Then she let the roller run, and the sound
of the travelling chain clanked dismally in that vaulted, empty place.
At length the pail struck the water, and she began to wind up again,
pausing at times to rest, for the distance was long and the chain heavy.
The bucket appeared. Benita drew it to the side of the well, and lifted
it from the hook, then took up her lamp to be gone.
Feeling or seeing something, which she was not sure, she held the lamp
above her head, and by its light perceived a figure standing between her
and the entrance to the cave.
"Who are you?" she asked, whereon a soft voice answered out of the
darkness, the voice of Jacob Meyer.
"Do you mind standing still for a few minutes, Miss Clifford? I have
some paper here and I wish to make a sketch. You do not know how
beautiful you look with that light above your head illuminating the
shadows and the thorn-crowned crucifix beyond. You know, whatever paths
fortune may have led me into, by nature I am an artist, and never in my
life have I seen such a picture. One day it will make me famous.
'How statue-like I see thee stand!
The agate lamp within thy hand.'
That's what I should put under it; you know the lines, don't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Meyer, but I am afraid you will have to paint your picture
from memory, as I cannot hold up this lamp any longer; my arm is aching
already.
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