"Mind ye," he muttered hastily, as he paused outside the door of the studio for a moment, to pull and pat his great package into an orderliness somewhat destroyed by its carriage from his house--"mind ye, neighbour, I have brought thee hither, and the rest of the business ye must manage for yourself; for never another step in so craze-pate an affair, and one so near akin to rack and faggot, will you get me to stir, though you should promise me the free gift of your next freight of Venice glass entire." "Nay then, friend Pedro, I'll do more," was the laughing whisper; "if my hopes succeed, I'll even 'you' thee in gratitude, as thou dost me for repression." A little further compression of the wrinkled lips, a little further wrinkling of the furrowed forehead, gave the only sign of that mocking speech having been heard; and an instant later jovial Master Sancho appeared as sedately ceremonious as his companion, for they had entered the studio, and stood in the great man's presence, from whom both hoped great things; the spice-dealer for himself, the trader with Italy for another. A man between fifty and sixty was the Señor Antonio del Rincon, the gravity of genius somewhat tempered in his countenance by the suavity learned from contact with that sweet woman, as she was noble Queen, Isabella of Castile. At the artist's elbow stood the handsome young Montoro, who raised his great earnest eyes with a swift smile of recognition as Master Sancho entered, and then bent them once more over the colours he was grinding with most diligent care, for his employer. Never once again did he cease work during the animated discussion that ensued between the painter and the owner of the curiosities, although his friendly well-wisher marked the eager flush that crimsoned his whole face when a few words were spoken over the veil, of the splendid daring of Don Juan Chacon, Ponce de Leon, and their two companions, when they stood victors over the four false-hearted Zegries within the walls of Granada. "Humph! He is worth better things than such a task as that," ejaculated the burgess, unconsciously uttering his thought aloud. The painter turned to him surprised. "Hey, master merchant, what is it thou sayest? That the veil is too honourable to take a subordinate place on my canvas, thou thinkest? Well, maybe thou art right," beginning to relapse into abstracted contemplation of his work; but with eager deference Master Sancho stepped forward, putting into words the first thoughts that occurred to him. Pointing a trembling finger towards a somewhat coarse dish holding gifts presented to the infant in the manger, he said hastily: "It was not of the veil I was thinking. But if Señor Antonio would be pleased to accept of a dish of crystal, curiously chased, and worked with gold and gems, for use instead of yon, I would gladly bestow it for the grand picture's sake, and for the Virgin's honour."