It grew darker and darker, the roll of the thunder was continuous, the blaze of the lightning lit up now and again all the shadows of the Etruscan sepulchres.
'I am afraid!' cried Zirlo, and hid his face, as the electric glare shone on the banquet painted on the walls.
'There is nothing that will hurt you,' said Musa more gently, remembering the great awe that had fallen even upon her in this place.
'But who are those?' said Zirlo, trembling, pointing to the figures of the frescoes.
'They are pictures of the dead; the dead of long ago,' said Musa with a wistful sadness and reverence in her voice. 'They used to reign here—here—and they must have been happy, I think; and they had flowers; see, there are the water-lilies like our lilies now, and the dog like my own white dog, and the pipe like that pipe you have cut from a reed. And yet it is all long, long ago, Joconda says; so long that the earth has had time to pile rocks and grow trees above their graves, and men have quite forgotten who they were.'
Zirlo was silent; this was a thing he could in no way grasp, and of time he had
