the grave? And now, as the gondola still glides on, there is heard a
slow and distant tolling of bells. The Deed is done, then?--no longer
will the piteous hands be thrust out of the barred window--no longer
will the wild cry for help startle the passer-by in the night-time. And
now again, as the gondola goes on its way, another sound--still more
muffled and indistinct--the sound of a church organ, with the solemn
chanting of voices. Are they praying for the soul of the dead? The sound
becomes more and more distant; the gondola goes on its way.

The new-comer has no further time for these idle fancies. At the Rialto
bridge he stops the gondola, pays the man, and goes ashore. Then,
rapidly ascending the steps, he crosses the bridge, descends the other
side, and again jumps into a gondola. All this the work of a few
seconds.

But it was obvious he had been expected. He gave no instructions to the
two men in this second gondola. They instantly went to work, and with a
rapid and powerful stroke sent the boat along--with an occasional
warning cry as they swept by the entrance to one or other of the smaller
canals. Finally, they abruptly left the Grand Canal, close by the Corte
d'Appello, and shot into a narrow opening that seemed little more than a
slit between the buildings.

Here they had to go more cautiously; the orange light of their lamp
shining as they passed on the empty archways, and on the iron-barred
windows, and slimy steps. And always this strange silence in the dead or
sleeping city, and the monotonous plash of the oars, and the deep low
cry of "Sia premi!" or "Sia stali!" to give warning of their approach.
But, indeed, that warning was unnecessary; they were absolutely alone in
this labyrinth of gloomy water-ways.