Mr. Sumner had been calmed by the lesson of Michael Angelo’s frescoes, as he had often been before.  In the presence of eternal verities,—­however they may be embodied to us,—­our own private concerns must ever grow trivial.  What matters a little unrest or disappointment, or even unhappiness, when our thought is engaged with untold ages of God’s dealing with mankind?  With the wondrous fact that God is with man,—­Immanuel,—­forever and forevermore?

That evening he spent with the family in their pretty sitting room, and in answer to some questions about the Last Judgment, talked for a few minutes about this large fresco, which occupied seven years of Michael Angelo’s life.  He told them that although it is not perhaps so great as a work of art as the ceiling frescoes, yet because of its conception, of the number of figures introduced, the boldness of their treatment, and the magnificence of their drawing, it stands unrivalled.  He said they ought to study it, bit by bit, group by group, after having once learned to understand its design.

They talked of the grim humor of the artist in giving his Belial—­the master of Hades—­the face of the master of ceremonies of the chapel, who found so much fault with his painting of nude figures.

“That was the chief feature of interest in the picture to that group of young people who stood so long before it this morning,” said Mr. Sumner.  “I often notice that the portrait of grouty old Biagio attracts more attention than any other of the nearly three hundred figures in the picture.”

“I don’t wonder, for I want to see it too,” said Malcom, laughing.

They talked also of Vittoria Colonna, at whose home and in whose companionship the lonely master found all his happiness, especially during these years of toil.  The girls were much interested in her, and Mr. Sumner said he would take them to visit the Colonna Palace, where, among other pictures, they would find a portrait of this noble woman, who was so famous in the literary life of her time.

* * * * *

One morning, not long after, Malcom brought a handful of letters from the banker’s, among which several fell to Barbara and Bettina.

After opening two or three of his own, Mr. Sumner looked up and said:—­

“I have here a letter dictated by Howard’s grandmother.  It contains only a few words, which were written evidently by some friend, who adds that the poor old lady is greatly prostrated, and it is feared will never recover from the shock of his death.”

“Poor woman!  I wish it might have come less suddenly to her,” replied Mrs. Douglas, in a sympathetic voice.

After a little silence, during which all were busy with their letters, a low cry burst from Barbara’s lips.

Startled, all looked up to find her, pale as death, staring at a sheet clutched in her hand, while Bettina had sunk on her knees with her arms about her sister’s waist.