 
 He supposed him to be some rising artist under the 
 
132 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 patronage of some eminent noble, wlio had obtained 
 the work for him. But now that Prinli was gone, 
 there was not one among the artists of Venice who 
 could compete with himself. . ; 
 
 He set to work, labored diligently, and at length 
 his picture was completed. It represented a scene 
 from Venetian history — Carlo Zeno wounded at 
 Chiozza. 
 
 A deputation came to see it, and were lavish in 
 their expressions of praise. At the same time they 
 informed him that the other artist had completed 
 his, and had sent it to the Ducal Palace. They 
 added that it had been much admired, and coui ^ 
 teously invited him to go with them and see it. 
 Such an invitation was not to be declined, and so 
 Daru went with them. As he went he felt strange 
 and dismal forebodings. He wondered how it was 
 that the other picture should already be at the 
 palace. Had they chosen it before seeing his ? Or 
 was there something beneath all this ? The sus- 
 picious nature of Daru was aroused, but there was 
 nothing to be done. 
 
 On reaching the Ducal Palace he was called 
 into a large upper room in the left wing. Here he 
 saw a brilliant company assembled. Among them 
 were the doge himself and the chief counsellors. 
 But in that company he saw one form which made 
 him blind to all the rest. Forgetting the rever- 
 ence due to this august company, he stood rigid, 
 and staring, with his eyes fixed upon the face of that 
 
THE JEALOUS ARTIST. 133 
 
 man whom for months he had thought of as lan- 
 guishing in a drear dungeon. 
 
 " We have given you a commission, signor/^ said 
 the doge, " but we had previously given it to 
 another, with whom you were to compete. We 
 honor our Priuli so much that we have invited him 
 to our own Ducal Palace to do his work undis- 
 turbed. His work is finished. It is here. Come 
 and see whether you think that yours is equal to 
 this." • 
 
 Trembling and distracted with conflicting emo- 
 tions, the wretched Daru could neither speak nor 
 move. His base plot had been discovered. The 
 accused had been absolved and raised to honor; 
 he, the informer, had been detected and mocked. 
 Mocked ! And was that all ? Would that it were. 
 But he was here before the dread Council, and the 
 awful prison-house was near. 
 
 '' This," continued the doge, " is an admirable 
 picture, a masterpiece, which shall adorn our walls. 
 As to your work, why, you shall be rewarded — for 
 all that you have done." 
 
 There was a terrible meaning in these words. 
 As the doge ended, he made a sign to the attend- 
 ants, and they led Daru away. 
 
 Priuli was restored to liberty in a few days, 
 but Daru, after having been kept in prison for about 
 a year, left Venice, and never came back. 
 
134 . THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Another Call on the Police^ with the Result thereof. — The 
 Story of the ambitious Money-Lender and his malignant 
 Plot, ' , . V. 
 
 FTER quitting the Palazzo Manfrini, they 
 went home. Leaving his friends here, 
 Yernon proceeded to the Bureau of Police 
 in order to find out whether they had received any 
 information from Verona. The answer was neither 
 satisfactory nor encouraging. They had heard 
 nothing from their messenger, and they could not 
 give any idea of the time when they would hear. 
 It struck Vernon that there was an unpleasant air 
 of indifference about these gentlemen of the po- 
 lice ; and there was a vague impression made upon 
 his mixid that perhaps they expected to be paid for 
 these labors, which were outside Oi' their usual 
 routine. Had Vernon been in the possession of his 
 usual presence of mind, he would have understood 
 the situation at once, and have taken the hint 
 which these noble gentlemen of the police were 
 not slow to give. He would have feed them lib- 
 erally all round, and then — why, the business 
 would have been promptly performed, and this 
 
THE POLICE. 135 
 
 story would liave taken a different turn altogether. 
 But Yornon was not at all his usual self. He was 
 absent-minded ; his thoughts went wool-gathering ; 
 moreover, he did not feel any very great anxiety 
 to bring the business to an end. The fact was, 
 he was infatuated about Gracic, and his present 
 situation was so delightful that he dreaded any 
 change. The advent of Gracie's aunt upon the 
 scene might put an end to his pleasant wanderings 
 with her. The aunt might be grim, and precise, 
 and rigid, and over-particular, and therefore he 
 dreaded her arrival. lie certainly did all that was 
 befitting ; but he did not show that fertility of re- 
 source, that energy and zeal, which he would have 
 exhibited under different circumstances. And so 
 he did not fee the police, and the police, as will 
 afterwards appear, were languid in their efforts ; 
 and Gracie's aunt remained hidden under a dense 
 cloud, and Yernon had to console Gracie as best 
 he could. 
 
 Pie explained to Gracie that everything was go- 
 ing on well, but that as yet no tidings had been 
 received. He showed, however, that there had 
 not yet been sufficient time to hear anything, and 
 encouraged her by the assurance that in a day or 
 two all would be well. He urged her to think of 
 Italy as she would think of Massachusetts, and 
 declared that no danger could possibly befall any 
 one. 
 
 " In a day or two," said he, " you will see her. 
 
136 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 It'll take a day for the messenger to get to Yerona 
 and start the Yerona police on the search ; well, 
 that's what has been done to-day : another day will 
 be needed to find her ; no more than that, I should 
 think, will be necessary ; well, that's to-morrow : 
 the third day will be taken up with her journey 
 here, or else with the sending of a message to you. 
 And so, you know, I really don't see any cause for 
 anxiety." 
 
 In spite of these confident assurances, however, 
 Gracio did feel anxious — very anxious. 
 
 " It isn't because I'm afraid of any danger hap- 
 pening to her, Mr. Yernon," she said ; " but I fear 
 very much that her anxiety about me will make 
 her ill. She is very much inclined to worry about 
 tilings, and to lose me in this way is something 
 terrible. 0, I think I ought to have gone back to 
 Yerona." 
 
 ^^ To Yerona ! " said Yernon, aghast. " 0, no — 
 no, no. You did exactly right. For after all, your 
 aunt may come here, and if so, she will communi- 
 cate with the police at once, and will find you with- 
 out any trouble. 0, no ; it would have been mad- 
 ness for you to go back to Yerona." 
 
 In this way Yernon succeeded in quelling the 
 fears of Gracie, and after this he tried to divert 
 her thoughts from so painful a subject by turning 
 them to other things. He had other pictures to 
 show her, he said, about which he wished to have 
 her opinion. There were two in particular, and 
 
VERN0N*8 PICTURES. 137 
 
 each of these was connected with a story, which 
 story he had written out in his manuscript. The 
 mention of this excited Gracie's curiosity, and 
 Vernon produced the pictures, while Gracie, and 
 David, and Clive all looked at them with the deep- 
 est interest. 
 
 The first one was called " The Lion's Mouth. '^ 
 It represented a man dropping a paper into that 
 awful receptacle. The paper was supposed to con- 
 tain a denunciation of some one. The face of the 
 informer was turned towards the spectator, as his 
 hand dropped the paper, and there was upon it a 
 marvellous portrayal of hate, fear, vigilance, re- 
 venge, together with cunning, and vulgar exulta- 
 tion. It was a mean and contemptible face, and 
 the skill of the artist was shown in his subtile de- 
 lineation of these mingled passions. 
 
 They all looked at this picture with the deepest 
 interest and admiration. 
 
 " You do not know Avhat it is about/' said Ver- 
 non. -■■■■.•. ■ -.:■;■ ■■ -i : -V „/^ -r- -:■ 
 
 " O, yes," said Gracie ; " the picture is eloquent. 
 It, tells all ; but of course it does not tell the names 
 and the minor incidents, and so, if you are not tired, 
 and are willing to read us one of your stories, I'm 
 sure we should all feel very much obliged." 
 
 " Of course," said Vernon, " if you are willing to 
 listen, I shall be very happy to read the story." 
 
 Saying this, he read from his manuscript the 
 story of 
 
138 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Memmo and Valiero. 
 
 The Yenetian republic was a nation of shop- 
 keepers. In this commercial state nearly all the 
 nobles were engaged in trade ; and from them 
 arose the name Merchant Princes. Dealers in 
 money arose, and throve among them at an early 
 period. In the twelfth century a bank was estab- 
 lished, — the first in the world, — which flourished 
 for centuries before any other land had a similar 
 institution. Private money-lenders, usurers, and 
 brokers were as common at Venice in the middle 
 ages as they are now, in the nineteenth century, in 
 London. Money was subject to the same fluctua- 
 tions. Hard times came and went. The rate of 
 . interest varied, and all sorts of contrivances were 
 resorted to for the sake of obtaining the needful. 
 
 Conspicuous among these Venetian bankers 
 was Memmo, a self-made man, who had risen from 
 nothing, and by a long course of prosperous specu- 
 lation and money-lending had made himself wealthy. 
 Many nobles were among his debtors, and among 
 those who were deepest on his books was Valiero, 
 a member of one of the proudest families in the 
 state. Like most other nobles, he was engaged in 
 business ; but various misfortunes had overtaken 
 him, and he was compelled to raise money by all 
 the wretched devices known to men in difliculties. 
 From Memmo he had obtained Avhat he wanted, 
 and in return had mortgaged his houses and estates, 
 
THE money-lender's PLOT. 139 
 
 and had given his obligations for immense sums. 
 At last it seemed to Memmo that Valicro was com- 
 pletely in his power, and that the time had como 
 for broaching a plan which had been in his mind 
 for j'^ears. 
 
 Memmo was ambitious. He had gained wealth, 
 but that was not enough. Ho wished to obtain 
 social distinction. For this he was willing to mako 
 pecuniary sacrifices to almost any extent. The 
 misfortunes of Yaliero and his immense debts 
 seemed to open a way for the accomplishment of 
 his wishes. He had a daughter, Valiero had a son. 
 If these two could be married it would at once 
 bring the self-made Memmo into the charmed circle 
 of the aristocracy ; and while Valiero should be- 
 come free from debt, Memmo should rise to that 
 lofty world where dwelt those whose noble names 
 were inscribed in the Libro d' Oro. 
 
 Yaliero came to him one day in want of more 
 money. 
 
 Memmo asked what security he had to give. 
 
 Yaliero's property was all covered by mort- 
 gages, and nothing was left but his ships and car- 
 goes. -:.J ^ . - ^ -'.-.- 'A-- 
 
 " I have ships," said he, " with cargoes of silk 
 and spices. They will soon be here, and retrieve 
 all." -::.• 
 
 Memmo shook his head. 
 
 " A ship at sea is no security. The Turks, the 
 tempests, and all other accidents and dangers, await 
 
140 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 them. Bosifles, you have been unfortunate, and 
 my experience has been tliat when once ill luck 
 assails a man, it never leaves him." 
 
 Valiero sighed. 
 
 " It's true," said he, " I've been unfortunate of 
 late. But I have hope yet." * \ 
 
 " Your last hope." 
 
 " It's my last hope." ' 
 
 " And if it fails ? " 
 
 " Then I'm a ruined man," said Yaliero. 
 
 " Ruined. 0, no," said Memmo ; " not ruined — 
 not while I live. We'll pull through, after all." 
 
 Valiero looked at him earnestly, as though not 
 quite understanding him. 
 
 " You mean tliat you will help me ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, I've got an idea," said Memmo. " I've 
 been thinking over it for some time, and I may as 
 well mention it now. You see our connection thus 
 far has been of a purely business character." 
 
 " Yes," said Valiero. 
 
 " Well, we might place our connection upon a 
 different footing." 
 
 " I don't think I understand 3^ou," said V.»Iiero, 
 with a look of surprise. He had not the slightest 
 idea what Memmo's meaning could be. 
 
 " You have a son," continued Memmo. 
 
 ** Yes," said Valiero, still in the same state of 
 surprise. 
 
 " I have a daughter," said Memmo, and then 
 hesitated. 
 
THE money-lender's PLOT. 141 
 
 « What of that ? " said Yaliero. " What has that 
 to do with my business." 
 
 " This," said Memmo. " Listen. Ruin is before 
 you, and poverty, and despair. You can never sur- 
 vive your fortunes. You i ive fallen too far. Now 
 all this may be avoided by the marriage of your 
 son with my daughter." 
 
 For a few moments Yaliero stared in silence, as 
 though unable to credit the proposal. 
 
 " Your daughter ! " he said, at length. " My 
 Bon ! married ! Why, man, are you mad ? " 
 
 The tone with which Yaliero spoke was worse 
 than the words. It was the tone which might be 
 assumed by some superior being. The prospect of 
 ruin had not diminished Yaliero's pride, and it was 
 evident that he regarded Memmo's proposal with 
 unutterable scorn and indignation, as a piece of 
 unwarrantable insolence and presumption. Memmo 
 said not a word, but the fierce passion within him 
 made his heart throb fast and furious; and if he 
 did not speak, it was because he found no words 
 that could express his feelings. 
 
 " You don't understand," continued Yaliero, 
 with a laugh of scorn. " We nobles can meet ruin 
 if it comes — and poverty — yes, and despair — for 
 all these are sent b}^ Providence, and there is noth- 
 ing left but submission and brave endurance ; but 
 to stoop to dishonor, to soil our family name, to 
 damn our posterity by a mesalliance ! 0, my good 
 man 1 is it possible that you have lived in Yenice, 
 
142 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 and can make this proposal to a Valiero ? Wliy, 
 you're mad." 
 
 With those words, Valiero retired, leaving 
 Memmo furious. The insult, the scorn, the abuse, 
 all were intolerable. lie had but one thought — 
 vengeance. lie would press his claims at once. 
 He would crush Valiero in the dust. He would 
 show no mercy, nor would he ever repeat the 
 offbr. 
 
 Memmo had been very confident in his maxim, 
 that when ill luck fastens upon a man it never 
 leaves him ; but he was destined to find it untrue. 
 For after all, though Valiero's difficulties had been 
 great, still his resources were immense, and it was 
 hardly possible that out of his vast wealth, which 
 was afloat at sea, he should receive nothing. The 
 fact was, he received it all. The ships liad been 
 delayed in various ways ; but a few days after his 
 interview with Memmo one of them arrived ; and 
 afterwards others came, arriving one by one, until 
 at last all had reached port, bringing with them 
 cargoes of immense value. Valiero's difficulties 
 all vanished, and for the risk ho had run ho re- 
 ceived corresponding^profits. 
 
 All this sank deep into Memmo's soul. Valiero 
 was now completely out of his power, and more- 
 over far beyond his reach. Yet he still cherished his 
 desire for vengeance, and resolved to watch with 
 sleepless vigilance for some chance to gratify this 
 desire. But first of all he sought out Valiero, and 
 
THE money-lender's PLOT. 143 
 
 mudo a most abject apology. With great apparent 
 frankness he owned up all. lie said that he thouglit 
 him ruined — was resolved to help him — but at 
 the same time, from foolish fondness for his daugh- 
 ter, made the proposal. A common man like him- 
 self, he said, did not understand the feelings of the 
 nobility. For himself, lie was only a plain and sim- 
 ple man, and if ho had olTended, it was uninten- 
 tional, and was only owing to foolish parental fond- 
 ness. To all this Vaiiero listened most gracious- 
 ly. His prosperity made him condescending and 
 affable. 
 
 " Never mind," said he. " Say no more. I shall 
 only remember the help you gave mo ; and mark 
 you, Memmo, I believe you are an honest man, for 
 you did not cliarge half so much as you might." 
 
 " Heaven save me from taking usury,'' said 
 Memmo. " What profits I make I come by hon- 
 estly." 
 
 After this, Memmo was treated by Vaiiero with 
 much kindness and confidence. The explanation, 
 so humbly made, had smoothed away all difficulties, 
 and effaced every unpleasant recollection. The 
 business connection remained, although now it was 
 Memmo who appeared to solicit favors, and who 
 made all the advances. He was keeping Vaiiero 
 in view, and watching all his acts so as to find 
 something of which he might avail himself in his 
 efforts after revenge. At length his vigilance was 
 rewarded, for an event happened which was the 
 very thing that he desired. 
 
144 THE WINGEu LION. 
 
 There was a certain French noble, the Count 
 de Ligny, with whom Valicro had formed a close 
 friendship in early youth, when Pc Ligny had been 
 on the ambassador's suite at Venice. Afterwards 
 VaHero had visited France, and the two liad kept 
 up their friendship ever since. It happened that a 
 conspiracy had been discovered by the French 
 King Louis XL, in which Do Ligny was implicated ; 
 but on receiving notice from his friends, the noble 
 escaped the king's wrath, and fled from France. 
 On reaching Italy, he sought refuge with his friend 
 Valiero, at Venice. King Louis received informa- 
 tion of this, and at once sent a demand to the Ve- 
 netian government for the surrender of the fugi- 
 tive. The Venetian government promised to make 
 a search for him, and if he were in their dominions, 
 to deliver him up, which promise came to the ears 
 of Valiero, and made him anxious to send his friend 
 out of danger. 
 
 Assistance was necessary in "^is matter, and 
 no one seemed so well able to give the requisite 
 help as the honest and simple Memmo. To Memmo, 
 therefore, he applied ; and that worth}^, with the 
 aifectation of deep sympathy, promised to find a 
 vessel and go himself with De Ligny to Ancona. 
 Valiero was deeply grateful, and Memmo at once 
 Bet out to provide the means of escape. The prep- 
 arations were hurriedly made, and before twenty- 
 four hours had passed, De Ligny was beyond the 
 reach of danger. Memmo returned, and Valiero's 
 gratitude could scarce find words. 
 
THE MONEY-LENDEK'S PLOT. 145 
 
 That vcr}^ day, Mommo dropped into tlio " Lion's 
 Mouth " information against Valioro, for harboring 
 the rebol Do Ligny, and sending hira away to An- 
 cona, in spite of the Venetian government. 
 
 It was a serious cliarge. The Venetians were 
 anxious, above all things, to keep on friendly terms 
 with France, and had hoped very earnestly to be 
 able to gratify this wish of King Louis. Valiero 
 was tlierefore arrested, and his family was plunged 
 into an abyss of des[)air. The loss of the head 
 of that family was terrible, but beyond this there 
 was a series of calamities — the torture of their 
 loved father — the condemnation and degradation 
 — the confiscation of his property — poverty, 
 shame, and despair. All these calamities lowered 
 before them, and crushed them ir.to tlie dust. 
 These same things were in the mind of Memmo, 
 and in all the glow of gratified pride he exulted in 
 his revenge, and had to seek out Vaiicro's fixmily in 
 order to feast his eyes upon their grief. The only 
 one of the family whom ho could see was Marco, 
 the son of Valiero, the very one to wl^om he had 
 once proposed to marry his daughter. The exulta- 
 tion of Memmo made him forget his usual caution ; 
 and Marco, who had at first expected to find sym- 
 pathy, and perhaps the humble offer of assistance, 
 was horrified at finding him transformed to an open 
 enemy, whose coarse and brutal triumph was dis- 
 played without any attempt at concealment. 
 
 " Aha ! " he said ; " so he's gone ! I've heard all 
 10 
 
146 THE WINGED LTON. 
 
 about it. Now be knows tbat a Yenotian noble is 
 not a god. Now he may know what it is to sufl'er 
 degradation, and to feel wbat be bas made me feel 
 r— sbame, and bumiliation, and despair." 
 
 " Of wbom are you speaking ? " asked Marco. 
 
 " Of your fatber," said Memmo ; " your fatber in 
 the jpiomhi,''^ 
 
 The hot blood mounted to Marco's brow, but 
 he repressed bis feelings. For quick as tbouglit 
 there came into bis mind a strange suspicion, which, 
 when it had once come, grew stronger. Master- 
 ing, therefore, bis emotion, he said in a slow and 
 self-contained maimer, — 
 
 " I was not aware that my fatber had done you 
 wrong." 
 
 " Wrong ! He did me outrageous wrong," said 
 Memmo ; *'• wrongs never to be forgotten. Never 
 shall I forgive him, as he stood with his haughty 
 face, and crushed me into the dust." 
 
 " I thought you were bis friend," said Marco, in 
 the same tone. 
 
 " His frier ^ I " said Memmo. '' Ah ! so^you did ; 
 so did be ; he thought me his friend, too ; but no ; I 
 had my wrongs to avenge, and I was waiting for 
 my opportunity." 
 
 " Wrongs ! " said Marco. " What wrongs were 
 they ? '' .-_--—. -^ _-..-_.. 
 
 Upon this, Memmo poured forth the whole story 
 with astonishing volubility and passion, interrupt- 
 ing it with a running fire of exclamations and exe- 
 
THE money-lender's PLOT. 147 
 
 orations. It was the first time that Marco had 
 heard of this. He knew Memmo's daughter, and 
 almost smiled at the thought of such a wife. For 
 she was well known among the golden youth of 
 Venice, especially those fast young men who did 
 business with Memmo, and generally went by ti^e 
 nickname of the " Golden Fleece," perhaps because 
 at her father's house they were fleeced out of their 
 gold. But it was not the time for smiles. The 
 " Golden Fleece " was soon forgotten. The dark 
 suspicion which had occurred grew stronger and 
 stronger, and every word of Memmo's only served 
 to confirm it. 
 
 " If my father," said he, in a haughty tone, " had 
 been so base as to consent to such a thing, he 
 would have found that my consent had also to be 
 obtained." 
 
 " Aha ! " said Memmo ; " is that so ; and is that 
 your way, my young Lord of Glory ? " 
 
 " Peace ! " said Marco. ^'Look here, old Memmo. 
 I have let you have full swing, and now a word 
 with you. Don't boast so much ; don't talk about 
 the Piazza ; for, hark you, I know who took the 
 Count de Ligny to Ancona ! " 
 
 At this Memmo's face grew livid. He stared 
 at Marco as though suddenly struck dumb. Then 
 he said, in a faltering voice, — 
 
 ''Who?" .,;-.-, -- , - 
 
 " You," said Marco ; " my father told me all.'^ 
 " He — he — said — that he would tell no one," 
 said Memmo, in a scarce audible voice. 
 
148 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " Of course ; but ho would naturally except me, 
 for he never kept any secrets from me." 
 
 Memmo seemed utterly overwhelmed. He had 
 confidently believed that the secrei; of De Ligny's 
 escape was known only to himself and Valiero. 
 He had thought that Yaliero had kept it secret 
 even from his own family. Of Marco he had never 
 thought at all. He had seemed a shallow youth, 
 intent only on fashion or pleasure. Now he made 
 the appalling discovery that this Marco was his 
 father over again — with a keener vision, a stronger 
 nature, and a deeper purpose than that father had 
 ever known ; and that he had read his thoughts, >, 
 and saw him through and through. In that young 
 but stern face there seemed not a trace of mercy ; 
 and in looking upon it Memmo seemed to be read- 
 ing his doom. '■ 
 
 " 0, my dear, O, my dear," he said, confusedly. 
 " It was all a jest. I was your father's dear friend ; 
 it was all a jest ; a jest, you know. Old Memmo 
 must have his jest." 
 
 Marco turned away abruptly. Memmo called 
 after him, and tried to detain him. In vain. Marco 
 shook him off. Then Memmo went home with a 
 sense of impending ruin that filled him with de- 
 spair. - 
 
 As for Marco, all was plain to him, and he has- 
 tened to do the only thing that was in his power. 
 He hastened to the Ducal Palace, and there 
 dropped into the Lion's Mouth his charge against 
 Memmo. 
 
THE money-lender's PLOT. 149 
 
 Memrno was just beginning to rally from his 
 first stupor of despair, and to think wildly of flight, 
 when he was arrested by the awful messengers of 
 the government. After this, but little remains to be 
 told. On the rack the wretched Memmo revealed 
 all. The government chose to consider him the 
 more guilty. Valiero was set free, since his offence 
 was the act of loyal friendship ; but Memmo was 
 punished, since his offence had been committed 
 from the motives of avarice, jealousy, and treach- 
 ery. Had he been a principal in the act, his prop- 
 erty would have been confiscated ; but as he was 
 only an agent, the government contented them- 
 selves with imposing a fine which did not amount 
 to more than nine tenths of all that he had. In 
 addition to this, they banished him for life ; and so 
 Memmo, taking what little there was left, departed 
 with the " Golden Fleece " to another and a kinder 
 country. 
 
 After some conversation upon the incidents of 
 the story, Vernon showed them another painting. 
 This one was quite different from the last. 
 
 The scene was on the Piazza of St. Mark. The 
 central figure was a young girl of exquisite beauty. 
 This beauty was of a strange. Oriental cast, and 
 was heightened by her costume, which was Turk- 
 ish. Her beautiful face was full of mingled inno- 
 cence and anxious eagerness ; she seemed to be in 
 search of something. A crowd was around her, 
 
150 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 who appeared to bo trying by means of signs to 
 communicate with the lovely stranger ; but her eyes 
 were fixed upon something in the distance, with a 
 pathetic and wistful inquiry. 
 
 " You can make out nothing from that picture," 
 said Vernon. 
 
 " I can," said Gracie. 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " It tells its own story," said Gracie. " Your 
 pictures speak, Mr. Vernon. This lovely Turk tells 
 me that she has come to Venice in search of her 
 lover ; and here, amid all this crowd in the Piazza 
 she is trying to find him." 
 
 Vernon looked at Gr?vcie for a moment in silent 
 admiration. • 
 
 " I don't think," said he, " that I ever saw any 
 one like you — in all my life — I wish — but no 
 matter — shall I read the storv ? " 
 
 " 0, yes — do, by all means." 
 
 " It is the story of Fatimja," said Vernon, who 
 then went on and read from his manuscript. 
 
THE STORY OF FATIMA. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The Story of Fathna, 
 
 /j\\ LFEO MANFRINI was the commander 
 ^feyW, of a galley in the Venetian fleet that was 
 4^^ despatched to the East with re-enforce- 
 ments and supplies for the relief of the garrison 
 at Scio. During the voyage a storm arose, and 
 the fleet was scattered. When it had passed over, 
 Manfrini found himself alone upon the deep, with 
 not a single sail visible anywhere. He kept on 
 his course, however, as before, hoping to fall in 
 again with his friends, and at length saw sails in 
 the distance, which he supposed to belong to the 
 fleet that he was seeking. Towards this he hur- 
 ried as fast as possible, and b ^me of these, on see- 
 ing him, bore down upon him. But for Manfrini 
 there was a dreadful disappointment. As the ships 
 drew near, he perceived, to his horror, that they 
 were not Venetian, but Turkish. He had flung 
 himself into the midst of his worst enemies. To 
 fight was not to be thought of, as that meant utter 
 destruction ; to fly was impossible, yet it was the 
 only course open, and he tried it. The attempt, 
 however, was all in vain. The enemy rapidly over- 
 hauled him, and at length he was captured. 
 
152 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 He was conveyed to Constantinople, and after 
 a time fell into tlie hands of a wealthy Turk who 
 lived near Scutari. He was taken here by his 
 new master, and found himself on an extensive 
 estate, where there were many other slaves, over 
 whom was an aged Turk of severe aspect and 
 morose manner. The master left the whole man- 
 agement of the slaves to this overseer, whose name 
 was Kaled, which said Kaled, after mme examina- 
 tion of Manfrini, placed him in the garden to assist 
 in the work that went on there. The work was 
 not hard, and Kaled did not seem to expect much 
 from the new slave ; but Manfrini could not forget 
 his beloved native land, and often and often the 
 ground where he worked was wet with his tears. 
 
 Manfrini was left very much to himself. Kaled 
 made the garden his peculiar care, and directed 
 Manfrini about his daily task. It was the custom 
 of Kaled, after his daily instructions, to retire, and 
 leave Manfrini alone. The place to which his work 
 was directed was a plot of ground immediately 
 under the north end of the villa, and here Manfrini 
 used to pass his time. There was a low basement 
 with a window, over which was another window 
 looking out upon him. 
 
 Here Manfrini was one day at work alone ; and 
 feeling weary, he sat down, and burjnng his face 
 in his hands, began to weep. In the midst of his 
 mournful thoughts and his wretched homesickness, 
 his ear caught the sound of a low sigh. Hastily he 
 
THE STORY OF FATIMA. 153 
 
 looked up. There, at the window just above him, 
 he saw a beautiful face. It was a young girl, and 
 her large dark eyes were fixed upon him with 
 earnest solicitude, while upon her sweet face there 
 was an expression of tenderest sympathy. It was 
 all taken in with a momentary glance, for no sooner 
 had he looked up than the sweet face vanished. 
 
 Manfrini stood for some time staring at the win- 
 dow, half thinking that it was all a dream. The 
 window there, open, without lattice, was now only 
 a blank ; yet a short time before it had been like a 
 framework to the loveliest and sweetest face that 
 ever his eyes had rested on. Who was she ? 
 "Where had slie gone ? Would she ever come 
 again ? All thouglits of home, all feelings of 
 homesickness, now fled away, and he could think 
 of nothing but the lovely vision. He felt that it 
 must be real. He could also guess who it might 
 be. Old Kaled had muttered something about the 
 lady Fatima, his master's daughter ; and Manfrini 
 had picked up enough of Turkish to understand 
 common words. Fatima, the master's daughter I 
 Was this Fatima? and did Fatima feel pity for 
 him, the wretched captive ? He longed to make 
 some communication to her ; to show her how 
 sweet such pity was. But how ? There was only 
 one way — a harmless way, too. These flowers that 
 grew around afforded a language of their own quite 
 as intelligible as speech. Manfrini knew that lan- 
 guage, and he had heard that it was invented in 
 
154 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 the East, in which case Fatima doubtless knew it 
 as well as himself. So he gathered a small bunch 
 which held these flowers — the Camellia Japonica, 
 meaning " My destiny is in your hands ; " the Cross 
 of Jerusalem, " Devotio7i; " the Laurustine, ^^ I die 
 if neglected; " and the Pansy, " Think of mey "^ 
 
 This bunch he laid on the window, and then 
 awaited the result. 
 
 Evening came, and he had to leave. He was 
 full of curiosity as to how his little offering would 
 be received, and full of recollections of that sweet 
 vision. The next day came, and once more he was 
 taken to the garden, and Kaled gave his directions 
 and left. He now worked for some hours, keeping 
 his eyes on the window, in hopes of seeing some- 
 thing. Nothing, however, appeared. He began 
 to feel dejected. The lovely Fatima had not seen 
 his offering, or had been offended. Such were his 
 thoughts. 
 
 He was working under the window in a dejected 
 mood, when suddenly a bunch of flowers fell im- 
 mediately before him. He grasped it, and looked 
 up. No one was there. He looked at the flowers. 
 The first glance showed him that they formed an 
 answer to his own offering. 
 
 They were these: The Snowdrop, ^^ Consolation;^^ 
 the Scarlet Ipomoea, " / attach myself to you ; " and 
 a spray of the Arbor Vitse, " Live for me." 
 
 Manfrini was now full of joy and hope. The 
 lovely Fatiula thought of him. Perhaps he might 
 
THE STORY OP PATIMA. 155 
 
 see her again ; perhaps the time might come when 
 he could speak to her. But for the present he 
 must content himself with the flowers. He now 
 made up another bunch, and placed it on the win- 
 dow. 
 
 One flower was the Lily of the Valley, " My hap- 
 piness has returned ; " another, the Sweet Sultan, 
 " / rejoice ; " another, the Dahlia, " I am thine for^ 
 ever; " and to these he added the sweet little ^^ For- 
 get-me-not.''^ 
 
 This bunch he placed on the window and waited ; 
 but for some time there was no response, and he 
 had to console himself with those first flowers, 
 which he treasured next his heart. 
 
