id not believe it; but now I do. I believe it, and shall do so, till you
have withstood your trial. For the gambler I am too good, to the artist
Navarrete I will joyfully keep my promise. Not a word, I will hear no
more. Come, father! If he loves me, he will understand how to win me. I
am afraid of this man."

Ulrich now knew who was in fault, and who in the right. Strong impulse
urged him away from the studio, away from Art and his betrothed bride;
for he had forfeited all the best things in life.

But Coello barred his way. He was not the man, for the sake of a brawl
and luck at play, to break friendship with the faithful companion, who
had shown distinctly enough how fondly he loved his darling. He had
hidden behind these bushes himself in his youth, and yet become a skilful
artist and good husband.

He willingly yielded to his wife in small matters, in important ones he
meant to remain master of the house. Herrera was a great scholar and
artist, but an insignificant man; and he allowed himself to be paid like
a bungler. Ulrich's manly beauty had pleased him, and under his, Coello's
teaching, he would make his mark. He, the father knew better what suited
Isabella than she herself. Girls do not sob so bitterly as she had done,
as soon as the door of the studio closed behind her, unless they are in
love.

Whence did she obtain this cool judgment? Certainly not from him, far
less from her mother.

Perhaps she only wished to arouse Navarrete to do his best at the trial.
Coello smiled; it was in his power to judge mildly.

So he detained Ulrich with cheering words, and gave him a task in which
he could probably succeed. He was to paint a Madonna and Child, and two
months were allowed him for the work. There was a studio in the Casa del
Campo, he could paint there and need only promise never to visit the
Alcazar before the completion of the work.

Ulrich consented. Isabella must be his. Scorn for scorn!

She should learn which was the stronger.

He knew not whether he loved or hated her, but her resistance had
passionately inflamed his longing to call her his. He was determined, by
summoning all his powers, to create a masterpiece. What Titian had
approved must satisfy a Coello! so he began the task.

A strong impulse urged him to sketch boldly and without long
consideration, the picture of the Madonna, as it had once lived in his
soul, but he restrained himself, repeating the warning words which had so
often b