ssionate
outburst of rage. He only spoke in this way when concealing what was
seething within. Besides, there was another token. The Netherlander
had intentionally commenced a conversation on art, and it was almost
unprecedented to find Philip disinclined to enter into one. The blow had
been scarcely perceptible, but Majesty will not endure a touch.

Philip did not wish to quarrel with the artist now, but he would
remember the incident, and woe betide him, if in some gloomy hour the
sovereign should recall the insult offered him here. Even the lightest
blow from the paw of this slinking tiger could inflict deep wounds--even
death.

These thoughts had darted with the speed of lightning through the
artist's mind, and still lingered there as, respectfully declining to
take the palette, he replied "I beseech you, Sire, keep the brush and
colors, and correct what you dislike."

"That would mean to repaint the whole picture, and my time is limited,"
answered Philip. "You are responsible for your pupils' faults, as well
as for your own offences. Every one is granted, allowed, offered, what
is his due; is it not so, dear master? Another time, then, you shall
hear from me!" In the doorway the monarch kissed his hand to the artist,
then disappeared.

CHAPTER XVII.

Moor remained alone in the studio. How could he have played such a
boyish prank!

He was gazing anxiously at the floor, for he had good reason to be
troubled, though the reflection that he had been alone with the king,
and the unprecedented act had occurred without witnesses, somewhat
soothed him. He could not know that a third person, Ulrich, had beheld
the reckless, fateful contest.

The boy had been drawing in the adjoining room, when loud voices were
heard in the studio. He cherished a boundless reverence, bordering upon
idolatry, for his first model, the beautiful Sophonisba, and supposing
that it was she, discussing works of art with Moor, as often happened,
he opened the door, pushed back the curtain, and saw the artist tap the
chuckling king on the arm.

The scene was a merry one, yet a thrill of fear ran through his limbs,
and he went back to his plaster model more rapidly than he had come.

At nightfall Moor sought Sophonisba. He had been invited to a ball
given by the queen, and knew that he should find the maid of honor among
Isabella's attendants.

The magnificent apartments were made as light as day by thousands of
wax-candles in silve