wine, I would willingly bear the load; but one that I mistook for you,
Master Jacopo, has it on his own light finger, I fear."

"This is an affair that thou wilt settle with thy master," returned the
Bravo, coldly, again examining the impression of the seal.

"If you are acquainted with the writing of my master," hurriedly
remarked Gino, who trembled for the fate of the packet, "you will see
his skill in the turn of those letters. There are few nobles in Venice,
or indeed in the Sicilies, who have a more scholarly hand, with a quill,
than Don Camillo Monforte; I could not do the thing half so well
myself."

"I am no clerk," observed the Bravo, without betraying shame at the
confession. "The art of deciphering a scroll, like this, was never
taught me; if thou art so expert in the skill of a penman, tell me the
name the packet bears."

"'Twould little become me to breathe a syllable concerning any of my
master's secrets," returned the gondolier, drawing himself up in sudden
reserve. "It is enough that he bid me deliver the letter; after which I
should think it presumption even to whisper more."

The dark eye of the Bravo was seen rolling over the person of his
companion, by the light of the moon, in a manner that caused the blood
of the latter to steal towards his heart.

"I bid thee read to me aloud the name the paper bears," said Jacopo,
sternly. "Here is none but the lion and the saint above our heads to
listen."