Chapter 30 No.30

"Art thou sure, Marina?"

"Ay, Piero, though it were death to me; and death were sweeter--"

Her hair lay like a wreath of snow across her forehead, from stress of the night's vigil, her lip trembled like a grieved child's, but in her exquisite face there was the grace of a spirit strong and tender.

He helped her silently into the gondola an