'Yes,' said the Tintoretto, fixing his eyes on the young girl, 'I was displeased with you, because there seemed to me something very mysterious in your conduct '

Mysterious!' interrupted the mother Robusti.

'Ask no questions, mother; for I would have spoken sooner, but for fear of making you uneasy. The conduct of Marietta has been for some time, if not mysterious, at least strange and unaccountable. I never see her now bounding through the house, or pulling flowers, or gathering fruit in the garden. I never hear her sing, or see her even touch the mandoline.-If you are not ill, Marietta, if you have no grief or care, why are you becoming so thin, so pale, as if withering before my very eyes?'

A gentle knock interrupted the conversation, and, happily for Marietta, spared her a reply. She jumped up, and ran to open the hall-door.

III.

THE CANON OF ST AMBROSIO.

At sight of a person in the garb of the canons of St Ambrosio, the Tintoretto and his mother rose and saluted him respectfully; but as to Marietta, she seemed petrified by the visit. There she stood, leaving the reverend father still in the passage, without inviting him to come in, or even thinking of shutting the door. The mother Robusti, however, was not so slow in her welcomecourtesy after courtesy testified her sense of his presence. your reverence have the goodness to walk in, and if I might presume so far as to ask you to sit down and honour us by partaking of our poor supper?-Marietta, child, what can you be about, to leave his reverence standing so long? A chair here, girl-quick, a

chair.'

'Will

Starting from her apparent stupor, Marietta, with a forced smile, apologised for her inattention, and shutting the door, eagerly placed a chair close to the table for the canon. 6 Pray, take a seat, Father Ambrosio,' said she. 'Will your reverence try a little soup, or a glass of wine?'

'Not anything, I thank you, my dear child,' said the reverend father, whose austere countenance seemed to relax while speaking to Marietta. Pray, do not let me disturb you, Signora Robusti.-Go on with your supper, Signor Jacopo. I only came to'

To pay us a friendly, neighbourly visit,' quickly interrupted Marietta, who endeavoured to hide, under an assumed gaiety, an anxiety which, in spite of all, was perceptible in her look and manner. It is very kind of you, father-very kind indeed. But the canons of your order have always been remarkable for their condescension and kindness.'

'Who could be otherwise than kind to you, my daughter?' answered 'But I came here to '

the canon.

'Did you visit the Countess Grimani to-day, father?' again interrupted Marietta.

Yes, daughter; but'

'She has had many trials; but I trust they will now soon be over,' said Marietta, who, it was evident, had some reason for not letting the visitor finish his sentences. The usually modest retiring girl appeared to have quite changed her character: she talked incessantly, and seemed resolved to let no one but herself utter a word, or at least to give the father no opportunity of telling the object of his visit. In vain did he begin : I came out this evening, at some inconvenience;' and again : ‘I have come here to say:' she contrived always to break in with some question or remark, till at last her father turned to the canon: 'I must beg of you, father, to excuse this little chatter-box of a girl, who has so often interrupted you when about to tell us to what we owe the honour of this visit.'

'I wanted to see your son Dominic, signor,' said Ambrosio.

'My brother is not at home just now,' said Marietta, before any one else could reply. But to-morrow he will wait upon you, if you wish. Only tell me your hour, father, and he shall be punctual. Yes, indeed, I will answer for him; Dominic shall be with you precisely at the hour you name.'

'If you would have the kindness to tell me your business with him,' said the Tintoretto.

An answer was already upon the lips of Father Ambrosio, when Marietta again interposed: I am sure it is about the picture for the chapel of Santa Maria dell' Orta.—Am I not right, reverend father? It is finished, or nearly so: a few touches only are wanting; and to-morrow, or the day after at furthest, it shall be in its place in your chapel. You may rely upon me, father. I pledge myself that you shall have it.' She then added in a lower tone: I implore of you to say no more now, for my sake, this once.'

The Father Ambrosio rose. 'That was all I wanted, at least just now,' said he with some emphasis on the last words. 'Signora Marietta is quite right; but if in three days I do not get my picture, I must come back to you again: remember this, daughter. Charity prescribes to us to be indulgent; but too much indulgence is often a mere weakness, by which we become the abettor of faults which a little more firmness might prevent, or be the means of correcting. I do not mean this for you, my child,' added he; however, some time or other you may profit by this piece of advice.' And with these words he made his parting salutations, and withdrew.

'Well, what is he at with his indulgence, and his charity, and his weakness, and his faults?' said the grandmother with a puzzled look. 'One would think he was giving advice, as you run up the scale, to keep yourself in practice.'

Come, dear grandmamma, let us finish our supper,' said Marietta with the air of one who had suddenly been relieved from some heavy weight of care.

IV.

THE MORNING WALK

All were yet asleep in the house of the artist-even the Tintoretto, usually so early a riser; indeed, even the sun was not yet up-when the door of one of the rooms was gently opened, and Marietta, pale as the white flower of the eglantine, appeared on the threshold. 'Not a sound!' said she, after a moment's anxious listening. He is not yet come in; for the whole night I have never closed my eyes. Brother, brother, how sadly art thou to blame!' Then, advancing on tiptoe into the corridor, she descended the stairs, opened the halldoor, and darted into the street.

She passed in front of St Mark's Church, into which she entered; but it was not to admire the interior of it, rich as it was. Deeper and higher thoughts were hers; she offered one prayer for guidance, and hurried out in the direction of the principal canal, there with eager eye to watch each gondola that floated by, as if to discover whom it bore along the waters. At length a gondola approached the landing-place, and let out a passenger. She stopped, for a wellknown voice struck upon her ear; and turning quickly round, she faced a tall youth, whose disordered dress, flushed face, and unsteady gait, too plainly betokened his condition.

