156 BEATEICE. 



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 pre- 

 ceded 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 dark eye restless, her cheek alternately 

 flushed and pallid. And this was the beautiful fiend whom 

 another day would 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 hav 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 which was to have taken the old 

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



