ied.

The light waned, and he took down the curtain to admit the last glows of
the evening. He could do no more, art itself could have done no more to
beautify and perfect the masterpiece that lay upon the cushion before
him. The many hours he had spent in putting the last finish upon the
work had produced their result. His hand had imparted something to the
features of the dying head which had not been there before, and as he
stood over the bench he knew that he had surpassed his greatest work. He
went and fetched the black cross from the shelf, and polished its smooth
surface carefully with a piece of silk. Then he took the figure tenderly
in his hands and laid it in its position. The small screws turned evenly
in the threads, fitting closely into their well-concealed places, and
the work was finished. Marzio placed the whole crucifix upon the bench
and sat down to look at it.

It made a strong impression upon him, this thing of his own hands, and
again he remained a long time resting his chin upon his folded fingers
and gazing up at the drooping lids. The shadows lay softly on the
modelled silver, so softly that the metal itself seemed to tremble and
move, and in his reverie Marzio could almost have expected the divine
eyes to open and look into his face. And gradually the shadows deepened
more and more, and gathered into gloom till in the dark the black arms
of the cross scarcely stood out from the darkness, and in the last
lingering twilight he could see only the clear outline of the white head
and outstretched hands, that seemed to emit a soft radiance gathered
from the brightness of the departed day.

Marzio struck a match and lit his lamp. His thoughts were so wholly
absorbed that he had not remembered the workmen, nor wondered why they
had not come back. After all, most of them lived in the direction of the
church, and if they had finished their work late they would very
probably go home without returning to the shop. The chiseller wrapped
the crucifix in the old white cloth, and laid it in its plain wooden
box, but he did not screw the cover down, merely putting it on loosely
so that it could be removed in a moment. He laid his tools in order,
mechanically, as he did every evening, and then he extinguished the
light and made his way to the door, carrying the box under his arm.

The boy who alone had remained at work had lighted a tallow candle, and
was sitting dangling his heels from his stool as Marzio cam