150 BEATRICE. 



as lie received into his own the glittering bauble, on which 

 hung,, perhaps, its owner's life; and who that owner was 

 Marco knew well at a single glance. The bracelet was a gift 

 of his own to Beatrice, and her's, beyond a doubt, was the 

 hand which, instigated by jealousy and wounded pride, had 

 plunged the murderous steel into the heart of her humble 

 rival. 



She must have seen, perhaps heard the purport of his last 

 meeting with Bianca on the terrace, and must have preceded 

 and awaited her victim in the olive grove through which lay 

 her homeward path. All confirmed it ; she had been absent 

 from the ball-room long after he and the party of maskers had 

 returned to it from the garden ; and when she re-appeared, he 

 could now remember that her demeanour had been absent, her 

 d;irk eye restless, her check alternately .flashed and pallid. 

 And this was the beautiful fiend whom another day woidd have 

 made his bride; for love, which with the moon had ruled the 

 ascendant on the previous night, had given place with the 

 morning sun to pride, policy, and what he would have called 

 a sense of honour. 



In an hour after the mariner had left his father's villa, Marco 

 was closeted at the Palazzo Doria with the Duke. Their 

 interview was long; but to the curious eve's-dropper quiet as 

 the grave. 



Before sunset, the galley winch was to have taken the old 

 man and his daughter had left the Gulf for Naples, with Marco 



