s I have ever told a tale at a supper with
Torrigiano. I knew Benedetto would understand, for, mad or sad, he was a
craftsman. I believed it to be the last tale I'd ever tell top of mortal
earth, and I would not put out bad work before I left the Lodge. All
art's one art, as I said. I bore Benedetto no malice. My spirits, d'ye
see, were catched up in a high, solemn exaltation, and I saw all earth's
vanities foreshortened and little, laid out below me like a town from a
cathedral scaffolding. I told him what befell, and what I thought of it.
I gave him the King's very voice at "Master Dawe, you've saved me thirty
pounds!"; his peevish grunt while he looked for the sword; and how the
badger-eyed figures of Glory and Victory leered at me from the Flemish
hangings. Body o' me, 'twas a fine, noble tale, and, as I thought, my
last work on earth.

'"That is how I was honoured by the King," I said. "They'll hang ye for
killing me, Benedetto. And, since you've killed in the King's Palace,
they'll draw and quarter you; but you're too mad to care. Grant me,
though, ye never heard a better tale." 'He said nothing, but I felt him
shake. My head on his chest shook; his right arm fell away, his
left dropped the knife, and he leaned with both hands on my
shoulder--shaking--shaking! I turned me round. No need to put my foot
on his knife. The man was speechless with laughter--honest craftsman's
mirth. The first time I'd ever seen him laugh. You know the mirth that
cuts off the very breath, while ye stamp and snatch at the short ribs?
That was Benedetto's case.

'When he began to roar and bay and whoop in the passage, I haled him
out into the street, and there we leaned against the wall and had it all
over again--waving our hands and wagging our heads--till the watch came
to know if we were drunk.

'Benedetto says to 'em, solemn as an owl: "You have saved me thirty
pounds, Mus' Dawe," and off he pealed. In some sort we were mad-drunk--I
because dear life had been given back to me, and he because, as he said
afterwards, because the old crust of hatred round his heart was broke up
and carried away by laughter. His very face had changed too.

'"Hal," he cries, "I forgive thee. Forgive me too, Hal. Oh, you English,
you English! Did it gall thee, Hal, to see the rust on the dirty sword?
Tell me again, Hal, how the King grunted with joy. Oh, let us tell the
Master."

'So we reeled back to the chapel, arms round each other's necks, and
whe