The Cornaro stood for a moment as if uncertain what part to play; then, making light of it all, he dismissed his frown and with a whimsical laugh and graceful deprecatory motions, he turned to his sister and offered his hand to lead her in.

"Nay, nay, my sister; I spoke of no formal session of State to receive my Emba.s.sy; rather of a friendly talk between us two, touching the matter upon which the Republic hath sent me hither--that we may better understand each other before it be laid before the Council. With thy leave, my cousin."

He pa.s.sed with a friendly nod and some jesting word, which the Bernardini returned more gravely:

"Thou dost verily surround thyself with state, Caterina!" her brother exclaimed in a tone of stern displeasure, when she had indicated a chamber where they might be alone, and he had carefully a.s.sured himself that the quaint Eastern draperies concealed no guards--the while she watched him in amazement.

"It is better for thee that there be no listeners," he said, as he placed a seat before her and sat down, fixing her with his gaze.

"Hearken without speech until I have spoken." His tone was threatening.

She turned white and red, half starting up, but cowed by his manner, fell back into her seat again.

"Is this my brother," she asked, "or is it the Amba.s.sador?"

"Nay; leave tragedy, Caterina; I am come to bring thee word of a great opportunity."

"For my people?--For Cyprus?" she responded with instant interest.

He laughed, a curious, unmirthful laugh.

"Aye--for 'thy people'--'for Cyprus,' verily. Listen! Thou hast it in thy power, at this moment, to bestow a gift upon the Republic--thou who art the Daughter of Venice--that shall make thee memorable throughout the ages."

She was taken unaware; yet suddenly the happenings of all the past years seemed to converge in her, as their central point, binding her hand and foot so that she might not free herself: an icy bolt shot through her: "I--I fail to understand," she answered faintly, for there was somewhat in his look that interpreted the meaning she would fain have missed.

"Aye: it _is_ hard to understand--that thou, who art one of our Casa Cornaro--a woman--upon whom Venice hath bestowed such fatherly and unceasing care--should have it in thy power so to reward the Republic, who might have seized the throne of Cyprus, without waiting for thy gift! Yet, of her grace, the Serenissima Repubblica doth verily ask it of thee, as a favor--thou who art Daughter to Venice. Thou mayest well find it hard to understand!"

She rose, indignantly.

"Hath the Signoria of Venice broken faith with her ally of Cyprus? Is she not content to wait for the sovereignty of this realm until my death--knowing that by my will Venice hath been created heir to this throne--that she should wish to deprive me now of that which hath come to me through so great sorrow, by the will of my husband, the King?"

He watched her curiously, while the color came and went with her tumultuous emotions, and her troubled breathing; and he changed his tone--being subtle.

"I said that the Signoria would have thanked thee for thy gift of the realm; and that the ages should have decreed thee great honor for thy queenly giving: but it would have been more of their courtesy than of thine. For thou dost verily hold too great a matter this little kingdom of Cyprus--forgetting the nets that have many times been spread for thee; and the disfavor of those Cyprian n.o.bles who would have a man to rule over them and not a woman--young and without power--unless Venice be her ally and defender! Even now, thou mightest have been a slave in the land of the Turk, were it not for thy faithful upholding by the galleys of Venice, which came between thee and the devastators. Where is the generous response of a woman who, without them, were nothing?--I thought thee more n.o.ble!"

She was bewildered, and he had cut her to the quick.

"Nay, Zorzi: thou dost not comprehend. A Queen must first be faithful to her people."

"Aye--'to her people!'" he retorted scornfully. "And are thy people of Venice, or of Cyprus?--that thou mayest be faithful neither to one nor to the other! Wilt thou show thy faith to Cyprus by turning thine only helpers and defenders from thee, that thine enemies of the coasts may have free entrance to thine unprotected harbors, while the galleys of Venice no longer waste upon thine ingrat.i.tude their unrequited care?"

"It is not true!" she cried; "they would not thus desert me."

"It is like a woman to build a belief without foundation," he answered her--calmly, as one who makes a study at his ease.

"And this is verily thy mission from Venice--_and to me?_"

"I have spoken," he said, "but the time is short: thou mayest not delay to reply--Venice hath so decreed."

"My people love me," she pleaded, with a gasp. "I have only them to live for!"

"Thou hast only them, if thou wilt perforce give up thine own," he answered readily; "it is of thine own choice."

