quiringly.

"Are you again thinking of the subjects?" he asked.

"Yes. I can't help it. I have avoided them, because I knew how
impossible it was for me to judge them only as art."

"Then you have the same difficulty with nearly all Italian pictures?"

She hesitated; but, without turning her eyes to him, said at length:

"I can't easily explain to you the distinction there is for me between
the Old Testament and the New. I was taught almost exclusively out of
the Old--at least, it seems so to me. I have had to study the New for
myself, and it helps rather than hinders my enjoyment of pictures taken
from it. The religion of my childhood was one of bitterness and
violence and arbitrary judgment and hatred."

"Ah, but there is quite another side to the Old Testament--those parts
of it, at all events, that are illustrated up in the Loggia. Will you
come up there with me?"

She rose without speaking. They left the chapel, and ascended the
stairs.

"You are not under the impression," he said, with a smile, as they
walked side by side, "that the Old Testament is responsible for those
horrors we have just been speaking of?"

"They are in _that_ spirit. My reading of the New omits everything of
the kind."

"So does mine. But we have no justification."

"We can select what is useful to us, and reject what does harm."

"Yes; but then--"

He did not finish the sentence, and they went into the pictured Loggia.
Here, choosing out his favourites, Mallard endeavoured to explain all
his joy in them. He showed her how it was Hebrew history made into a
series of exquisite and touching legends; he dwelt on the sweet,
idyllic treatment, the lovely landscape, the tender idealism
throughout, the perfect adaptedness of gem-like colouring.

Miriam endeavoured to see with his eyes, but did not pretend to be
wholly successful. The very names were discordant to her ear.

"I will buy some photographs of them to take away," she said.

"Don't do that; they are useless. Colour and design are here
inseparable."

They stayed not more than half an hour; then left the Vatican together,
and walked to the front of St. Peter's in silence. Mallard looked at
his watch.

"You are going back to the hotel?"

"I suppose so."

"Shall I call one of those carriages?--I am going to have a walk on to
the Janiculum."

She glanced at the sky.

"There will be a fine view to-day."

"You wouldn't care to come so far?"

"Yes, I should enjoy t