minating the vehement gesture of Peter,
the adoring and radiant silence of St. John--and striking even to the
farthest corners of the room, upon a woman, a child, a playing dog.
Meanwhile, from the hanging lamps above the supper-party there glows
another and more earthly light, mingled with fumes of smoke which darken
the upper air. But such is the power of the divine figure that from this
very darkness breaks adoration. The smoke-wreaths change under the
gazer's eye into hovering angels, who float round the head of the
Saviour, and look down with awe upon the first Eucharist; while the
lamp-light, interpenetrated by the glory which issues from the Lord,
searches every face and fold and surface, displays the figures of the
serving men and women in the background, shines on the household stuff,
the vases and plates, the black and white of the marble floor, the beams
of the old Venetian ceiling. Everywhere the double ray, the two-fold
magic! Steeped in these "majesties of light," the immortal scene lives
upon the quiet wall. Year after year the slender, thought-worn Christ
raises His hands of blessing; the disciples strain towards Him; the
angels issue from the darkness; the friendly domestic life, happy,
natural, unconscious, frames the divine mystery. And among those who
come to look there are, from time to time, men and women who draw from
it that restlessness of vague emotion which Kitty felt as she hung now,
gazing, on Ashe's arm.

For there is in it an appeal which torments them--like the winding of a
mystic horn, on purple heights, by some approaching and unseen
messenger. Ineffable beauty, offering itself--and in the human soul, the
eternal human discord: what else makes the poignancy of art--the passion
of poetry?

* * * * *

"That's enough!" said Kitty, at last, turning abruptly away.

"You like it?" said Ashe, softly, detaining her, while he pressed the
little hand upon his arm. His heart was filled with a great pity for his
wife in these days.

"Oh, I don't know!" was Kitty's impatient reply.

"It haunts me. There's still another to see--in a chapel. The
sacristan's making signs to us."

"Is there?" Ashe stifled a yawn. He asked Margaret French, who had come
up with them, whether Kitty had not had quite enough sight-seeing. He
himself must go to the Piazza, and get the news before dinner. As an
English cabinet minister, he had been admitted to the best club of the
Venice