"Myself, arch-traitor to myself;
My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,
My clog whatever road I go."
XVII
"'Among the numerous daubs with which Tintoret, to his everlasting shame, has covered this church—'"
"Good Heavens!—what does the man mean?—or is he talking of another church?" said Ashe, raising his head and looking in bewilderment, first at the magnificent Tintoret in front of him, and then at the lines he had just been reading.
"William!" cried Kitty, "do put that fool down and come here; one sees it splendidly!"
She was standing in one of the choir-stalls of San Giorgio Maggiore, somewhat raised above the point where Ashe had been studying his German hand-book.
"My dear, if this man doesn't know, who does!" cried Ashe, flourishing his volume in front of him as he obeyed her.
"'Dans le royaume des aveugles,'" said Kitty, contemptuously. "As if any German could even begin to understand Tintoret! But—don't talk!"
And clasping both hands round Ashe's arm, she stood leaning heavily upon him, her whole soul gazing from the eyes she turned upon the picture, her lips quivering, as though, from some physical weakness, she could only just hold back the tears with which, indeed, the face was charged.