t she might
not seem to crowd Wharton's own work into the darkness; partly out of
pure diffidence, Esther chose the least conspicuous space, and there a
sort of studio was railed off for her, breast high, within which she was
mistress. Wharton, when painting, was at this time engaged at some
distance, but on the same scaffolding, near the nave.

The great church was silent with the echoing silence which is audible.
Except for a call from workmen below to those at work above, or for the
murmur of the painters as they chatted in intervals of rest, or for
occasional hammering, which echoed in hollow reverberations, no sound
disturbed repose. Here one felt the meaning of retreat and
self-absorption, the dignity of silence which respected itself; the
presence which was not to be touched or seen. To a simple-minded child
like Catherine Brooke, the first effect was as impressive as though she
were in the church of St. Mark's. She was overwhelmed by the space and
silence, the color and form; and as she came close to Wharton's four
great figures of the evangelists and saw how coarsely they were painted,
and looked sheer down from them upon the distant church-floor, she
thought herself in an older world, and would hardly have felt surprised
at finding herself turned into an Italian peasant-girl, and at seeing
Michael Angelo and Raphael, instead of Wharton and Esther, walk in at
the side door, and proceed to paint her in celestial grandeur and
beauty, as the new Madonna of the prairie, over the high altar.

This humility lasted several minutes. Then after glancing steadfastly at
Wharton's figure of John of Patmos which stood next to that which
Esther was to paint, Catherine suddenly broke out:

"Shade of Columbus! You are not going to make me look like that?"

"I suppose I must," replied Esther, mischievously.

"Lean and dingy, in a faded brown blanket?" asked Catherine in evident
anguish.

"So Mr. Wharton says," answered Esther, unrelentingly.

"Not if I'm there," rejoined Catherine, this time with an air of calm
decision. "I'm no such ornery saint as that."

Henceforth she applied all her energies and feminine charms to the task
of preventing this disaster, and her first effort was to make a conquest
of Wharton. Esther stood in fear of the painter, who was apt to be too
earnest to measure his words with great care. He praised little and
found fault much. He broke out in rage with all work that seemed to him
weak or sent