'Aye,' he said with a smile, 'after tearing my clothes, fighting briars, stepping on toads, stifling with dust, and pitching on my face in the dark, I—'

'Fell into a pond!' laughed Graziosa.

'Got to the other end,' cried the little painter. 'Got to the other end!' Graziosa disappeared from the window, and came running into the courtyard, a slender figure in scarlet.

'Got to the other end,' repeated Vistarnini breathlessly. 'A noble underground passage, Graziosa, that is what we have discovered, large enough to admit an army if need were, and with a concealed opening, leading out through a cave to the midst of—'

'A pond,' suggested Graziosa with a glance at his garments. 'A wood—the pond was a mere accessory; a wood, some two miles beyond the town'

'Then since this end is reached from our house, we are the only ones who can gain access to it?' said Graziosa.

We are,' returned the painter proudly. 'And, Graziosa, we will remain so.'

'Thou mean'st thou wilt tell no one?' asked his daughter. 'No; it will be very useful. I hate to be for ever passing the gate, giving accounts of myself to every saucy soldier. In time of need, should there be a war then perchance we can speak of it.'

'I think we should speak of it now,' said Graziosa thoughtfully. 'I think we should tell the Duke.'

'Tell the weathercock!' said Vistarnini. 'I tell thee it will be useful; the tolls nearly ruin me—and now I can bring everything I buy outside in through the secret passage.'

''Tis scarce honest, Father'

Agnolo laughed.

'I discovered it,' he said. 'No one knew of it, and the Duke can well spare my tolls.'

'Meanwhile change thy dress, Father,' laughed Graziosa, 'and thou always dost as thou thinkest. I have no more to say.' Then, as Vistarnini moved toward the house, his daughter called after him softly:

'I may tell Ambrogio, Father?'

'Thou mayst do no such thing,' returned Agnolo. 'His conscience would prick him—he is over grave and honest—'

'He is not,' said Graziosa indignantly. 'I mean—he would not tell—I am sure he will not tell!'

'And so am I—for he will never know,' said Agnolo with a smile. 'Now thy promise, Graziosa, that thou tellest no one, not even thy precious Ambrogio—and the first thing I smuggle through shall be a new silk gown for thee!'

Graziosa laughed, and seated herself on the edge of the basin. 'I promise,' she called. 'But as for the gown, thou couldst have brought me that in any case!'

Vistarnini turned into the house, and silence again fell on the sunny courtyard.

Graziosa looked musingly at the gate, then down at her bare arm and sighed.

Two pet doves whirled down from the chestnuts and strutted across the courtyard, with a show of white tails.

Graziosa noticed them suddenly, in the midst of her dreaming, and was rising to get their evening meal, when the little painter, clean and reclothed, bustled out of the house, carrying a flat dish.

'Here is thy food!' he cried to the birds. 'Are ye hungry, little ones?'

And he threw the grain in a golden shower.

'Ambrogio is not here to see you feed today,' he continued. 'What makes him late, Graziosa?'

'The way is long,' she returned, 'from the convent where he works, Father, and the monks grudge him any time away from the altar-piece.'

'And the bracelet?' said Agnolo. 'He vowed thou shouldst have it back.'

'I wish he had not,' said the girl in distress. 'He will do something rash, I fear me. How can he get it back from the Visconti palace?'

'He won't get it back,' said the little painter cheerfully. 'Even a lover would not be quite so mad as to beard the Visconti for a toy.'

'Yet he swore I should have it again. It was rash of me to tell him how I lost it,' replied Graziosa.

'Then he would have thought thou hadst given it to the stone-cutter next door, and there would have been high words, flashing eyes. "Ha—ha—come out and be slain, thou varlet! Skulking dog, thou list!" then swords out, and thou lying in a faint—bewailing the day of thy birth. After that, thunder and lightning—gore—the brawlers driven into the street—the soldiers come up—and off we go to prison for disturbing the streets with our frays.'

'You jest too much, Father,' said Graziosa. 'It may be serious if Ambrogio try to recover the bracelet.'

But a light knock on the outer door interrupted her, and with a heightened colour she rose.

'It is he, Father!' she whispered. 'I knew he would not fail us.' Agnolo hurried forward and drew back the bolts, and truly enough Ambrogio entered.

Graziosa's lover was of medium height, a slight man, with beautiful grey eyes. His attire was the plain garb of a student. Today his right hand was hanging in a sling, while in, the other he carried a roll of drawings.

'Still alive!' said Agnolo pleasantly.