The man who spoke was a remarkably handsome man of about forty-four or five years of age, with a countenance of wonderful sweetness. He was dressed in a black velvet coat, with a small cap of the same material on his head, and a little feather in it. His seat was a large stone in the garden just before the window, and on his knee rested a curious-looking instrument, which seemed the model of a horse's head cut in silver and ivory. Upon it was stretched a small scrap of paper, on which he still went on, tracing something with a pencil. "This, sir, is hardly right," said Lorenzo, advancing to a door leading direct into the garden, which, like the window, was wide open. "You intrude upon our privacy somewhat boldly;" but the next instant he exclaimed, in a voice of delight, as he gazed over their strange visitor's shoulder, "Good heaven! how beautiful! Leonora! Leonora! Come hither and see yourself depicted better than Venetian mirror ever reflected that loved face and form." "And you too, Lorenzo! and you too!" exclaimed Leonora. "Oh! it is perfect!" The artist looked up and smiled with one of those beaming smiles which seem to find their way direct to the heart, as if an angel looked into it. "It is like you both," he said; "but it was the attitude I sought, and you started up before I had completed the sketch. Yet I can remember it. My mind, from long habit, is like a note-book, in which every beautiful thing I behold is written down as soon as seen. Look how I will add in a moment all that is wanting," and he proceeded with rapid pencil to add the arm of Lorenzo cast round Leonora's waist, and her arm resting on her lap, with her hand clasped in her lover's. The colour came in the beautiful girl's cheek, but without remarking it the artist said: "Was it not so?" "Even so, I fear," murmured Leonora. "You must let me have this drawing," said Lorenzo; "you can put no higher value on it than I will be right glad to pay. It will be to me a memorial of one of the happiest days of my life, and of her I love better than life." "Nay, I would not part with it for any payment," said the other; "but, having done as you said just now--intruded on your privacy--I will pay for the intrusion by sketching for each of you, the portrait of the other, and that without price. But let us come into the saloon, and call for lights; it is getting somewhat dark. Will you, young gentleman, take my lute, while I put up the sketch and my pencils." "Is this then a lute?" asked Lorenzo, taking the horse's head in ivory and silver. "Oh! I see; here is a finger-board, and the strings are fastened to the lower jaw. I never saw a lute like this." "Probably not," the other answered; "it is my own design and workmanship." "Then was it you whom we heard playing, just now?" asked Leonora. "The music was divine."