“Fourteen years ago today,” Arabel commenced, in a low, hurried voice, “my father died, and left you with three small children, myself the youngest, and for that reason most fondly cherished. ‘You must teach them how to live, Clarette,’ I heard him say, one bright, moonlit evening, when you was weeping by his bedside in our palace home, and we were nestled on the low divan in the deep windows, trembling and terrified. I remember every incident of the dark and dreadful days that followed, as well as though it were but yesterday. The heavy pall, with its silver trimmings, the jet-black horses, and the dark and solemn hearse. Then our house was barricaded, and even you, mother, will not dare to say that the noble band of Morrillo’s followers did not help us more than all the Venetian police. I saw them then on that fearful day, and I honored the bandit badge which bound them to each other. It is to them we owe all we have here to remind us of our former home; and even if they have in their possession the most valuable of our family treasures, it is better so than that our enemies should have them, is it not?” and the girl paused and looked calmly into her mother’s eyes. “Yes, Arabel,” was the half-stifled reply. “It is time that you should know what I never dared tell you before, even though it fixes you more firmly in the purpose I am trying to change. It is to the gray-haired Morrillo that we owe our present home. All you have ever known of your father is only what your own childish heart taught you to remember. But there is more for you to know, and you must know it. Signor Ortono was a friend to the Venetian Emperor at the time when his enemies were most numerous. When our house was barricaded, at the time you remember, was when the opposing party made their grand attack, and impoverished all the families that did not lend them aid. Ours of course must have yielded an easy prey, had it not been for the kindly interference of the pirate robbers, who, though they took a great deal that rightfully belonged to us, left us enough to procure a home and live comfortably. And this was fourteen years ago, when you had reached the third year of your sunny life. Ever since then I have heard from them occasionally, and now--O, bitter fate!--that my youngest, and, as it were, my only child, should so forget the high estate of her birth as to look with favor on the robber’s child!” And the mother ceased speaking, but the scornful tones of her voice still rung in the girl’s ears.