the walls within the entry were a number of tall, narrow frescoes,
presenting a moral allegory of Peace, which Chiaro had painted that
year for the Church. The Gherghiotti stood with their backs to these
frescoes: and among them Golzo Ninuccio, the youngest noble of the
faction, called by the people of Golaghiotta, for his debased life.
This youth had remained for some while talking listlessly to his
fellows, though with his sleepy sunken eyes fixed on them who passed:
but now, seeing that no man jostled another, he drew the long silver
shoe off his foot, and struck the dust out of it on the cloak of him
who was going by, asking him how far the tides rose at Viderza. And
he said so because it was three months since, at that place, the
Gherghiotti had beaten the Marotoli to the sands, and held them there
while the sea came in; whereby many had been drowned. And, when he
had spoken, at once the whole archway was dazzling with the light of
confused swords; and they who had left turned back; and they who were
still behind made haste to come forth: and there was so much blood
cast up the walls on a sudden, that it ran in long streams down
Chiaro's paintings.

Chiaro turned himself from the window; for the light felt dry between
his lids, and he could not look. He sat down, and heard the noise of
contention driven out of the church-porch and a great way through the
streets; and soon there was a deep murmur that heaved and waxed from
the other side of the city, where those of both parties were
gathering to join in the tumult.

Chiaro sat with his face in his open hands. Once again he had wished
to set his foot on a place that looked green and fertile; and once
again it seemed to him that the thin rank mask was about to spread
away, and that this time the chill of the water must leave leprosy in
his flesh. The light still swam in his head, and bewildered him at
first; but when he knew his thoughts, they were these:--

"Fame failed me: faith failed me: and now this also,--the hope that I
nourished in this my generation of men,--shall pass from me, and
leave my feet and my hands groping. Yet, because of this, are my feet
become slow and my hands thin. I am as one who, through the whole
night, holding his way diligently, hath smitten the steel unto the
flint, to lead some whom he knew darkling; who hath kept his eyes
always on the sparks that himself made, lest they should fail; and
who, towards dawn, turning to bid them that