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the young, unnoted Florentine sculptor in the presence of the Mary he had evoked!

It was a gloriously beautiful form, full of the most exquisite delicacy, the most speaking grace, the most touching purity. The kneeling figure, though ethereally fragile, was rounded to such perfection that laughing dimples were pressed upon the falling shoulders, the Andalusian feet, the dainty hands. The swell of the expanding bosom, just budding into the fulness of womanhood, was revealed beneath the transparent drapery. The small, poetically shaped head was raised, disclosing the graceful curve of the slender throat; the upturned face seemed gazing with inspired devotion, into that of the Saviour. The hair flowed to the ground in rippling waves. One hand held the box of ointment; the other clasped the clustering tresses, as though in the act of pressing them upon the Redeemer's feet.

But there was a marked defect in the marble representation, though Andrea saw it not. That face and form inspired the gazer with a sense of the spiritualizing power of perfect chastity. Its loveliness was that of the most unsullied innocence. No trace of sensuous emotion was visible. It was not possible to imagine that one whose soul had been heavy with sin, could ever again wear a look so pure.

While Andrea sat dreaming before his masterpiece, a light tap on the door was thrice repeated,