other things, and he had fancied he should do
better yet. At last he screwed it up in a wooden case and put it at the
bottom of his strong box, resolving never to look at it again. Many
years had passed since he had laid eyes upon it.

The idea which had come to him when Paolo had communicated the order to
him on the previous evening, had seemed absolutely new. It had appeared
to him as a glorification of the work he had executed in secret so long
ago. Time, and the habit of dissatisfaction had effaced from his mind
the precise image of the work of the past, and the emotions of the
present had seemed something new to him. He had drawn and modelled
during many hours, and yet he was utterly disappointed with the new
result. He felt the innate consciousness of having done it before, and
of having done it better.

And now the wonderful masterpiece of his earlier years stood before
him--the tall and massive ebony cross, bearing the marvellous figure of
the dead Saviour. A ray of sunlight fell through the grated window upon
the dying head, illuminating the points of the thorns in the crown, the
falling locks of hair, the tortured hands, and casting a shadow of death
beneath the half-closed eyes.

For several minutes Marzio sat motionless on his stool, realising the
whole strength and beauty of what he had done ten years before. Then he
wanted to get a better view of it. It was not high enough above him, for
it was meant to stand upon an altar. He could not see the face. He
looked about for something upon which to make it stand, but nothing was
near. He pushed away his stool, and turning the cross a little, so that
the sunlight should strike it at a better angle, he kneeled down on the
floor, his hands resting on the edge of the bench, and he looked up at
the image of the dead Christ.

CHAPTER VII

When Don Paolo left the workshop, he immediately crossed over and
entered the street door of Marzio's house, intending to tell Maria Luisa
and Lucia the result of the interview. He had not got to the top of the
first flight of stairs when he heard Gianbattista's step behind him, and
turning he saw the young man's angry face.

"What is the matter, Tista?" asked the priest, stopping on the steps and
laying his hand on the iron railing.

"I am discharged, turned out, insulted by that animal!" answered the
apprentice hotly. "He is like a piece of wood! You might as well talk to
a wall! You had only just closed the door w