 At length one day, after Kaled had gone, Man- 
 frini saw the well-remembered face. She smiled 
 sweetly and sadly, then vanished. This was some- 
 thing. It showed that she might come again. That 
 smile was like sunshine, and cheered Manfrini all 
 the day. At length towards evening, just before 
 his time for retiring, the face appeared again. He 
 started forward with clasped hands, in an attitude 
 of entreaty. This time the face did not vanish. 
 
 The window was low, and but a few inches above 
 Manfrini's head. 
 
 " O," he murmured, in his faltering Turkish, " do 
 not go ; let me see you a moment." 
 
 A flush passed over the lovely face of Fatima, 
 and her eyes drooped, hidden under the long silken 
 fringe of eyelashes. 
 
156 • THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " Your face," said Manfrini, " is like sunlight. 
 When you go, all is dark to me. Will you speak, 
 and let mo hear your sweet voice ? '^ 
 
 " Alfeo ! " said Fatima, in a low, timid voice. It 
 was his Christian name — the name by which he 
 was known here, for the Turks found it easier to 
 pronounce than Manfrini. 
 
 " Fatima ! " said Manfrini. He drew nearer. 
 Her little hand was resting on the window-sill. 
 Ho pressed it in his. 
 
 From that time fo7th not a day passed on which 
 Manfrini did not see Fatima and speak to her. 
 There was no one to watch them. Old Kaled 
 seemed to have other things to attend to ; and as 
 for Fatima, she was able to elude any observation 
 or suspicion within the household. Manfrini had 
 a great motive now for mastering the Turkish lan- 
 guage, and made rapid progress under so sweet a 
 teacher. 
 
 '* Are you happy here ? " asked Fatima, one day. 
 
 " So long as 1 may hope to see you," said Man- 
 frini, " I am happy. I want no more." 
 
 " But you are a slave," said Fatima. *' In your 
 own country you are a noble. If you embraced 
 Islam you might be a noble here." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Manfrini j " but that is impos- 
 sible." -^^ „-__-..--... ..-_-__.,. 
 
 " Then you must escape," said Fatima. 
 ** Escape I " said Manfrini ; and at the thought a 
 thrill of joy passed through him ; but a moment 
 
THE STORY OP FATIMA, 157 
 
 after it was followed by despondency. " No, no/' 
 said ho ; " it is impossible. Besides, so long as you 
 are here, this slavery is sweeter than liberty with- 
 out you." 
 
 Tears started to Fatima's eyes. She smiled, and 
 then said, in a low and tremulous voice, — 
 
 " If you could escape — would you ? " 
 
 " And leave you I " said Manfrini, reproachfully. 
 
 " Would you take me ? " whispered Fatima. 
 
 *^ Heavens ! " said Manfrini ; " would you ? Do 
 you mean it? Could you give up your liome, and 
 incur the danger — the j)oril of flight ? " 
 
 " I have been tliinking of it," said Fatima, gently. 
 
 Manfrini seized her hand, and covered it with 
 kisses. 
 
 " Listen," said Fatima. " I have been planning 
 this ever since I first saw you. There is a fisher- 
 man here devoted to me. I liave spoken with 
 him. It is all arranged. So soon as you are ready 
 to start, you can go." . ' 
 
 At this Manfrini was again overwhelmed. 
 
 " Go I Escape ! " he faltered. " But you I will 
 you let me go? and do you think I can leave you?" 
 
 " You need not leave me," said Fatima, " if you 
 will take mo. And I am glad to hear you say that 
 you do not want to leave me." 
 
 " Leave you I " said Manfrini. " To lose you 
 would be worse than death. You have made me 
 forget my country. You are all the world to me. 
 I would rather be with you — a slave — than be 
 
 ■'i 
 
158 THE WINGED LION, 
 
 free, if I had to lose you. O, then, if you have the 
 courage to do it, come with mc ; lot us fly. You 
 shall bo as rich and as honored as you are now, if 
 wo only escape ; and all my life shall be spent in 
 the oilbrt to make you happy." 
 
 " I holiovo every word tliat you say," said Fati- 
 ma, simply, " and your words ^re very sweet to 
 mo. Yes, I will go, Alfco ; and for you I will give 
 up father and mother, and country and friends, and 
 religio]!, too, Alfeo. I will give up all for you. 
 And I have made all the arrangements. And my 
 father is awav now, so that we can leave with less 
 danger." 
 
 A long conversation followed, in which Fatima 
 explained the whole plan which she had made. 
 She iiad seen that Manfi'ini would remain a miser- 
 able slave till he died, nor could he ever be more 
 than a slave to her, unless he could escape ; but in 
 his native land he would be rich and noble. She 
 had deliberately chosen to give up all for his sake, 
 preferring by this venture to be his wife at Venice, 
 rather than his master's daughter at Scutari. She 
 had bribed a fisherman, who was prepared to take 
 them to the Morea, whence they could go to 
 Venice ; and for funds to support them on the 
 way, she had her jewels. Finally, immediate ac- 
 tion was necessary, so as to leave before her 
 father's return. It was arranged, therefore, that 
 they should leave on the following evening. The 
 fisherman should come for Manfrini, and Fatima 
 would join them as soon as possible. 
 
THE STORY OP FATIMA. 159 
 
 That night Maiifrini could not sleep. Before 
 him was the prospect of escape, of home, friends, 
 honors, of Fatima, without whom all else would bo 
 poor indeed. Morning came, and ho went to his 
 work. Once or twice ho saw Fatima's face at the 
 window ; but she only staid for a moment, and 
 then, with a warning gesture, withdrew. Manfrini 
 hoped to have the opportunity of speaking with 
 her, but tliis was eclipsed by the greater hope of 
 flying witli her from these hostile shores. 
 
 Old Kaled that 'day did not leave at his usual 
 time. On the contrarv, ho busied himself in the 
 garden until dark. Once or twice Fatima appeared 
 at the window, but she saw Kaled and retreated. 
 Manfrini was troubled at this. It was unfortunate, 
 and looked as though Kaled had done it inten- 
 tionally. At length it was dark, and the old Turk 
 came up to him. , 
 
 " Follow me," said he, in his usual rough tone. 
 
 Manfrini was startled at this, and followed Kaled 
 full of dark forebodings. The old Turk led the 
 way, and went out into the road, and down towards 
 the shore, which was not far away. Here there 
 was a boat. 
 
 " Get in," said he, with an imperious gesture. 
 
 Manfrini did so, wondering what it all meant. 
 His only thought was, that his project had been 
 discovered, and that he was being taken away to 
 death — that secret and terrible death by bow- 
 string, with which the Turks were wont to punish 
 
160 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 those wretched slaves who had incurred their dis- 
 pleasure. A wild thought of resistance came to 
 him ; but he was unarmed, and Kaled was armed. 
 He therefore obeyed in silence, yet in despair. 
 
 Kaled pushed off the boat, and taking the helm, 
 ordered Manfrini to hoist the sail. Manfrini did 
 so. The sail caught the favoring wind, and the 
 boat, shooting out from the bay, went far away 
 over the waters. , 
 
 " Where are we going ? " asked Manfrini at last, 
 imable to repress the impatience and anxiety with 
 which he was tortured. 
 
 " Peace, slave," said Kaled, sternly, " and obey 
 my commands." 
 
 Manfrini subsided into silence, and gave himself 
 up to despairing thoughts. Yes, all was plain ; he 
 had been discovered. The crafty Kaled had come 
 to punish him, and was now taking him to death. 
 As for Fatima, she was lost forever. 
 
 Hour after hour passed. Sleep was impossible. 
 The stern Kaled sat as rigid as stone at the helm, 
 and Manfrini's des]. Iring thoughts of Fatima were 
 intermingled with wondering conjectures as to his 
 destination. . It was with such feelings as these 
 that ho passed the night, for all that night the 
 boat sped over the waves, borne by a favoring 
 breeze ; and when the sun rose, Manfrini looked 
 around, and saw nothing but a wide expanse of 
 water, with low lines here and there on the hori- 
 zon, marking the presence of distant shores. 
 
THE STORY OP FATIMA. 161 
 
 Kale ''. pushed a box towards Manfrini. 
 
 " Eat/' said he, pointing to tlie box. " 
 
 Manfrini shook liis head and turned away. He 
 had reached the extreme verge of despair. Fati- 
 ma was lost. Tliis fierce old Turk had brought 
 him for many a mile out into the sea. For what ? 
 For some fresh captivity ? If that was so, he 
 would not submit. Better a brief struggle here, 
 even if he should perish, than a lingering captivity 
 in Smyrna or Alexandria. To make a sudden spring 
 upon that old man seemed an easy tin'ng. True, he 
 was armed, but he might be taken unawares. 
 
 " I think I will take some food," said Manfrini, 
 quietly. 
 
 He drew nearer to Kaled, and as he opened the 
 lid of the box, watched the old man with cautious 
 sidelong glances. The Turk did not notice him. He 
 was looking at vacancy with an abstracted face, — 
 the face of one who was buried in his own thoughts, 
 — and saw nothing of the world around. 
 
 Suddenly, with a bound, Manfrini had flung him- 
 self upon Kaled, with one hand on his throat, and 
 the other on the pistol in his belt. The next in- 
 stant Kaled lay on his back in the bottom of the 
 boat, and Manfrini, with the muzzle of the pistol 
 pressed against his forehead, cried, — 
 
 " Villain, I have you now ! You must die ! But 
 tell me how you found out our plan ; and tell mo 
 what has become of Fatima. If you wish to live, 
 11 
 
162 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 speak tiie truth. If I detect one single lie, I will 
 blow your brains out." ' v: 
 
 Killed gasped for breath. Then he spoke, and 
 as he spoke, every word thrilled through the in- 
 most heart of Manfrini. 
 
 " 0, signer, forgive me for what I have done. I 
 am a Venetian. I am trying to escape. '' 
 
 These words were spoken in Italian with the 
 Venetian accent, and at their sound the passion 
 and the fury of Manfrini all passed away. Amaze- 
 ment overwhelmed him, and all his soul was moved 
 to its inmost depths by the sound of that loved 
 Italian speech, to which ho had so long been a 
 stranger. He started back, the pistol dropped 
 from his hand. He raised the aged man with 
 tender hands from the bottom of the boat, and in 
 a voice which was tremulous with agitation, he 
 gasped forth, — , . 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 " I am your countryman. Forgive me," said the 
 other. . 
 
 " But you are a Turk — a Mohammedan." 
 
 " I will tell you all," said the old man, " and then 
 kill me if you choose. Still, hear me first, and then 
 do as you please. I am a Venetian," the old man 
 began. " My name is Giuseppe Villano. Twenty 
 years ago I was on my way in my own ghip with 
 a cargo of silk stuffs and spices from Rhodes to 
 Venice, and was captured. 1 lost everything'. I 
 was taken to BeyroTit, then to Damascus, and then 
 
THE STORY OF FATIMA. 163 
 
 to other places. You, who have been a captive, 
 know something of what I felt ; but my fate was 
 harder than yours, for I fell in with cruel masters, 
 and lived for three years in anguish and despair. 
 The hope of returning to my native country left 
 me. Such a thing seemed impossible. Then came 
 the devil to me in my despair, and showed me how 
 I might escape from my chains. I had only to say 
 the Moliammedan formula ; only to utter a half 
 dozen words, and at once I might have all the 
 rights of a free man. 
 
 '< Enough. I will not dwell upon this. I abjured 
 my God and my Saviour ; I gave up my country ; I 
 became a renegade, — Kaled, the Turk, — and thus 
 I have been for years. At first the change was 
 pleasant. I was no longer beaten and lormented. 
 I found employers readily, and had all the comforts 
 that I could wish. But at last there occurred 
 something which has embittered my whole life. 
 It was a truce between the sultan and the doge. 
 Prisoners were exchanged. Word came that all 
 the Venetians should be set free, and sent home. 
 I saw it all. I saw the Christian captives de- 
 livered from their captivity. I saw all the Vene- 
 tian prisoners set forth for their home. All went. 
 I — I alone could not go. I had sold myself to the 
 devil. I had denied my God. I had given up my 
 country, and this was my reward. 0, young man, 
 believe me, the devil is a ^ ard master ; and if we 
 are captured again, beware of this temptation. Be 
 
1G4 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 a slave in the galleys, go clown into the deep dun- 
 geon ; a}^ kill yourself, do anything, commit any 
 crime, but do not give up your country, and deny 
 your God ! 
 
 " As for me, I was condemned to eternal exile. 
 I might have escaped, but how could I go back to 
 Venice ? My fellow- captives all knew what I had 
 done, and the devil had tempted them with my 
 example. Now I had given myself up to everlast- 
 ing infccmy, and I had erected an eternal barrier 
 between me and my home. r :^;r 
 
 " After the return of the Venetians, I became a 
 prey to homesickness, and for years that feeling 
 has never left me. I have suffered so much from 
 this that my old sufferings as a slave seem envi- 
 able. O, how often I have longed to be able to go 
 back to that happy, happy slavery, when my suf- 
 ferings were only those of the body, and my mind 
 was at peace with God I Then, at least, I could 
 pray ; but now — now — the heavens are all black 
 above me ; and I have lived all these years with- 
 out God and without hope in the world. At last 
 I found myself in Scutari. Here I determined to 
 take the first chance that presenteti itself, and go 
 home to Venice. But it was a time of war, and to 
 set forth on such a voyage was extremely difficult. 
 It was while I was thus deliberating over my best 
 course that you came. I at once resolved to win 
 your confidence, and get your assistance in my 
 plan. But in order to do this I should have to tell 
 
THE STORY OF FATIMA. 165 
 
 you my story, and it was a hard thing to do. So I 
 postponed it, and contented myself with securing 
 you a pleasant position and kind treatment. 
 
 " A short time ago I was in the basement room, 
 and heard your voice. I looked out, and saw you 
 talking with some one. I heard you speak her 
 name. I understood it all. Pardon me if I say 
 that I listened. I listened then, and at other 
 times, for all my fate seemed now bound up in 
 you. To go home was my one thought — to go 
 home, to see my country, to confess to my God. 
 Then I could give myself up to the authorities ; 
 I could confess ; I could spend all the rest of my 
 life in prayer. 0, to be able to pray once more I 
 to pray ! but now I dare not, nor shall I dare to 
 pray till I have confessed my sins ; till the church 
 shall receive me back into her fold, all unworthy, 
 yet penitent, and with a broken and a contrite 
 heart, which the God of pity will not despise. 
 
 " Young man, do not think of me as a treacher- 
 ous eavesdropper. 0, think of me as a despair- 
 ing sinner, seeking some way of escape from eter- 
 nal death — a lost soul, with but one ray of hope, 
 with but one last faint chance of flying back to Him 
 whom I had denied. 
 
 *' And so," continued the old man, after a pause, 
 " I heard all, and took advantage of it. I took 
 you away, and now take your vengeance. Kill 
 me ; yoTi have the power. I will not resist. But 
 remember it is not my life that you will destroy ; 
 
166 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 it is my immortal soul. Can you do that ? Can 
 you stand between a despairing wretch and his 
 God ? Can you stop my flight ? Are you think- 
 ing of going back, in your despair, to see the one 
 you love ? I have read your face well. I see it 
 all. But, 0, for the love of Heaven, do not stop 
 my flight. Ilelp me to seek my soul's peace. Be 
 pitiful. What is your earthly love compared with 
 the eternal salvation of a fellow-creature ? Let me 
 but stand once more in Venice. Let me confess 
 my sins. Let me once more, if it is but once, be 
 able to look up to the God of mercy, and utter but 
 one word of prayer.'^ 
 
 The old man had told all his story in a wild and 
 vehement manner, and with deep agitation. These 
 last words were uttered in a voice of despair- 
 ing entreaty, for Manfrini's stern face seemed to 
 indicate a merciless soul. But Manfrini was not 
 merciless. Ho had been profoundly moved by 
 this confession, and his own sorrows seemed alight 
 indeed compared with the anguish and the remorse 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Say no more." said he. " Heaven forbid that 
 I should stand between a penitent sinner and his 
 God. For me, I have lost what is dearer than life ; 
 but you, I plainly see, have been thrown in my 
 way by Heaven — by One who willeth not the 
 death of a sinner, but tha all should turn unto 
 Him and live." 
 
 Manfrini said no more. He gave up the tiller 
 
THE STORY OF FATIMA. 167 
 
 to Kaled, or rather Villano, and resumed his seat 
 forward. After this they sailed on in silence. The 
 breeze was fair. Once or twice they saw a sail in 
 the distance, but tliey themselves were not seen, 
 or not regarded. After two or tliree days, during 
 which they had more than once a narrow escape 
 from capture, they reached Candia. Here they 
 found a ship which was just leaving for Venice ; 
 and embarking in this, they at length reached their 
 destination. Here he parted with Villano, and saw 
 him no more. Pie learned, however, long after- 
 wards, that the renegade had made his peace with 
 the church, had entered a monastery, and had 
 spent the remainder of his life in the exercise of 
 that lofty privilege of prayer, which, through long 
 suffering, he had come to regard as the highest 
 blessedness of man. 
 
 But to Manfrini his return home gave but little 
 pleasure. Plis friends thronged around him, and 
 welcomed him with tears of joy as one risen from 
 the dead. They heard all his story, and all were 
 fall of admiration for the lovely infidel who had 
 lightened the darkness of his captivity and pre- 
 pared a way for his escape. But all this was as 
 nothing. To Manfrini it seemed as though all the 
 light of life had gone out. All now was sad, and 
 flavorless, and dull. His thoughts never ceased to 
 revert to those sweet days when he used to stand 
 gazing at Fatima's face, and hear the soft tones of 
 her voice, and catch the glance cf her loving eyes. 
 
168 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Those were the brightest days of his life ; and free- 
 dom without her was worse tlian slavery with her. 
 
 A year passed away. Manfrini had foiuid new 
 occupations, yet his heart was unchanged, and 
 Fatima's imago was as clear and prominent as 
 ever in his memory. The thouglit that she was 
 lost to him forever was now a familiar one, and 
 his only care was to trust to that mighty hand of 
 Time wijich heals all things. 
 
 Such was the condition of Manfrini, when one 
 day there landed at the Piazetta a foreign lady, 
 richly dressed and of exquisite beauty. Her ap- 
 pearance in the thronged Piazza excited universal 
 attention, for even there, where many nations and 
 many faces were always represented, there never 
 had been seen any one like this. What was more 
 extraordinary was her eager glance of inquiry. 
 She traversed the whole Piazza many times, and 
 then began to question passers by. It was evi- 
 dent that she was seeking some one. But all that 
 she could say was, — 
 
 ''Alfeol" 
 
 Alfeo I And who or what might Alfeo be ? 
 Alfeo was a common enough nance, like Matteo, 
 or Taddeo, or Tito, or Giuglio, or Lorenzo. It was 
 indeed a wonderful thing that a beautiful stranger 
 should come alone to the Piazza di San Marco, and 
 seek after some one of whom she knew nothing 
 more than that he was named " Alfeo." 
 
 Yet still the beautiful stranger went about, ask- 
 
THE STORY OP FATIMA. 169 
 
 ing with plaintive tones and anxious looks after 
 " Alfeo." 
 
 Many were the conjectures that were made. 
 Some thought that she was a Candioie, who had 
 lost her father, and was trying to find him ; others, 
 that Alfeo was her attendant ; others again thought 
 that she was insane, and had escaped from her 
 keepers. A thousand other conjectures were 
 made ; but all were at length cut short by the 
 appearance of the agents of the Ten, who swooped 
 down upon the beautiful stranger, and bore her 
 away. 
 
 After that every one grew as silent as the grave, 
 and talked of everything else under the sun. 
 
 Very fortunate was it for the beautiful stranger 
 that she had come to "Venice, for there the govern- 
 ment, with its countless eyes and innumerable spies, 
 knew all the movements of all the people. The 
 story of Manfrini was well known to them. Inter- 
 preters soon enabled them to learn the story of the 
 stranger. 
 
 She was Fatima, the daughter of Almamun, the 
 Kadi of Scutari. She had fled from home, and 
 came to Venice to find Alfeo. This Alfeo was a 
 Venetian who had been a slave, and with whom 
 she had intended to fly ; but he had by some mis- 
 take gone away with the overseer. So she had 
 waited for a chance to follow, and had come over 
 the sea, braving a thousand porils, in perfect faith 
 and touching innocence, nevei ubting that she 
 would find her dear Alfeo here. 
 
170 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Tho agents of the Ten did not leave the beauti- 
 ful stranger long in suspense. They know who 
 this Alfeo was, and at once sent for him. He came 
 with all that trepidation which such a message 
 might excite in a Venetian breast. He entered 
 the hall with a dark and grisly horror in his soul, 
 with thoughts of the rack and the wheel. 
 
 The first thing that he saw w Fatima ! And 
 she — the little innocent, all regardless of the ter- 
 rors of the Inquisition, and the Bridge of Sighs, 
 and the Council of Ten — no sooner saw him than 
 with a great cry of joy she rushed into his arms. \ 
 
 Here Veruon ended. 
 
 " Well," said Gracie. 
 
 " Well," siiid Vernon. 
 
 " Is that all ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, of course." 
 
 " But you have not finished it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, you should have told all about their mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Why ? Isn't that all understood ? Of course 
 they were married, and of course they lived happi- 
 ly ever after. That is all implied in the termination 
 of the story. Why should it be expressed ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," said Gracie, " you're right. It is your 
 art, and you scorn to say things openly when they 
 can be suggested. I take back my objection, and 
 see t jat your way of ending the story is best. But, 
 
THE STORY OP FATIMA. IVl 
 
 • 
 
 then, you know ono loves to have everything plain- 
 ly stated ; and that's the way the old story-tellers 
 always did, for they always made it a point of con- 
 science to end a story with a minute description of 
 the wedding ceremony." 
 
 " I'm glad you made that criticism," said Vernon, 
 after a pause. " I see that I've depended too much 
 on suggestions. After this I will be more out- 
 spoken." 
 
 Shortly after they all retired for the night. 
 
172 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Uncle Moses still on the Search. — On to Venice, — The 
 Hotel Zcno. — Distressing Disappointment. — A Visit 
 to the Venetian Police. — Frank and Bob go the Rounds, 
 — A wonderful City. — Lost, 
 
 ^E left Uncle Moses last at Padua. 
 
 Further conversation with the land- 
 lord elicited tlie information that ho had 
 recommended the Hotel Zeno to David and Clive. 
 This was encouraging, for it seemed likely that the 
 boys would go there, and that they might be found 
 at that place ; or that, at least, some information 
 miglit be gained about them. But their only plan 
 was to hurry onward as fast as possible, so as to 
 catch these volatile lads before they might leave 
 for some new place. Accordingly they left Padua 
 on the following morning, and in due time reached 
 Venice. 
 
 Arriving here, they found themselves in the 
 midst of wonders which impressed them as they 
 had impressed Clive and David. This strange si- 
 lent city, with canals for streets, with boats for 
 carriages, with no sound of life, with universal 
 stillness broken only by the ringing of bells or the 
 
UNCLE MOSES ON THE SEARCH. 173 
 
 cry of gondoliers, — it never fails to fill the mind of 
 the new comer with wonder and admiration. 
 
 But Uncle Moses was altogether too anxious to 
 give way to feelings like these, and Frank and 
 Bob, though full of the excitement of youth, felt 
 themselves somewhat restrained by the sympathy 
 which they had for the sorrows of their aged rela- 
 tive. And so they were all impatient to reach the 
 Hotel Zeno, so as to learn what might now be in 
 store for them. Until the lost boys should be 
 found, there could be no peace for Uncle Moses, 
 and consequently no pleasure for Frank and Bob. 
 
 The gondola brought them to the Hotel Zeno, 
 and here they made inquiries. Uncle Moses, in his 
 deep despondency, was prepared for some fresh 
 disappointment, and therefore it only elicited a 
 new though somewhat deeper groan when he 
 heard the reply to Frank's eager question. He 
 heard the same news that had already mocked him 
 at Bologna, Ferrara, and Padua — the same news 
 which he had expected and dreaded to hear at 
 Venice. ,^\ 
 
 Those boys were here. 0, yes ; it was yester- 
 day morning they came with a young lady — a Miss 
 Lee. 
 
 This piece of information was simply overwhelm- 
 ing. A young lady I Miss Lee ! What did this 
 mean? Were these brats of boys beginning to 
 pay attentions to young ladies ? Were they infat- 
 uated ? Was it Clive, or David, or both ? Frank 
 
174 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 and Bob stared at one another in utter bewilder- 
 ment. ^ V 
 
 Then, of course, came the usual information that 
 they had gone away. 
 
 " Where ? " was the anxious question. 
 
 They did not know. 
 
 Frank now thought of asking this Miss Lee about 
 them, and inquired after her. 
 
 The answer was, that she had gone away, too . 
 and what was more, chat she and the boys had all 
 gone away together. Nothing more than this ^ ire 
 they able to say. They had not noticed the move- 
 ments of the boys, or of Miss Lee, very particu- 
 larly ; but one of the servants mentioned that there 
 were a gentleman and a lady who seemed to be with 
 thom. 
 
 " A gentleman and a lady ! " said Frank, who 
 caught at this. " Do you know their names ? " 
 
 They did not. 
 
 " A gentleman and a lady. Friends of Miss Lee, 
 no doubt, and therefore probably English or Amer- 
 ican. The fact is. Uncle Moses, Dave and Clive 
 have got among some pleasant acquaintances, and 
 have left the place to go with them." 
 
 " But where ?" cried Uncle Moses. " Where ? " 
 
 "And echo answers, ' Where ? ' " said Bob. 
 
 "Where have they gone?" cried Uncle Moses, 
 who was now quite beside himself with grief and 
 anxiety. " What are they thinking of ? What do 
 they mean ? They can't I^eep this up long. Even 
 
PEARS OF UNCLE MOSES. 175 
 
 if they want to leave me, they can't leave me al- 
 ways. They haven't enough money to last them 
 over a week at the furthest. Why haven't they 
 left some message ? O, boys ! boys ! I tell you 
 what it isj I'm afraid — I'm afraid — I'm dreadful 
 afraid." 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " asked Frank. 
 
 " That somethin's happened," wailed Uncle 
 Moses. " It's a dreadful place. I've been dread- 
 ful itfraid of Vee-nice all my life, but I never had 
 an idee of how bad it was before. Why, there's 
 nothin' but water, an' a person can't go three steps 
 without danger of gettin' drownded. An' then the 
 spies ! 0, dear, who knows but that this Miss Lee 
 is some spy in the pay of the Council of Ten? and 
 this lady and gentleman, that they speak of, who 
 knows but that they are the agents of the Inquisi- 
 ti i!" 
 
 " iNonsense, Uncle Moses I " said Frank, with a 
 laugh. " They don't have these things in Yenice 
 now. This is a free country." 
 
 " A free country I " exclaimed Uncle Moses. " I 
 only wish I was well out of it ; an' when I get the 
 poor lost boys back agair, I know I won't stay here 
 much longer." - . 
 
 " 0, well," said Frank, "it's a comfort to know 
 that they are in this place. We shall find them 
 soon enough, I dare say." 
 
 " But how do I know that they're in Venice at 
 all ? " said Uncle Moses, despairingly. " They 
 
176 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 may have taken the steamer for Jerusalem, or Jer- 
 icho, or the North Pole ! " 
 
 Uncle Moses was greatly agitated. Frank did 
 not try to argue with him. He merely persuaded 
 him to go to his room and take rest. 
 
 " This is a good place to stop at," said he. " You 
 lie down and try to sleep. Bob and I will go to 
 the police office, and get them to make inquiries 
 after David and Clive. We'll ask if they know 
 anything about this Miss Lee. We'll go about the 
 city, too, in the boat, and keep our eyes wide open, 
 and perhaps we may find them. So you try, Un- 
 cle Moses, to get a little sleep, and don't fret your- 
 self more than you can help." 
 
 This, however. Uncle Moses refused to do. He 
 was not willing to let them go, especially when 
 their journe}^ led them into the midst of those for- 
 midable powers of darkness — the Venetian police. 
 Dread indeed was the necessity which lay upon 
 them to make such a visit, yet since it had to be 
 done, Uncle Moses determined to go with them. 
 
 The Bureau of Police was in an edifice close by 
 the Piazza of St. Mark's ; and it is a singular thing, 
 that while David and Clive were in the cathedral 
 with Vernon and Gracie, the anxious Uncle Moses, 
 with Frank and Bob, were at that very time in the 
 police building — so near were they to a meeting. 
 
 Their business was stated as briefly as possible. 
 They explained how David and Clive had gone 
 away from them, and how they bad come in search 
 
THE HOTEL ZENO. 177 
 
 of them, and had finally lost them at the Hotel 
 Zeno. The official, with whom they were commu- 
 nicating, could " spik Ingelis," but was apt to make 
 blunders here and there. He promised to do all 
 that could be done to find them, and took down 
 their address so as to communicate with them upon 
 learning anything of the lost boys. 
 
 Frank now thought of something that might be 
 of assistance in the search. 
 
 " The people of the Hotel Zeno tell me," said he, 
 " that the boys went away in company with a lady 
 named Miss Lee." 
 
 The official seemed struck by this. 
 
 " Missa Lee," said he, and then turned over the 
 leaves of a big book before him. 
 
 " Missa Lee," said he again, in a thoughtful 
 voice. " Af she been in Venezia?" 
 
 " Why, the boys left the Hotel Zeno along with 
 her." 
 
 " Ah — alonga wis her. Den — she mus be in 
 Yerona." 
 
 " Yerona ! " cried Frank, in horror. He did not 
 like the idea of setting forth on a new search, and 
 leaving Yenice almost the moment after his ar- 
 rival. 
 
 '' Si, si, Yerona," said the official. " Dere is a 
 Missa Lee in Yerona. De popolo come to see 
 about er. We af sent a messager after her." 
 
 *'■ 0, you've sent a message after her — have 
 you? " asked Frank ; " and did she go to Yerona ? " 
 12 
 
178 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " 0, yis, si, she go to Yerona. De amico — de 
 frien — came ere to af a messager sent for Missa 
 Lee at Verona." 
 
 " When was that ? " asked Frank, eagerly. 
 
 ** Yesterday." 
 
 " Then she must have left yesterday, and gone 
 to Verona." 
 
 " I tink so," said the official, solemnly. 
 
 NoAv, this official was not the one with whom 
 Vernon had spoken, and knew nothing at all about 
 this affair ; that is, nothing more than the fact that 
 the aid of the police had been asked in order to 
 find a Miss Lee at Verona. Now, as this new 
 party came to ask the aid of the police in a new 
 search, and also mentioned Miss Lee, the official 
 very naturally thought that it was the same per- 
 son ; and so he judged from Frank's story that some- 
 how there was a Miss Lee who had run away from 
 her friends, taking with her the two boys. 
 
 " Dey are too young,", said the official ; " too 
 young to run away, an what does she want wit 
 two of dem ? " 
 
 At this Frank and Bob both laughed ; but poor 
 Uncle Moses looked more distressed than ever. 
 There seemed no end to his troubles now. 
 
 " 0, nevare minda," said the official, who noticed 
 the troubled face of Uncle Moses, and seemed to 
 feel pity for him ; " nevare mind ; we sail send ar 
 de messager, an we sail findar dem all. Missa 
 Lee, when she come back she bring dem." 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT. 179 
 
 " Wlien did you send the message to Miss Lee ? " 
 asked Frank. 
 
 " Dis morning." 
 
