Pagina 321 de 490

Was it some dim sense of that ruined grace that had made him so

suddenly, and almost without cause, give utterance, in Basil

Hallward's studio, to the mad prayer that had so changed his

life? Here, in gold-embroidered red doublet, jewelled surcoat,

and gilt-edged ruff and wristbands, stood Sir Anthony Sherard,

with his silver-and-black armour piled at his feet. What had this

man's legacy been? Had the lover of Giovanna of Naples bequeathed

him some inheritance of sin and shame? Were his own actions

merely the dreams that the dead man had not dared to realize?

Here, from the fading canvas, smiled Lady Elizabeth Devereux, in

her gauze hood, pearl stomacher, and pink slashed sleeves. A

flower was in her right hand, and her left clasped an enamelled

collar of white and damask roses. On a table by her side lay a

mandolin and an apple. There were large green rosettes upon her

little pointed shoes. He knew her life, and the strange stories

that were told about her lovers.