The gondola of old Antonio glided abeam.
"Push thy soul into the blade," muttered he of the mask, "or thou wilt yet be beaten!" The fisherman threw every effort of his body on the coming effort, and he gained a fathom.

Another stroke caused the boat to quiver to its centre, and the water curled from its bows like the ripple of a rapid.
Then the gondola darted between the two goal-barges, and the little flags that marked the point of victory fell into the water.

The action was scarce noted ere the glittering beak of the masquer shot past the eyes of the judges, who doubted for an instant on whom success had fallen.

Gino was not long behind, and after him came Bartolomeo, fourth and last in the best contested race which had ever been seen on the waters of Venice.
When the flags fell, men held their breaths in suspense.

Few knew the victor, so close had been the struggle.