 " And when do you expect to hear about her?" 
 
 " 0, to-day or to-morrow. It cannot be vera 
 long time ; dat is, if she is in Yerona ; if not, why, 
 dat is different." 
 
 " At any rate," said Frank, consolingly, to Uncle 
 Moses, " at any rate they can't be far away. Ve- 
 lona is only a little beyond Padua." 
 
 " 0, that's the way it allers is," said Uncle Mo- 
 ses ; "they're allers ony jest a little distance off; 
 but what's the good of that to me, when I never 
 can lay my hand on them ? " 
 
 The official promised to do everything in his 
 power lo find the boys, and as there was a possi- 
 bility of their being in Venice, he promised to 
 have inquiries made at the hotels and lodging- 
 houses. Frank promised to come again in the even- 
 ing, and then, with many thanks for the civility 
 which he had shown, they took leave of the re- 
 spectable official, and returned to the Hotel Zeno. 
 
 They now persuaded Uncle Moses to lie down, 
 and try to obtain some rest and sleep. Poor old 
 Uncle Moses was by this time quite worn out with 
 anxiety and fatigue, so that he did not seem to have 
 much mind of his own about anything. He yielded 
 to their persuasion, and when Frank informed him 
 that he and Bob were going to look about the city, 
 and suggested iLe possibility of meeting with the 
 boys, he made no objection. 
 
180 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Frank and Bob now went down and engaged a 
 gondola. But tliey thought it too stupid to be 
 rowed around by a dull gondolier, and it seemed 
 to them to be far better fun to have the boat all to 
 themselves, and go wherever the whim might guide 
 them. Had Uncle Closes been present, he would 
 certainly have objected to this ; but as he was not 
 present, the two did as they chose. They h" d no dif- 
 ficulty whatever in getting the exclusive use of the 
 gondola, but the gondolier explained that they m;i8t 
 stand up and push at the oars, and not sit down and 
 pull them. For this is the custom of Venice, and 
 indeed it is the only mode allowable in a populqus 
 city, where boats are continually passing and re- 
 passing, when obstacles of every kind have to be 
 guarded against, and sharp corners turned, and a 
 constant lookout ahead maintained. 
 
 They rowed away up the Grand Canal, until at 
 length they came to the Rialto. Here a vast 
 bridge sprang across, with one wide arch, a marvel 
 of mingled beauty and strength. There was a busy 
 scene, for gondolas were passing to and fro, and 
 there was something like noise from the shouts 
 and cries of people afloat and ashore. They waited 
 for some time looking upon the scene. 
 
 " There's something rather pleasant in this rack- 
 et," said Bob. " Venice seems like a graveyard, 
 it's so still. I shouldn't like to live here, but it 
 would be a ni -e place to die in." 
 
 After passing the Kialto, they rowed on a little 
 
A WONDERFUL CITY. 181 
 
 farther, when the idea occurred to them of seeing 
 more of the interior of the city. So they turned 
 off to the riglit, and went down a long, straight 
 street. The houses here were much dilapidated, 
 yet thoy sliowed the traces of better days ; and 
 some looked as though they might have belonged 
 to one of those merchant princes who formed the 
 Venetian nobility. On the whole, however, the 
 impression which they received was a sad one ; 
 and it was with a feeling of relief that they at 
 length emerged from the street, and found them- 
 selves on the outskirts of the city, with a broad 
 expanse of water extending before them. Here 
 they rowed about for a while, and then, entering 
 another street, plunged into the heart of the city. 
 
 The streets here presented more variety. They 
 saw houses of all kinds — the mean, the splendid, 
 the simple, the pretentious. They passed by stately 
 churches, lofty towers, ponderous walls, and busy 
 squares. They went about quite at random, with- 
 out caring where, and in the interest naturally 
 arising from such novel scenes, they were quite 
 unconscious of the lapse of time, until at length 
 Frank happened to look at his watch, and found 
 that it was six o'clock. ^ "^ 
 
 They now sought to return home, and found 
 themselves quite at a loss as to the proper course 
 to take. They rowed for a while in what seemed 
 the right direction, but only to find themselves 
 brought up at last at a point where a number of 
 
182 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 narrow canals all united. They therefore turned 
 and rowed back ; but alter a time they came to 
 another phxce just like the last. Here they stopped, 
 and once more considered their situation. f-,>.n-i+ 
 
 The fact is, they were utterly lost. Worse, it 
 was now late, and growing later every moment. 
 The boats that they met were but few in number. 
 They could not see any one of whom they might 
 ask the way. 
 
 At last they turned in desperation, and rowed 
 up a wide canal, which seemed likely to lead some- 
 where. For a half an hour they went along, and 
 at length, to their intense chagrin, they found 
 themselves once more stopped in precisely the 
 same way as before. There was now nothing else 
 to do than to turn in some new direction. 
 
 Once or twice they met a gondola, and cried out, — 
 
 " Dov 'e Ja Piazza di San Marco ? " 
 
 An answer was given, but it was in the Venetian 
 dialect, and utterly incomprehensible. 
 
 Then they asked, — , ,. - 
 
 " Dov 'e 1 Gran Canale ? " ' : 
 
 Another answer came, which was equally unin- 
 telligible. * . .^ 
 
 At this time it was growing later. Darkness 
 came on. Fortunately, the moon was shining, or 
 else they would have been unable to go any far- 
 ther. Even with the moonlight, the tall houses 
 cast down heavy shadows, which made their way 
 dark indeed. Had it not been for Uncle Moses, 
 
SAFE AT LAST. 183 
 
 they would liave considered this as a rare adven- 
 ture. If tliey had been alone in Venice, with onl^ 
 themselves to think of, they would have enjoyed 
 the yituation, and, if the worst came to the worst, 
 slept in the gondola all night, in its little cabin, on 
 the soft cushions. But all the time they knew that 
 Uncle Moses was waiting for them in new terror, 
 and in deeper anxiety than ever. 
 
 At length they were fortunate enough to meet 
 with a gondola which was disengaged. They suc- 
 ceeded in making known their wants to the gondo- 
 lier, who took them in tow, and brought them at 
 last to the Hotel Zeno. * 
 
 It was about ten o'clock. They found poor Un- 
 cle Moses half frantic with anxiety, and filling the 
 hotel with his wild lamentations. He received 
 them as though they had been raised from the 
 dead. , , 
 
184 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. • 
 
 The early Bird catches the Worm. — Bob's early Risings 
 and what came of it. — A Bath in the Grand Canal. — 
 The Approach of the Enemy. — Flight and Pursuit. — 
 The Dungeons of Venice. 
 
 ^fe^RANK had promised to call at the Police 
 /J8; Bureau to find out what they had learned 
 during the day; but he had forgotten all 
 about this, and his careless wanderings through 
 Venice had resulted in detaining him till this late 
 hour. After the first joy which Uncle Moses telt 
 at meeting with them again, he asked anxiously 
 whether they had seen or heard anything of the 
 lost ones. ''' 
 
 " Nothing," said Frank. " I was in hopes that 
 you might have heard." 
 
 At this Uncle Moses plunged down once more 
 into the depths of gloom. Frank, as usual, en- 
 deavored to console him by trying to make him 
 look on the bright side, and by promising to call 
 upon the police early the next day. 
 
 Early on the folloAving day, at about six o'clock. 
 Bob was up, teasing Frank to go and take a swim. 
 This was a pastime of which Bob was very fond j 
 
A BATH IN THE GRAND CANAL. 185 
 
 but Frank did not share his enthusiasm, and on the 
 present occasion cared for nothing except his sleep. 
 So he rolled over in the bed, and merely re- 
 marked, ,:' 
 
 "0, bother!" 
 
 Bob therefore decided to go alone ; and, setting 
 forth in rather scant clothing, he went down stairs. 
 The door was unlocked ; he passed out, and in a 
 few moments he had divested himself of the little 
 clothing which had covered him. Then he stood 
 for an instant and looked at the canal beneath, and 
 tlien raising his arms, he took a header straight iuto 
 the turbid wave. 
 
 Rising, he struck out and swam towards the other 
 side of the canal. This he reached, and then he 
 started to return. 
 
 But when he was about half way across on his 
 homeward journey, he heard a sound which made 
 him instinctively turn his head. As he looked he 
 saw a sight which filled him with a general sense of 
 consternation. For he saw a boat which contained 
 several men in police uniform, and these men all 
 had their eyes fixed upon him ; and what was 
 worst of all, the police boat was coming straight 
 towards "him. 
 
 The only thing that he could do was, of course, 
 to try to get back as soon as possible. And this he 
 did. He struck out most vigorously. Terror lent 
 him strength. He had never dreamed of anything 
 illegal being in a harmless bath, but the looks of 
 
186 THii WINGED LION. 
 
 the policemen wore enough to show him that his 
 offence was serious. And so he struck out for dear 
 life, hoping to escape. But, alas ! he was distant 
 from the Hotel Zeno, and the boat was near, and it 
 could move much more quickly than He. The wa- 
 ter foamed around him and behind him ; yet still 
 that terrible police boat kept on his track, and 
 gained on him rapidly. At last, just as he reached 
 the middle of the Grand Canal, he found that the 
 police boat was close behind Tjim. He struck out 
 wildly, but it was of no use. The next instant the 
 police boat was beside him, and a strong- hand had 
 seized him by the hair. 
 
 As Bob felt the grasp of the hand on his hair, he 
 tried to dive. The movement was an unexpected 
 one, and thus Bob jerked himself from the clutcl^s 
 of the policeman ; then swimming under the boat, 
 he came up on the other side, and again struck out 
 for the hotel. He was discovered at once, and the 
 boat pursued. By this manoeuvre he had gained 
 but little ; still, the gain was something, and Bob 
 was desperate. But the boat was close behind him, 
 and once more Bob dived, and came to the surface 
 in a new direction. This occurred two or three 
 times ; but the police followed all the more reso- 
 lutely, and Bob was out of breath with his exer- 
 tions. At last, as the boat came up to him once 
 more, ho found himself seized ; and he was so utter- 
 ly exhausted that ho could not free himself. He 
 had to cling to the boat for support. 
 
THE BATHER CAPTURED. 187 
 
 There were four policemen in the boat, who re- 
 garded him with very stern faces. One of them 
 said something td him in Italian, which, of course, 
 Bob did not understand. 
 
 " Really," said he, " I am quite mortified, but I 
 don't understand a word of what you are saying." 
 
 This was iniintelligible to the police. They tried 
 again with French, but with the same result. Then 
 they spoke to him in German, but this also was a 
 failure. 
 
 " He must be English," they said, " or Russian." 
 
 Bob's position was now far from pleasant. While 
 dashing about in the freedom of nature, he had 
 found the water highly enjoyable ; but it was a far 
 different thing to be floating in it, held by the hair, 
 as a miserable captive. At that moment he under- 
 stood perfectly the sorrows of the captured trout, 
 the hooked salmon, the speared eel, or the netted 
 shad. " You might as well have a hook in your 
 gills," said he, afterwards, " as a hand clutching 
 your hair." He was too sensible, however, and 
 also too muc^i exhausted, to make any struggle. 
 He awaited the action of his captors, trusting 
 that the future would afford some opportunity of 
 escape. 
 
 His captors, on their part, did not know what to 
 do exactly. The lad was a foreigner, and might 
 possibly be a person of importance. This thing 
 might have been done through ignorance, and even 
 his fierce efforts to escape seemed natural. At 
 
188 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 the same time, the police mind is slow to admit the 
 justice of release when one has been arrested, and 
 in Venice old associations are still powerful. 
 
 They therefore had no idea of letting him go ; 
 yet at the same time they did not know how to get 
 him into the boat. He was a foreigner, and might 
 be some distinguished youth. The}- did not want 
 to run the risk of offering unnecessary insult to 
 one who might be, perhaps, an English milor, or 
 a Russian prince. Prince, milor, or beggar, he 
 might bo any one of these, for he floated there 
 in the water just as nature made him, and without 
 any adventitious surroundings. 
 
 At last Bob made some signs which plainly inti- 
 mated that he wished to clothe himself. He then 
 pointed to the Hotel Zeno. The quick-witted Ital- 
 ians, who, of all men, are perhaps the mo^t ready 
 in the comprehension of the language of gesture, 
 at once caught his meaning, and were very glad 
 to comply with the request ; for they did not 
 care about taking away a naked prisoner, and be- 
 sides they thought that the prisoner's clothes would 
 give some general idea of his rank in life. So the 
 boat moved slowly along towards the hotel, and Bob 
 moved slowly after it, looking eagerly forward in 
 the hope of seeing Frank. But no one was there. 
 AH was still, and not a soul seemed to be stirring. 
 At length they reached the place where the steps 
 ran down into the water. On the lower steps stood 
 Pob, up to his waist in water, and made gestures 
 
BOB IN DIFFICULTY. 189 
 
 to signify that liia clothes were up there behind the 
 door. The Italians understood him, and one of 
 them got out upon the steps. The sight of this 
 movement filled poor Bob with dismay. He had 
 hoped that he should be allowed to go after his 
 clothes alone ; but the police, after having had so 
 much trouble in capturing him, were by no means 
 inclined to let him slip out of tlieir hands so easily 
 as that. So the one who had got out of the boat 
 now took him from the hands of Bob's first captor 
 and led him to the door. 
 
 Just inside of tliis were Bob's clothes. There 
 was here a spacious vestibule, and the inner door 
 was shut. Tlie officer stood grimly waiting. Bob 
 looked all around. Had the inner door been open, 
 he would certainly have made a rush for liberty j 
 but as it was, he saw that it was impossible. 
 
 One hope yet remained. He tried by signs to 
 induce the officer to let him go into the hotel 
 and communicate with his friends. But this the 
 officer positively refused. The fact is, he began to 
 think that Bob was not a prince in disguise ; for 
 the clothes that he put on were by no means sug- 
 gestive of lofty rank or station. A pair of well- 
 worn trousers and a night shirt constituted the 
 simple attire in which Bob had come down to take 
 his morning bath ; and as he put these on he ap- 
 peared to the police like some very insignificant 
 lad, with whom they might be severe in safety. 
 
 In an American or English city the police would 
 
\ 
 
 190 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 certainly have granted so small a favor as this 
 which Bob requested ; but all over the continent 
 of Europe there is far more rigor in the adminis- 
 tration of affairs than is known in English-speaking 
 countries; and though Venice had long ago seen 
 the last of the Council of Ten, and felt no more 
 the stress of Austrian tyranny, still the influence 
 of the past remained, and the old habit of severity 
 was not laid aside. So the end of it uU was, that 
 Bob was carried away captive. 
 
ANOTHER LOST BOY. . 191 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Another lost Boy. — Terror and Despair of Uncle Moses, — 
 A ivild Search. — A nother Visit to the Police. — New Dis- 
 appoint7fient. — The End of it all. 
 
 §?(^^RANK had rolled over again in bed, and 
 k!§; gone to sleej>. It was later than usual 
 when lie awoke. After dressing, he went 
 down to breakfast, and found Uncle Moses looking 
 more distressed than ever. 
 
 " We must hurry to the police office,'^ said he. 
 " Don't be long over your breakfast. They must 
 have heard by this time of David and Clive." 
 
 " O, I'll only be a moment," said Frank. 
 
 " Where's Bob ? " 
 
 " Bob I " repeated Frank. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Bob ! Why, he must be about somewhere. 
 Hasn't he had his breakfast yet?" 
 
 " Not that I know of." 
 
 " Why, haven't you seen him ? " 
 
 "Seen liim? No." 
 
 At this Frank stared, and began to feel troubled. 
 As for Uncle Moses, a look of deadly terror came 
 over his face. 
 
192 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " Wliere is he ? " he gasped. ^ 
 
 " I don't know," said Frank. 
 
 " You must have seen him. Did you see him 
 when he got up ? " 
 
 " 0, yes. He ran out — to take a swim in the 
 canal. lie wanted — " 
 
 " A swim ! '' gasped Uncle Moses. " A swim in 
 the canal ! " 
 
 " Why J what of that ? " said Frank. " He can 
 swim like a duck. He wanted me to go with him, 
 but I was too sleepy." ' > 
 
 Uncle Moses sank into a seat, and there seemed 
 no more life left in him. 
 
 " A swim in the canal 1 " he murmured. " He 
 can swim ! 0, yes ; but, then, this is no place. 
 Who knows — who knows but that there may be 
 sharks here — sharks, or devil fishes, or cuttle 
 fishes, or sea sarpints? 0, derr, dear! I do wish 
 I was dead 1 0, Bobby, Bobby I has it come to 
 this?" , i ., M ; 
 
 Thus far Frank had never failed to find some 
 words of comfort and consolation for Uncle Moses ; 
 but now he could find nothing to say. He himself 
 was troubled. It seemed, indeed, very much as if 
 some accident might have happened. There was 
 the one, great, dark, undeniable fact, that Bob had 
 gone ofi* early in the morning to swim in the canal, 
 and had not returned. Without a word Frank 
 turned away, and went back to the room to see 
 if there were any sighs of a return from that bath. 
 
TERROR OF UNCLE MOSES. 193 
 
 One look filled him with dismay. There in a chair 
 he saw Bob's clothes — the clothes which he usu- 
 ally wore through the day. Frank remembered 
 now that Bob had hastily drawn on an old pair of 
 trousers, and had rushed down in his night-shirt 
 The truth was plain. He had gone out to swim, 
 and had not come back. 
 
 One thing yet remained. He must have stripped 
 himself. Where were his clothes ? That would 
 decide the matter. Half frantic, he rushed down 
 again, and out to the door. He looked all around, 
 and it was with a feeling of relief that he found no 
 signs of the clothes. Then he went to the land- 
 lord, and told him his fears. Had the servants 
 found any clothes lying on the edge of the canal, 
 or anywhere about ? The landlord had inquiries 
 made at once, but no one had seen anything of the 
 sort. This was a relief to Frank ; yet, after all, it 
 was only a partial one. For the thought came to 
 him that Bob might have gone somewhere else to 
 take his bath, and that he would not have ventured 
 to undress in such a public place as this. And yet 
 where could he have gone ? It was impossible to 
 conjecture. What to do he knew not. He began 
 to fear the worst. He knew that Bob was a good 
 swimmer, but the suggestion of Uncle Moses about 
 sharks was terrible, and produced an effect whioU 
 was not to be shaken off. He was at his wits' end. 
 He did not know what to do. A terrible dread 
 was in his heart. The landlord could give him no 
 13 
 
194 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 consolation, for, indeed, ho himself, and all tlie hotel 
 people, wlio by this time had heard the news, had 
 a certain solemn and awe-struck expression on their 
 faces, which showed plainly that they, too, believed 
 the very worst. 
 
 " You can do nothing," said the landlord, " and 
 we can do nothing. You must go to the police. 
 They will make inquiries ; and the sooner you go 
 the better." 
 
 It was the very thought that had already oc- 
 curred to Frank, and he prepared to set forth at 
 once. He hesitated for a while whether to take 
 Uncle Moses, or leave him arid go alone. At length 
 he decided that it would be better to take Uncle 
 Moses with him. When he came to his despairing 
 relative with his statement, he received no answer 
 except a heart-broken look, and Uncle Moses pre- 
 pared in silence to accompany him. Then Frank 
 informed the landlord of his intention, and begged 
 him to do what he could during his absence towards 
 searching after the missing boy. The landlord 
 promised very earnestly to do whatever he could. 
 
 They now took a gondola, and went to the police 
 station. Neither of them could speak a word. The 
 thoughts of Uncle Moses were too deep for utter- 
 ance. He was beyond the reach of sympathy, nor 
 did he seek for any encouragement to hope. He 
 had made up his mind for the worst. As for Frank, 
 he, toO; dreaded the worst, and did not attempt any 
 longer to console his uncle with assurances which 
 
AT THE POLICE STATION. 195 
 
 might in a short time prove altof^ethcr vain. Be- 
 fore long all would be decided, and until then Frank 
 could only wait in silence. 
 
 At length they reached the Bureau of Police. 
 They had to wait for some time, ibr no one was 
 there who could speak English ; but at length the 
 official returned with whom they had talked on the 
 former occasion. lie greeted them very civilly. 
 
 " 0, an so you af come," he said, " to see about 
 de young boys. I sail look, an find if de messager 
 haf come." 
 
 He went away, and was absent for some time. 
 At length he returned. 
 
 " I am ver sorra," said he, " but notings haf come 
 back from de messager." 
 
 Frank in his deep gloom hardly expected any- 
 thing else ; and so, after a short pause, he proceeded 
 to state the cause of their present visit. The of- 
 ficial listened most attentively. 
 
 When Frank ceased, he shook his head. 
 
 " It is vera infortnat," said he. " Dere is dan- 
 ger in de canale. I nevare go dere mysef ; dere is 
 too mooch danger. Bot I sail do all I can. I sail 
 senda de men to investigare immediatemente. O, 
 yes, I sail do all I can." 
 
 Some further conversation followed, and then 
 they went back slowly and sadly to the hotel. 
 They themselves could now '"' ) nothing. They 
 could only wait, and hope to hear ; but even this 
 hope was faint. The police would go on the search, 
 
106 THE WINGED LTON. 
 
 but who could toll how long it Avonkl bo boforo any- 
 thing could bo known? Indood, thoir cliiof fear 
 now was, that nothing might over bo known, and 
 that Bob was lost forover. Tho loss of Clivo and 
 Pavid was nothing to this. Tiioy had boon heard 
 of over and over again, but Bob had departed, and 
 had loft no trace. 
 
 The long hours of tho morning thus passed, and 
 midday oime. With midday came also a strange 
 and startling message. It was from tlio Police 
 Bureau, and informed them that a boy had ttiat 
 morning been arrested for swimming in tho Grand 
 Canal, and that they were requested to come and 
 see if ho was the one whom they sought. 
 
 In an instant tho dark cloud of anguish rolled 
 away from the despairing minds of Uncle Moses 
 and Frank. They understood it all. Yet they 
 wondered why tho official had not told them when 
 they made their inquiries. Perhaps he did not 
 know. That seemed the most probable conjecture. 
 At any rate there was no time to be lost ; and so 
 they hurried to a gondola, and before long were 
 once more in the police station. There they met 
 with their friend, the official, who could " spik 
 Ingclis." '"'"' '■'' 
 
 Ho informed them that he did not know, on their 
 former visit, of the arrest of any one for swimming, 
 but that since then he had learned the facts. He 
 had seen the prisoner, and had recognized him. 
 
 Upon this, Frank eagerly demanded his release. 
 
THE POLICE. 197 
 
 The official said fcomotliing about a violation of 
 the law, and seemed to be in a very singular state 
 of hesitation. He seemed to hint at a prolonged im- 
 prisonment for Bob, and said something about fines 
 and n.jney payments. As he touched upon this, he 
 looked at Frank with a very peculiar expression. 
 
 Frank's intelligence caught at once at his mean. 
 ing. In England or America he would not havo 
 thought it possible, but in Italy he had seen many 
 things which showed him that a large number of 
 the officials are not above receiving presents from 
 those who wish their good offices. In this there 
 was something wliich was very shocking to Frank's 
 sense of propriety ; but, then, too much was at 
 stake for him to hesitate a moment. Bob in con- 
 finement, Uncle Moses breaking his heart — these 
 were dread facts which had to be faced. With a 
 hurried gesture, therefore, he placed his purse in 
 the hand^^ of the official, saying, — 
 
 " Get an advocate. Let us see him as soon as 
 possible. There's enough there to pay any ordi- 
 nary fine. And couldn't you free him first, and let 
 the fine be settled afterwards ? " 
 
 The hands of the official closed over Frank's 
 purse with an eager grasp, which showed how 
 welcome this offering was. His face beamed with 
 benevolence, and his whole manner changed from 
 official formality to one of sympathy and geniality. 
 
 " I sail see," said he. " Wait you ; I not be 
 long." 
 
198 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 He departed, and they -waited. They were not 
 kept long. In less than ten minutes the door 
 opened, and the official returned with the aspect 
 of a kind benefactor, ushering in no less a person- 
 age tlian Bob himself. He had rather a sheepish 
 look, and his somewhat scant attire made him have 
 rather a disreputable appearance, but neither Uncle 
 Moses nor Frank thought of that. They rushed 
 upon him, and caught him in their arms, and almost 
 wrung his hands off. As for Bob, he was amazed 
 at these signs of feeling ; but he bore it philosophi- 
 cally, and as soon as he could speak, he asked them 
 if they had found Clive and David. 
 
 " No," said Frank ; " we've forgotten all about 
 Clive and David. We've only been thinking of 
 you. And mark you, my lad ; this is the last time 
 that you go in swimming." 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth," said Bob, " I think I 
 shall postpone my next swim till I get home again. 
 At the same time I must say it's rather hard treat- 
 ment ; and yet there are people who say that 
 Italy's a free country. I rather think that the only 
 liberty Italians know is the liberties they take with 
 unoffending travellers." 
 
 Neither Uncle Moses nor Frank felt inclined to 
 talk just here ; so they hurried back with Bob as 
 fast as possible to the hotel, and here they gained 
 from him an account of his adventures. Of course 
 the whole thing was now quite intelligible, and they 
 saw that no blame could attach to poor Bob, 
 
BESULTS OP THE RECOVERY OF BOB. 199 
 
 The recovery of Bob had produced one effect so 
 important and so beneficial, that it made his little 
 adventure seem like a very fortunate occurrence. 
 That effect was produced upon Uncle Moses. Until 
 then he had hec^ sinking deeper and deeper into 
 an abyss of gloon. which was tending towards utter 
 despair. Fruiik had already seen with deep con- 
 cern the misery and prostration of the sorrowing 
 old man, and feared that if it lasted much longer 
 he would sink under his anxiety. The loss of Bob 
 had been the final blow. He had scarcely been 
 able to drag himself to the boat and into the police 
 office. While there he had not been able to say 
 one word, but had sunk into a seat, with his eyes 
 staring fixedly upon the official. Then, returning 
 to his hotel, he had passed the long hours of sus- 
 pense like one demented. The news from the 
 police had roused him ; the final visit and the 
 meeting with Bob had altogether overwhelmed 
 him. In that great revulsion of feeling which had 
 ensued, he had passed at one bound from the 
 darkest despair to the highest and most exquisite 
 happiness. On gaining Bob, he seemed to have 
 gained everything ; and from this he drew the 
 strongest encouragement for the future. He now 
 felt a calm assurance that David and Clive were 
 all safe, — where, he did not know ; yet still, they 
 were safe, and as he had recovered Bob, so he 
 should recover them. 
 
 He was now his ancient and original self, as 
 
200 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 talkative, as amiable, and as full of resources as 
 QYQY. ' ' ' ■= ■' ■■' '""''•'' 
 
 " My mind's made up, boys," said he, as. they sat 
 in their room after luncheon. " I ben a thinkin' 
 of it ever sence we found Bob. We must leave 
 Venice." 
 
 " Leave Yenice ! " exclaimed both the boys, in 
 mournful chorus. This announcement filled them 
 with disappointment and dismay. " Leave Venice ! " 
 they repeated. " What I and give up our search 
 for Clive and David ?" 
 
 " Clive and David," said Uncle Moses, shaking 
 his head ; " they ain't here. It's no use a goin' an' 
 a wastin' time in a place like this. You know they 
 ain't here at all." 
 
 The boys had nothing to say to this. 
 
 " Besides, I can't stay here any longer. It seems 
 like a dungeon. It was bad enough at first, but 
 now, sence they've ben an' gone an' arrested a in- 
 nocent child like Bob, why, I can't feel safe for a 
 moment. We'll all be arrested next, an' if we air, 
 why, we won't get off so easy as Bob did. The 
 fact is, this here city is all honeycombed with 
 dungeons ; thar air spies everywhere ; the Council 
 of Ten is as bad as ever, and the Inquisition is in 
 full blast. I won't stay here another day. Clive 
 and X)avid, very fortunately, are not in the place, 
 an' I'm goin' away this very day." 
 
 " But where can we go ? " asked Frank, 
 
 " Go ? Why, to Verony.'^ 
 
UNCLE MOSES' RESOLUTION. 201 
 
 ^' But we've sent messages off to Yerona." 
 
 " Messages ! " exclaimed Uncle Moses. " Pooh 1 
 I don't believe they've done the first thing. An' 
 mind you, they won't do anything till you pay 'em. 
 You forgot to do that, Frank." 
 
 " So I did," said Frank. " Ton my word, I do 
 believe they've done nothing." 
 
 " Of course," said Uncle Moses. " An' now 
 we've got either to pay them, or go ourselves. 
 Now, I've made up my mind that we've got to go 
 ourselves. Don't say a word. Don't oppose me. 
 It's no use. I'm bound to go. My mind's made 
 up, and go I will this very day to Verony." 
 
 Mild as Uncle Moses usually was, Frank knew 
 perfectly well that when he had once made up his 
 mind. to anything, he was utterly immovable. On 
 the present occasion he forbore to make any ob- 
 jection. He saw also that it was perhaps the best 
 thing to be done under the circumstances, and so 
 both he and Bob acquiesced without a word in the 
 new plan. 
 
 About two hours after this. Uncle Moses, with 
 Frank and Bob, left Venice, and soon arrived at 
 Verona. -r - 
 
202 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. '^ 
 
 JVew Wanderings and more Stories. — The Espousals of 
 the Adriatic. — The Capture of Consta?ttinople. 
 
 ^kP-T was certainly a singular position in which our 
 Xdt yo^^^S fi'iends were thrown. Here were two 
 parties separated from one another, and yet 
 in the same city, in one another's vicinity, passing 
 and repassing over the selfsame track, without 
 either being aware of the neighborhood of the 
 other. Such a thing might be barely possible in 
 other cities, but in Venice it was the most natural 
 thing in the world. ' 
 
 On this day they came more closely than ever 
 upon one another's tracks. Bob had been arrested 
 early in the morning. Then came Vernon to the 
 police station with inquiries about Miss Lee. 
 
 Scarcely had he left, when Uncle Moses and 
 Frank came Thus the two parties had been 
 brought into very close proximity. Yet Uncle 
 Moses and Frank, of course, had no idea of the 
 factt. of the caso, and Clive and David were in 
 equal ignorance. 
 
 When Vernon came back from the Police Bureau, 
 he was eagerly interrogated by Gracie. When he 
 
ANXIETY OP GRACIE. 203 
 
 told her that nothing had been heard, she looked 
 disturbed. 
 
 " I'm beginning to be awfully anxious," said she. 
 *' I feel as though I ought to be doing eomething, 
 and yet I cannot imagine what I can do. I'm 
 afraid that something may have happened to poor 
 dear auntie. She is so inexperienced in travel, 
 and she grows so confused when anything goes 
 wrong!" 
 
 Vernon tried to reassure her. 
 
 " 0, really, now," said he, " you must try and 
 not give way to anxiety. It's natural, of course, for 
 you to feel so ; but you must remember that we are 
 doing the very best we can. The police can do 
 infinitely more than we ; they have their connec- 
 tions all through Italy ; they can telegraph and 
 communicate in other ways with all possible places ; 
 and they are sure of finding her. Besides, it is 
 very probable that your aunt will seek their assist- 
 ance at once.'^ 
 
 " 0, I'm sure she never will ; the very mention 
 of the police is terrible to her. She is very timid. 
 And that's the worst of it. She has a horror of all 
 the continental police, and would die *rather than 
 seek their assistance." • 
 
 " Well," said Vernon, " if you feel that some- 
 thing more ought to be done, I will do it. If the 
 police do not bring any definite information, I'll 
 take a run to Verona myself, and that is the hard- 
 est thing in the world for me to do just now." 
 
