hundred years. That “Feast of the Ascension and Nuptials of the Sea” instituted in 991, wherein the state barge manned by forty-two oars, guarded by one hundred and sixty-eight of the most valiant noblemen and knights, conveyed the reigning doge out to that point beyond the Lido where in the name of Venice he cast a flashing ring into the waves and uttered the formula: “Desponsamus te, in signum perpetuique veri dominii”—“We marry thee, O sea, in sign of absolute dominion”—has long since been lost. The “Feast of the Dogaressa” when the wife of the doge was crowned and, clad in robes gorgeously embroidered with priceless jewels, led a stately procession, reached its height of glory about the time when Columbus discovered America, and then gradually became forgotten. Likewise the “Feast of the Marys,” when twelve little girls gayly dressed were rowed in a state barge through the principal canals, has been obsolete since the fourteenth century. But the “Feast of the Redeemer” dies not, and each year takes on greater dignity and—greater celebration.
Captain Jimmy listened to Pietro's explanation of this on their eventful night, the guide having for the moment become poet quite as inconsequentially as if the decorated launch in which they rode had no other purpose than to mingle with the thousands of other craft that passed ceaseslessly to and fro on the great waterways. Scores of them had music aboard, and nearly every one had its singer. Now and then a gorgeous and highly illuminated barge passed with something akin to a small opera company and a full-sized orchestra to furnish harmonious accompaniment. The stately old palaces along the banks were illumined and some had great garlands of flowers trailing from roof to water. Everything was lazy movement, softened light, and romance. Throughout the balmy summer night it would continue, but it could be depended upon to be at its best between the hours of eleven and one in the morning, after which time the more sedate retired to their homes.
And the party on the swan boat waited with increasing tension for the first propitious hour. They stared at each other expectantly when the great bells of the Campanile, that slender, lighted shaft that loomed up above the gray old city as if seeking the stars, mellowly struck eleven o'clock.
“You are still determined to go, are you?” Jimmy asked the girl, who had listened with slightly parted lips and face aglow with excitement.
“Of course I am! You don't think I'd come clear across the Atlantic to weaken at the last moment, do you?” she asked.
“No, I don't think you would,” he replied soberly. “Well, I suppose its time for action and—you said you had your plans well worked out.”
She laughed a trifle nervously, he thought, and leaned forward and spoke to Pietro who was riding forward beside the man at the wheel, and Pietro in turn spoke to his kinsman, who gave the wheel a turn and, still at the same leisurely pace, swung the boat around and headed for one of the rios. He slowed down as they entered it until they crept beneath a stone bridge of the Schiavi at a most sedate pace and moved quietly, almost noiselessly, into the dark depths. After the lights of the Grand Canal and the fête the way seemed dark, gloomy, and dangerously narrow. As they progressed in a constantly increasing tension Jimmy was pleased to observe that they passed neither gondola nor other craft. Tommie too noticed it and exultantly called his attention to their good fortune.
“See,” she said quietly, “Pietro was right. This entire part of the city is practically deserted to-night. We shall go to a turn not far from the palace of that dreadful old man, where we shall find a gondola moored. Pietro, you and I will transfer to that, and Pietro will row us to the place. Then, if we can get it, as I am almost certain we can, I shall go and you and Pietro will wait for me, or until you hear an alarm.”
“It sounds good,” was all Jimmy said, but he had already made up his mind that her plan must suffer alteration.
The launch made another turn and stopped in the shadows of buildings that by their darkness and gloominess suggested that in hours of daylight they were used for factories or warehouses, and here, in the dusk of a long-disused entrance, they came to a halt beside a gondola. Slim and sinister it looked in that gloom, its black sides as dark as the shadows in which it rested. A switch clicked and the lights of the launch were extinguished. Quickly and somewhat excitedly Pietro stepped across to the gondola and felt for its mooring rope, while Jimmy followed, gave his hand to the girl,
