“Your castle is as big as a mountain,” she said to the duke; “you go up and go down. I am now in full training for my excursion to the Roman ruins, and to that not less venerable ruin, the sorceress. When shall we go, monseigneur?”
“Presently,” said the duke, as he pointed to packages and luggage by the door of the hall. “But if I were you, I would not go to Drina,” he added earnestly.
“Do you fear for the escort which accompanies us?” said Ethel, with a smile.
“No; but if harm should come to you, what grief for me!” replied the duke.
“Nothing will happen to us!” said Ethel. “And then, can you imagine me going back to Chicago without having had a single kodak-shot at brigands from nature?”
“I am unable to accompany you, and I regret it,” said the duke. “I have to make an inspection of the coast, and I ought also to receive a delegation of the people.”
“We shall go alone,” said Ethel. “St. Morgana will protect us.”
Something happened which greatly amused Ethel and grandma; and the duke himself could not help smiling. Adalbert broke off his play with Sœurette, and came running to his father. He looked in turn at the Morgana of the picture and at Helia, who was sitting near it. The great canvas, illuminated by the stained-glass window, harmonized splendidly with the hall. At the distance where Ethel and the duke were placed, there was nothing to hide the view of the painting. They saw all its details, even the crowd which Phil had depicted along the shore; it might have been the same crowd which thronged the jetty the evening of the yacht’s arrival, when the booming of the cannon drew the people to the sea.
But the crowd in Phil’s picture was more animated and gay. Instead of the gloom of discouragement, it seemed transfigured by hope. It acclaimed the heroine; Rhodaïs and Bertha and Thilda, with swords in their hands, appeared amid the clouds. Everything in the magnificent picture was strange and supernatural.
The child had just been struck by the resemblance between the model and the portrait of Morgana; his astonishment was touching, as he looked from one to the other. He asked himself if the ancient legends were not realized at last! if Morgana herself had not risen again from the past, to be painted by Phil.