204 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " 0, I'm sure," said Gracie, " I don't want you 
 to put yourself to trouble for my sake, or to leave 
 Venice — or to — " 
 
 " Trouble ! " said Verncn. " It isn't that ; but 
 you know — I, in fact — I don't like to — to leave 
 you — even for a day — and if — that is, if your aunt 
 Were only safe, I should like to wait at l^ast until 
 we had seen the whole of Venice. And, at any rate, 
 we can wait this one day. You do not want me to 
 go away to-day — do you? You will give me one 
 more day — won't you ? " 
 
 Vernon spoke in a tone of entreaty that seemed 
 to indicate very strong emotion. As for Gracie, 
 she herself seemed somewhat agitated. She stole 
 a hasty look at the eloquent face of the handsome 
 young artist ; then her eyes fell, and she murmured 
 in a low voice, — 
 
 " 0, no. I should be sorry — not to have another 
 day. — in Venice. I only meant that — that I felt 
 guilty in enjoying myself — so much — you know 
 — while poor auntie was perhaps in great misery 
 about me. That's all." 
 
 At these words Vernon's face grew radiant. 
 
 " 0, thank you — thank you," said he. " Then 
 we shall have one more day of enjoyment, and 
 you'll comp with me to-day, and we'll see as much 
 as possible, and then this evening I shall go to hear 
 what the police have found out. After that we 
 may arrange other plans." 
 
 This seemed quite agreeable to Gracie. The 
 
THE ARSENAL OF VENICE. 205 
 
 assurances of Vernon seemed to quell her anxiety, 
 and she gave herself up for that day to the enjoy- 
 ment that might be had. 
 
 At the usual time the boat was ready, and first 
 of all they went to the Arsenal. 
 
 This place, once the centre and the source of the 
 naval power of Venice, was now all still and silent. 
 The thousands of workmen, the hundreds of gal- 
 leys, the noise, the tumult, the clouds of blaCK 
 smoke from boiling pitch and glowing furnaces, 
 which once made the Arsenal of Venice one of the 
 wonders of the world — all these things had passed 
 away. The multitude of busy artisans had dwin- 
 dled to a few loiterers ; the fleet had given place 
 to three or four small barks ; the noise and tumult 
 of vast enterprises had been succeeded by languor 
 and quiet. 
 
 Entering through the massive gateway, they 
 walked around and surveved the docks and ware- 
 houses. There was but little to gratify curiosity. 
 The interest of the place lay in the past. After 
 making the tour of the works, they seated them- 
 selves upon a bench, from which they had a view 
 of the harbor, and gave themselves up to pleasant 
 conversation. -^ - ' i ' 
 
 " Isn't there any chance," asked David, " that 
 Venice will again become a great naval station ? I 
 should think that now, being connected with Italy, 
 and free, she might be made use of, and this Arse- 
 nal might become busier than ever." 
 
206 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 *' 0, no," said Vernon ; " there's no chance of 
 that. Modern warfare requires a different place. 
 The enormous iron- clad s of Italy cannot come 
 here. The galleys of old times required but lit- 
 tle water. No vessels can come here but those 
 of light draught. Venice cannot be even the 
 Queen of the Adriatic. Trieste now has that po- 
 sition. By the by, have you ever heard of the 
 espousals of the Adriatic ? " 
 
 " I've heard of that ceremony," said Gracie ; 
 " but I should like to know more about it. Haven't 
 you something in your manuscript that you can 
 read ? " 
 
 At this invitation, Vernon took his manuscript, 
 and read from it 
 
 The Espousals op the Adriatic. 
 
 Well, you know, Frederic Barbarossa, Roman 
 Emperor, had been engaged in a long struggle with 
 Pope Alexander. It was one of the greatest con- 
 flicts on record, and the two combatants fought 
 with very different weapons. For the emperor had 
 all the warriors of Germany at his back, and half 
 of Italy ; while the pope was armed with the ter- 
 rors of superstition and the thunders of the church. 
 Besides this, the pope was sustained by the valiant 
 Lombard republics, who defied the utmost power 
 pf the emperor, and had resolved to perish from off 
 the face of the earth rather than yield. The strug- 
 gle was terrible. It raged through Germany and 
 
ESPOUSALS OF THE ADRIATIC. 207 
 
 Italy, but especially Italy ; and at length tlio pope 
 became an '^xile and a wanderer, flying from place 
 to place. In the course of these wanderings he 
 came to Venice. 
 
 There was some danger in receiving the illustri- 
 ous fugitive, for Venice would thus encounter the 
 wrath of the mighty emperor, who was as powerful 
 on sea as on land. But the Venetians did not stop 
 to count the cost. They received Pope Alexander 
 with boundless respect and hospitality ; and when 
 the emperor sent a demand for the surrender of 
 the pope, with a denunciation of war in case of 
 refusal, the Venetians sent a haughty reply, and 
 prepared for war. 
 
 The maritime power of the emperor was vast. 
 He had on his side the united navies of Genoa, 
 Pisa, and Ancona, which now, at his command, 
 moved upon Venice, in order to attack the city, 
 punish the insolent Venetians, and capture his 
 mortal enemy the pope. But the Venetians did not 
 wait for the arrival of the imperial fleet. They 
 themselves sailed out to act on the aggressive. On 
 coming in sight of it, they found it superior in 
 numbers,, and provided with the most formidable 
 equipments. It was under the command of the 
 son of the great emperor, and was regarded as in- 
 vincible. It had been sent to crush Venice forever, 
 and all the maritime resources of Frederic had 
 been put forth in order to insure success. But 
 they had quite miscalculated the strength of Ven- 
 
208 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 ice. The Yenotians, whom they expected to be- 
 siege, came forth, and began a fierce attack. A 
 bloody struggle followed, which lasted for six or 
 eight hours, and terminated in a complete victory 
 for Venice. The imperial fleet was destroyed. Its 
 vessels and sailors were all sunk or captured, and 
 among the prisoners was the emperor's son Otho. 
 Venice was saved ; the pope was saved ; and in 
 that victory began the downfall of Frederic. 
 
 The fleet came back with its long train of cap- 
 tured vessels, all gay with flags and streamers. 
 Venice sent forth all its population to swell the 
 triumphant procession, and first among those who 
 went to greet the victors was the pope. No one 
 knew so well as he the full meaning of this great 
 victory. 
 
 Alexander addressed the victorious doge with 
 words full of joyful congratulation. Then ho pre- 
 sented him with a gold ring. 
 
 " Take this ring," said Alexander, " and with it 
 take, on my authority, the sea, as your subject. 
 Every year, on the return of this auspicious day, 
 you and your successors shall proclaim to posterity 
 that the right of conquest has subjugated the Adri- 
 atic to Venice as a spouse to -her husband.'' 
 
 The doge took the ring, and the Venetians ac- 
 cepted the gift of the sea. Thenceforth for ages 
 they commemorated this great event by a solemn 
 ceremony. On every anniversary of this day the 
 doge, with all the chief nobility, went to hear mass 
 
ESPOUSALS OP THE ADRIATIC. 209 
 
 at tho Cathedral of St. !Mark. Thnn they proceeded 
 to embark in the galley which had carried tho dogo 
 to his triumpli over tlio imperial fleet. Blazing 
 with gold, and adorned with most costly ornaments 
 and richeit trappings, this galley, — tho Bucentaur, 
 — followed by innrmerable smaller craft, proceeded 
 through tho canals to the mouth of iho harbor. 
 There tho doge dropped tho ring into tho sea, with 
 these words : — 
 
 " Wo wed thee with this ring, in token of our per- 
 petual sovereignty." 
 
 The ceremony was always kept up, and was al- 
 ways associated with the proudest recoil 3ction8 of 
 Venice. Hundreds of years passed away, but the 
 old Bucentaur lived on. Repairs were constantly 
 made, until, like the ship Argo, there remained not 
 one of her original timbers ; yet still she was the 
 Bucentaur, and as the Bucentaur she was used for 
 this solemn ceremony until tho Austrians came. 
 
 " As I said before," said Yornon, after a while, 
 "the day of Venice is over forever. She can never 
 again be a great naval station, although she may 
 live on, and have some moderate amount of traffic. 
 Formerly it was different. The ancient galleys 
 were slightly constructed, and drew but little water. 
 The fleets of Venice, with which she won her great 
 triumphs, and with some of which the destinies of 
 the world were decided, were also composed of 
 galleys of shallow draught." 
 U 
 
210 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 *' "Which was tlio greatest of all the exploits of 
 Venice?" ankcd Gracio. 
 
 " Well," said Vernon, " there are two ; and the 
 question lies between them. One was the capture 
 of Constantinople, the other wr.s the battle of Le- 
 panto. In both of these Venice had allies. But 
 it seems to me that the capture of Constantinople 
 was more glorious for her, for the reason tliat she 
 took tlie lead in that great exploit, and her doge, 
 old Dandolo, was the hero of the war. It was dif- 
 ferent with Lcpanto. If you like, I will read about 
 the capture of Constantinople." 
 
 Receiving the usual eager assent, Vernon went 
 on to read 
 
 The Capture of Constantinople. 
 
 Venice had always been very closely connected 
 with Constantinople. At first it was part of the 
 Roman empire, and reverenced the emperor at 
 Constantinople as supreme lord. Afterwards, as 
 the city grew more powerful, the connection was 
 but slight ; yet still the Venetians looked upon the 
 emperors of the East as the true Roman emperors, 
 and considered those Germans who arrogated the 
 title as barbarian pretenders. Commercial inter- 
 course was constant and well sustained, and down 
 to the time of the crusades the attitude of Venice 
 towards the Eastern empire was, with a few ex- 
 ceptions, one of respectful friendship, together with 
 an acknowledgment of the supreme rank of the 
 the Roman emperor who ruled in Constantinople. 
 
CAPTURE Or CONSTANTINOPLE. 211 
 
 But with tho crnsadca camo other feelings. 
 These great movements caused an immense in- 
 crease in the power and resources of Venice. Her 
 ships were needed to convey crusaders to the East, 
 and to supply them while tliero with provisions 
 and munitions of war. Iler naVies were needed to 
 co-operato with the soldiers of tho cross against the 
 common enemy. With her growing power, Venice 
 hecamo more ambitious, and, in her eager desire to 
 extend her commerce, slie grow to look on Con- 
 stantinople as an obstacle in her way. At tlie 
 same time the Eastern empire, with its ruler and 
 its capital, had incurred the wrath of the Western 
 warriors. Those who returned Drought back end- 
 less tales of the treachery of the Eastern Chris- 
 tians, and all Europe came to regard them as here- 
 tics, whose Christian faith was but a name, and who 
 preferred plotting in the closet to fighting in the 
 field. Time went on, and these feelings grew 
 stronger. The church of the West and the church 
 of the East parted asunder forever, with mutual 
 cai^.'L^. The Western Christians grew utterly es- 
 trangec from their Eastern brethren, and various 
 wrongs which Venetians had to undergo at Con- 
 stantinople conspired with these other circum- 
 stances to make Venice foremost in hostilitv to the 
 Eastern capital ; and the policy of her rulers became 
 such as made them always on the lookout for the op- 
 portunity to inflict some harm upon the hated city. 
 
 Under these circumstances a new crusade was 
 
212 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 preached, and the warriors of the cross decided to 
 go by water to their destination rather than under- 
 take the perils of a land journey. Of all these 
 perils none were more dreaded than the passage 
 across the Dardanelles, for there they would be 
 dependent upon the aid of the Eastern emperor ; 
 and all the West now looked upon him as a secret 
 enemy, more to be feared than the sultan of the 
 Turks himself. Venice, therefore, became the ren- 
 dezvous for the crusaders, who gathered there in 
 large numbers, while the leaders sought to make a 
 bargain with the government for ships and sup- 
 plies. The bargain was made, and the Venetians 
 prepared a fleet for the expedition. 
 
 When the time came for payment, however, it 
 was found that the crusaders could not raise the 
 money ; and although the chiefs of the expedition 
 made the utmost personal sacrifices, and contrib- 
 uted all that they possessed and all they could bor- 
 row, still there remained a deficit of more than one 
 third the required sum. The Venetians now came 
 forward with a proposal. One of their colonies, 
 named Zara, had recently revolted. It lay in the 
 way of the expedition, and the doge off*ered to set 
 forth at once if the crusaders would lend their as- 
 sistance towards capturing Zara. This proposal 
 was accepted, and the expedition set sail. 
 
 It was a gallant sight. The whole fleet consisted 
 of five hundred vessels of all sizes ; two hundred 
 and fifty of these carried the troops, while seventy 
 
CAPTURE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 213 
 
 were Ir^den with military engines for siege opera- 
 tions. Such a force as this proved irresistible to 
 tlie people of Zara. The town was captured, and 
 the crusaders began to turn their thoughts towards 
 the Holy Land. 
 
 But now, wliilo waiting here at Zara, an event 
 occurred which once more diverted the crusade 
 from its proper destination, and led to a result 
 never dreamed of by its original projectors. 
 
 Some years before, the Emperor of Constantino- 
 ple, Isaac Angelus, had been deposed and blinded 
 by his brother Alexius. The son of the fallen em- 
 peror, \/ho v/as also named Alexius, was imprisoned 
 for some time, but at length managed to escape, 
 and fled to Italy. His brother-in-law was Philip, 
 the Roman emperor, and his intention was to seek 
 a home at his court in Germany. On his way there 
 he was astonished at the great throngs who were 
 hastening towards Venice, and by the advice of 
 his friends he sent a message to the crusaders, im- 
 ploring their assistance towards the deliverance of 
 his father, and the recovery of the crown of the 
 Eastern empire. In reply, they sent messengers, 
 with the young Prince Alexius, to the Emperor 
 Philip, stating that if he would assist the crusaders 
 towards the recovery of the Holy Land, they would 
 help the prince towards the recovery of Constan- 
 tinople. 
 
 Philip, in reply, said that he was unable to do 
 anything ; but Prince Alexius made promises of the 
 
214 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 most attrac;tive character, in order to gain their 
 assistance. He offered to put an end to the dis- 
 union between the Greek and Latin churches, to 
 bring the whole Eastern empire into submission to 
 the pope, to assist them with a large army towards 
 the conquest of Jerusalem, and added to this bound- 
 less offers of rewards in money, and honors, and 
 territory. But before he could accomplish this, it 
 would be necessary for the crusaders to put him 
 and his father in power, and thus the siege of Con- 
 stantinople would have to precede the crusade in 
 the Holy Land. 
 
 There were vehement debates over this propo- 
 sal ; but at length it was accepted, and the expedi- 
 tion set sail for Constantinople, and the Prince 
 Alexius, who had joined the crusaders at Zara, 
 went with them. Their voyage was slow and de- 
 liberate. They stopped at several places, where 
 they were peaceably received, and at length came 
 within sight of the great capital of the East. The 
 historian of the expedition tells the feelings of 
 the crusaders at the magnificent sight that burst 
 upon them. " When they contemplated," said he, 
 " the walls and goodly towers that enclosed it 
 around, the gay palaces and glittering churches 
 that seemed innumerable, the immense dimensions 
 of the city, denoting that it was the Queen of the 
 Earth, they could hardly believe their senses ; nor 
 was th*^' any man, however bold, whose heart did 
 not tremble within him. This was no marvel, for 
 
CAPTURE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 215 
 
 never since the creation of the world had such an 
 enterprise been attempted by such a handful of 
 men." 
 
 But the Eastern empire had fallen upon evil 
 days. A few years before, when the Emperor 
 Manuel was reigning, such an expedition as this 
 would have been beaten back on its first appear- 
 ance, and pursued to wreck and ruin. For in those 
 days the dock-yards of Constantinople could turn 
 out sixteen hundred ships of war, and the Greeks 
 were rulers of all the Eastern waters. But the 
 present emperor was attentive to nothing except 
 pleasure and personal indulgence ; the care of af- 
 fairs was handed over to corrupt officials ; the fleet 
 had gone to decay ; the army was almost extinct ; 
 and even though ample notice had been given of 
 the approach of the crusaders, still such was the 
 general mismanagement, that no preparations had 
 been made to oppose them, and the capital of the 
 East lay exposed to their attack, itself almost de- 
 fenceless. The only defence against the hostile 
 fleet was a stout chain, which had been stretched 
 across the harbor, behind which v ^re twenty gal- 
 leys, all that remained of the mighty navy of the 
 Eastern empire. To such an extreme of weakness 
 had the capital been reduced by the misgovern- 
 ment of iflexius. 
 
 Ten days were taken up in preparations, afler 
 which the fleet of the crusaders bore down upon 
 the chain. For a time it withstood the assault ; but 
 
216 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 at last, one vessel of immense size, bearing down 
 with all its force, succeeded in breaking the cable. 
 The whole crusading navy folio od, and the twenty 
 galleys inside were all destroyed or captured. 
 
 Having thus forced their way into the harbor, 
 they waited a few days longer in order to decide 
 about the best mode of attack. It was at length 
 resolved to make a combined assault by sea and 
 land, the Venetian warriors fighting from their gal- 
 leys, and the crusaders on the land. The prepara- 
 tions for the attack were very extensive, and many 
 days were taken up in landing the troops, in pre- 
 paring the engines, and in making the galleys 
 ready for an assault from the sea side. The prep- 
 arations of the crusaders were rather simple, for 
 they trusted more to personal valor than to military 
 machines ; but the Venetians, who trusted to both, 
 made far more elaborate arrangements. The gal- 
 leys were filled with warlike engines, adapted to 
 hurl every variety of missile weapons into the city. 
 They were covered with raw hides, so as to be 
 protected from the terrible Greek fire ; and they 
 had suspended rope-ladders from their yard-arms, 
 by means of which they could let themselves down 
 upon the walls. These yards, with their rope- 
 ladders, acted like draw-bridges, and let down 
 the Venetians upon the heads of the astonished 
 Greeks. 
 
 Their galleys, arranged in a single line, which 
 extended for nearly the whole length of the city 
 
CAPTURE OP CONSTANTINOPLE. 217 
 
 wall, sailed in close, discharging clouds of arrows, 
 and stones, and other missiles. The galleys came 
 up close to the walls, where the Greeks fought with 
 much spirit, and poured torrents of Greek Lro upon 
 them. But the precautions taken were succc?«- 
 ful, and not much harm was done in this way. The 
 yards were lowered, and the Venetians sought to 
 descend. For a long time, however, they were 
 slain as they came near the wall, until it seemed 
 impossible to obtain a footing, and the Venetians, 
 discouraged, began to relax their efforts. 
 
 And now it was that one hero came forward, and 
 by a single act of valor changed the fortune of the 
 day, and won for himself immortal glory. This 
 hero was not an ardent youth, with all his future 
 before him, eager to win name and fame by one 
 bold stroke. It was the highest citizen of Venice, 
 one who had distinguished himself by a long life 
 of noble deeds, and might now have chosen to rest 
 on his laurels. But though over eighty years of 
 age, and blind also, the enthusiastic valor of the 
 Doge Dandolo, which had impelled him to lead this 
 expedition, now raised him to the foremost place 
 of danger and of honor. Standing upon the prow 
 of his galley, he had learned the progress of the 
 fight ; and now, when his forces were wavering, he 
 ordered his men to run the galley ashore. Then, 
 holding the banner of St. Mark, he leaped out, and 
 was first upon the land. His men rushed after him 
 to sustain him. The other galleys, who had seen 
 
218 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 this, did the same, and the whole host of Venetian 
 warriors, impelled by the example of the doge, 
 rushed anew to the assault, this time with such fury 
 that the Greeks were driven out, and the whole 
 line of sea-wall, with twenty-five towers, was 
 seized and occupied. 
 
 The crusaders had fared differently. The attack 
 which they made on the land side had been repelled, 
 and the Greeks in vast numbers rushed out to take 
 the offensive. The crusaders were compelled to 
 take refuge behind their intrenchments, and in this- 
 position they sent to Dandolo, begging for assist- 
 ance. In this emergency, if the emperor had been 
 animated by any manly spirit, he could have over- 
 whelmed the crusading host ; but the same weak- 
 ness that had made the capital defenceless against 
 the hostile fleet, now made him falter before a de- 
 termined foe. He sounded a retreat, and led his 
 ibrces back to the city. 
 
 Yet still the peril of the crusaders was great ; 
 and the Venetians, though they held the wall, had 
 to look forward to fierce attacks from superior 
 numbers. " But behold," says the chronicler of 
 this expedition, " the miracle of the Lord ! " Dur- 
 ing the night an event took place which decided 
 the contest. This was the flight of the cowardly 
 emperor, who, hastily collecting what treasure he 
 could, had embarked with his family on board a 
 swift galley, and fled. No sooner had this become 
 Khown, than the friends of the deposed emperor, 
 
CAPTURE OF CONST JiNTINOPLE. 219 
 
 Isaac Angelus, went to rf^stere him to his throne. 
 He was awakened at midnight, and in these mes- 
 sengers the blind old man probably suspected at 
 first the ofiicers who were sent to take him to an 
 ignominious death. But they came to bring him 
 to life and honor ; and after eight long years of 
 miserable captivity, he was again clothed in the 
 imperial robes, led by the hand to the palace, seated 
 upon his former throne, and once more saluted as 
 Roman emperor. 
 
 "This sounds like a very good ending to my 
 story; but unfortunately it was only the beginning 
 of the end. For the miseries of the aged Isaac*in 
 captivity were as nothing compared with those that 
 yet lay before him. The wild promises of his son, 
 the Prince Alexius, could iiever be fulfilled. Their 
 very mention excited fearful commotion among the 
 Greeks ; their non-fulfilment roused the crusaders 
 to rage and vengeance ; then arose rebellions ; the 
 Prince Alexius was murdered ; the Emperor Isaac 
 died of a broken heart ; the crusaders flung them- 
 selves once more upon the city. Once more they 
 were successful. Constantinople was taken and 
 given up to pillago and to flame, and the Eastern 
 Roman empire was divided among the conquerors. 
 
 " And so my story ends." 
 
220 THE WINQED LION. 
 
 •;. ' ■!■' 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Up the Grand Canal. — The Rialto. — The old original Bal- 
 lad of Shy lock. — The Conspiracy of 7'hicpolo, 
 
 EAVING the Arsenal, they proceeded up the 
 Grand Canal, and at length came to that 
 groat bridge, the most celebrated in exist- 
 ence, known as the Bridge of tlie Rialto. They 
 landed here and walked across it. It is one hun- 
 dred and eighty-seven feet in length, and nearly 
 fifty in width, while on each side are small shops. 
 It crosses the canal by a single arch, which was one© 
 regarded as one of the wonders of the world. But 
 the span of this bridge has since then been sur- 
 passed, and in vastness also the Rialto Bridge has 
 been left far behind by the gigantic structures of 
 the age of railroads. 
 
 In some things, however, the Rialto Bridge can 
 never be surpassed. In the first place, its beauty 
 must always be pre-eminent ; then, again, its situa- 
 tion is unique ; and not till another Yenice arises out 
 of the sea can another bridge be made which shall 
 rival this. But above all, there is the charm of old 
 associations which throws around this bridge un- 
 ending glory. Around this as a common centre 
 
THE RIALTO. 221 
 
 revolves all the history of Venice ; it is also the 
 centre of a thousand legends ; above all, it has re- 
 ceived immortality from Shakespeare's mighty 
 hand. Here before the mind many a form arises, 
 and chief among them must ever be the Mer- 
 chant of Venice, with his friends and his relent- 
 less enemy, Shylock. 
 
 Shylock. — What news on the Rialto ? Who is he 
 comes here? 
 
 Bassanio. — This is Signer Antonio. 
 
 With the very sight of tlie Rialto, these words 
 come to the mind, and with these words there 
 arises before the mind the whole of that wondrous 
 and varied story. 
 
 It was of this that Vernon and his companions 
 had mo*st to say ; and Vernon, who was an ardent 
 admirer of Shakespeare, had a hundred things to 
 tell them which threw fresh light on the familiar 
 play. Among other things, he spoke of an old bal- 
 lad, which must have been familiar to Shakespeare, 
 and supplied him wii/i some of the incidents of the 
 play. He had it copied out in his manuscript, and 
 it bore a quaint title. 
 
 "A neio song sJioiving the crueltie of GernutuSj 
 a JeiVy ivhoj lending to a Marchant a hundred 
 CroivneSj ivould have a pound of his Flesh, because 
 he could not pay him at the day apjpoynted. To the 
 tune of Black and Yellow." 
 
222 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 The Fibst Part. 
 
 In Venice town, not long ago, 
 
 A cruel Jew did dwell, 
 Who lived all on Usurio, 
 
 As Italian writers tell. 
 
 Gernutus called was the Jew 
 Which never thought to die| 
 
 Nor never yet did any good 
 To them in streets that lie. 
 
 His life was like a Barrow Hog 
 
 That liveth many a day, 
 Yet never once doth any good 
 
 Until men will him slay ; 
 
 Or like a filthy heap of dung 
 
 That lieth in a hoard, 
 Which never can do any good 
 
 Till it be spread abroad. 
 
 So fares it with the Usurer ; 
 
 He cannot sleep in rest, 
 For fear the tliief will him pursue 
 
 To pluck him from his nest. 
 
 His heart doth think on many a wile 
 
 How to deceive the poor ; 
 His mouth is always full of muck, 
 
 Yet still he gapes for more. 
 
 His wife must lend a shilling 
 
 For every week a penny. 
 Yet bring a pledge that's double worth, 
 
 If that you will have any. 
 
AN OLD BALLAD. 223 
 
 And see likewise you keep your day, 
 
 Or else you lose it all ; 
 This was the living of the wife ; 
 
 Her cow she did it call. * 
 
 Within that city dwelt that time 
 
 A merchant of great fame, 
 Which, heing distressed in his need, 
 
 Unto Gernutus came, , 
 
 Desiring him to stand his friend 
 
 For twelvemonth and a day. 
 To lend to him a hundred crowns, 
 
 And he for it would pay 
 
 Whatsoever he would demand of him, 
 
 And pledges he should have. 
 '* No," quoth the Jew, with flearing looks — 
 
 *' Sir, ask what you will have. 
 
 " No penny for the loan of it 
 
 For one year you shall pay ; 
 You may do me as good a turn 
 
 Before my dying day : 
 
 *' But we will have a merry jest 
 
 For to be talked long ; 
 You shall make me a bond, quoth he, 
 
 That shall be large and strong. 
 
 " And this shall be the forfeiture : 
 
 Of your own flesh a pound; 
 I£> you agree, make you tlie bond, 
 
 And here is a hundred crowns." 
 
 " With right good will," the merchant said; 
 
 And so the bond was made, 
 When twelve months and a day drew on 
 
 That back it should be paid. 
 
224 THE WINGED LION, 
 
 The merchant's ships wore all at sea, 
 
 And money came not in ; 
 Which way to take, or what to do, 
 
 To think lie doth hejjin. 
 
 And to Gernutus straight ho comes 
 
 With cap and bended knee, ^ • 
 
 ■ And said to liini, ** Of courtesy, 
 
 I pray you bear with me." 
 
 " With all my heart," Gernutus said; 
 
 ♦* Command it to your • ind ; 
 In things of bigger weight tlian this 
 
 You shall me ready find." 
 
 He goes his way ; the day once past 
 
 Gernutus doth not slack 
 To get a sergeant presently 
 
 And clapped him on the back ; 
 
 And laid him into prison strong, . 
 
 And sued his bond withal, 
 And when the judgment day was come 
 
 For judgment ho did call. 
 
 The merchant's friends came thither fast 
 
 With many a weeping eye, > ' ; 
 For other means ho could not find, 
 
 But he that day must die. 
 
 " Tlie second part of the Jewe\'i crueltie, setting 
 forth the mercifulnesse of the Judge ^ toivardes the 
 Merchant To the tune of Blacke and Yellow.'' 
 
 Some offered for his hundred crowns 
 
 Five hundred for to pay. 
 And some a thousand, two, or three, 
 
 Yet still he did deny. 
 
AN OLD BALLAD. 225 
 
 And at the last ten thousand crowns 
 
 They offered, him to savo ; 
 Gernutus said, " I will not gold. 
 
 My forfeit I will have. 
 
 "A pound of flesh is my desire, 
 
 And that shall be my hire." 
 Then said the judge, " Yet, good my friend, 
 
 Let me of you desire 
 
 " To take the flesh from such a place 
 
 As yet you let him live; 
 Do so, and lo an hundred crowns 
 
 To thee here will I give." 
 
 ** No, no," quoth he, ** no judgment here, 
 
 For this it shall be tried ; 
 For I will have my pound of flesh 
 
 From under his right side." 
 
 It grieved all the company 
 
 His cuuelty to see, 
 For neither friend nor foe could help 
 
 But he must spoiled be. 
 
 The bloody Jew now ready is • 
 
 With whetted blade in hand, 
 To spill the blood of innocent 
 
 By forfeit of his bond. 
 
 And as he was about to strike 
 
 In him the deadly blow, - 
 *' Stay," quoth the judge, '* thy cruelty, — 
 
 I chaige thee to do so. 
 
 " Since needs thou wilt thy forfeit have. 
 
 Which is of flesh a pound. 
 See that thou shed no drop of blood, 
 
 Nor yet the man confound. 
 
 15 
 
226 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 "For if thou do, like murderer 
 
 Thou here shjilt hanged be ; 
 Likewise of flesh, see that thou cut 
 
 No more than 'longs to thee ; 
 
 "For if thou take either more or less, 
 
 To the value of a niite. 
 Thou shalt be hanged presently, ' " 
 
 As is both law and right." 
 
 Gernutus noAV wax'd frantic mad, 
 
 And wot not what to say. 
 Quoth he at last, " Ten thousand crowns 
 
 I will that he shall pay. 
 
 "And so I grant to set him free." ' 
 The judge doth ."nswer make, 
 
 "You shall not have a penny given, — 
 Your forfeiture now take." ; 
 
 ♦ Ani at the last he doth demand 1 
 
 But for to have his own. , 
 " No," quoth *he judge, "do as you list, 
 Thy judgment shall be shown. 
 
 " Either take your pound of flesh," quoth he, 
 " Or cancel me your bond." 
 
 " O, cruel judge," then quoth the Jew, 
 "That doth against me stand." 
 
 And so with griping, grieved mind. 
 
 He biddeth them farewell. 
 And all the 4)eopie praised the Lord 
 
 That ever this heard tell. 
 
 Good people that do hear this song. 
 
 For truth I dare well say, 
 That many a wretch as ill as he 
 
 Doth live now at tills day. 
 
AN OLD BALLAD. 227 
 
 That soeketh nothing hut the spoil 
 
 Of many a wealthy man, 
 And for to trap the innocent 
 
 Deviseth what they can. 
 
 From whom the Lord deliver me, 
 
 And many a Christian, too, 
 And send to them like sentence eke 
 
 That mcaneth so to do. 
 
 " What do you think of the . old ballad ? " asked 
 Vernon, as he ended. 
 
 " I think," said Gracie, in a candid tone, " that it 
 is sad doggerel." . 
 
 " Yes," said Yernon, " so it is ; but then it is in- 
 teresting, after all, for it shows how Shakespeare 
 made up his play." ^ 
 
 " I thought," said Clive, " that he invented it 
 all." ' ■ 
 
 " No," said Yernon ; " he never made up any of 
 his plays in that Avay. He always took some story 
 such as this, and in that way made his play. He 
 showed his inventive power in transforming a dull 
 and prosaic narrative to a play where all the char- 
 acters are endowed with life and action, so that 
 they live in our memories always, and we cannot 
 hcip thinking of them as though they were real 
 persons. To most people Shylock is as real a char- 
 acter as Carlo Zeno, or Faliero, or old Dandolo." 
 
