she owed to the lord and lover who was waiting for her across the shimmering, beckoning sea. What wonder that her maiden heart should cling to him with a passionate trust, while all her sweet self grew in shy loveliness out of the dream that she was fashioning, and the deepening currents of her being flowed purely about this vision of her betrothed, enthroning her love with her religion in one centre.

The mimic court in the Palazzo Cornaro, under the supervision of her monitors of Venice, was already attracting distinguished strangers—for the element of romance in her position made the salon of the future Queen of Cyprus the feature of Venetian social life; and long hours of eager study with masters of the many tongues spoken in the Cyprian court—alternating with the teachings of her mother's noble friend, the Patriarch, as he sought to familiarize her with the early Christian story of her distant island, proved the quick grasp of her mind—giving dangerous hints of strength which, if disregarded, might thwart the moulding purpose of the Signoria. So it seemed wise to forestall her questionings with such historic glimpses as should fascinate her with her realm to be, while Venice was silently smoothing out the crumples of that distant Cyprian shore; and it was fitting that the bride of Janus should make acquaintance with the literary and legendary treasures of this fabled isle of poets, for the house of Lusignan had been known for its taste in literature. But of a certain proverb current in Cyprus in the days of the Lusignans, the watchful Senate took care that she should be left in ignorance, Ce n'est pas Minerve qui est née en Chypre! and that Chief of the Ten whose difficult duty it had become to supervise the education of Caterina was giving peremptory instruction to the newly-created Historical Secretary to the Queen-elect:

"Begin with thy narration far back in the days of the Greek myths—she hath much poetry in her soul. Take her carefully over the early Christian traditions—she doth most seriously incline to venerate the Church:—there is food in these matters to consume much time."

"And then, Eccellentissimo, one may venture to tell the story of the House of Lusignan?"

The research of the learned Secretary had brought him in contact with Cyprus, but it had not inclined him to make fancy pictures of its kings.

"Of Guy—the founder—and of the Crusades; it is a tale a maid may hear," the Capo responded grimly. "Of gleanings, now and again, through the pages of the chronicle, as it may be wise. She hath not the judgment to endure it all, being yet scarce more than a child—and with leanings rather toward Church than State, being over-much under the influence of the Lady Fiorenza—over-much."

The words came with pauses which lent them force, and the new Secretary, being Senate-trained, lost none of their significance.

"Thine office doth demand discretion," the Chief continued, fixing the other with his piercing gaze. "One should choose the tale that may best please—that she may go glad-hearted and with a maiden's fancy."

"Aye, your Excellency—for maids and women are not as men; and facts not over-gentle may be best untold."

"Nay—not that—not that: but there is time—much time—and for the present the care shall be to delight."

"It is the office of a courtier, Eccellentissimo; it befools a scholar," the Historical Secretary exclaimed with indignation. "There be poets and romancers who would do it honor, rather than I—who have spent long years among the records searching for truth, that I may leave a chronicle to trust."

"And most unworthily, Signor Segretario, if thou hast found no least trace of the great philosopher Zeno in the ancient city of Cition that was his birthplace; nor of Homer, that maker of literature, who hath, perchance, won space enough in the estimate of mankind to be worthy the brief thought of a child—even of thine—a scholar seeking for truth—he being the pride of Salamis.

"But the Signoria have never learned the backward step that they should withdraw an appointment which conferreth unwilling honor," the Chief concluded coldly. "Thou shalt find some beauty in the legends of the Cinyradæ, or the myths of Aphrodite, in this land of Cyprus where the goddess rose from the foam of the sea!"

"Were not substance better than froth to train a maid to rule, your Excellency?"

"Nay, but to obey; to rule needeth not teaching."

"But—your Excellency——"

"Signore, foam shall suffice to teach obedience—thou hast heard the most gracious will of the Senate."

The eyes of the scholar who loved truth better than fortune dropped baffled; for he could not afford to surrender the favor of the Senate which promised him means to achieve in his own special field; and he groaned in spirit while the wide halls of the Frari, with their treasure of ancient MSS. rose before his mental vision as the most tempting spot on earth, with his own magnum opus lying there unfinished, yet far toward completion. And for one who had meant to chronicle the complete history of a movement, who had sought ever to weigh and sift in the interests of truth alone, to surrender the freedom of his mind to the Senate—to come down to the teaching of a child—to be commanded what he should speak—it was maddening!

"My own work," he murmured in a last appeal:—"I have so little time."

"The time of a Venetian is his best gift to the State," the Capo made answer icily.

There was a pause during which the unwilling Secretary felt the eyes of the Capo upon him, forcing him to lift his own. For an instant he met the strange fixed gaze which conveyed to him without words that what had passed between them was to be held inviolate; then, with a courteous salute, the man of power spoke:

"The interview is dismissed." And the Segretario Reale went out from the presence, his soul revolting at the absolutism that forced him to accept; and he despised himself.

Meanwhile the soul of the maiden was thrilling to the Patriarch's tales of early Christian conquests in her islands—at Paphos—at Salamis—of the miracles of the great Paulus, saint and bishop and leader—as her eyes followed along the red-lettered parchment page of the rare volume which the holy man had brought from the treasures of the "Marciana" for her teaching—translating the story from the Greek, which was yet hard for her, into her own softer tongue.

Cyprus had indeed been a favored land in those early days; for the Holy Spirit had commanded by a revelation that Barnabas and Paulus should set sail for Cyprus to preach the new faith at Salamis; and they had taken with them Marcus—their own San Marco!—it was so written in this strange, old book.

"Tell me about him!" Caterina cried, clasping her hands eagerly: "what did he do in my land?"

Every Venetian was familiar with the Patron-Saint of Venice in his symbolic guise, with his terrible, flashing jewelled eyes—as a power who would guard them and confound their enemies, rather than as an Evangelist—although the paw of the fierce Venetian lion rested always on the open gospel-page. But to hear of him as a man, before he was known as saint—young—'sister's son to Barnabas,' setting forth on this mission to Cyprus, made him strangely real to the young Venetian girl; it even brought Cyprus nearer with a tender home claim, to hear of the wanderings of San Marco among those temples of Aphrodite; and his scorn of the unholy worship kindled her soul as the Patriarch told how the young Evangelist had not feared to curse the godless Cyprian city for its idolatry—of the tumult that had