Dominic!' cried Marietta.

How much of tender reproach was in the utterance of that single word!

'Well, well; I know all you would say, Marietta,' answered the young man, affecting an ease which the expression of his face betrayed he did not feel. I am a bad boy, a ne'er-do-well, a sot, a lazy dog -am I not?'

'You are still worse than all these, Dominic,' said Marietta in accents of deep sadness; 'you are a bad son and a bad brother.'

'Oh, there I must stop you, Marietta. I am anything you like but that. I adore, I respect, I revere my father; and I love you, sister -love you more than you believe.'

6

If you love me, Dominic, come home with me at once.'

I am all obedience, you see, dear Marietta, beloved Marietta!' said Dominic, taking his sister's arm, and turning towards home. On their way, Marietta said: ‘Father Ambrosio came yesterday evening to the house, and I was so much frightened, brother!' 'What! Afraid of Father Ambrosio, Marietta?'

'Alas! not of him, but of what he might have told. If you knew all my contrivances to prevent his speaking of the money you owe him; and the picture, too, that, in your name, I promised he should

have to-morrow. You will go to work the moment you go in, will you not, Dominic ?'

'You mean go to sleep, Marietta; indeed you may rely upon it: I am half asleep already.'

Sleep, Dominic! Can you sleep?'

'You shall see, my dear; you shall see. Sleep? ay, and snore too.'

'You will sleep,' said Marietta in a reproachful tone, 'when tomorrow, nay, perhaps this very evening, my father, who thinks you the best of sons, who cites you as a model worthy of all imitation— my poor father will hear that this studious son passes his days and nights at the tavern; that the pupil who is his pride and his boast has not touched a pencil for more than a year; and that the prudent, the sensible youth, borrows money wherever he can get it, to squander in folly and vice. Dominic, one sentence uttered last night by Father Ambrosio made me tremble. He saw through my subterfuges, and, as he went away, he said- Nay, Dominic, do listen to me-he said'

'But listen to me in your turn, my good little sister,' drawled out Dominic. If I get no sleep, I shall surely be ill; and you would not like to see me ill, I am sure.'

'Heaven forbid!' said Marietta fervently.

'Then you must let me go to bed when I go home.'

'But the picture for the chapel of Santa Maria dell' Orta, brother?' 'The hand which has brought it so far, will carry it on to the end.'

'That is to say, Dominic, that you reckon upon my finishing it?' Your penetration is truly astonishing, Marietta.'

'And your assurance perfectly incredible. But it is impossible for me to finish this picture, and I will tell you why. I am taking a likeness of the Countess Grimani, and she has advanced me some ducats of the price.'

'Fie, fie, Marietta; I am ashamed of you. You ought not thus to anticipate your earnings.'

'How much did you borrow upon your picture, Dominic?' 'I! Oh, but that was quite different.

obliged to pay.'

I had debts which I was

And I, Dominic-I had to support my father, my grandmother, and-and-yourself. Our father gains no more than just covers his expenses, and you know we must live.'

·

You ought to have told me all this, Marietta, and I would have acted accordingly.'

'I told it to you a hundred times.'

'Yes, but at such cross times, Marietta; always at the very moment that I was either going to or coming from my friends.'

'But at what time is it ever otherwise with you, Dominic?'

By this time the brother and sister had arrived at home; they

entered, and found that no one was yet up in the house. Marietta had scarcely put her foot on the first step of the staircase leading to her brother's workshop, when Dominic, catching her hand, pressed it affectionately, and whispering: 'Good-bye, sister, I am going to bed,' disappeared inside the door of a small room which he occupied on the ground-floor.

Marietta remained for a moment as if bewildered; then, with the air of one who resigns herself to an evil she cannot remedy, she was turning towards her brother's workshop, when she heard herself called loudly by her father.

V.

THE LESSON ON THE MANDOLINE.

'Marietta!' said the Tintoretto, who, with his pencil in one hand and his palette in the other, was standing before one of his masterpieces, the picture of Susanna in the Bath-bring your mandoline, and give me a little music to cheer me this morning.' At this peremptory order, Marietta trembled and turned pale.

'Father,' said she hesitatingly, 'if you could at all excuse me; for -for

'What!-what!' said the Tintoretto impatiently.

'I have the portrait of the Countess Grimani to finish,' said she hurriedly, but with more confidence, believing she had now found a good excuse.

'This is always the burden of your song-the Countess Grimani and her portrait!' said the artist, turning, without looking at his daughter, to resume his painting. But the Countess Grimani is safe in bed at this hour of the morning; so pray, for once sing another song, Marietta, and without waiting for any more pressing, child.'

'I have got a slight cold, and am a little hoarse this morning,' said the young girl, almost with tears in her eyes.

'Oh, that's a different matter, Marietta-quite different;' and Marietta, breathing again at the reprieve, was turning towards the door to retire, when her father stopped her by saying: 'But at all events, go for your mandoline: you can play, I suppose, though you cannot sing?'

'I entreat of you, father,' said Marietta, summoning all her courage, 'do not ask me for music this morning-I have not time.'

'And what else have you to do but to please your father?' said the Tintoretto, the cloud now fast gathering on his brow-'what have you to do anywhere else, when my order is that you should stay here? Under pretence that your health is delicate, you are let go on as you like; you are not required to do anything in the house; in short, you are quite spoiled; and it is high time all this should