 " I should think so," said Gracie ; " for how many 
 people do you suppose know anything about those 
 others ? " 
 
228 THE. WINGED LION. 
 
 " Well, then," said Yernon, " as real as Alexan- 
 der the Great, or Julius Csesar, or Napoleon Bona- 
 parte." 
 
 " But in the ballad," said David, "no mention is 
 made of Portia or the caskets." 
 
 " No," said Yernon ; " that was all taken from 
 another storv." 
 
 " Another story ? Why couldn't Shakespeare 
 have invented that ? " 
 
 " Certainly he could," said Yernon ; " but he 
 didn't. He took these stories, and used them as 
 foundations. That doesn't make his plays any the 
 worse — does it?" 
 
 " Well, no, I suppose not," said David ; " but it 
 seems as though it takes something away from his 
 genius." 
 
 " Not at all," said Yernon. " If it wasn't for 
 Shakespef.re, no one would attach any '.nportance 
 to these tales and ballads. No one else had his 
 power. He stood alone — a mighty magician ; and, 
 as Dryden says, — 
 
 * Within that circle none durst walk but he.* 
 
 As to the storv of the caskets, that is found in a 
 collection of tales, very popular in old times, called 
 the Gesta Romanorum." 
 
 " I remember," said Clive. " I have the book, 
 translated, of course. The stories are full of all 
 sorts of marvels. They're not to be compared to 
 the Arabian Nights." 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF THIEPOLO. 229 
 
 " 0, no," said Vernon ; " of course not. Few 
 people can take any interest now in tlie Gesta Ro- 
 manorum; but the Arabian Nights are as popular 
 with us as they ever were with the Arabians them- 
 selves, and are far better known in London, Paris, 
 and New York, than they are in Cairo, Constanti- 
 nople, or Teheran." 
 
 " I have something else in my manuscript,'^ said 
 Vernon, after a pause, " that is connected with the 
 Rialto, and if you like I will read it. It is about a 
 famous conspiracy, which had very important re- 
 sults." 
 
 " Read it, by all means," said Gracie. 
 
 So Vernon went on to read 
 
 The Conspip\cy of Thiepolo, 
 
 Venice was* often threatened by dangei^ from 
 without ; but in the year 1310 a danger aros*^ from 
 within which produced greater effects than all of 
 the others. These effects consisted in a complete 
 change in the constitution, and the adoption of 
 a new order of things, by which the old popular 
 freedom perished utterly, and the once free re- 
 public became cursed with a tyranny which ulti- 
 mately became a dark Reign of Terror, and by its 
 prolonged duration and awful power made the very 
 name of the state synonymous with all that is most 
 detestable to human nature. Other revolutions 
 have taken place in proud republics, by which 
 their liberties have been subverted ; but never has 
 
230 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 there been any change so miserable as that by 
 which Venice passed from its ancient government 
 to the mysterious and terrible domination of the 
 Council of Ten. ' ' 
 
 The rule of the Doge Gradenigo had been marked 
 by misfortunes of no common kind ; and to crown 
 all, a quarrel with the pope had resulted in an in- 
 terdict which weighed heavily on all classes of the 
 people. The nobles had certainly less cause for 
 discontent than any others ; but on this occasion it 
 was from this very class that the movement arose 
 which aimed at nothing less than the overthrow of 
 the government and a complete revolution in the 
 state. 
 
 It was set on foot b}'' one Thiepolo, a noble, who 
 belonged to one of the chief families, and among 
 whose ancestors had been several doges. His own 
 aim was ore of ambition. He thought the ducal 
 dignity his own due, and succeedtd in associating 
 with himself several other nobles, who hoped in this 
 way to further their own ambitious designs. The 
 movement spread rapidly. It was ably planned; 
 the secret, though involving so many, was carefully 
 kept: and so widely extended were the connec- 
 tions of this conspiracy, that arrangements were 
 made for assistance from Padua. The insurgents 
 in the city, who themselves were very numerous, 
 were to be aided by a large force from the latter 
 place, and the 16th of June was fixed upon as the 
 day for the rising. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF THIEPOLO. 231 
 
 But though the movement had not been betrayed, 
 it had, nevertheless, beer, noticed and suspected. 
 The keen eyes of the doge had marked the gath- 
 erings and other movements of bands of men who 
 seemed bent upon some unusual purpose. This 
 he communicated to the Council, who at once took 
 the alarm, and proceeded in all haste to guard 
 against the danger that threatened. Armed men 
 were, therefore, stationed at various points, espe- 
 cially at the Arsenal and at the Piazza of St. Mark ; 
 and on the very night before the rising all these 
 precautionary measures were completed. 
 
 The appointed morning came. It was stormy. 
 The rain poured down in torrents, and the wind 
 blew a gale. All this was regarded by the insur- 
 gents as favorable. The arrangements had all been 
 made, and various bands had received instructions 
 to seize different posts in the city. The place 
 which was to be assailed by Thiepolo was the 
 Rialto. His part was accomplished with cnrnplete 
 success. There was no resistance. The bridge 
 was taken and occupied, and the surrounding dis- 
 tricts were strjngly fortified. 
 
 Far different, however, was the fate of the others. 
 The chief attack, after that of Thiepolo, was made 
 upon the Piazza of St. Mark. But no sooner had 
 they reached the place than, to their amazement, 
 they found it occupied by superior forces. A fierce 
 fight ensued. The insurgents, instead of fighting 
 for victory, were compelled to fight for liberty and 
 
232 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 life. The thought that they had been betrayed 
 utterly demoralized them. Those who were able 
 to fly did 80 at once, and the rest, after a brief 
 struggle, were captured. 
 
 From these fugitives Thiepolo learned the news, 
 and at once perceived that all was lost. He only 
 sought now for his own safety. Seizing a boat, he 
 Bot out for the main land, and succeeded in effect- 
 ing his escape, while his followers, now deprived 
 of a leader, dispersed in all directions. 
 
 Such was the conspiracy of Thiepolo — an event 
 which, in itself, would be but of slight importance 
 among the immense movements of Venetian his- 
 tory, but which, from its important consequences, 
 must be considered as holding a foremost place 
 among them. 
 
 The feeling of the government seems to have 
 been one of utter consternation. All felt the ne- 
 cessity of guarding against the possibility of 
 'another attempt like this. Rome, in one of her 
 periods of trouble, appointed a supreme ruler called 
 a Dictator. Venice now did the same, with the im- 
 portant difference that instead of one dictator there 
 were ten. Absolute power was given to them for 
 punishing the rebels, and for devising means of 
 guarding against a repetition of such a plot. The 
 new Council was invested with perfect sovereignty 
 over all in the state, and freedom from all respon- 
 sibility. At first they were appointed for ten days. 
 This period was then extended six times j then it 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OP THIEPOLO. 
 
 233 
 
 was prolonged to a year ; then to five years ; then 
 to ten ; and finally it was made permanent. For 
 from the very first the Council of Ten had begun 
 to rule by mystery and terror ; and so effective was 
 the machinery which they organized, that they at 
 length placed their power on an immovable basis. 
 
 ■ •■: • '; ■■ i , '■•' 
 
234 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ■ I 
 
 The outer Sea. — A distant View of Venice. — The Brides 
 of Venice. — The Story of the War of Chiozza, 
 
 )HILE Vernon had been reading these 
 stories, the gondola had been moving 
 along the Grand Canal, and by the time 
 that he had finished, it had come out into the open 
 sea. They looked out and saw a wide extent of 
 water, with here and there an island, upon which 
 were houses and churches. These islands lay sep- 
 arated from Venice, and were inhabited chiefly by 
 the lower orders. They formed what may be called 
 the suburbs of Venice. 
 
 The boat passed along the outskirts of the city, 
 at some distance, from which they could see to the 
 best advantage the wonderful appearance of Venice 
 as it lay before them, with the waters encompassing 
 it on every side, rising out of the sea abruptly — 
 a marvellous, an unequalled spectacle. 
 
 " I am thinking," said Gracie, after a long pause 
 of silent admiration, " of some poetry which is far 
 prettier than your old ballad." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Vernon, eagerly. " Say it." 
 
 " 0, it's familiar enough to all of you. It's Byron's 
 verses." 
 
RECITATION FROM CHILDE HAROLD. 236 
 
 " Say it, at any rate," said Yemen. " I should 
 love to hear you." 
 
 Gracio threw a pretty little look at him, half 
 embarrassment and half consent, after which she 
 recited eo'^e verses : — 
 
 *' I Btood in Venice, on the Bri" ,'e of Sighs, 
 A palace and a prison on each liand : 
 I saw from out the waves her structures rise 
 As from the stroke of an enchanter's wand. 
 A thousand years tlieir cloudy wings expand 
 Around me, and a dying glory smiles 
 O'er the far times, when many a suhject land 
 Looked to the Winged Lion's marble piles, 
 
 "Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles. 
 
 **She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 
 
 Rising with her tiara of proud towers 
 
 At airy distance with majestic motion, 
 
 A ruler of the waters and their powers; 
 
 And such she was ; her daughters had their dowers 
 
 From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
 
 Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
 
 In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
 Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased." 
 
 Gracie said these verses with deep feeling and 
 fine emphasis. Her voice was sweet and musical, 
 and all listened in deep silence. 
 
 " I wish," said Vernon, " that you could go on 
 and say the whole canto. I can only express my 
 feelings by quoting Milton : — 
 
 ' The angel ended, and in Adam's ear 
 So charming left his voice, that he a while 
 Thought liim still speaking, still stood fixed to hear.* " 
 
236 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Gracio, with a blush and a 
 pmile. " But, Mr. Vernon, haven't yon something 
 more to read ? " - ' 
 
 Vernon drew fortli liis manuscript, and said, — 
 
 ** 0, well, if you wisli it." 
 
 " Wish it ? Most certainly we do." 
 
 And so Vernon began to read the story of 
 
 The Brides of Venice. 
 
 Once upon a time, he began, it was the fashion 
 among the Venetian aristocracy to celebrate their 
 marriages on the eve of the Festival of the Purifi- 
 cation of the Virgin. Of course marriages took 
 place on other occasions also ; but this was the 
 favorite time, and also the most fashionable, so 
 that there were always a number of weddings to 
 be celebrated at once. The ceremonies always 
 took place at Olivolo, which lies at the extreme 
 end of the city, towards the east. 
 
 It was one of the greatest days in the year. All 
 the friends of the bridal pairs would assemble, ar- 
 rayed in their festive attire, and a large crowd of 
 gondolas had to be collected, so as to convey the 
 party to the place and back. Decorated with gay 
 streamers, the little fleet used to pass through the 
 city to the sound of lively music, followed by great 
 numbers of spectators in other boats ; and in this 
 way they approached their destination. To this 
 place the friends of the bridal pairs also would 
 bring their bridal presents, which, being very 
 
THE BRIDES OP VENICE. 237 
 
 numerous and costly, represented in the aggre- 
 gate a large sum of money. It was this great 
 prize which led to a daring attempt on the part of 
 some ruffians from Istria. 
 
 Hearing of this ceremony and of the presents, 
 the idea occurred to them of making a bold attempt 
 to seize the wedding gifts. It was carried out very 
 craftily and successfully. Coming to Venice in their 
 ships, they landed in disguise at Olivolo, and con- 
 cealed themselves there until the time of the cere- 
 mony. No one suspected danger. No one had 
 come provided with arms, nor were there any 
 guards of any kind about. 
 
 The ceremony began and went on, when sud- 
 denly, in the midst of it, with a wild, fierce shout, 
 the Istrian brigands burst into the midst of the as- 
 sembly. In an instant they had seized all the jew- 
 els and bri'dal presents. But already another idea 
 had occurred to the ruffians ; and this was, to seize 
 the brides also. They would be a prize of far more 
 value than gems or gold. Belonging to the noblest 
 families of Venice, they could command a ransom 
 of untold wealth. It was for this that the brigands 
 seized them, and bore them away shrieking and 
 fainting from their despairaig friends. They then 
 rowed to their ship, boarded it, and fled across 
 the sea. 
 
 But there was no time for despair. The be- 
 reaved friends hurried back to the city. The 
 doge summoned the citizens to arms. In a short 
 
238 TUB WINGED LION. 
 
 « 
 
 time tho waters wcro covered with a fleet of fierce 
 pursuers, hurrying on tho track of tho brigands. 
 First in tlie pursuit was a ship manned by tho 
 bridegrooms, who, with hearts almost bursting 
 with fury and despair, had seized the swiftest 
 galley in port, had set out first, and were now 
 driving her througii the water. • 
 
 Far away they could see the ship tliat held their 
 precious treasures — their brides. Had the brig- 
 ands known better the intricate channels that 
 surround tho city, they could have effected their 
 purpose. But they had become bewildered in one 
 of the canals, and their pursuers gained rapidly on 
 them, and at length reached them. 
 
 In tho first fury of le attack, love was forgot- 
 ten, and there was no thought of anything but ven- 
 geance. The brigands resisted obstinately ; but such 
 was tho frenzy of tho bridegrooms, that their resist- 
 ance proved unavailing ; and the whole band were 
 slaughtered ''nd thrown into the sea. When the 
 rest of the Venetian fleet came up, all was over, and 
 nothing now remained but to lead back tho brides 
 in triumph. They all returned to Olivolo. The 
 ceremony was continued from the point at which 
 it had been broken off, and the rescued brides were 
 at last united to those whom the}' thought they had 
 lost forever. ~ - 
 
 Venice is a great place for keeping alive the 
 memories of past events ; and among its various 
 festivals the commemoration of the rescue of the 
 
THE BRIDES OF VENICE. 239 
 
 brides always held a high phice. Every year 
 afterwards, on tlio anniversary of this day, various 
 games and festivals took place, chief among which 
 was a procession of Venetian ladies to the Churci). 
 of Santa Maria Formosa, which is the church at 
 Olivolo. Here also the doge came with another 
 stately procession, and on landing, went through 
 certain ceremonies which were designed to com- 
 memorate the events of that momentous day. 
 
 ^ " I like early Venetian history," said Gracie, 
 " ever so much better than later. It's not so 
 dark or dreadful." 
 
 " It's more cheerful," said Vernon. " The state 
 was free, and there was no Council of Ten, no 
 spies, no secrecy, no horrors to make the b^ood 
 run cold." 
 
 ^' At any rate," said David, "the history of Venice 
 nnder the Council of Ten is more exciting. Don't 
 you think so, Mr. Vernon ? Think of the long list 
 of harrowing tales that have made Venice famous. 
 Shylock and Othello belong to the later period." 
 
 " Yes, and Otway's Venice Preserved," said 
 Clive. 
 
 " And Schiller's Ghost Seer," said David. 
 
 " And some of Mrs. RadclifFe's, and Abellino, the 
 Bravo of Venice." 
 
 Vernon laughed. 
 
 " 0, go on, youngsters," said he. " When it 
 comes to Abellino, I give up. I dare say you are 
 better up in that work than I am." 
 
240 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 '' It seems to me," said Gracie, " that the Vene- 
 tians were always rather politic and cautious than 
 heroic. Is there anything in their history that 
 shows them reduced to extremity like the Athe- 
 nians with the Persian in their city ? or like the 
 Romans after Cannae ? or like the Dutch at Ley- 
 den ? or the French after Agincourt ? I don't like 
 people that are always cool and prudent. Now, if 
 there is anything that shows us Venice in a more 
 heroic mood, I should like to hear it." 
 
 " I think I can find something of that sort," said 
 Vernon, turning over the leaves of his manuscript. 
 ** This will be different from anything that I have 
 read thus far." 
 
 And with this he began to read 
 
 The War of Chiozza. 
 
 The year 1379 saw the darkest days in all the 
 history of Venice, from her first beginning until 
 her final fall. War had been raging with Genoa. 
 The Lord of Padua, the bitterest enemy of Venice, 
 was in league with the Genoese. The Venetian 
 fleet under Admiral Pisani had been defeated at 
 Pola. All the rest of her ships of war were far 
 away, under the command of Carlo Zeno, and noth- 
 ing was left in the city to maintain her honor upon 
 the Adriatic. In the midst of all this, her enemies 
 hastened to take advantage of her distress, and 
 began a combined movement upon Venice, which 
 they hoped would efface her from the list of 
 nations. 
 
THE WAR OF CHIOZZA. 241 
 
 When they heard of the approach of the enemy, 
 the Venetians hastened to complete all possible 
 measures for defence. All the principal channels 
 that led to the city were blockaded by means of 
 piles or sunken ships ; the outposts were fortified 
 and strengthened ; most of all, they sought to 
 strengthen the outl3'ing post of Chiozza, which 
 was the key to the harbor, and the possession of 
 which would inevitably be the object of the first 
 and fiercest struggle. Of the importance of this 
 post the Genoese were as well aware as the Vene- 
 tians ; and therefore it was upon this that they 
 made their first attack. The struggle that fol- 
 lowed was a bloody one ; the Genoese fighting for 
 victory^ the Venetians for self-preservation. But 
 the defenders were far outnumbered ; and at last 
 Chiozza, upon which so much depended, was torn 
 from their grasp, its defenders perished, and the 
 news of this great calamity, when it was made 
 known to the Venetian, seemed to tell them that 
 all was lost. * 
 
 A panic spread through the city. The people 
 assembled in despairing croAvds in the Grand 
 Piazza, awaiting in silence the action of the 
 government. The Grand Council in scRsion were 
 in no less despair. The usual calmness and forti- 
 tude which had distinguished the Venetian govern- 
 ment now disappeared, and they could think of no 
 other course of action than a humble petition for 
 peace on any terms. An embassy was sent to the 
 16 
 
242 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 enemy, taking with them some Genoese prisoners 
 of eminent rank, who were freed without ransom, 
 and also a sheet of blank paper, which was to be 
 filled up by the enemy with any conditions which 
 they thought proper. The only proviso which the 
 ambassadors were charged to make was, that Venice 
 should remain independent. 
 
 On the reception of this embassy, the Lord of 
 Padua would have been satisfied with this sub- 
 mission of Yenice on his own terms, and would 
 have been willing to concede the independence 
 of the state ; but the Genoese Admiral Doria, ani- 
 mated by all the jealous hate of his country, was 
 determined upon a far deeper vengeance. 
 
 " Take back your captives," said he, alluding to 
 the Genoese who had accompanied the embassy. 
 " Ere many hours I shall deliver both them and 
 all their comrades. By God above, ye signors of 
 Yenice, you must expect no peace either from the 
 Lord of Padua, or from our republic, till we our- 
 selves have bridled the horses of your St. Mark. 
 Place but the reins once in our hands, and we shall 
 know how to keep them quiet for the future." 
 
 This reply plunged the Yenetians into deeper 
 despair. The Council remained in session, the peo- 
 ple gathered around, and nothing now appeared 
 before them except a hopeless resistance, which 
 could only terminate in the ruin of the state. In 
 this dark hour the people thought of Pisani. This 
 great man, the popular idol, had until recently 
 
THE WAR OF CHIOZZA. 243 
 
 been the chief admiral of the Venetian navy, but 
 his defeat at Pola had led to his humiliation and 
 imprisonment. The people could now think of no 
 other so capable as he to rescue the state from its 
 peril. Their doge was in despair, their Council 
 was helpless. There was no one who could say 
 what was yet to be done, or direct all that living 
 mass of fiery valor, which, without a leader, was so 
 helpless. And so there went forth a universal cry 
 for Pisani, which could not be resisted. The Coun- 
 cil and the doge were glad enough to yield, and 
 sacrifice their dignity and their jealousy for the 
 safety of the commonwealth. The prison doors 
 were thrown open : Pisani came forth, and once 
 more found himself the leader of the Venetians ; 
 but this time it was in the darkest hour of her 
 despair, and he himself was the last hope of his 
 country. 
 
 Pisani showed no resentment for his wrongs, but 
 with self-sacrificing patriotism at once devoted 
 himself to the work of rescuing the state from 
 its danger. All Venice felt the influence of his 
 genius. His spirit was visible everywhere. Every 
 man was put to work. The approaches to the 
 city WGYQ strengthened with fresh blockades, and 
 larger defences. The mechanics were gathered 
 into the dock-yards to construct new ship3 of war, 
 or transform merchant vessels into galleys. Every 
 able-bodied man was armed and drilled. In an 
 astonishingly short space of time the results of 
 
244 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Pisani's genius and energy were perceptible. A 
 fleet made its appearance, which grew larger every 
 day. Manned with Venetian citizens, who were 
 for the most part unacquainted with war, this fleet 
 was incessantly kept at maritime exercises ; and 
 .the Genoese, who kept the blockade, saw in as- 
 tonishment a new fleet arising out of nothing, and 
 performing evolutions under their own eyes. 
 
 All classes were pervaded by the heroic spirit 
 of their leader. Never in the history of the world 
 were there greater examples of patriotic devotion 
 and self-sacrifice. The young men all took up 
 arms. The women gave their jewels, and worked 
 incessantly with their hands for their country. 
 Old men, who could do nothing else, gave up their 
 wealth. Entire fortunes were presented to the 
 state, and vast debts were given up by creditors ; 
 plate, jewels, and treasure were heaped into the 
 public coffers ; even the priests and monks took up 
 arms in the holy cause of their country. There 
 was one tradesman who undertook the maintenance 
 of a thousand men ; another equipped a ship of war ; 
 while the poorer artisans associated together to 
 maintain companies of soldiers. One of the most 
 touching examples of this self-sacrifice was seen 
 in the aged Matteo Faseolo. He had been a 
 wealthy citizen of Chiozza, but had lost all by the 
 capture of that place. He took his two sons and 
 presented them to the magistrates. " If my estate," 
 said he, " were such as it once was, I would give 
 
THE WAR OF CHIOZZA. 245 
 
 it all for the requirements of my country ; but our 
 lives are now all that are left to me and my sons. 
 Dispose of us as you think best. Employ us either 
 by land or sea, and let us rejoice in the thought 
 that what little we still possess is devoted to our 
 country." 
 
 At length, by means of such intense and pro- 
 longed exertions on the part of all classes of the 
 state, Pisani found himself in possession of a force 
 with which he might hope to compete with the 
 enemy on equal terms. That enemy had already 
 gone into winter quarters behind Chiozza, where 
 the most of their ships were dismantled, and of the 
 whole fleet only three galleys were in active ser- 
 vice. Chiozza was built, like Venice, upon a group 
 of islands, surrounded by sand-banks. The ap- 
 proaches to this place from the sea were by means 
 of two channels, one of which was called Chiozza, 
 and the other Brondolo. The plan which Pisani 
 had conceived was, to make a combined attack 
 upon these two channels, and block them up. In 
 this case the Genoese fleet would be shut out 
 altogether from the sea. They would then be 
 blockaded in turn. At the same time the Vene- 
 tian fleet, under Carlo Zeno, which was cruising 
 abroad, might soon be expected home, in which 
 case their enlarged forces would enable them to 
 have the Genoese at their mercy. 
 
 On the 23d of December the Venetian arma- 
 ment set forth upon its bold attempt. Its de- 
 
246 THE WINGED LTON. 
 
 parture was celebrated with solemn services at St. 
 Mark's. The doge himself went with the fleet, 
 and swore never to return unless victorious. The 
 fleet consisted of fifty ships of war, sixty armed 
 merchant vessels, three hundred boats filled with 
 troops, and two large hulks filled with stone and 
 rubbish. 
 
 They made their entrance first into the Strait 
 of Chiozza, and landed five thousand men. The 
 Genoese hurried forth to encounter them, and a 
 battle ensued, in which the Venetians were driven 
 back to their boats. This, however, was part of 
 the design of Pisani, who brought on the battle for 
 the purpose of engaging the attention of the Geno- 
 ese, and distracting it from his chief purpose. 
 While the battle was going on, the hulks were 
 towed into the channel. The Genoese, in their 
 three galleys, made a desperate assault upon the 
 hulks, and in the course of the struggle they were 
 sunk. The Venetian flotilla then advanced with 
 huge masses of stone and ballast, which they 
 heaped over the sunken ships. After this, strong 
 rows of piles were driven in, and by the end of the 
 following day this channel was completely blocked 
 up ; while the Venetian fleet effectually prevented 
 the Genoese from trying to remove the obstruc- 
 tions. -- „^ __- 
 
 The other channel of Brondolo still remained, 
 and here the Venetians sailed as soon as possible. 
 It was guarded by strong posts on the shore, and 
 
THE WAR OF CHIOZZA. 247 
 
 a fierce conflict took place between the Genoese 
 and the Venetians, during which the latter suc- 
 ceeded in their purpose ; for as they had now the 
 superiority on the sea, they were able to block up 
 this channel also. 
 
 The Genoese were now effectually shut in ; the 
 only channels by which they could escape were 
 closed up, and the obstructions were incessantly 
 guarded by the Venetians. But the Genoese were 
 not idle. They were well aware of the danger in 
 Avhich they were. Fierce fights took place inces- 
 santly as the Genoese strove to remove the ob- 
 structions and force the barriers; but in all of 
 these the Venetians maintained the advantage. 
 The struggle between the two now became most 
 exhaustive ; on the part of the Genoese there were 
 incessant attacks, on the part of the Venetians 
 never-ending vigilance. For the Genoese there 
 was nothing else to be done ; but the Venetians, 
 who had already accomplished so much, had their 
 own city behind them ; and the thought of this, the 
 longing after home, and the severe labors of con- 
 stant watching and continuous fighting, all tended 
 to dampen their ardor. Murmurs arose. The men 
 clamored for some rest of respite ; and at length 
 the whole fleet became so mutinous that Pisani 
 was compelled to 3'ield. He therefore promised to 
 return to Venice, but required a further service 
 of forty-eight hours, in which time he hoped that 
 the fleet of Carlo Zeno might arrive. 
 
248 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Never were forty-eight hours passed in greater 
 suspense, and never did greater issues depend 
 upon the events of that time. Like Columbus, 
 when he had been forced to make a similar prom- 
 ise to his sailors, Pisani waited anxiously, looking 
 out over the waters to detect some signs of that 
 which was to determine so much. At the same 
 time the Genoese looked forth over the same 
 waters with equal anxiety, for they, too, expected 
 aid and re-enforcements ; and all their hopes de- 
 pended upon relief from home. 
 
 At length, before the time had expired, sails 
 were seen in the distance. Genoese and Venetian 
 now watched with equal anxiety to see what that 
 fleet might be. Pisani waited in a suspense as 
 great as that with which Napoleon waited at 
 Waterloo, to know whether the approaching force 
 might be that of Grouchy or Blucher. *, ., 
 
 At last all suspense ended, and as the fleet ap- 
 proached, the Venetians rose up from doubt and 
 dark terror to wild and enthusiastic joy. The 
 fleet was theirs ; it was the long-looked-for fleet of 
 Carlo Zeno. 
 
 The struggle now went on more furiously than 
 ever ; the Venetians eager to bring the war to an 
 end, the Genoese animated by love of life, the 
 hope of escape, and every motive that is most 
 powerful in the human heart. In the midst of the 
 conflict, the great Doria perished ; and though he 
 thus escaped the calamities of the future, still the 
 
THE WAR OP CHIOZZA. 249 
 
 loss of their leader made that future darker than 
 ever for the Genoese. 
 
 On the 19th of February a combined attack waa 
 made by land and sea upon the Genoese posts. 
 In the course of the struggle, the Genoese made 
 an attempt to get into the rear of Zeno's force ; but 
 a brilliant movement on the part of that commander 
 led to their defeat. In the course of their flight a 
 bridge broke down beneath the weight of the multi- 
 tude upon it, and the fugitives, thus cut off, were* 
 all slaughtered helplessly. 
 
 After these terrible losses, the Genoese shut 
 themselves up, and acted on the defensive, ani- 
 mated only by the hope of relief from home. At 
 last a fleet appeared, which proved to be the one 
 that had been so long desired. The Venetians 
 had anticipated this ; they had made all their prep- 
 arations, and had decided upon their best policy. 
 That policy was to maintain the blockade, which 
 now not only shut in the besieged, but also kept 
 the re-enforcements from reaching them. As the 
 new fleet approached, the Venetians watched them 
 in the security of an unassailable position : and the 
 Genoese on both sides perceived in anguish of soul 
 that no communication was possible between them. 
 The Genoese Admiral Maruffo, who commanded 
 the relieving fleet, reconnoitred every position, 
 but found each in turn impassable ; while the 
 wretched garrison, who had watched his approach 
 with such feverish joy, now beheld his retreat, and 
 
260 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 burst forth into passionate lamentations and cries 
 of despair. 
 
 The garrison still held out. Provisions had long 
 since failed them, and they were reduced to the 
 last privations. But surrender to an implacable 
 foe seemed worse than death ; and they endured 
 everything before consenting to that. On one 
 occasion a desperate attempt was made to pass 
 over to the main land by means of rafts and small 
 boats ; but in this they were unsuccessful. • The 
 Venetians pursued them in boats, and all per- 
 ished. 
 
 At last all was over. The Genoese garrison had 
 to make an unconditional surrender. The Vene- 
 tians held victory within their grasp, and entered 
 into the fortress that had so long repelled them. 
 Out of that proud armament which had brought 
 Venice down to the lowest depths of despair, they 
 found but nineteen galleys left, and only a little 
 over four thousand men, whose emaciated frames 
 bore witness to their prolonged sufferings. 
 
 On the surrender of the garrison, the Genoese 
 Admiral Maruffo retreated ; and the Venetians re- 
 turned in triumph to their city. At the head of 
 his victorious host, the doge entered the city in 
 the Bucentaur ; and that day was the most glori- 
 ous in all the annals of Venice. 
 
YOUTH AND PLEASURE. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. , 
 
 A floats — Itt a Gondola, — Romantic Situation. — The Story 
 
 of the three Artists. 
 
 '(HE gondola still glided along upon the outer ' 
 waters. 
 
 ''This is delightful," said Vernon. "I 
 feel like singing, ' I'm afloat, I'm afloat.' Here 
 we are gliding along, youth at the prow, and 
 pleasure at the helm; youth in the persons of Clive 
 and David, who art. eagerly trying to make out 
 places from the map of the city, while pleasure at 
 the helm may be represented by our good selves, 
 as we sit here in this snug little cabin, bent on en- 
 joying ourselves." 
 
 " I wish," said Gracie, " that I could thank you 
 sufficiently for the pleasure that you have given 
 me, Mr. Vernon. There has been only one draw- 
 back — only one." 
 
 " Yes," said Vernon ; " I know. But still let us 
 hope that we shall hear something this evening 
 about your aunt. If not, I will set to work my- 
 self. At the same time I hope to have good news 
 this evening." 
 
 " I hope so, I'm sure," said Gracie. 
 
262 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " If I don't hoar anything, I will go myself, much 
 as I hato to break up these delightful interviews. 
 I hope," continued he, in a low voice, " that I have 
 made it pleasant for you." 
 
