mother's prediction had found ample fulfilment.--Julius paused, shifted
his position uneasily, somewhat fearful of the conclusions of his own
reasoning.

For how about the second clause of that same prediction? How about the
advent of that strange child of promise, who preordained in his own
flesh to bear the last and heaviest stroke at the hands of retributive
justice, should, rightly bearing it, bring salvation both to himself
and to his race? Behind the coarse and illiterate presentiment of the
chap-book, Julius began dimly to apprehend a somewhat majestic moral
and spiritual tragedy, a tragedy of vicarious suffering crowned by
triumphant emancipation. Thus has God, as he reflected with a
self-condemnatory emotion of humility, chosen the base things of the
world and those which are despised--yea, and the things which are not,
to bring to nought the things which are.--His heart, hungry of all
martyrdom, all saintly doings, went forth to welcome the idea. But
then, he asked himself almost awed, in this sceptical, rationalistic
age, are such semi-miraculous moral examples still possible? And
answered, with strong exultation--as one finding practical
justification of a long, though silently, cherished conviction--yes,
that even now, nineteen centuries after the death of that divine Saving
Victim to whose service he had devoted his life and the joys of his
manhood, such nobly sad and strange happenings may still be.

And even while he thus answered, his eyes were drawn involuntarily to
the portrait of the unsightly dwarf, painted by Velasquez. The broad
shaft of sunlight had crept backward, away from it, leaving the canvas
unobtrusive, no longer harshly evident either in violence of colour or
grotesqueness of form. It had become part of the great whole, merely
modulated to gracious harmony with the divers objects surrounding it,
and like them softly overlaid by a diffused and silvery light.

CHAPTER V

IN WHICH JULIUS MARCH BEHOLDS THE VISION OF THE NEW LIFE

He was aroused from these austere, yet, to him, inspiring reflections
by the click of an opening door and the sound of women's voices.
Mademoiselle de Mirancourt paused on the threshold, one hand raised in
quick admiration, the other resting on Lady Calmady's arm.

"But this is superb," she cried gaily. "Your charming King Richard,
_Coeur d' Or_, has given you a veritable palace to inhabit!"

"Ah yes! King Richard has indeed given me a palace to live