A convulsive sigh heaved Verezzi’s bosom.
“And is that then to be my Matilda’s destiny?” he exclaimed in horror. “No—Heaven will never permit such excellence to suffer.”
Meanwhile they had arrived at the Brenta. The Brenta’s stream glided silently beneath the midnight breeze towards the Adriatic.
Towering poplars, which loftily raised their spiral forms on its bank, cast a gloomier shade upon the placid wave.
Matilda and Verezzi entered a gondola, and the grey tints of approaching morn had streaked the eastern ether, before they entered the Grand Canal at Venice; and passing the Rialto, proceeded onwards to a small, though not inelegant mansion, in the eastern suburbs.
Everything here, though not grand, was commodious; and as they entered it, Verezzi expressed his approbation of living here retired.
Seemingly secure from the scrutiny of the inquisition, Matilda and Verezzi passed some days of uninterrupted happiness.
At last, one evening, Verezzi, tired even with monotony of ecstasy, proposed to Matilda to take the gondola, and go to a festival which was to be celebrated at St. Mark’s Place.
CHAPTER XIV.
The evening was serene. Fleecy clouds floated on the horizon—the moon’s full orb, in cloudless majesty, hung high in air, and was reflected in silver brilliancy by every wave of the Adriatic, as, gently agitated by the evening breeze, they dashed against innumerable gondolas which crowded the Laguna.