"What meanest thou?" she questioned, grasping his arm in terror: "Zorzi!"

He shook off her touch and answered her unmoved. "The choice will be thine, between thy people of Cyprus--who love thee, thou sayest--and thy people of Venice--we of the Casa Cornaro and the Signoria, whom thou wilt offend and who have spent themselves upon thee. _They will leave thee to thine own devices, withdrawing every galley from thy Cyprian coasts._"

She gave a low moan, pressing her trembling hands to her brow, as if brain-weary from perplexity; then she turned to her brother again with the exclamation:

"How shouldst thou so utterly desert me, Zorzi--_thou_, and my people whom I love!"

"The mercy of the Republic is at an end," he a.s.sured her uncompromisingly, "and for the Casa Cornaro--thou dost mistake, which seemeth easy for thee; it is rather thou who wilt disgrace me--thy brother, with his honorable pride in his house and his most n.o.ble country. For him and his children there will no longer be honors, nor any favor of the Senate: upon thy brother, who doth so faithfully counsel thee and from his heart, will fall the enmity of the Republic who hath _forbidden him to fail_ in his mission. And what is left for a patrician who hath suffered exile and confiscation, but death and the extinction of his house? This will be thy doing."

She sprang up, attempting to reach a silken cord that swung upon the wall near her; but Cornaro raised his hand above her and lightly tossed it aside.

"No one shall come between us until I have thy promise: it lieth between me and thee."

"I need some one to help me," she implored; "and Aluisi is of our Casa Cornaro,--he would understand."

"Two are enough," he said,--"nay, too much; for where the matter is urgent, one sufficeth."

She sat on mutely, wrestling with her problem.

From the time that she had first known of her royal destiny, problems of rights of governments had never been put before her in unpartisan, clear-cut lines of white and black--as right and wrong: her judgment had been intentionally befogged by those who should have been her teachers, until she found herself Queen by coronation and inheritance, consecrated in her right by the awful seal of the great High-Priest Death--before whose inviolable silence questions cease, and the scroll of the closed life is no longer searched, save with eyes that blur the lines through overflowing mercy.

It had been easy for Venice to retain her ascendency over Caterina by intensifying her dependence, by fostering the distinctively feminine and predominant side of her nature--by insisting upon abnormal claims to her duty, her obedience, her love, her grat.i.tude.

When the eyes of the Queen had finally been opened to see the danger of these claims of Venice, it was already too late, for the freedom of her realm had been inextricably tangled in the toils of Venice. Since then she had struggled with all her soul to govern her recalcitrant people by the only power that she believed in or possessed--the power of love. But it was love with little knowledge of the problems of nations or the measures needful to cope with the disaffected n.o.bles who were numerous enough to create an influence and who cared rather for their own pleasure, than for any duty that they owed to enhance the unity or moral splendor of their land.

"My Husband left me Queen," she said at last, raising her troubled eyes to his. "It was by his Will that I rule. Have I the right to yield this power?"

"POWER!"

She recoiled from the irony of the tone.

"They are my people--they love me," she persisted, "and thou canst not know how the care for them doth fill my life. Have I the right to give them to any other?"

He laughed again. "Thou hast a veritable talent for creating problems wherewith to vex thyself, my sister, conscience-tossed! Hath one a right to give that which he can no longer hold? Art thou the first who could not rule, to _abdicate_ in favor of a stronger sceptre?"

"We must ask these questions," she said struggling to be firm, "for duty is not easy to find."

"Nor fortune," he answered coldly. "And one must be wise indeed to know when 'one may grasp it by the hair'--as thou hast the chance with this most gracious proffer of the Signoria before thee to reject."

She turned her head away that he might not read her thoughts, while she dwelt upon the full meaning of the cruel word he had spoken so easily--_to abdicate_: it meant the disgrace of rulers, the acknowledgment of supreme weakness--unless to the greater power belonged the supreme right.

Was this supreme Right vested with Venice, that she might bow without question? The word smote upon her like a touch of ice and her heart quailed.

Meanwhile Cornaro was watching, urging her decision with further arguments. The Signoria would provide for her; she should retain her t.i.tle; she should still be styled '_Caterina, Regina_;' she should live in royal state.--But--_if she did not yield_--our Lord himself in heaven would be displeased with her, hating no sin so much for any Christian as base ingrat.i.tude;--with much more, to which she made no answer.