of a deep solitariness for the father so tenderly beloved, it was he who
upheld her courage.

"Life may not be," he said, "without some shadow; this is the shade of
thine, which, without it, were too bright. Heaven hath some purpose in
its sending, but not that it should darken our eyes to miss the joy."

"The day will be o'er-lonely in this home, my father."

"Nay, Marina, let love suffice; so shall we be always together! Shall I
not go to thee? And thou wilt come to me, bringing thy new interests and
holding thy dear heart ever pure and loyal to Venice, and thy home, and
thy God--not forgetting. For thou hast chosen with thy whole heart, my
daughter?" since she had not answered. "Thou dost not fear thyself?"

"Dearest father," she had said, hiding her face in his tender embrace,
"all of my heart which is not thine is wholly his--only my happiness is
too great."

"Nay, daughter, since it is of God's own sending; take all the joy and
grieve not."

"Only at leaving thee."

"I would not keep thee here, to leave thee mourning and alone when my
days are closed."

"Father!"

"Not to sadden thee, my child, but to show thee that life is linked to