Italy even as they swarm here. Everywhere you will find them, except in heaven.'
'Dear father,' cried Tita, still supporting the angry old man, as he limped up the curved oaken stair. 'You must not forget that these good signori who have preserved us are also English.'
'Ah yes. My pardon, sirs! Come into my room here. There are some who might find some pleasure in these paintings, but I learn that the art of war is the only art which is held in honour in your island.'
The low-roofed, oak-panelled room into which he conducted them was brilliantly lighted by four scented oil-lamps. Against the walls, upon the table, on the floor, and in every part of the chamber, were great sheets of glaas painted in the most brilliant colours. Ford and Edricson gazed around them in amazement, for never had they seen such magnificent works of art.
'You like them, then,' the lame artist cried, in answer to the look of pleasure and of surprise in their faces. 'There are, then, some of you who have a taste for such trifling.'
'I could not have believed it,' exclaimed Alleyne. 'What colour! What outlines! See to this martyrdom of the holy Stephen, Ford. Could you not yourself pick up one of these stones which lie to the hand of the wicked murtherers?'
'And see this stag, Alleyne, with the cross betwixt its horns. By my faith! I have never seen a better one at the Forest of Bere.'
'And the green of this grass—how bright and clear! Why, all the painting that I have seen is but child's play beside this. This worthy gentleman must be one of those great painters of whom I have oft heard brother Bartholomew speak in the old days at Beaulieu.'
The dark mobile face of the artist shone with pleasure at the unaffected delight of the two young Englishmen. His daughter had thrown off her mantle and disclosed a face of the finest and most delicate Italian beauty, which soon drew
