I had just given my promise to St. Hilary, but I had not reckoned on this. To leap down now would mean that I must betray him; to remain, that I must listen. I was in an agony of indecision. Again I hesitated, and again I was to pay a bitter penalty.
“Oh, it is worth the climb,” cried Jacqueline enthusiastically. “That blaze of lights is the Piazza San Marco, of course. And the long line to the north?”
“Are the lights of the Riva,” answered the moody voice of the duke.
His tone frightened me. I felt that he was regarding her with burning glances. Jacqueline must have noticed it had she not been enraptured with the fairy scene before her.
“The little splashes of light here and there are the campos, of course. But the Grand Canal! I never dreamed of anything so wonderful. Look, it has just one broad band of moonlight across its gloom. How fearfully tragic it must look on a cloudy night! But now, it is beautiful. And the tiny flickers of dancing light from the lanterns on the gondolas make the effect magical. Is it any wonder that, after all, one is a slave to the beauty of this Venice? Perhaps,” she added dreamily, “one might have more ignoble dreams and ambitions than to live always in the midst of this beauty. I believe there is nothing on earth so beautiful as this scene.”
“There is yourself,” a hoarse voice broke in on her revery. “There is yourself, and to-night you are more beautiful and exquisite than the very citadels of Paradise.”
I trembled. It was to come, then, this declaration of love; and I must listen. It was now too late to descend. I could only pray that they would soon go. To my joy, this time Jacqueline did recognize the danger of her lingering.
“And below, what a mass of gondolas! How little did I think that I should ever go to a ball in a gondola! I can not thank you enough for bringing me here. But my aunt is waiting at the next landing. She will be wondering.”
“No,” broke in the duke’s hoarse voice, “she will not.”
“And why not, please?” demanded Jacqueline.