"Here, in my boudoir, where my boy hath placed it," said the mother
quickly, as the Senator would have lifted it, "since it is my gift. And,
Marco"--She turned to him a face softened and beautified by the
struggle, which had been very great, and her eyes were deep with a light
which bound him to her forever.

"Marco mio, it shall be well displayed. For I will bid my maidens circle
this table whereon it rests with a wreath of roses--white and very
beautiful--in token of thy mother's favor."



X

Marina, under the yellow glare of the lamp in the dark oak cabinet,
worked fitfully, with broken, lifeless strokes, at the designs before
her; while her father, feigning absorption in some new drawings which
lay spread out within touch of his strong-veined hands, watched her
furtively from the other side of the table.

"Thou art restless," he said, suddenly and sternly; "what aileth thee?"

Her lip quivered, but she did not look up, while with an effort she
steadied the movement of her hand and continued her work. "My hand hath
no cunning to-night, and it vexeth me, my father."

"It is poor work when the heart is lacking," he answered, in a tone
charged with irritation. "I also have seen a thing which hath taken my
heart from me."