"Gino," he said, in a tone of confidence and amity, "thou wert born on my estates, though so long trained here to the oar in Venice, and thou hast passed thy life in my service."
"Eccellenza, yes."
"It is my desire that thou should'st end thy days where they began. I have had much confidence in thy discretion hitherto, and I have satisfaction in saying it has never failed thee, notwithstanding thou hast necessarily been a witness of some exploits of youth which might have drawn embarrassment on thy master were thy tongue less disposed to silence."
"Eccellenza, yes."
Don Camillo smiled; but the gleam of humor gave way to a look of grave and anxious thought.
"As thou knowest the person of him I have named, our affair is simple. Take this packet," he continued, placing a sealed letter of more than usual size into the hand of the gondolier, and drawing from his finger a signet ring, "with this token of thy authority. Within that arch of the Doge's palace which leads to the canal of San Marco, beneath the Bridge of Sighs, thou wilt find Jacopo. Give him the packet; and, should he demand it, withhold not the ring. Wait his bidding, and return with the answer."
Gino received this commission with profound respect, but with an awe he could not conceal. Habitual deference to his master appeared to struggle with deep distaste for the office he was required to perform; and there was even some manifestation of a more principled reluctance, in his hesitating yet humble manner. If Don Camillo noted the air and countenance of his menial at all, he effectually concealed it.
"At the arched passage of the palace, beneath the Bridge of Sighs," he coolly added; "and let thy arrival there be timed, as near as may be, to the first hour of the night."
"I would, Signore, that you had been pleased to command Giorgio and me to row you to Padua!"
"The way is long. Why this sudden wish to weary thyself?"