One of Miriam's friends took the matter sadly to heart. This was the

young Italian. Donatello, as we have seen, had been an eyewitness of

the stranger's first appearance, and had ever since nourished a singular

prejudice against the mysterious, dusky, death-scented apparition.

It resembled not so much a human dislike or hatred, as one of those

instinctive, unreasoning antipathies which the lower animals sometimes

display, and which generally prove more trustworthy than the acutest

insight into character. The shadow of the model, always flung into the

light which Miriam diffused around her, caused no slight trouble to

Donatello. Yet he was of a nature so remarkably genial and joyous, so

simply happy, that he might well afford to have something subtracted

from his comfort, and make tolerable shift to live upon what remained.




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