our artfully arranged lights and shadows. Amuse yourself with some
of mine, Donatello, and by and by I shall be in the mood to begin the
portrait we were talking about."

The room had the customary aspect of a painter's studio; one of those
delightful spots that hardly seem to belong to the actual world, but
rather to be the outward type of a poet's haunted imagination, where
there are glimpses, sketches, and half-developed hints of beings and
objects grander and more beautiful than we can anywhere find in reality.
The windows were closed with shutters, or deeply curtained, except one,
which was partly open to a sunless portion of the sky, admitting only
from high upward that partial light which, with its strongly marked
contrast of shadow, is the first requisite towards seeing objects
pictorially. Pencil-drawings were pinned against the wall or scattered
on the tables. Unframed canvases turned their backs on the spectator,
presenting only a blank to the eye, and churlishly concealing whatever
riches of scenery or human beauty Miriam's skill had depicted on the
other side.

In the obscurest part of the room Donatello was half startled at
perceiving duskily a woman with long dark hair, who threw up her arms
with a wild gesture of tragic despair, and appeared to beckon him into
the darkness along with her.

"Do not be afraid, Donatello," said Miriam, smiling to see him peering
doubtfully into the mysterious dusk. "She means you no mischief, nor
could perpetrate any if she wished it ever so much. It is a lady of
exceedingly pliable disposition; now a heroine of romance, and now a
rustic maid; yet all for show; being created, indeed, on purpose to wear
rich shawls and other garments in a becoming fashion. This is the true