cular."

"Quite so, my dear; and did you mention that they never sleep in
anything but linen, and that Miss Sophia puts away the furs and blankets
every spring with her own hands? Both those facts are interesting to the
student of human nature." Doctor Lombard glanced at his watch. "But we
are missing an incomparable moment; the light is perfect at this hour."

Wyant rose, and the doctor led him through the tapestried door and down
the passageway.

The light was, in fact, perfect, and the picture shone with an inner
radiancy, as though a lamp burned behind the soft screen of the lady's
flesh. Every detail of the foreground detached itself with jewel-like
precision. Wyant noticed a dozen accessories which had escaped him on
the previous day.

He drew out his note-book, and the doctor, who had dropped his sardonic
grin for a look of devout contemplation, pushed a chair forward, and
seated himself on a carved settle against the wall.

"Now, then," he said, "tell Clyde what you can; but the letter killeth."

He sank down, his hands hanging on the arm of the settle like the claws
of a dead bird, his eyes fixed on Wyant's notebook with the obvious
intention of detecting any attempt at a surreptitious sketch.

Wyant, nettled at this surveillance, and disturbed by the speculations
which Doctor Lombard's strange household excited, sat motionless for a
few minutes, staring first at the picture and then at the blank pages
of the note-book. The thought that Doctor Lombard was enjoying his
discomfiture at length roused him, and he began to write.

He was interrupted by a knock on the iron door. Doctor Lombard rose to
unlock it, and his daughter entered.

She bowed hurriedly to Wyant, without looking at him.

"Father, had you forgotten that the man from Monte Amiato was to come
back this morning with an answer about the bas-relief? He is here now;
he says he can't wait."

"The devil!" cried her father impatiently. "Didn't you tell him--"

"Yes; but he says he can't come back. If you want to see him you must
come now."

"Then you think there's a chance?--"

She nodded.

He turned and looked at Wyant, who was writing assiduously.

"You will stay here, Sybilla; I shall be back in a moment."

He hurried out, locking the door behind him.

Wyant had looked up, wondering if Miss Lombard would show any surprise
at being locked in with him; but it was his turn to be surprised, for
hardly had they heard the key withdrawn