 " I'm sure," said Gracio, '' you must have seen 
 for yourself how pleasant it has been. I'm afraid 
 I've been enjoying myself too much. I've forgot- 
 ten my poor auntie." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I've forgotten to do my duty, 
 
 too," said Vernon. '' I've been thinking so much 
 
 of you that I've forgotten your aunt. , ,; 
 
 •-■* , • 
 * With thee conversing, I forget all time; 
 
 But neither breath of morn, when she ascends, ' 
 
 With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun, 
 
 Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, 
 
 With this her solemn bird, nor walk by noon, 
 
 Nor glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.' " ''"'" 
 
 " That's from Milton," said Gracie, with a pretty 
 little air of embarrassment. " You appear to take 
 great delight in Paradise Lost, Mr. Vernon." 
 
 " Yes ; but I take greater deiiglit in a present 
 Paradise," said Vernon, looking at her with deep 
 meaning. 
 
 Crracie's eyes fell before his, and her embarrass- 
 ment grew greater. Vernon drew nearer to her, 
 f^nd was just on the point of saying something 
 niore ; but unfortunately at that moment Clive and 
 u.?avid came in, arguing hotly about some point on 
 which they wished to have his decision. The de- 
 cision was promptly made, and in dive's favor j 
 
THE THREE ARTISTS. 253 
 
 after which Vernon looked as if he tiiought that 
 the boys might possibly want to go out again. 
 But the boys hat! no idea of anything of the kind. 
 On the contrary, tlic}^ deposited tliemselves in easy 
 attitudes on the soft cushions, and Clive said, — 
 
 " Would it be too much, Mr. Vernon, to ask vou 
 to read another of your stories ? " 
 
 " 0, do," said Gracie. " Haven't you another 
 story about artist life ? " 
 
 Vernon drew a long breath, and took up his man- 
 uscript with an air of resignation. His little re- 
 mark to Gracie had thus to be postponed. What 
 he read was the following : — 
 
 The Three Artists. 
 
 Sagredo, Pezaro, and Urso were three young 
 artists who had studied under Titian. Of these, 
 Sagredo had been the master's favorite. He was 
 distinguished by his warmth of coloring, his fer- 
 tility of conception, and his marvellous power of 
 indicating by delicate touches the most subtile va- 
 riations in the expression of the human counte- 
 nance. Pezaro was an artist of superior abilities ; 
 in drawing and coloring he was quite equal to the 
 other ; he was also most painstaking, and never 
 grudged any labor that might make his work bet- 
 ter ; but then he lacked the rare power of concep- 
 tion which was evinced by Sagredo, and the equally 
 rare power of putting those conceptions upon can- 
 vas. As a copyist, he was almost perfect j but in 
 
254 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 * - 
 
 an origmal picture he failed to exhibit that mastery 
 over the world of passion and expression which 
 was so prominent a feature in Sagredo's works. 
 Urso, again, was different from both. Ardent and 
 impetuous, he had vivid conceptions, but he had 
 not the patience to work them out. He tried to 
 grasp at perfection by a sudden rush, and could 
 not wait to seek after it by slow and steady appli- 
 cation. His works indicated great general effects, 
 which might appeal to the common crowd, but not 
 the finished creations of an artist who works for 
 the cultivated classes. In fact, anything like care- 
 ful finish was out of his power. He boasted of his 
 rapidity, and sneered at the slow and laborious ef- 
 forts of Sagredo, whom he always depreciated, and 
 of whom, at the same time, he was bitterly jealous. 
 The annual Easter exhibition of paintings was 
 approaching. It was to take place in the Museo 
 Pamfili ; and great was the excitement among all 
 those who took an interest in art — a class which in 
 Venice was a very large one. Many competitors 
 had given in their names, but the chief interest 
 rested upon Sagredq and Pezaro. Among the oth- 
 ers was Urso. As he was in the habit of sneering 
 at everything, so he directed his sneers at these 
 exhibitions. He declared the judges to be partial 
 and prejudiced. For his part, he said, he did not 
 intend to kill himself for a lot of old women. He 
 intended to enjoy himself, and dash off some- 
 thing at the latest moment. Genius, he asserted, 
 
THE THREE ARTISTS. 255 
 
 disdains drudgery. A work of art ought to show 
 something more than manual labor. His works 
 showed brains, and if the judges had brains they 
 vould decide differently ; but then they always 
 decided by a set of formal rules, and had no For<l 
 to perceive the subtile beauty of a great and origi- 
 nal work. 
 
 All this, and more of the same sort, was listened 
 to approvingly by a little crowd of admirers who 
 had gathered around Urso, who were impressed by 
 his positiveness, by his constant depreciation of 
 others, and by his vigorous self-assertion. 
 
 The appointed day at last came. All the pic- 
 tures were hung, and curtains protected each one 
 from the dust, and also served to con eal them un- 
 til the moment should arrive when each should be 
 revealed. A large crowd assembled, full of curi- 
 osity, and among them was the great master, Ti- 
 tian, who was always interested in the progress of 
 his pupils. 
 
 Picture after picture was disclosed, and each re- 
 ceived its proper comments. That of Pezciro was 
 universally admired. It represented the Flight 
 into Egypt — an old subject, which, however, was 
 treated with much originality — a burning plain — 
 a solitary palm tree — the holy family resting — 
 the ass tethered near at hand, and cropping some 
 scant herbage. Titian looked and smiled approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 A few others were uncovered, and then came 
 
256 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Urso's picture. It was a great blaze of coloring, 
 coarsely dashed on, and was a palpable appeal to 
 the popular prejudice and self-conceit. The sub- 
 ject was the Genius of Venice — a nude figure, 
 with a halo round the head, and a crown of stars 
 was represented flying over the waves. In the 
 sky above were Fame, Victory, Peace, Fortune, and 
 twenty more allegorical figures ; in the water be- 
 neath was Neptune with a great crowd of Tritons 
 and Nereids ; while upon a distant shore stood a 
 row of other figures representing the states of 
 Europe. Some were loud in applause ; others were 
 silent ; Titian raised his brows, and then looked 
 away. 
 
 Urso saw this somewhat contemptuous move- 
 ment. 
 
 " It's not in the old man's style," he whispered 
 to a friend ; '' he don't understand it at all. But 
 his day is over. My turn will come, for I'm going 
 to found a new school." 
 
 At last, Sagredo's picture was reached, and all 
 waited, full of eager expectation. 
 
 The curtain was drawn. 
 
 For a moment all stood staring in perplexity, and 
 then looked at one another in wonder. The pic- 
 ture — what did this mean ? What was this that 
 they saw before them ? It was notliing ! Nothing 
 was there but a confused blur, that looked like a 
 great daub from some coarse and hasty brush. 
 Amazement seized upon all, and amazement was 
 
THE THREE ARTISTS. 257 
 
 followed by confusion. Titian, who had awaited 
 the drawing* of the curtain with a smile of pleas- 
 ant anticipation, looked around in astonishment. 
 Pezaro stared at Sagredo, and all the rest did the 
 same. For it seemed at first as though this enigma 
 could be solved only by him ; and there was a 
 thought that in this apparent mockery there might 
 be some hidden meaning. 
 
 But this notion was soon dispelled. They saw 
 Sagredo, pale as death, standing with his eyes 
 -fixed on the blurred painting, with agony in his 
 face. He stood thus for some time, staring and si- 
 lent, and at length burst into tears. 
 
 " What is this ? " he cried. " I never knew that 
 I had an enemy." 
 
 At this the whole truth burst npon them. Sa- 
 gredo had an enemy. He had been dealt with 
 most foully. Who was he ? Who could he be ? 
 How could he have done this ? Such were the 
 indignant questions which each one asked the other, 
 and the murmurs that first arose deepened into 
 indignant demands for an investigation into this. 
 
 The janitor was summoned and interrogated. 
 But he could tell nothing. In vain they threatened 
 him with the vengeance of the law. The threat 
 only served to reduce the miserable man to the 
 borders of idiocy. It was plain that he knew noth- 
 ing about it. And so the mystery remained as dark 
 as ever; ad no one could conceive how or why 
 this cruel deed had been done. 
 17 
 
258 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 In the midst of this, Urso went up to Sagredo, 
 and condoled with him. 
 
 "vlt's a liendisli act," said he, " a devilish act. 
 To me, of course, it would not be much ; but for 
 you, who work so slowly, it must be hard. Why, 
 it spoils the work for a whole year." 
 
 " Yes," said Sagredo, sadl}^, " a whole year's 
 work is ruined — and more too." 
 
 " 0, well," said Urso ; " you should do as I do ; 
 work fast — don't be a drudge." ..,; 
 
 Sagredo shook his head wearily. i, ; ' 
 
 " Every one," said he, " must work in accordance 
 with his own taste and temper." 
 
 It was, as Urso said, a fiendish act, but still the 
 deed had been done, and there was no help for it. 
 The judges, in awarding the prize, could only de- 
 cide from the actual pictures before them, and 
 could not, of course, take any notice of a blurred 
 canvas. And so in their decision they awarded 
 the prize to Pezaro. 
 
 No sooner was this announced than Pezaro burst 
 forth. ^ 
 
 " No," said he, indignantly, ^' I'll not take it. I 
 saw Sagredo's picture. It was far — far — better 
 than m.ine. Sagredo is far superior to me. I could 
 be willing to be his pupil, except that I know that 
 he has genius, and that his natural gifts can never 
 be communicated to me. Yet still, as it is, I have 
 learned much from him. All my best ideas have 
 come from him, and that very picture of mine was 
 
THE THREE ARTISTS. 259 
 
 suggested by liim. I'll never take the prize while 
 he is here." 
 
 At such an outburst of generous feeling all pres- 
 ent were deeply moved, and there was not a little 
 confusion. Sagredo pressed the hand of his friend 
 in deep emotion. 
 
 " No, dear friend," said he, " you shall not sac- 
 rifice yourself in this way. Year picture deserves 
 the prize. You must take it. "We can have other 
 chances of competing in future years." 
 
 As he spoke, Titian came up. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " Pezaro ; Sagredo is right. 
 You must take the prize. Your picture is the best 
 here, and the prize must be yours, and yours only. 
 It is yours fairly, justly, and honorably. But more 
 than this is yours, Pezaro ; for no prize that man 
 can offer is a fitting reward for your chivalrous 
 friendship, your splendid self-abnegation, and your 
 noble generosity. Take the prize, Pezaro, and let 
 the world learn from you that there is one painter 
 at least who is free from envy and jealousy — that 
 curse of artists." 
 
 As he spoke these last words, Titian fixed his 
 eyes on Urso. The latter quailed before his glance, 
 and looked away. Shortly afterwards he retired 
 from the roora.-^^ .---..-.,-.-._- .,j. j:.^_ , _ 
 
 And so Pezaro took the prize. 
 
 As for Sagredo, this mishap did not greatly harm 
 him. It elicited general sympathy, and mad^ 
 his merits better known. Other occasions came 
 
260 
 
 THE WINOED LION. 
 
 when his works were displayed and his genius 
 recognized. 
 
 As for Urso, ho did not remain long in Yenico. 
 For it was found that he had made the acquaint- 
 ance of the janitor, and used to visit him under va- 
 rious pretexts. Moreover, on the evening of the 
 exhibition he had persuaded the janitor to let him 
 see the pictures. Permission was granted, and thus 
 circumstances all pointed towards him as the only 
 possible author of this foul deed. Urso's own acts 
 confii'med the general suspicion, for shortly after- 
 wards he quietly retired from Venice, and was 
 never heard of again. 
 
THE POLICE AGAIN. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Vernon visits the Police. — Strange Tidings. — Off" to the 
 Hotel Zeno. — Disappointment. — Clive and David Jind 
 out the Error of their Wajs. 
 
 FTER their return, Yernon went at once 
 to the Police Bureau to make inquiries 
 about Miss Lee. Thus far he had recfived 
 no satisfaction ; and now he had the same ill for- 
 tune. He thought this very strange, and it seemed 
 still stranger when, on further questioning, he could 
 obtain no information whatever. Either the Vene- 
 tian police were unwilling to talk of their proceed- 
 ings to outsiders, or else they had utterly failed in 
 the business for which he wished their aid. The 
 latter seemed to Vernon to be the true statfj of the 
 case, and he began to feel deep vexation at the 
 uselessness of the aid which he had offered to 
 Gracie. 
 
 While he was talking, there came in the official 
 with whom Frank and Unqje Moses had come in 
 contact. Some of the words in the conversation 
 attracted his attention, and he came towards 
 Yernon. 
 
 " Pardon, signer/' said he ; " but are you the 
 
262 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 gentleman who has been requesting us to make 
 inquiries after Miss Lee ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 « At Verona ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Well, do you know that there are others hero 
 who have been requesting our aid in search of this 
 same Miss Lee ? " 
 
 " Others ! " said Vernon, in surprise. 
 
 " Yes. Do you know them ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " They have been here several times. I wonder 
 that you liave not met them. But Venice is a dif- 
 ficult place for friends to meet, unless they know 
 one another's movements. At any rate, these oth"* 
 era assert that Miss Lee is in Venice." ^^ 
 
 "In Venice!" - 
 
 " 0, yes ; they know it." 
 
 " Is it possible ! And did they ask you to search 
 after her? and have you found her?" asked Ver- 
 non, eagerly. 
 
 The official shook his head. 
 
 " We have found nothing. She cannot be in 
 Venice. All that is known of her is, that she was 
 last at the Hotel Zeno." v : . 
 
 " The Hotel Zeno 1 " cried Vernon, in fresh sur- 
 prise. " When ? " 
 
 " The day before yesterday." 
 
 "The day before yesterday?" said Vernon. 
 '< That was impossible, for I was there myself, 
 
STRANGE TIDINGS. 263 
 
 and saw nothing of her, and that was the very 
 time when I first came here to ask your aid." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the official, in his most im- 
 pressive tone, " Miss Lee was at the notol Zeno 
 the day before yesterday. She came there in 
 company with two boys. After staying there, 
 she left with the same two boys. These others, 
 who have been making inquiries here, are more 
 eager to find the boys than they are to find Miss 
 Lee." 
 
 Upon the receipt of this astonishing information, 
 Vernon was at first quite confounded. But at 
 length the facts of the case began to be evident. 
 Htb saw plainly that these strangers, who had come 
 in search of the boys, could be no others than Uncle 
 Moses, with Frank and Bob, of whom he had heard 
 often enough from his young guests, and that the 
 boys whom they were seeking must be David and 
 Clive ; while the Miss Lee, for whom they inquired, 
 must be Gracie herself, and not the aunt. What they 
 could want with Gracie he did not exactly know ; 
 but of this he did not think. Two great facts were 
 before him, one being that Gracie 's aunt was still 
 among the missing, and the other that Uncle 
 Moses had hurried to Venice in pursuit of Clive 
 and David. For the first time he understood the 
 position of these two, and saw that they were re- 
 garded by their anxious uncle as runaways. 
 
 " Then you h; ^ not found these boys." 
 
 " No," said the o. acial. 
 
264 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Upon this Yernon explained to him the facts of 
 the case. 
 
 " Where are these people staying? " ho asked. 
 
 " At the Hotel Zeno." 
 
 " Very well ; 1 will go there at once . with the 
 boys, and they will be able to join their friends. 
 There need be no more trouble about that." 
 
 "You are nv . acquainted with the old man, 
 then?" said the official. 
 
 "No." - ■ -^ 
 
 " They have had great trouble to-day," con- 
 tinued the official, " and will be glad to see you, 
 if you go with the boys." 
 
 " Trouble ? What kind of trouble ? " asked Yer- 
 non. 
 
 The official went on to tell them about the arrest 
 of Bob. Yernon listened with a mixture of sur- 
 prise and inorriment. 
 
 " But I did not know that swimming in the canal 
 is against the laws," said he. *' I swim in the ca- 
 nals constantly, whenever I have time to go out to 
 Lido, or some other place." 
 
 " 0, it's not against the laws ; but on the Grand 
 Canal no one can swim after a certain hour, and 
 this boy was beyond the time. Besides, when the 
 men chased him, they at first intended only to warn 
 him, but he gave them so much trouble that they 
 arrested him." 
 
 There was nothing more to be learned now ; so 
 Vernon returned home. 
 
oracie's disappointment. 265 
 
 Gracie came to meet him, looking at him with 
 anxious inquiry. 
 
 Vernon sadly shook his head. 
 
 " What ! " said she. " Have you heard noth- 
 
 ing?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 At this tears started into Gracie's eyes. 
 
 " Cheer up," said Vernon, tenderly. " I'll go 
 myself to-morrow. We can arrange all about it 
 to-night. I'm of the opinion that the police have 
 neglected the business. I'm sure, ^'f they had 
 tried, they might have learned something. They 
 could, at least, have found out whether she is in 
 Verona or not. But they know nothing at all, and 
 it is just as if they had not sent any messenger. 
 And I'm half inclined to think that they did not. 
 The fact is, it was my own stupidity. I should 
 have feed them well, but I forgot ; and then I 
 haven't shaken off my American ideas about fee- 
 ing. It doesn't come natural to us. We never 
 fee any one in America, and it takes a long time 
 for one to get into the habit of it here ; besides, 
 when one is at all occupied with other thoughts, 
 he forgets all his new feeing habit. But don't 
 look so sad," continued Vernon, in an anxious 
 voice. " I'll go myself. I'll do all that is possi- 
 ble, and I won't come back to you again until I 
 bring your aunt with me." 
 
 At this a smile broke through Gracie's tears, 
 and she murmured some low, sweet words of 
 thanks. 
 
266 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 After this, Vernon hastened to acquaint Clive 
 and David with the extraordinary news that Uncle 
 Moses, with Frank and Bob, was liere in Venice, 
 and had been seeking after them. lie also told 
 the story of Bob's adventure with the police. 
 This intelligence filled David and Clive with 
 varied feelings. Astonishment at finding Uncle 
 Moses here was followed by the sudden discovery 
 that they had acted towards him in a way that 
 seemed both inconsiderate and heartless. The 
 remorse which they felt for this was, however, 
 much mitigated by the idea of Bob's bath ; for 
 they saw only the humorous side of this adven- 
 ture, and did not imagine what anguish of soul it 
 had caused to all concerned. 
 
 But the one thought now was, that Uncle Moses 
 was here in Venice ; and their one impulse was, to 
 hurry immediately to the Hotel Zuno. All could 
 then bo explained ; and he, in his joy at finding 
 them, would forgive them all. Vernon also was 
 anxious to see Uncle Moses, for it seemed to him 
 that his inquiries after Miss Leo indicated some 
 knowledge, on his part, of Grade's aunt. It was 
 quite possible that he had met her, and while seek- 
 ing after Clive and David, had also included Gracio 
 in the search. 
 
 This was all explained to Grade, who felt sure 
 that it must be so. Uncle Moses, she thought, 
 could not have mentioned her to the police^ un- 
 less he had met with her aunt, and had been com- 
 
THE landlord's STATEMENT. 267 
 
 missioned by lior to do so. And thus it became 
 highly necessary, for many reasons, to see Uncle 
 Moses as soon as possible. 
 
 Taking Ciivo and David with liim, Vernon now 
 went to the Hotel Zeno. They all expected to see 
 the objects of their search, and were full of hope 
 and pleasant anticipation ; but these feelings were 
 in an instant dispelled by the first answer which 
 they received to their eager question. 
 
 They had gone — they had left the city. 
 
 "Gone? Where?" 
 
 "To Verona." 
 
 "Verona!" 
 
 The disappointment was, indeed, great and hard 
 to bear. All the self-reproach and remorse that 
 their conduct might cause were now felt by Clive 
 and David, as they stood and stared at each other 
 in consternation. 
 
 The landlord went on to explain all. He said 
 that they had arrived on the previous day, and 
 had inquired anxiously about Clive and David ; 
 that they had then gone to the police to get as- 
 sistance towards finding them ; that the old man 
 was very sad, but the boys were indifferent. Then 
 he alluded to Bob's arrest, and described the anx- 
 iety of Uncle Moses and Frank ; and then said that 
 after Bob's deliverance they had all hurried away, 
 still hoping to find Clive and David, and thinking 
 that Verona would be the most likely place in which 
 to discover them. 
 
268 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 The landlord's information completed the dejec- 
 tion of Clive and David. They now understood all. 
 They perceived that Uncle Moses had been tor- 
 mented by his anxiety ever since they had left 
 him ; that he had left Florence before the time 
 mentioned, and must have followed close oi. their 
 trpck, as he had been only one day behind them. 
 How he had managed to track them was not a 
 difficult question to answer. He had heard of them 
 at the different hotels, and had tracked them, to the 
 Hotel Zeno. There he had b n at fault ; and then 
 thinking that they were still wandermg about, he 
 had hurried away to Verona. Formerly they had 
 been accustomed to laugh at the anxiety of Uncle 
 Moses ; but now, knowing as they did his gentle 
 and affectionate nature, they were shocked at the 
 thought of the misory which must have been in- 
 flicted upon him by their own hasty and incon- 
 siderate acts. They saw that while they had been 
 intent only upon their own enjoyment, and had 
 been giving themselves up, without a thought of 
 others, to their own selfish pleasure, their poor 
 dear Uncle Moses had been following after them 
 from place to place, seeking them, but finding them 
 not. What was worst of all, they saw that even 
 row he was far away at Yerona ; there, as else- 
 where, carrying on his search after them, but only 
 to meet with fresh disappointments, worse than 
 any which he had hitherto encountered. They 
 felt now '»,s if they could never forgive themselves ; 
 
ORACIE A COMFORTER. 269 
 
 o 
 
 and as if they could never rest until they had hur- 
 ried after him, and begged his forgiveness on their 
 knees. . 
 
 There was nothing more to be learned at the 
 Hotel Zeno, and so they all returned. Vernon 
 was deeply disappointed, because he had hoped to 
 obtain some news to bring back to Gracie, with 
 which he might cheer her ; while Clive and David 
 were both disappointed and distressed. Fortu- 
 nately for Vernon, he had forborne to say anything 
 to Gracie, before starting, about his hope of hearing 
 from Uncle Moses some news of her aunt ; and as 
 she had expected nothing, she could not be disap- 
 pointed. •■':'■■ -J: 
 
 On reaching th*^ house, Vernon repeated to 
 Gracie hij promise that he would go himself in 
 search of her aunt ; and this seemed to give her 
 consolation. Besides, she was drawn away from 
 her own troubles by the sight of the great distress 
 of Clive and David. She tried to console them, 
 and spoke to them words of hope and encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 '* How funny it all seems I " said she. " We were 
 all runJ^.Vv ays — all three of us. It's the old prov- 
 erb — Birds of a feathur flock together. I didn't 
 know that you were runaways, but I must have 
 felt it ; and that must have been the reason why 
 my heart warmed towards you. Misery lovea 
 company, as another proverb says ; so, boys, the 
 best thing that we can do is to sit in a corner io- 
 
270 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 gether, and have a good cry. Of course you won't 
 cry, because you're so proud ; but I'm not proud 
 a bit, and I mean to cry my eyes out." 
 
 " If you are going to Verona," said Clive, " may 
 we not go with you?" 
 
 " What good would that do ? " asked Vernon. 
 
 " Why, we should meet Uncle Moses." 
 
 " Do you suppose that he will be at Verona by 
 the time that you would get there ? " 
 
 '' Why not ? " 
 
 " Well, I've been thinking of that^ and it seems 
 to me that he would not stay there longer than he 
 could help. He arrived there this evening. He 
 has gone to the two chief hotels, the only places 
 where he would be likely to find you, or you would 
 be likely to stay. He has found that you are not 
 there. So he has already concluded that you are 
 net at Verona, and is, perhaps, just now debating 
 with Frank and Bob about the most likely course 
 that you could have taken^ in your erratic wander- 
 ings. And Uncle Moses is all at sea ; but there is 
 a "fierce argument between Frank and Bob ; one of 
 whom, Frank, is for going back to Florence, and 
 waiting till they hear from you ; while Bob is eager 
 to go on to Milan." 
 
 At this fancy sketch, Clive and David gave a 
 sickly smile. They were not in the humor for fun. 
 Their distress was too deep. 
 
 " But we could go with you," said David, " and 
 find them, wherever they are." 
 
THE DECISION. 
 
 271 
 
 " No," said Vernon. " Let me go alone. Your 
 best place is here. I'll find Uncle Moses, and 
 send him here to you. You've been wandering 
 about long enough. Stay here by all means, in 
 one fixed place, till you hear from him or from me. 
 That's your safest plan." 
 
 '' But wouldn't it be well to telegraph ? " 
 " 0, most excellent, if you only knew where to 
 telegi-aph. But where ? that is the question. To 
 Verona ? But by to-morrow morning they'll be on 
 the wing. To Milan ? But they may go to Flor- 
 ence. To Florence ? But they may come here to 
 Venice. You see it's all uncertain, and the only 
 thing you can do how is, to stand still and let them 
 
 come to you." - 
 
 It seemed very hard to Clive and David, yet 
 Vernon's words were unanswerable, and so they 
 concluded to leave all to him, aiid do just what 
 he said. ' 
 
 ) '.'•> 
 
272 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 • » 
 
 : CHAPTER XX. 
 
 • . ^ : ' ..,:- '-..-.i ''.} !. 
 
 T/te End of Happiness. — The cheerful Vernon. — Grade's 
 Resolution. — A lost Day. — Verona. — Inquiries. — The 
 tight Track. — The Amphitheatre at Sunset. — An inter' 
 esting Conversation. ■ :) ~ J . ' ; ,h ; "'i- 
 
 
 . itJ i>».>r\" 
 
 ND thus all their happiness had come to an 
 end. There were no more pleasant expe- 
 ditions about the wonderful city ; no more 
 seasons of dreamy enjoyment ; no more wander- 
 ings through long galleries, or under lofty cathe- 
 dral arches. All this had come to an end, and they 
 all had something to think of which was far differ- 
 ent from Venetian stories. 
 
 That evening was of itself enough to show the 
 greatness of the change that had taken place. 
 There was no chance for Vernon to exhibit his pic- 
 tures, and no one asked him to read any of his 
 stories. He tried to speak in a cheerful way to his 
 guests, but his words had no effect ; and Gracie 
 on the one hand, and David and Clive on the other, 
 found it impossible to rouse themselves froin the 
 deep gloom into which they had fallen. 
 
 Still Vernon persisted in his well-meant efforts 
 to cheer up his melancholy guests, and he directed 
 his attention more particularly towards Gracie. 
 
VERNON CHEERFUL. 273 
 
 " I'm quite sure," said he, " that the police have 
 done nothing. It was all owing to my own unfor- 
 tunate absence of mind. I was so engrossed with 
 other tilings that I really forgot all about the all- 
 important fee. Nobody in all Italy will think of 
 doing anything without a preliminary fee. It's the 
 same all over Europe. In America it's totally dif- 
 ferent, and it's hard for an American to get into the 
 way of it. Aside from its strangeness, there seems 
 to an American something degrading about it ; and 
 so. you see, it's a long time before one can grow to 
 have one's wits about him in this respect. 0, 3^ea, 
 I'm quite certain that this is the whole trouble. 
 That accounts for their indifference, their igno- 
 rance, their assurances of pretended messages and 
 messengers, with their absolute inaction. They're 
 not humbugs ; they are merely waiting for their 
 fee. At all events, what's done can't be undone ; 
 and so I'll go myself. The Venetian police shan't 
 get any fees from me. I'll go to Verona, and search 
 for myself, and I'll be hanged if I don't believe that 
 I'll do better than any police agent, fee and all. 
 
 " Now, as to your aunt, I really don't think that 
 you need worry so much. It's only fifty-six hours 
 since you left her. It was the day before yester- 
 day. Fifty-six hours I The day before yesterday 1 
 What's that ? Why, it's nothing at all. You speak 
 as though fifty- six months had passed. The time 
 'seems long to you, I dare say," continued Vernon, 
 reproachf"^^y. " I dare say it seems like fifty- six 
 18 
 
274 THE WINGED LION, 
 
 years ; but to me it seems like fifty-six mimites. 
 At any rate, you have only lost your aunt for a 
 few hours. She's in Verona now, you may be sure. 
 She's waiting quietly there till you come back. I 
 clare say she is a little worried about you, for fear 
 that 3^ou have come to harm ; but as for herself, she^a 
 all right. She's at the Hotel de la Tour, or the 
 Hotel Deux Tours — one o the other ; it don't 
 matter which. All she wants is to know that you 
 are well ; and as you know yourself that you are 
 well, why worry about your aunt ? I mean to go 
 to Verona, and go straight to the Hotel de la Tour, 
 and ask for Miss Lee. I shall see her at once. I 
 shall tell her how I found you, ask her to take my 
 arm, and we shall come back by return train. She 
 will be here by evening, and you will wonder how 
 in the world you managed to make such a heap of 
 trouble about a mere trifle." 
 
 These were brave words. Gracie smiled, but 
 the smile did not hide the anxiety which still re- 
 mained within her heart, undiminished. 
 
 On the following morning, Vernon was preparing 
 for his departure, when Gracie informed him that 
 she had a request to make. * '■ 
 
 " I've been awake all night,'* said Gracie, " and 
 I'm so awfully worried that I cannot endure it ; and 
 I cannot bear to stay here any longer, and I've 
 been speaking to your mother about it, and I want 
 to go to Verona myself." 
 
 " With me ! " said Vernon, as a flush of joy over- 
 spread bis face. 
 
gracie's resolution. 275 
 
 " Yes/* said Gracio, " and I've boon talking with 
 your mother, and she has ofTered to go with me ; 
 and 1 thought I'd mention it to you, so as to know 
 whether there is anything to prevent it, or if it 
 will interfere with your search." 
 
 " Interfere ! " cried Vernon, in the utmost joy. 
 " Interfere ! Why, it will be the very thing. And 
 will mother really go ? " 
 
 " She. said — as I am so worried — that she 
 would go with me ; and you know the boys can 
 stay here all the same, or go with us." 
 
 " The boys — O, they must stay here," said Yer- 
 non. " The best thing for them now is to stay in 
 this one place and wait. But you ! and will you. 
 reallv come with me? and will mother come ? O, 
 that will be more than I dared hope for. And I 
 shan't have to leave you, after all, and we can 
 make our search together." 
 
 Vernon was quite beside himself with joy at this 
 proposal. Gracie had made it out of her deep 
 anxiety ; but to Vernon it seemed the highest hap- 
 piness. He loved so much to be with Gracie that 
 this journey had seemed almost intolerable ; but 
 now the dreaded parting need not take place, for 
 she, too, was coming. 
 
 Clive and David heard of this, but they had 
 nothing to say They both felt guilty ; and as they 
 had sinned thi jugh wilfulness and thoughtlessness, 
 they now felt ready to resign thought and will to 
 another. They accepted the situation, therefore, 
 
276 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 with resignation, and in silence, and tried to con- 
 sole themselves with the hope that it would be all 
 for the best. 
 
 This new arrangement, however, made very se- 
 rious alterations in Vernon's plans. For Mrs. Ver- 
 non was a quiet lady, who travelled but little, and 
 so hated to move from her home that the prospect 
 of such a thing never failed to fill her with confu- 
 sion. On the present occasion, the journey before 
 her, short though it was, served to completely 
 bewilder her. She was reduced to a state of ner- 
 vous trepidation and fidgety anxiety about her 
 preparation^.. The train was to leave at ten 
 o'clock ; and in her eagerness to make ready she 
 utterly broke down from overwork and nervous- 
 ness. Then she tried to rally ; and then new 
 trouble arose from her own weakness, and she 
 implored her son to go witliout her. But Vernon 
 would not ; for upon her going depended Gracie's 
 going, and he would not leave now without her 
 sweet companionship. There were two other 
 trains, one at three, and another at seven ; but for 
 the remainder of that day Mrs. Vernon was unable 
 to travel, and the end of it all Avas, that they had to 
 postpone it until the following day. 
 
