be more likely to draw upon him severe punishment, or perhaps the
torture, with the view of inducing him to confess its falsehood.
Bewildered by his terror, Antonio sat trembling, and utterly incapable
of deciding as to the course he should adopt, when the trusty
gondolier again came to his rescue.

"Cospetto! Signor!" he exclaimed, "have you lost your senses, that you
run thus into the very jaws of those devil's messengers? To one like
myself flight would certainly avail little; but, with a Proveditore
for your father, you may arrange matters if you only take time before
you become their prisoner. Quick, then, to the palazzo! Don't you see
old Contarini's head stuck out of his window? He is telling them you
are not there. They have doubtless been to your father's palace, and
will not be likely to return thither at present."

While the faithful fellow's tongue was thus wagging, his arms were not
idle. Intimately acquainted, as became his calling, with the numerous
windings and intricacies of the Venetian canals, he threaded them with
unhesitating confidence; and, favoured by the darkness of the night,
succeeded in getting Antonio unobserved through a back entrance of his
father's palace.

The first impulse of the terrified youth on finding himself thus in at
least temporary security, was to destroy the picture of the mysterious
old woman, which, if found by the agents of the Inquisition, might
bear false but fatal witness against him. With pallid cheek, and still
trembling with alarm, he was hurrying to his chamber to execute his
intention, when he encountered his father, who advanced to meet him,
and, grasping his arm, fixed upon him for some moments his stern and
searching gaze.