less portion of the sky, admitting only
from high upward that partial light which, with its strongly marked
contrast of shadow, is the first requisite towards seeing objects
pictorially. Pencil-drawings were pinned against the wall or scattered
on the tables. Unframed canvases turned their backs on the spectator,
presenting only a blank to the eye, and churlishly concealing whatever
riches of scenery or human beauty Miriam's skill had depicted on the
other side.

In the obscurest part of the room Donatello was half startled at
perceiving duskily a woman with long dark hair, who threw up her arms
with a wild gesture of tragic despair, and appeared to beckon him into
the darkness along with her.

"Do not be afraid, Donatello," said Miriam, smiling to see him peering
doubtfully into the mysterious dusk. "She means you no mischief, nor
could perpetrate any if she wished it ever so much. It is a lady of
exceedingly pliable disposition; now a heroine of romance, and now a
rustic maid; yet all for show; being created, indeed, on purpose to wear
rich shawls and other garments in a becoming fashion. This is the true
end of her being, although she pretends to assume the most varied duties
and perform many parts in life, while really the poor puppet has nothing
on earth to do. Upon my word, I am satirical unawares, and seem to be
describing nine women out of ten in the person of my lay-figure. For
most purposes she has the advantage of the sisterhood. Would I were like
her!"

"How it changes her aspect," exclaimed Donatello, "to know that she is
but a jointed figure! When my eyes first fell upon her, I thought her
arms moved, as if beckoning me to help her in some direful peril."

"Are you often troubled with such sinister freaks of fancy?" asked
Miriam. "I should not have supposed it."

"To tell you the truth, dearest signorina," answered the young Italian,
"I am apt to be fearful in old, gloomy houses, and in the dark. I love
no dark or dusky corners, except it be in a grotto, or among the thick
green leaves of an arbor, or in some nook of the woods, such as I know
many in the neighborhood of my home. Even there, if a stray sunbeam
steal in, the shadow is all the better for its cheerful glimmer."

"Yes; you are a Faun, you know," said the fair artist, laughing at the
remembrance of the scene of the day before. "But the world is sadly
changed nowadays; grievously changed, poor Donatello, since those happy
times when your r