 They had thus lost a whole day ; but Gracie felt 
 consoled at the thought that she herself would, 
 after all, be able to go, and Vernon did not care for 
 the loss of days, so long as Gracie was with him. 
 Fortuna. )ly Mrs. Vernon succeeded in overcoming 
 
ARRIVAL AT VERONA. 277 
 
 her nervousness, and in efTecting her preparations, 
 so that on the lollowing day they all loft by the ten 
 o'clock train. David and Clive went with them to 
 the railway station, and bade them farewell with 
 melancholy faces. They knew that they had dono 
 wrong, and that they were now suffering the pen- 
 alty of such wrong doing, and could only hope that 
 Uncle Moses would be restored to them, in which 
 case each one inwardly vowed that he would for 
 the future do exactly as Uncle Moses said, no mat- 
 ter how much it might interfere with their private 
 inclinations. 
 
 The journey proved so pleasant to Vernon and 
 to Gracie that both were sorry when it came to an 
 end. Vernon was happy because Gracie was by 
 his side, and Gracie was happy because she felt aa 
 though she was with every mile drawing nearer to 
 her aunt. All her anxiety had now passed away ; 
 or else it had been postponed to some mor« con- 
 venient season. Poor Mrs. Vernon, who had come 
 as chaperon, had not slept during the past night ; 
 and she made amends for this by sleeping ii-.x'ough- 
 out the whole journey, which left Vernon free to 
 say many things that he might not have said if she 
 had been awake. 
 
 At length they arrived at Verona, and went to 
 the Hotel de la Tour, where they put up. Here 
 Vernon at once asked if any one had been stop- 
 ping there by the name of Lee — Signora Lee — an 
 American lady. 
 
278 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 No such person liad boon stopping there. 
 
 This was very dislicartening information ; but 
 Vernon was prepared for this, and went off at once 
 to the Hotel Deux Tours. Here, liowever, he was 
 equally unsuccessful, and found tliat nothing was 
 known about any such person. After this he went 
 to many other hotels and lodging-liousea, thinking 
 no place too unlikely for an inexperienced stranger 
 to stop at ; but in spite of this he had the deep 
 mortification to find his comprehensive search of no 
 avail whatever, ft)r he could not discover the slight- 
 est trace of the party in question. So the end of 
 it all was, that he had to como back to his friends 
 with the sad confession that thus far he had been 
 baffled. This intelligence gave the deepest pain 
 to Gracie, and it was evident that she was now 
 thoroughly alarmed. 
 
 " I will see the police," said Vernon. " This 
 time I w^ill go with them myself. We will tele- 
 graph all over Italy. Something must and shall be 
 found out.'' :f . -- . ; i 
 
 He now went to have another conversation with 
 the landlord. » . < i.^: 
 
 " Have you had any ladies here lately?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; a lady was here ; she went away this 
 morning. She was a foreigner, a Russian, I think j 
 but she spoke English." 
 
 " 0, she spoke English — did she ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and eome friends of hers came here. They 
 were English. She went away with them." 
 
MADAME " MISSOLI." 279 
 
 " English friends. Ah I " said Vernon j " and you 
 think she was Russian." 
 
 The thing had very little interest for him now, 
 but he asked once more. 
 
 "What was the lady's name?" , . 
 
 ** Madame Missoli," said the landlord. 
 
 " Madame Missoli ! 1 never heard of that name," 
 said Vernon. Jt was i)lain to him that this lady 
 was of no interest to him. Thus far he had for- 
 gotten about Uncle Moses and the boys, but now 
 it occurred to him to make inquiries after them. 
 One of the objects of his search had failed, but ho 
 might try, after all, to seek out the other. So he 
 asked, — 
 
 " Have you had any Americans here lately ? " 
 
 " Americans ? " said the landlord. " Yes. We 
 had some. They came the day before yesterday. 
 I don't know whether they were Americans or 
 English. They were the ones who went away 
 with Madame Missoli. An old man and two boys." 
 
 At this Vernon eagerly interrupted him. An 
 old man and two boys ! Evidently they were Un- 
 cle Moses and Frank and Bob. Further questions 
 made this certain, and all doubt was driven away 
 by the landlord repeating their names. 
 
 With this there came another discovery. Tho 
 name Missoli : it explained itself. It was the Ital- 
 ian version of Miss Lee. How stupid of him not 
 to perceive this before ! Yes. It must be the 
 missing lady ; and somehow or other Uncle Moses 
 
280 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 and the boys had made her acquaintance, and they 
 had gone away together. He now asked the land- 
 lord to describe the personal appearance of Madame 
 Missoli, and he found that it accorded perfectly 
 with Grracie's description of her aunt. 
 
 " Where did the}'^ go ? " li® asked, eagerly, at 
 length, when his last doubt had vanished. ..., .^ 
 "To Venice." . ^ .1.; 
 
 "Venice? And when?" ,.,.;« 
 
 " This morning," said tlie landlord. „.-, • 
 
 " Do you know where they intended to put up ? " 
 " 0, 3^es ; it was the Hotel Zeno." ^ ^ - 
 
 Vernon was now completely overwhelmed by all 
 this sudden and unexpected rush of good news. 
 There was nothing further to ask or to do. The 
 only thing left now was to go back to Venice 
 as fast as possible. So lie left the landlord ab- 
 ruptly, and hurried to tell the good news to Gracie. 
 In a few words all was made known ; and Gracie 
 was lifted out of the depths of despair to joy and 
 hope. But there was one drav/back yet. To go 
 back to Venice that day was not possible. Ver- 
 non's search had taken up much time. The last 
 train had gone, and they would have to wait until 
 the following day. Gracie therefore was forced to 
 restrain her impatience, and content herself with 
 the prospect that now lay before her. 
 
 There was an hour or two of daylight still be- 
 fore them, and Vernon proposed that they should 
 go out and see the city. Mrs. Vernon excused her- 
 
THE AMPHITHEATRE. 281 
 
 self on the ground of fatigue ; but Gracie was glad 
 to go, and the two set forth. The load which for a 
 whole day had pressed so heavily on Gracie's mind 
 was now removed, and she resumed all her usual 
 gayety and sprightliness. All seemed fair and 
 bright. She lelt certain of meeting Avith her aunt. 
 It needed only one day more, and the painful sep- 
 aration would be ended. She also \ery naturdlly 
 felt as if Vernon had done all this, and amid all her 
 sprightliness there was evident in her manner the 
 tenderness of gratitude. 
 
 They walked about the city. They saw its ruins, 
 its cathedral, its public places, and at length found 
 themselves in the grand old amphitheatre. Climb- 
 ing up the steps, they seated themselves, and looked 
 around upon the scene. The sight which met their 
 eyes was an impressive one, and one which was 
 not soon to be forgotten. The sun was low in the 
 west, and the arena was wrapped in gloom ; but 
 the eastern circle of seats in the upper tiers was 
 all crimson in its glowing rays. Their view was 
 bounded by the walls of the amphitheatre, and 
 they sat for some time in silence. i ;•: 
 
 " I'm glad that you are happy," said Yernon ; 
 " but I'm afraid I shall be sad enougli to-morrow. 
 The arrival of your aunt will put an end to all our 
 wanderings about Venice. And they were so de- 
 lightful ! " 
 
 " They were very pleasant," said Gracie, in a 
 low voice. " And I'm sure I hope we shall see 
 
282 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 wore of Venice, and that you will be at leisure, 
 Mr. Vernon." 
 
 " At leisure ! " said Vernon. " I shall have noth- 
 ing but leisure as long as you are in Venice. And 
 you are expecting your uncle, too.'^ 
 
 " Yes," said Gracie, in a low voice. " He was 
 to be in Venice on the fourth. This is the sixth. 
 He ought to be there now, I should think ; but if 
 not, why, we can wait." 
 
 " Won't I do ? " asked Vernon, very abruptly. 
 
 " You I " said Gracie, in surprise. 
 
 " Yea," said Vernon. " Won't you let me be 
 your uncle ? your guardian ? anything ? You see 
 how it is. I can't live without you, Gracie. You 
 must see — how — how — how dearly I — I love 
 you ; " and as he said this, his hand closed around 
 that xjf Gracie, which did not withdraw itself. " 0, 
 Gracie,'^ he continued, " I cannot bear to have you 
 go away and leave me. You won't — will you ? 
 You will stay with me — won't you ? You will be 
 my own Gracie — won't you, as long as you live ? " 
 
 What little Gracio said to all tl.>is need not be 
 repeated here. Suffice it to say, that it must have 
 been quite satisfactory ; for when they returned to 
 
 the hotel Vernon's face was radiant with joy. 
 
 # 
 

 ^^;v>. 
 
 K '-■ ■'■■,■>" 
 
 .; ■*"'*, 
 
HOTEL DEUX TOURS. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The viournfiil Uncle Moses. — Marius amoiig the Ruins of 
 Carthage. — Uncle Moses startled. — A new Acquaint- 
 ance, 
 
 MEANWHILE Uncle Moses, with Frank and 
 Bob, had arrived at Verona, as has been 
 said. They put up at the Hotel do la 
 Tour. He ;e, first of all, they asked after Clive and 
 David. I^othing was known about them. Then 
 they made inquiries about a lady named Lee ; but 
 here, too, they were equally unsuccessful. Then 
 they went off to the Hotel Deux Tours, another 
 establishment which contends with the Hotel de la 
 Tour for the honor of being the first in Yerona. 
 The latter, however, makes a greater bid for Eng- 
 lish travel, and has a more sounding name, since its 
 full title is Hotel de la Tour de Londres. But their 
 search at the Hotel Deux Tours was as unsuccess- 
 ful as the search at the Hotel de la Tour, and they 
 returned somewhat disconsolate, and passed the 
 night. 
 
 ^* I'll tell you, Uncle Moses," said Frank on the 
 following day, " what we had better do. We ought 
 to go about and see all the sights of Verona. If 
 
284 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 tlio boys are here, we shall be certain to find them, 
 for they, too, will be going about sight-seeing." 
 
 To this proposal Uncle Moses had no objections 
 to make ; and as he preferred being with the boys 
 to staying at the hotel, he accompanied them. 
 
 Going along the main street, they came to a 
 square which was used as a market-place, and con- 
 tained many stalls, where all sorts of fruits and 
 vegetables were exposed for sale, the venders 
 being chiefly old women. At one end of it stood a 
 stately palace. On referring to their guide-books 
 they found that this was in ancient days the Forum 
 of the city. . ,. .•, ; 
 
 Leaving this, they turned down a street, and 
 before long they found themselves in front of a 
 strange-looking wall which ran across the way. It 
 was about fifty feet high, and there were two gates 
 in it, and a number of windows. It had an unmis- 
 takable look of Roman workmanship, and on re- 
 ferring to the guide-book they found that it was 
 part of an ancient work' raised by the Emperor 
 Constantine. As a relic of the past, it was, un- 
 doubtedly, interesting, although in itself it pos- 
 sessed but little beauty. Proceeding still farther, 
 they turned down anotiier street, and all at once 
 came full in view of the greatest' curiosity of Ve- 
 rona, and one of the most interesting monuments 
 of ancient Rome now in existence. This was the 
 famous Amphitheatre, which, in point of size, ranks 
 next to the Coliseum of Rome, while in preserva- 
 
THE AMPHITHEATRE. 285 
 
 tion it is far superior to all other similar remains. 
 They went towards this, and examined it closely. 
 The outer wall was all gone, except a fragment 
 three stories in height, raised on arclies one above 
 the other, "^he rest of the building was only two 
 stories high, and seemed much dilapidated. But 
 when they had entered and looked upon the inte- 
 rior, they were filled with astonishment. They ex- 
 pected to behold a scene of ruin like that of the 
 Coliseum, instead of which they found everything 
 in a state of preservation almost perfect. All 
 around extended the vast circles of seats rising one 
 behind the other far on high, capable still of hold- 
 ing a multitude as large as those which once as- 
 sembled here, in olden days, to see the gladiatorial 
 combats. The cause of this preservation is the 
 wisdom of the Veronese government. In past 
 ages the temples and towers of antiquity had been 
 demolished in all directions for building materials, 
 and nearly all the outer wall of the Amphitheatre 
 had been appropriated in the same way. The 
 Veronese government interfered in time to pre- 
 vent further destruction, and snatched the grand 
 old edifice from the ruin that menaced it. The 
 rows of seats, the arena, the vomitories, the inner 
 chambers, the rooms of the gladiators, the vivaria, 
 all are in good preservation ; and if .he ghosts of 
 the ancient inhabitants could revisit the glimpses 
 of the moon, they would find one spot, at least, 
 which would be perfectly familiar. Even in mod- 
 
286 THE WINGED LTON. 
 
 * 
 
 ern times this building lias been used ; and in the 
 year 1849, in particular, it was the scene of a grand 
 display, when the spectators were as numerous as 
 in ancient times, and when the seat of honor was 
 held by one who claims to be the direct represen- 
 tative of the Roman emperors, — the Kaisar (Cie- 
 sar), — whose forefathers had called themselves 
 Kaisars of the Roman Empire, until Napoleon 
 forced them to adopt the humbler title of Kaisar 
 of Austria. . 
 
 They all sat down here for some time, and at 
 length Frank and Bob proposed to go farther. 
 
 " Where do you want to go ? " asked Uncle 
 Moses, wearily. 
 
 " 0, anywhere,'' said Frank. " There's a Ca- 
 thedral." 
 
 " 0, well, don't go far away. Frank, I trust to 
 you. Don't let Bob get into trouble. I'll sit here 
 awhile, and when I'm rested I'll go back to the 
 hoteL Don't be late, and don't get into trouble. 
 I'd rayther go with you ; but I ain't so spry as I'd 
 like to be, an' as I don't want to spile your fun, why, 
 I'll have to let you go without me." 
 
 Uncle Moses spoke very mournfully, and the boys 
 felt sad at leaving him ; but Frank was anxious to 
 search the city, and still hoped to come upon the 
 track of Clive and David. So they promised him 
 solemnly not to go away for any distance, and to 
 be back in good time. With this they left, and 
 Uncle Moses was alone. 
 
UNCLE MOSES STARTLED. 287 
 
 Thus Uncle Moses remained there, seated in the 
 old Amphitheatre, like Marius amid the ruins of 
 Carthage. It's the best place for me, he thought, 
 sadly. I'll be an old ruin soon myself. His mourn- 
 ful feelings were too much for him. The anxiety 
 wliicli he had endured ever since the departure of 
 David and Clive had made him weak in mind and 
 body, and the failure to find them at Yerona was 
 a heavy blow. Thus for ho had always succeeded 
 in keeping on their track ; but now they were alto- 
 gether lost, and ho could not think whore next to 
 go. So he sat there on the steps of the ancient 
 Amphitheatre, with his head bowed down, and his 
 face buried in his hands. 
 
 Suddenly he was roused by the touch of a light 
 hand on his shoulder. Ho started up, expecting to 
 see Frank or Bob. To his surprise it was neither. 
 It was a stranger, and the stranger was a lady ; a 
 lady of mature age, with gentle and refined fea- 
 tures, whereon much sadness was visible. She was 
 standing and looking at him wistfully and eagerly. 
 As for Uncle Moses, he jumped up to his feet, and 
 stared at her without a single word. 
 
 " Will you pardon me, sir," said the lady, " for 
 intruding ? but I am in great distress, and this is 
 my only excuse. I happened to hear at the hotel 
 that some strangers had come who were Ameri- 
 cans. I hurried f^wn U) see them. I saw you and 
 the dear boys wlio are* with you, and heard you 
 speak. 1 was about to speak to you, but you all 
 
288 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 "y , ' ' ' ' 
 
 went out. But I was in such a fever of anxiety 
 that I followed you, and have just come here. I 
 am in great distress. I have met with a great 
 misfortune. I am all alone hero, among strangers, 
 and I want help.'' 
 
 At this, all Uncle Moses' feelings were stirred up 
 to their lowest depths, and all the sympathies of 
 his generous nature were aroused in behalf of the 
 gentle lady who came with such a pitiable appeal. 
 
 " O, madam," said he, " I'll do anythin' — any thin' 
 in the wide world, if 1 can." - 
 
 He held out his hand, and affectionately pressed 
 that of the lady, to show his S3'mpathy. 
 
 " O, thank you, sir," said the lady ; " I'll tell 3'ou 
 how I am situated. I came from Boston. My name 
 is Miss Lee." 
 
 " Miss Lee ! " cried Uncle Moses, in amazement. 
 
 " Yes,'^ said Miss Lee, surprised at his look and 
 tone. hv, -J '^ :,[■■■■: ;,.,. •;. .> /ua ,v 
 
 *' Miss Lee," cried Uncle Moses again ; " and 
 weren't you in Venice ? and didn't you meet my two 
 boys ? and have you come to tell me about them ? 
 0; if you can tell me anything, do, do, for I'm heart- 
 broken." 
 
 Miss Lee shook her head mournfully. " I don't 
 understand you," said she. "I haven't been in 
 Venice, and 1 haven't seen any boys, except those 
 dear lads that you have with you. They are not 
 lost — are they ? for they have just left you ; or 
 have you lost any others." 
 
MISS LEE. 289 
 
 "Others? O, yes, marm/' said Uncle Mosga, 
 with a groan ; " they loft me at Florence, and went 
 to Venice. I tracked them there, and couldn't find 
 them. But they told me at the hotel that they had 
 been there with a Miss Lee, and had gone away. 
 I understood that they had gone to Verona; and 
 that's why I came here." 
 
 Miss Lee clasped Uncle Moses' arm with both 
 her hands. : r r .; ■ ' • 
 
 " What's that ? " she said, eagerly ; " Miss Lee ? 
 When did your boys go to Venice ?" 
 
 " Wal, as nigh as I can cal'late, they left Padua 
 for Venice the day before yesterday." 
 
 '' In the morning? " asked Miss Lee, with intense 
 eagerness. . . , 
 
 ^Wis, 'm." 
 
 " Then they must have been in the same train. 
 They've found her, and she's safe. 0, 1 thank 
 Heaven ! 0, sir, what a load you have taken off 
 my mind!" -U ^ ;-'-.-:* 
 
 " Wal, won't you try and take a little of the load 
 off my mnid ? " said Uncle Moses. ^' Who is ' her ? ' 
 Who did they meet ? Is there any other Miss Lee 
 but you?" 
 
 ' 0, it's my niece — Gracie." 
 
 " Your niece, Gracie ! " said Uncle Moses, in a 
 strange tone. 
 
 " 0, yes ; and I'll tell you all about it. 0, sir, 
 how glad I am that I've met with you ! Heaven 
 
 19 
 
290 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 has sent you here in answer to my prayer ; and I'm 
 sure we shall be able to help one another." 
 
 At this flattering mention of himself as a heavenly 
 messenger, a smile broke out upon the rueful visage 
 of Uncle Moses like sunshine, and all the clouds 
 w^ere rapidly dispelled. There was something, 
 also, in what Miss Lee said that reassured him. It 
 showed that others had lost their youthful charges 
 as well as himself, and that things were not so bad, 
 after all. Besides, he felt compelled to take up the 
 attitude of consoler and adviser to this forlorn lady, 
 and therefore he had to rouse himself from his own 
 despondency, so as to infuse hope into her. 
 
 " 0, come,'' said he, " an' set right down here, an' 
 tell me all about it. We'll be able to get on to 
 their trail, an' hunt 'em down. So they're all to- 
 gether — air they ? my boys and your gal. Well, 
 that is cur'ous, too. I can't account for it, no how." 
 
 As Uncle Moses said these words, he seated 
 himself again, and motioned to Miss Lee to take a 
 seat beside him. This that lady did, and then 
 began to pour forth the story of her woes. 
 
 She had left home in company with her brother, 
 his wife, and some other friends. Gracie was under 
 her special charge, and had been sent to Europe 
 for the benefit of her health. After various wan- 
 derings they had reached Geneva, and here the 
 whole party remained for some time. Her brother 
 and his wife then wished to go to Italy ; but Miss 
 Lee did not feel able to endure the fatigues of 
 
MISS lee's narrative. 291 
 
 rapid travel and sight-seeing ; so an arrangement 
 was made, by which she should remain in Geneva 
 for another month, and then meet them in Venice. 
 The brother then departed with h^s wife and 
 friends for Marseilles, and had written from Genoa, 
 Naple , Rome, and Florence. On the receipt of 
 th(j last letter, Miss Lee had started for Venice 
 with Gracie, and nothing of importance had oc- 
 curred until the eventful morning of their sep- 
 aation. • ^.1 -^n ■■..■■ :i^-;'rx - 
 
 " But why did you stay here ? " asked Uncle 
 Moses. " Why didn't you go right straight on after 
 her?" 
 
 Miss Lee sighed. 
 
 " Why," said she, " when the train went off and 
 left me, I was so terrified and bewildered that I 
 could think of nothing. I couldn't speak a word 
 of the language, and didn't know what to do. I 
 thought that Gracie would come back to me, and 
 my only thought was to wait here for her. So I 
 waited at the depot till the return train came, and 
 when I saw she was not in it, I was quite over- 
 whelmed. Still I hoped that she would come back ; 
 .and so I put up at the Hotel de la Tour, and thought 
 I would wait till the next day. I went to the depot 
 on the next day, but she was not there. Then I 
 began to be afraid that something had happened. 
 The worst of it was, I had, staid here so long that I 
 could not think of going away ; and my only hope 
 has been that Gracie, after all, would come back to 
 
292 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 me. But, amid it all, there was the dreadful fear 
 that the poor child had met with some frightful 
 misfortune. And so these two days have been full 
 of misery, and I do not know what I should have 
 done if I hadn't met with you. And now I feel as 
 if all my troubles were over, for you can help me 
 to find Gracie ; and from what you say she must be 
 with your boys." 
 
 " 0, yes, 'm,'' said Uncle Moses, in a tone of confi- 
 dence that was very unlike . his recent dejection ; 
 " we'll find 'em. They're all together somewhars, 
 an' we'll get on their track an' bring 'em all back like 
 so many prodigal sons. On'y it's a leetle hard to tell 
 whar to begin. I've come here in search of 'em, 
 but can't find any signs of 'cm at all. I don't 
 know what else to do but to hand the business over 
 to the police" 
 
 " The police ! " said Miss Lee, in a tone of horror. 
 " 0, would you dare to go near them ? The only 
 fear I have had is, that poor Gracie may have 
 fallen into their hards." 
 
 " Why, what harm would they do ? " asked Uncle 
 Moses. 
 
 " Put her into their dungeons," said Miss Lee, in 
 a tremulous voice. 
 
 Uncle Moses shuddered. At the same time he 
 felt it incumbent on him to administer consolation 
 to his companion ; and so he struggled against his 
 fears, and strove to speak with boldness and confi- 
 dent assurance. The result was, that his language 
 
ASSURANCES OF UKCLE MOSES. 293 
 
 towards Miss Lee was strikingly like that of Frank 
 towards himself, and the very act of talking boldly 
 served to revive his own feeble courage. 
 
 " 0, then," said Miss Lee, at last, " so you think 
 the police here are not what they used to be.'' 
 
 " Not a mite," said Uncle Moses ; " they're polite, 
 civil, sensible, and humane. They wouldn't harm 
 a fly. It's all a mistake to think that they air any 
 different from the police to home. Why, look at 
 me. I've been to see 'em, at Venice, and got 'em 
 to help mo with my boys. An' so I think we had 
 better get their help here." ] j b^I^ . v 
 
 #*•'•■'■ ?-; . ■■■: ' ■'■;,■ 
 
 :»V - ■;»■■ {vx 'i'.i\ i , :^---;.\y'; ''-' vf'i 
 
 
294 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Wonderful Change in U.icle Moses, — The new Friend. — 
 New Resolves. — Application to the Police, 
 
 SOOTHING that had occurred to Uncle Moses, 
 during the wliole course of his travels in 
 Italy, gave him such pure delight as his 
 meeting with Miss Lee. He liked her gentle face 
 and soft voice ; he was touched by her appeal for 
 assistance and lier trust in him. Above all, he 
 was most aifected by Iier timidity, and her nervous 
 terrors as to imaginary evils. Her misfortunes 
 had been similar to his own. They each could 
 sympathize with the other. It was delicious to 
 Uncle Moses to meet with some one who was a 
 greater coward than himself, and it was most flat- 
 tering to his self-esteem, for he had to take up the 
 attitude of a superior being towards her. 
 
 " My dear Miss Lee," said Uncle Moses, taking 
 her hand in an aiTectionate way and pressing it 
 tenderly, — " my dear Miss Lee, don't you go on 
 an* ^ive yourself any more trouble ; don't fret or 
 worry. I'll take care, of you. Leave all to me. 
 Tha» ain't a mite of danger — not a mite. We'll 
 find 'em all safe an' sound — my boys, Clive and 
 
THE NEW FRIEND. 296 
 
 David, an' your gal, Gracie. I see how it is : 
 they've all got acquainted in the train, an' gone 
 on to Venice. They all went to the same hotel, 
 an' your Gracie was the Miss Lee that the land- 
 lord spoke of. 1» dar say they're in Venice yet, 
 an' hev merely gone to lodgin's. I heard that 
 there was a Miss Lee in Verona, an' thought it 
 was the same Miss Lee that the boys had met 
 with. I a^ked the police to send here. Did you 
 not hear from them ? " 
 
 " Not a word," said Miss Lee. " But how did 
 you hear that there was a Miss Lee in Verona? 
 That seems strange." 
 
 " Why, the police told me that ther'd been peo- 
 ple there askin' them to send to Verona for you." 
 
 Miss Lee's face brightened up at this. 
 
 " Then my friends are there in Venice," said she. 
 " It must be my brother Henry. But how did he 
 know that I was at Verona? No doubt Gracie 
 told him. They've met — of course. I under- 
 stand it all now. Gracie's met her uncle and gone 
 to his hotel, and the boys have gone with him." 
 
 " They're not at any hotel in Venice," said Uncle 
 Moses. " The police hunted everywhere." 
 
 " 0, well, they're at some lodgings." 
 
 " 0, the fact is," said Uncle Moses, cheerily, 
 " they're all right. There ain't a mite of danger 
 — not a mite ; so don't you bother your head any 
 longer about it. Cheer up, marm, an' put a good 
 face on it. Why, look at me j I've lost two, an' 
 
296 THE WINGED I ION. 
 
 you've only lost one. Wal, do I mourn an^ lament? 
 Do I despair ? Not a mite. Why, at this moment 
 I'm as merry as a cricket. I know the boys air 
 safe, an' that we'll meet 'em all the minute we go 
 back to Venice." 
 
 At this moment the conversation was interrupted 
 by the arrival of Frank and Bob. So deeply inter- 
 ested had Uncle Moses and Miss Lee been in their 
 conversation, that they heard nothing of the ap- 
 proach of the new comers, and Uncle Moses had 
 gone on talking in a way that indicated the 
 greatest boldness and confidence. Frank and 
 Bob heard his last words, and were full of amaze- 
 ment. Was it possible that this could be their 
 Uncle Moses? What a change had come over 
 him I They had left him weak, feeble, crushed, 
 and despairing, without spirit enough to say a 
 word ; they found him strong, spirited, animated, 
 bold, speaking words of hope and confidence. 
 They saw that the strange lady was an Ameri- 
 can, and could only conclude that Uncle Moses 
 had heard from her good news, which had wrought 
 upon him this great change. 
 
 In a few moments all was explained, and the 
 quick wit of Frank made him see at once the full 
 bearing of this unexpected meeting with Miss Lee 
 upon their own business. Uncle Moses stated the 
 conclusions to which he had already come, and 
 then added, — 
 
 " So you see, Frank, there ain't a mite of doubt 
 
NEW RESOLVE. 297 
 
 about it ; the boys were in Venice all the time, an' 
 if wo hadn't ben so impatient, we'd have found them 
 by this time." 
 
 By the tone in which Uncle Moaes spoke these 
 words, one would have supposed that he had never 
 known what it was to be anxious. Frank at once 
 chimed in with his uncle's altered mood, and find- 
 ing his occupation of comforter gone, he humbly 
 asked what he intended to do now. 
 
 " Do ? " said Uncle Moses. *' Vv hy, go back to 
 "Venice." 
 
 " Yes, I think that is the best plan," said Frank. 
 " And when can you start ? " 
 
 " Why, to-day," said Uncle Moses ; " that is, if 
 Miss Lee is ready." 
 
 " When doef the next train leave ? " asked Miss 
 Lee. ''''''■■ ■''^''^ •• 
 
 " In a half an hour," said Frank. 
 
 " 0, I'm afraid I couldn't get ready by that time," 
 said Miss Lee. " You must go without me." 
 
 " No," said Uncle Moses ; " we mu&u all go to- 
 gether. We'll wait till you are ready. If we sepa- 
 rate now, we may never meet again, and may miss 
 the rest of 'em, too." 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Miss Lee, " to be unable 
 to go, but I could not pack up in so short a time ; 
 but if you do not mind waiting, why, of course I 
 shall be deeply grateful." 
 
 " Wait? Of course we'll wait," said Uncle Moses. 
 " Arter all, it ain't goin' to make any difference — 
 
298 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 not a mite ; an* to go without you won't be a bit 
 of use. So we'll wait, an' all go together. As 
 we've suffered together, so shall we rejice to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I suppose," said Miss Lee, " there would be no 
 harm in sending word to Venice, to tell them that 
 we are here and are coming." 
 
 " No harm," said Uncle Moses ; " course not. 
 On'y I'd like to know who to send it to. The 
 parties who were inquirin' arter you didn't give 
 their address to me. They left it with the police. 
 And then none of us knows where Clive, or Da\ *d, 
 or your niece may be." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be better to get the police here 
 to send a message to the police in Venice ? " said 
 Frank. 
 
 " Course it would," said Uncle Moses. " That's 
 the very pint I was comin' to. That's our plan. 
 Let's go right straight oif to the police." 
 
 " The police I " repeated Miss Lee, with a startled 
 look. 
 
 " Yes," said Undo Moses. " "We'll tell 'em how 
 it is. Get 'em to send a message to the Venetian 
 police, who will communicate with your friends ; 
 and at the same time, urge them to look up Clive 
 and David. I dar say they've found them by this 
 time, if they railly air in Venice. An' as to tho 
 police," continued Uncle Moses, directing his re- 
 marks to Miss Lee, " don't you go an' give your- 
 self one mite of trouble about that. The police 
 
/■■^ 'V'l; 
 
 
 
APPLICATION TO THE POLICE. '299 
 
 here air no more than the police in Boston. Jest 
 imagine that you air safe at hgme, an' drop all 
 these superstitious fears about the police. Why, 
 you're as safe here as in Massachusetts. This 
 here's a free govornmcnt, an' they've got habeas 
 corpus, trial by jury, vote by ballot, an' a free con- 
 stitution. So what more do you want ? " 
 
 These words, which gn .tly re-assured Miss Lee, 
 sounded at once strange and delicious to Frank. 
 He had been using almost the same words during 
 the last few days, to console and re-assure the very 
 same Uncle Moses, who now repeated them so 
 boldly and confidently. He wondered at the 
 change, and could not imagine the cause ; yet 
 that change was very pleasant to him, to whom 
 his uncle's deep dejection had been a very sore 
 trial. 
 
 They now left the Amphitheatre, and went at 
 once to the police station. Here there was an 
 interpreter, by whose aid they were able to make 
 known their wants. Unfortunately the interpret- 
 er's English was rather shaky, and some little 
 misunderstanding arose, which afterwards led to 
 results that for a time were unpleasant. 
 
