into her plans for the day with so much alacrity that she was
surprised and delighted.

"If you go on like this," she said, "you will be perfectly well in a
month."

I was utterly unable to account for the remedial influence Raffaello
Cellini's presence had upon me; but such as it was I could not but
be grateful for the respite it gave me from nervous suffering, and
my now daily visits to the artist's studio were a pleasure and a
privilege not to be foregone. Moreover, I was never tired of looking
at his pictures. His subjects were all original, and some of them
were very weird and fantastic. One large picture particularly
attracted me. It was entitled "Lords of our Life and Death."
Surrounded by rolling masses of cloud, some silver-crested, some
shot through with red flame, was depicted the World, as a globe half
in light, half in shade. Poised above it was a great Angel, upon
whose calm and noble face rested a mingled expression of deep
sorrow, yearning pity, and infinite regret. Tears seemed to glitter
on the drooping lashes of this sweet yet stern Spirit; and in his
strong right hand he held a drawn sword--the sword of destruction--
pointed forever downwards to the fated globe at his feet. Beneath
this Angel and the world he dominated was darkness--utter
illimitable darkness. But above him the clouds were torn asunder,
and through a transparent veil of light golden mist, a face of
surpassing beauty was seen--a face on which youth, health, hope,
love, and ecstatic joy all shone with ineffable radiance. It was the
personification of Life--not life as we know it, brief and full of
care--but Life Immortal and Love Triumphant. Often and often I found
myself standing before this masterpiece of Cellini's genius, gazing