his throat. "Henceforth, I am nothing but a shadow behind her footsteps.
She came to me when I sought her not. She has called me forth, and must
abide the consequences of my reappearance in the world."

"Holy Virgin! I wish the signorina joy of her prize," said the guide,
half to himself. "And in any case, the catacomb is well rid of him."

We need follow the scene no further. So much is essential to the
subsequent narrative, that, during the short period while astray in
those tortuous passages, Miriam had encountered an unknown man, and
led him forth with her, or was guided back by him, first into the
torchlight, thence into the sunshine.

It was the further singularity of this affair, that the connection, thus
briefly and casually formed, did not terminate with the incident
that gave it birth. As if her service to him, or his service to her,
whichever it might be, had given him an indefeasible claim on Miriam's
regard and protection, the Spectre of the Catacomb never long allowed
her to lose sight of him, from that day forward. He haunted her
footsteps with more than the customary persistency of Italian
mendicants, when once they have recognized a benefactor. For days
together, it is true, he occasionally vanished, but always reappeared,
gliding after her through the narrow streets, or climbing the hundred
steps of her staircase and sitting at her threshold.

Being often admitted to her studio, he left his features, or some shadow
or reminiscence of them, in many of her sketches and pictures. The moral
atmosphere of these productions was thereby so influenced, that rival
painters pronounced it a case of hopeless mannerism, which would destroy
all Miriam's prospects of true excellence in art.