She leaned over the side of the boat,
struggling with tears.
"Then you have your wish," was her muffled answer.
The three bronzed Venetians, a father and two sons, who were working the
bragozzo glanced curiously at the pair. They were persuaded that these
charterers of their boat were lovers flying from observation, and the
unknown tongue did but stimulate guessing.
Cliffe raised himself impatiently.
They were nearing a point where the line of
murazzi they had been
following--low breakwaters of great strength--swept away from them
outward and eastward towards a distant opening. On the other side of the
channel was a low line of shore, broadening into the Lido proper, with
its scattered houses and churches, and soon lost in the mist as it
stretched towards the south.
"Ecco!--il Porto del Lido!" said the older boatman, pointing far away to
a line of deeper color beneath a dark and lowering sky.
Kitty bent over the side of the boat staring towards the dim spot he
showed her--where was the mouth of the sea.
"Kitty!" said Cliffe's voice beside her, hoarse and hurried--"one word,
and I tell these fellows to set their helm for Trieste.
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