 Frank was the sppkesman, as Uncle Moses had 
 greater confidence in his ability to deal with 
 foreigners than in his own. He therefore made 
 known the situation in as few words as possible, 
 not forgetting to bestow a handsome fee, the re- 
 ception of which at once seemed to stimulate the 
 rather drowsy zeal of the officials. 
 
800 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 Frank informpH them of the facts of the case, 
 just as they were, and these plain facts were trans- 
 lated in such a way that the officials received a 
 somewhat different impression from that which was 
 intended. 
 
 They understood that David, and Clive, and 
 Gracie had all run away from their guardians, a.-d 
 had met somewhere by a preconcerted arrange- 
 ment, after which they had concealed themselves 
 in Venice, and that the guardians, having just 
 learned of their hiding-place, were anxious that 
 they should be found, and arrested at once, and 
 detained until they should go on to Venice them- 
 selves. These guardians were anxious also that it 
 should be done this very day, for fear lest the fugi- 
 tives might escape them. 
 
 This the Verona police promised to do, and +hat 
 very hour they sent off a telegraphic despatch to 
 the Venetian police, ordering the immediate arrest 
 of the fugitives. « ;:, 
 
 ■ ' ■ ■ , ^ . ' ?■• . ' .1. ' 
 
 ■■■■■■ : : ;y -o -:-' •« ■' • 
 
 ■ • ■ y 
 » '■■^,■ * . ■ \ * .' 
 
THE RUNAWAYS. 801 
 
 , CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 'i; •' 
 
 Clive and David. — Unwelcome Visitors. — Arrested. — 
 ' Hauled to Prison. — The Dungeons of Venice. — Despair 
 of the Captives. " v 
 
 'ERNON'S last visit to the Venctiau police 
 had made them well acquainted with the 
 fact that he had with him two boys whose 
 uncle he wished to find, and the young lady after 
 whose aunt he had been searching. Acccordingly, 
 when they received the despatch from Verona, it 
 seemed a part of the same business which had 
 been brought before them in various ways and from 
 various quarters during the past few days. It 
 seemed like a summary ending to that business, 
 and it was a thing that lay entirely in their power. 
 They knew perfectly well what Vernon's address 
 was; they knew that the fugitives mentioned in 
 the despatch were all there ; and so they proceeded 
 to carry the demand of the Veronese police into 
 execution. 
 
 Vernon had gone away with his mother and 
 Gracie. David and Clive had been left, with the 
 strictest instructions to take care of themselves, 
 and not get into any fresh diflSculty. These in- 
 
302 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 structions they had received with deep humility, 
 and had promised to obey them to the very letter. 
 After seeing their friends off at the station, they 
 had returned to Vernon's house, and there discussevi 
 in a mournful way their situation and prospects. 
 Their pleasant excitement had now all passed away. 
 Sight-seeing could no longer interest them. There 
 was always present before their minijs the image 
 of the distracted Uncle Moses, seeking for the run- 
 aways, and finding them not ; tracing them in town 
 after town, as far as .Venice, only to lose them at 
 last. And now, where had he gone ? or what was 
 he proposing to do ? To give them up ? Impossi- 
 ble. He seemed rather to be entering upon a 
 search which was far awa}'' from the right direc- 
 tion, and would only lead to fresh disappointment 
 and renewed anxiety. He had gone to Verona, 
 but might already have left that place ; and although 
 they both longed to join him again, yet they knew 
 not- where tc go, and could only rely upon Vernon. 
 They reproached themselves most bitterly for their 
 thoughtlessness, and these sad feelings deprived 
 them of all capacity for enjoyment. Venice had 
 now lost all its charms. They were alone in the 
 house, with only the housekeeper and one servant, 
 who could be no company for them. Besides, they 
 missed Vernon, and his mother, and Gracie, whose 
 company had made the past few days so pleasant. 
 All these things combined to make them feel mis- 
 erable enough, and so they returned from the rail- 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 303 
 
 way station to mope about the house. In this way 
 they passed the morning. ^ .: v; ! 
 
 But youthful minds are elastic, and it is impossi- 
 ble, under ordinary circumstances, for the pressure 
 of grief to last very long. David and Clive found 
 themselves gradually rallying ; and although they 
 both preserved an aspect of gloom, still they al- 
 lowed their thoughts to wander freely over pleas- 
 ant subjects, and spent some agreeable hours in 
 turning over pictures, and in reading. At last, Da- 
 vid, in his most sepulchral tone, proposed that they 
 should go to the Piazza of St. Mark, alleging as an 
 excuse that he had a bad headache, and wanted 
 some fresh air and exercise. To this proposal 
 Clive assented in gloomy silence, and so they pre- 
 pared to start. 
 
 Just as they were going down stairs, however, 
 they found themselves face to face with some po- 
 licemen, who were coming up. These policemen 
 looked at them with very sigijificant faces, and be- 
 fore they knew what to think they found themselves 
 arrested, and heard words in which they detected, 
 " Prigionieri,'' " fuggitivi," " arrestovi in nome del 
 Re," with some others, all of which were intelligi- 
 ble enough even to one who had but a slender ac- 
 quaintance with the Italian language. 
 
 They were detained for some time in the lower 
 nail, while the police went up to Vernon's apart- 
 ments. After a time they came back, and David 
 and Clive were able to make out that they had 
 
 *«in.;; 
 
304 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 .♦ ■- .. . 
 
 gone in search of Signorina Lee, and that they 
 had not been able to find her. In the midst of 
 their perplexity, terror, and dismay, the two boys 
 felt glad indeed that Gracie was safe, out of 
 danger, and that she had not been left behind to 
 share their terrific fate. 
 
 Terrific ! — that was the word, for indeed to be 
 arrested by the police in any European city is a 
 serious thing ; but who can think without a shud- 
 der of an arrest by the police of Venice ? At any 
 rate, Clive and David could not. All their past 
 knowledge of Venice, all that they had heard from 
 Vernon, and seen with their own eyes, came before 
 their minds. The Venetian police — what a tc :i- 
 ble significance was there in that name ! What hor- 
 rors lay in the past history of that police ! — a his- 
 tory associated with hideous memories of dungeon, 
 and rack, and agony, and despair. True, the worst 
 of their tortures had been abolished ; but the habit 
 of cruelty might be strong ; and who could tell 
 what deeds of darkness were still perpetrated by 
 the dread tribunal which now presided over the 
 afiairs of this mysterious city I 
 
 After a further delay, they were taken to the po- 
 lice boat, and away they knew not where. As they 
 went away they hoped to learn something about 
 the cause of their arrest, but were disappointed. 
 Nothing was said. None of the faces were familiar, 
 ap'' none were at all inviting. They all looked 
 liine machines — the soulless instruments of a cruel 
 
TAKEN TO PEISON. 306 
 
 law. The sight of these grim and silent men made 
 Clive and David sink down into deeper dejection 
 and despair. • 
 
 At length they reached the police station, and 
 wepe taken inside. Here they found some officials 
 who regarded them with looks in which there was 
 no trace of softness or pity. Clive roused himself, 
 and asked in English if there was an interpreter to 
 be had; but no notice was taken of his words. 
 Then David, encouraged by Olive's boldness, ven- 
 tured upon a few Italian words. He looked at one 
 of the officials, who seemed to be the chief, and 
 
 said, — : '^ ...v ■■• ■•■ .;;-:•; ■ ' ■ /.^.^ - \-.- 
 
 " Vogliamo un interpreter. Siamo American! — 
 e vogliamo vedere il Consule Americano." 
 
 This was bad Italian, and spoken with an ab- 
 surdly foreign accent; yet it was intelligible enough, 
 and David hoped ic effect something by it. His 
 hopes, however, were vain. No notice whatever 
 was taken of his words. It was just the same as if 
 they had not been spoken. The officials conversed 
 for a while among themselves, and then one of them 
 beckoned to another. This last took David and 
 Clive by the arms, and led them out of the room 
 and into a long hall, which they traversed, and at 
 length stopped in front of a door. This was opened, 
 and their guide motioned to them to go in. They 
 did so. He then locked the door, and they heard 
 his retreating footsteps as he walked away. 
 
 This was the most awful moment in their lives j 
 20 
 
306 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 a moment which far exceeded anything that they 
 had ever known, and which could only be compared, 
 in point of utter horror, > some of Lnose terrific 
 Bituations which the mind may invent in a night- 
 mare dream. Standing motionless and mute, star- 
 ing at one another with pallid faces, the two 
 wretched boys saw nothing, and heard nothing, and 
 thought of nothing. Terror had almost taken away 
 their senses. The whole incident of the arrest had 
 been at once so sudden, so terrible, so overwhelm- 
 ing, that they were only conscious of some fearful 
 doom impending over them. ' - " -^ 
 
 The room was not a dungeon, however, and 
 though somewhat dreary, had nothing in it which 
 of itself might inspire terror. It was a room with 
 plain walls, lighted by a small window that seemed 
 to look out on a court-yard. There were two beds, 
 two chairs, a table, and a wash-stand. There was 
 certainly something cheerless in its aspect, yet, 
 after all, it was a commonplace room enough, and 
 might have belonged to some Italian inn, as well 
 as to the Venetian police. 
 
 It was this that at length served to dispel to 
 some extent the first horror which they had felt, 
 and to change it to a feeling of simple anxiety. 
 Clive was the first to speak. 
 
 "Well," said he, as he drew a long breath, " I'd 
 give something to know what all this may mean." 
 
 David heaved a very heavy sigh. 
 
 " I don't know," said he, dolefully. " I don't un- 
 derstand." 
 
DELIBERATIONS. 307 
 
 " I wonder if Vernon can have had anything to 
 do with any revolutionary movements. He may 
 have been denounced, and ihat may have been the 
 reason why he ran away." 
 
 " He didn't run away," said David. " Besides, 
 he wouldn't have sacrificed us." 
 
 " 0, we shan't be sacrificed," said Clive, in a 
 more cheerful tone. " We've been arrested ; but 
 when they find out that we've had nothing to do 
 with it, they'll let us go." ... 
 
 " 0; I don't think it's anything of that sort," said 
 David. " They don't get up revolutions in Italy 
 now, or conspiracies, for Italy's a free country." 
 
 " A queer kind of freedom," said Clive. 
 
 " Well, J think," said David, " that there's some 
 other cause for this ; and such a cause as may 
 have led to our arrest anywhere — even in New 
 York." ..-.>--.■ ■■;■ .- ;- V ,--.:.:->: -< 
 
 "How?" .,,, . ,->',.;.-■■;. 
 
 ti Well — there's Gracie." 
 
 " What of her ? What's she got to do with it ? " 
 " 0, well, she left her aunt, and perhaps her 
 aunt has set the police to find her; and we've been 
 seen with her, so they've arrested us. You know 
 they were trying to find her. Now, I believe they 
 came after her especially, and merely took us be- 
 cause they had seen us witli her." 
 " How could they see us with her ? " 
 " 0, easily enough. Why, Clive, Venice is all 
 crammed full of spies." 
 
308 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " Why, just for nothing at all, and that's the 
 worst of it. But the trouble is, they don't under- 
 stand yet how to govern in a free country ; and 
 though Italy is free, the police, just out of old habit, 
 still keep up their old style of spying, and poking 
 their noses into other people's business, and watch- 
 ing everything. It'll take another hundred years 
 before Italy can be like America — perhaps five 
 hundred." 
 
 " I should think so," said Clive. 
 
 " Now, in New York," said David, " we could 
 send for a lawyer, and he would get us out on 
 bail." 
 
 " Who would give us bail ? " 
 
 " I don't know. At any rate he'd get us out ; 
 for no one ever heard of two innocent boys being 
 arrested in America. 0, a lawyer could get us out 
 fast enough." 
 
 " Well, why mayn't a lawyer get us out of this ? " 
 
 " I hope he may, if they'll only let us have one ; 
 but, unfortunately, we seem to be so much in their 
 power that I do not know how we can begin to do 
 anything. You see I asked for the American con- 
 sul." 
 
 " So you did.'' 
 
 '* And, you know, they wouldn't take any notice 
 of what I said." 
 
 " No," said Clive, mournfully ; " and this shows 
 that they mean to be severe With us. The fact is, 
 
CONVERSATION IN PRISON. 309 
 
 I cannot help thinking that they've made some ab- 
 surd bhmder about it all." 
 
 "A blunder?" 
 
 '* Yes ; they've mistaken us for some one else.*' 
 
 .« That's not unlikely." 
 
 " Why, it's very likely indeed. For what earthly 
 reason could they have to arrest a couple of boys 
 like us ? What have we ever done ? Haven't we 
 been as quiet as mice ? Can you imagine a single 
 thing that we have ever done which they could tor- 
 ture into any offence against the laws ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," oaid David. " We've done 
 wrong in one way, of course, but not in a way that 
 the Venetian government could notice. For you 
 see, Clive, we did wrong in leaving Bologna with- 
 out hearing from Uncle Moses. I can imagine how 
 he must have suffered. We've been enjoying our- 
 selves all along, while he's been tormented with 
 anxiety. Well, our enjoyment 's over now, at any 
 rate, and I'm prepared to take this as a sort of 
 punishment for wrong-doing, and bear it like a 
 man." 
 
 " 0, that's all very well," said Clive ; ** but at the 
 same time it is an undeniable fact that no one has 
 an}'- right to keep us here in prison. It's an out- 
 rage on the rights of free Americans." 
 
 In this way they passed the remainder of the 
 day. Evening came, and their dinner was brought. 
 It consisted of cold meats, with coffee. It was not 
 a bad dinner, and the boys, in spite of their anxiety 
 
310 , THE WINGED LION. 
 
 and trouble, were ravenously hungry. They ate 
 their dinner, therefore, with great satisfaction ; and 
 the only fault that they had to find with it was, that 
 there was not quite enough. Then evening deep- 
 ened into night. They had no lights; so they WQut 
 to bed, and soon fell fast asleep. 
 
 They slept so soundly that they did no' awake 
 until their jailer entered with breakfast. Then 
 they arose and partook of their morning meal. 
 When the jailer reappeared, they tried to make 
 known to him, in their broken Itahan, the desire 
 which they had to see the American consul ; but 
 the jailer either could not or would not under- 
 stand them. In vain they made use of all their 
 knowledge, not only of the Italian, but even the 
 Latin language. At every new trial the jailer 
 would smile, and nod, and make gestures, which 
 indicated everything but a comprehension of their 
 meaning. It was evident to them both that no 
 help could be looked for in that quarter. 
 
 The jailer removed the dishes and departed. 
 Now there arose before them the long, long, dreary 
 day. Their imprisonment began to seem serious, 
 inasmuch as they found themselves utterly helpless, 
 and unable to do a single thing towards gaining a 
 hearing of their case. 
 
 " It's a curious way to treat harmless travellers," 
 said Clive ;' " and ft seems to me to be a perfectly 
 horrible violation of the most sacred rights of free 
 Americans." 
 
DESPONDENCY. 311 
 
 " 0, what'a the use of talking of free Ameri- 
 cans ? " said David, gloomily. " We're Americans, 
 and we're not free, and have no prospect of free- 
 dom. How can we say or do anything? We're 
 buried alive liere, beyond the reach of our friends, 
 out of their sight, and with no hope of having any 
 communication with them. 0, if Vernon would 
 only come back I But he's gone off upon a jour- 
 ney that may be a long one, and who can tell when 
 he'll return ? When he does come back, he'll forget 
 all about us ; he'll think that we've gone away our- 
 selves, just as we went away from Uncle Moses. 
 I've no confidence in the Venetian poUce. I'm 
 afraid they keep up something of their old habits 
 of severity, and though they've abolished the tor- 
 ture, still they like to keep people in prison as long 
 as they can." 
 
 Clivo said nothing in reply. David's despondent 
 frame of mind was communicated to him, and they 
 both were filled with the most gloomy forebodings. 
 
312 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The Police once more. — An affecting Meeting. — Grand 
 Reunion at the Hotel Zeno. — Uncle Moses causes a great 
 Surprise. 
 
 ^h^^pO sooner had Uncle Moses arrived at Venice, 
 J* than he was eager to learn whether any- 
 5^ 4 thing had been found out about Clive and 
 David — a feeling which was shared by the others, 
 and particularly by Miss Lee, who was as anxioud 
 about Gracie as Uncle Moses was for his lost boys. 
 And so, as soon as possible, Uncle Moses proceeded 
 to the Police Bureau, accompanied by Frank and 
 Bob, leaving Miss Lee at the hotel to await their 
 return. 
 
 To their first eager inquiry, the official gave an 
 answer which filled them with delight. 
 
 " Found dem ? 0, yais ; we did finda dems." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Frank, eagerly. 
 
 " 0, at de ouse of a friends — an Americano." 
 
 " An American I Who is he ? What's his name ? 
 Where does he live ? " 
 
 " Is name, eet ees Vairnon," said the official. 
 
 " Vernon, Vernon ? I don't know him." 
 
 " De signorina dat you name in de telegram, we 
 did not finda. She gon away." 
 
THE BOYS AND THE POLICE. 313 
 
 " Gone ! Where ? '' 
 
 The official shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " O, she gon away wit Vairnon." 
 
 " O, gone away with Vernon. And the boys — 
 where were they ? Did you find them ? " 
 
 ** 0, yais, we dit find em." 
 
 " Where are they ? Will you give us the ad- 
 dress ? " asked Frank, eagerly. " We want to see 
 them at once — as boon as possible." 
 
 " 0, yais, you sail see dem as soon as possibile," 
 said the official, with a smile. 
 
 Frank, who now considered himself well up in 
 Italian ways, here put some money into the hand 
 gf this smiling functionary, and said, — 
 
 " Can't you send some one with us to show us 
 the place, so that we may find it with the least pos- 
 sible delay ? " 
 
 " O, yais," was the reply. " All aright. You sail 
 haf no delay. Dey ere." 
 
 " Here 1 " exclaimed Frank. 
 
 " 0, yais ; ere in dis ouse, secure, an all aright." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," cried Frank, " that they 
 are here in this house ? " • 
 
 " 0, yais, dat ees eet ; an I sail haf dems bote 
 brought out right away. You wait un moment." 
 
 With these words the official withdrew, leaving 
 his visitors in a state of delight inexpressible. 
 Uncle Moses, indeed, felt somewhat shocked at 
 finding his boys thus turn up in prison, after all 
 their wanderings ; but the idea of finding them 
 
314 • THE WINGED LION. 
 
 was of itself so delightful that it overshadowed 
 everything else, and he awaited the return of the 
 official with trembling eagerness. Bob was. how- 
 ever, immensely amused at this. He nudged Frank 
 with his elbow, and said, — 
 
 " I say, Frank, I rather think they'll know as 
 much about Venice as I did, prisons and all ; buc, 
 0, isn't it rich to think of the poetic Clive and 
 sober-sided David turning un here ? I say, Frank, 
 your turn'll have to come. You'll be the next one 
 here, and then poor Uncle Moses'll have to take 
 his turn." 
 
 They were not left long in suspense ; but after a 
 few minutes the official returned, along with Clive 
 and David. The joy on both sides was equal, and 
 was too great for words. They all clung to one 
 another in a promiscuous manner, and could not 
 speak. Uncle Moses was too full of happiness to 
 think of reproaching the runaway? and they were 
 too full of thankfulness to find any words of excuse 
 or apology. All these things had to be deferred to 
 a future occasion. 
 
 Before leaving, Frank made a few more inquiries 
 about Grade ; but Clive told him that he could in- 
 form him all abc»ut that ; so they took their depart- 
 ure, and returned to the Hotel Zeno. On the way 
 Clive and David told them all about the cause of 
 Vernon's departure, and of Gracie's journey with 
 him, which information made them stop at the 
 telegraph office, and despatch several messages to 
 
AN AFFECTING MEETINO. 316 
 
 Vernon, directed to the various hotels at Verona, 
 and one also to the police, requesting that Vernon 
 be acquainted with Miss Lee's arrival at Venice. 
 They felt certain that some of those messages would 
 reach thoir destination. 
 
 After this they returned to the Hotel Zono. On 
 the way Clive and David told the whole story of 
 their wanderings, and Uncle Moses told all about 
 his journey after them ; and with these explana- 
 tions were mingled all those expressions of con- 
 trition on the one hand, and of forgiveness on the 
 other, which the occasion demanded. 
 
 On reaehing the Hotel Zeno, they went at once 
 to see Miss Lee, to tell her the news. They found 
 her surrounded by a party of people who were 
 strangers to them, but were evidently the dearest 
 possible friends to Miss ^jee. A suspicion came 
 to them as to who these new comers might be, and 
 this was soon confirmed by Miss Lee herself, who 
 introduced to them her brother, Mr. Henry Lee, 
 his wife, and two cousins. They had come to 
 Venice the evening before, and having heard of 
 her arrival, had hastened to welcome her. They 
 had! just heard her story, and were, therefore, full 
 of anxiety about Gracie. This anxiety, however, 
 was soon calmed by the information which Uncle 
 , Moses gave, and the mention of Vernon's name 
 seemed to carry with it additional assurance that 
 all would be well. 
 
 " Vernon," said Mr. Henry Lee. " 0, I know 
 
316 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 him very well indeed, and his mother, too. She 
 left Boston some time since to join him here. He 
 is doing finely, and already has a great reputation 
 as an artist. He has a most brilliant future before 
 him. Gracio has certainly fallen among pleasant 
 friends." 
 
 " We found her first," said Clive, proudly. " We 
 met her in the cars." 
 
 " 0, you did ? " said Mr. Lee ; and thereupon he 
 made Clive tell him all about it. Clive did so, and 
 told him, in addition, all about their flight from their 
 uncle, their various wanderiiigs, and final fate. 
 
 Mr. Lee laughed more than once, and at length 
 said, — 
 
 " Well, boys, your Uncle Moses, with you, seems 
 to me liko a hen that has hatched a brood of ducks. 
 After endless trouble with them, she sees them all 
 take to the wate'*," 
 
 " Yes," said Clive, " that's what we did. I sup- 
 pose coming to Venice may be called taking to the 
 water." 
 
 " Well," said Bob, " I took to the water in real 
 earnest j but the police were too much for me." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lee, " you've had your fling, and 
 you've suflered for it, For the future you ought 
 to learn to be more careful. Mind, I'm not giving 
 you advice. Advice, by itself, is generally of very 
 little use. Wisdom doesn't come bv advice, but 
 by experience, and you've had an experience which 
 ought to teach you a good lesson." 
 
REUNION AT THE HOTEL ZENO. 317 
 
 The only thing now needed to complete the hap- 
 piness of all was the return of Gracie ; but it was 
 felt that she was in good hands, and that the vari- 
 ous telegrams would certainly reach Vernon before 
 he could think of leaving Verona. It was expected 
 that he would receive them that day, and that he 
 would come back by the first train on the follow- 
 ing day. Accordingly Frank, Bob, David, and 
 ClivG entieated Uncle Moses to let them go to the 
 station and meet them. This request was granted 
 without any demur. Uncle Moses seemed to have 
 lost much of his former anxious timidity. Mr. Lee 
 was desirous of meeting Gracie on her arrival ; so 
 he went with them, and at the proper time they all 
 stood awaiting the advent of the train. 
 
 In the mean time, as has been shown, Vernon had 
 learned about Miss Lee's departure for Venice with 
 Uncle Moses and Frank and Bob, while the tele- 
 grams that he afterwards received confirmed the 
 news in the fullest marner. Although he would 
 have liked to travel all over Italy with Gracie, yet 
 he did not hesitate a moment about returning home ; 
 and so, as the party waited in the station-house, the 
 train arrived, and Vernon, with his mother- and 
 Gracie, got out. • 
 
 There was now a very joyous meeting, and Ver- 
 non, who, with his mother, accompanied them to 
 the Hotel Zeno, saw Gracie restored to her guar- 
 dian aunt. 
 
 That evening Vernon's home seemed lonely to 
 
318 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 him, and he missed the sweet companionship that, 
 for a few happy days, had filled it with sunshine. 
 But Gracie, thouj^h no longer a visitor in his house, 
 was still in Venice, and it was the intention of her 
 friends to stay there some time. 
 
 All that time was spent by Yernon in the ex- 
 clusive devotion of himself to Gracie. There 
 were many things to be seen. He revisited the 
 old scenes in company with the whole party, and 
 many new ones. He had many more stories in his 
 manuscript, and these he read to them now under 
 the arcades of palaces, again while floating lazily 
 in the gondola, and yet again in the evening at the 
 Hotel Zeno. They were also often at his house, 
 looking at his pictures or sketches, and seeing the 
 vivid portrayal of the. very events which he had 
 been narrating. These days were quite as pleas- 
 ant to Pracie as the old ones, and ip one respect 
 pleasanter, since the anxiety that formerly lay 
 beneath all her enjoyment had now altogether 
 passed away, and there was nothing to think of 
 except the present and its delights. 
 
 Uncle Moses did not accompany them in these 
 wanderings. He excused himself on the ground 
 that he had seen enough of sights. So he re- 
 mained at home in the hotel. As a general thing 
 Miss Lee also remained at home. She, too, de- 
 clared that she did not care for sight-seeing, and 
 thus it happened that the sudden and sympathetic 
 friendship which had sprung up between Uncle 
 
CHANGE IN UNCLE MOSES' DEMEANOR. 31^. 
 
 Moses and Miss Lee in the Amphitheatre at Ve- 
 rona, grew stronger and still more sympathetic at 
 Venice. Uncle Moses was certainly very much 
 changed for the better. He had lost all his former 
 fidgety ways, and seemed no longer to be tor- 
 mented by that eternal anxiety about the boys 
 which hitherto had been the bane of his exist- 
 ence. The boys were free now to go where they 
 liked. They were always off at an early hour, and 
 never back till dark. All the same to Uncle Moses. 
 He had Miss Lee as his companion, and in her so- 
 ciety he seemed to find a grave, calm, quiet satis- 
 faction, that made him feel like a new man. 
 
 He was very fond of telling her this. 
 
 " You seem," said he, " somehow or nother, to 
 hev maje a new man of me. 1 used to be the for- 
 lornedest creetur you ever see, but now I feel like 
 a man, and I'm railly twenty years younger than I 
 was before I met you. An I railly don't know 
 what to make of it. It beats me, it doos, railly." 
 
 At such remarks as these Miss Lee always used 
 to smile upon Uncle Moses so sweetly, that he 
 thought her face like the face of some of the saints 
 that he had seen in cathedrals. 
 
 Several weeks passed away in this pleasant fash- 
 ion, and the Lees were already talking of leaving 
 Venice, when one day Vernon came to see Miss 
 Lee. 
 
 His errand was one of a very important kind, 
 and Vernon soon explained it. He informed her 
 
320 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 that his affections were very deeply engaged with 
 Gracie, and that if she were to leave him now, he 
 would be the most miserable of men ; that Gracie 
 had consented to make him happy, and that he had 
 come to her to ask her consent. 
 
 Vernon's information was far more circumloc- 
 utory than this, and was accompanied with many 
 hesitations and some embarrassments, as is natural 
 in such a delicate matter ; but Miss Lee's manner 
 was full of encouragement, and she listened to his 
 words with a smile. 
 
 " 0, I've seen how it was," said she. " I ex- 
 pected this ; but, then, isn't Gracie altogether too 
 young ? " 
 
 " 0, she's young, certainly," said Vernon ; " but 
 that is a thing which will be remedied in the course 
 of time." 
 
 The end of it was, that Miss Lee gave her con- 
 sent, but asked Vernon to spg her b"other about 
 it ; which Vernon promised to do. 
 
 After his departure, Miss Lee told Uncle Moses, 
 and that good man was moved with feelings of the 
 deepest sympathy for Miss Lee's forlorn condition. 
 
 " Dear, dear, dear I " he exclaimed. " So you're 
 goin' to lose her I Why, you'll be quite alone in 
 the world I Now, I s'pose you'll feel dreadful lone- 
 ly — won't you ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," said Miss Lee. 
 
 " Why, it's jest like losin' a darter," said Uncle 
 Moses. 
 
COURTSHIP. 321 
 
 " 0, quite," said Miss Lee, with a long sigh. 
 
 " And then your brother has his own house, an' 
 his own fambly matters." 
 
 " 0, ves." 
 
 " I ben thinkin' of this for a long time," said 
 Uncle Moses, after a pause. " I saw how it was, 
 — it's alius the way with the young folks, — an' I 
 thought you'd be lonely, jest like me. Now you 
 know I'm alius lonely." 
 
 " Are you ? " said Miss Lee, looking at him in a 
 very sympathetic manner. "* 
 
 " Alius," said Uncle Moses. " Do you ever feel 
 lonely ? I s'pose not." r ; 
 
 " 0, yes," said Miss Lee. ^ 
 
 " Often ? "• inquired Uncle Moses, in a tender 
 voice. 
 
 *' 0, always," said Miss Lee. 
 
 " Dear, dear, dear ! on'y think of that," said Uncle 
 Moses. " An' do you feel very lonely ? " 
 
 " 0, very," said Miss Lee. 
 
 " So do I," said Uncle Moses, in a rueful voice ; 
 " an' when you go, it'll be wuss than ever." 
 
 Miss Lee sighed. 
 
 Uncle Moses drew nearer, looking at her with 
 meek inquiry. Then he took her hand. 
 
 " Don't go," said he, in a low voice. " Don't 
 leave me, my dear, dear Miss Lee. Stay with me. 
 I never saw anybody that I liked half so well. It's 
 true, I'm a leetle old ; but, then, better late than 
 never ; an' I don't see how I can hve, if I lose you 
 21 
 
322 THE WINGED LION. 
 
 — I don^t, railly. Don't leave me. Won't you stay 
 with me, my dear, dear Miss Lee, an' be my own — < 
 wife ? " 
 
 As Uncle Moses was speaking, he drew Miss Lee 
 nearer to him, and the good lady let her head rest 
 on his manly shoulder. 
 
 " 0, what'U they bay I " she ejaculated ; and that 
 was all that she said. But this was enough for 
 Uncle Moses. Joy and exultation illumined his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Say," said he, in bold, manly, and defiant tones. 
 " Who cares what they say ? I don't. You need 
 not. I'll talk to 'era. Don't vou fret. It'll be all 
 right. I'll take all the responsibility, an' you will 
 be all my life to me what you have been for these 
 last few weeks — a ministering angel, a heavenly 
 comfort, a sweet companion — everything." 
 
 Great was the surprise of the friends of this af- 
 fectionate pair when they learned the news. Ver- 
 non and Gracie were so evidently in love that no 
 one expected anything else of them, though not a 
 single soul had susp 3ted this of Uncle Moses and 
 Miss Lee. But the first surprise soon passed away, 
 and then every one felt very well satisfied. Mr. 
 Lee was glad that his sister had at length met with 
 some one who could make her happy ; Gracie was 
 full of affectionate sympathy, and poured forth the 
 warmest congratulations ; while all the boys re- 
 joiced over the happiness of their beloved Uncle 
 
MARRIAGE. 323 
 
 Moses. His adventures in foreign parts had 
 brought him little else than misery, but now he 
 would be amply repaid for all that ho had en- 
 dured. 
 
 These things caused a further delay in Venice, 
 but at length there came an end to their stay. The 
 two bridegrooms led to the altar their blushing 
 brides, and then, after an affectionate adieu to their 
 friends, the boys departed with Uncle Moses and 
 their new aunt.