"My father," answered the maiden proudly, for he had drawn away from her, "there is no stealing of that which I would gladly yield him, if it were thy pleasure and that of the Ca' Giustiniani! And there would have been no secret; but I—to spare thee pain of knowing that I suffered—I would not let him come to plead with thee."
"Why shouldst thou suffer?"
"It is hard to lose thy love when only I told thee not because I would spare thee pain! Father—I have only thee!" Her courage broke in a quick sob.
"Nay, then—nay, then," he faltered softly, stroking her bowed head; "he is no man to love, if he would let thee suffer; he should take thee—before them all—if he would be worthy——"
The low, intense, interrupted words were a brave surrender.
"Ay, my father, it is like Marco to hear thee speak!"
"Then let him come and make thee Lady of the Giustiniani, like a true knight!" exclaimed the old man fiercely.
"Ay, father, so would he; but I have told him that thou and I are not less proud than those of his own house, and without their consent it may not be."
"Nay, I care not for their house—only for thy happiness; he shall wed thee, and my home is thine; I have enough for thee and him; he shall not make thee suffer."
They were close together now, father and daughter—a beautiful group in the yellow lamplight against the dark background that surrounded them like an impassible fate; her face was a study of happiness, tenderness, suffering, and strength; her father wrapped her close in his protecting arms, and thus she could bear everything. They were silent for a while: he trying to accept the revelation in its strangeness, she planning how she should make him understand.