"Well, let us try to solve the enigma," said I, going to a bookcase, and taking therefrom a volume entitled _The History of Early Italian Art_. "Here's a book that is sure to contain a biography of Giotto." I turned to the index, and having found the pages referring to Giotto, I glanced hastily over the biography of the great "Fa Presto," stopping now and then to read aloud, for the edification of the Baronet and my uncle, some item that I deemed worthy of notice. At length, in the course of my reading, I came to the following passage: "A horrible story is told in connexion with his picture of 'The Crucifixion.' It is said that Giotto persuaded the man who acted as his model to be tied to a cross, and while in this helpless state he stabbed him, in order that he might be the better enabled to limn with ghastly fidelity the dying agonies of the Saviour." "What do you think of that?" said I, looking up from my reading. "If that isn't setting morality at defiance, what is?" "You've hit on it," said the Baronet. "That's the story Angelo's alluding to, for see! he has put the Crucifixion scene on the tomb. But what does he call Giotto's deed? 'A zeal for art?' Surely he doesn't approve this horrible act?" "It would seem so from his language," I returned blankly. "'Whose example,'" said the Baronet, reading from the epitaph, and tracing the words with his forefinger, "'inspired the genius of Angelo Vasari with the idea that gave birth to that noble masterpiece, "The Fall of Cæsar."' What can he mean, Leslie?" he continued, addressing my uncle. "Not," he added with a grim smile, "that he, too, stabbed his model for the sake of an artistic effect. That would be too much of a joke, to murder a man for the sake of producing a realistic picture. And yet," he concluded with a perplexed air, "that's the only meaning one can give to his words." He stared uneasily at my uncle, who stared uneasily at me. "I don't know what to think of it," said my uncle. "He certainly seems to approve Giotto's act, and intimates that he copied his example in painting his own picture. This must be the language of a madman!" "There's method in his madness, then," remarked the Baronet. "He had wit enough to hide this from the ladies this morning." We read daily of terrible murders committed by men who are mere names to us. In the columns of the newspaper such crimes do not seem out of place--they are quite natural; we almost look for them; but to learn that a person within our own circle--who has sat at our table, and is on familiar terms with us--has his hands stained with the blood of his fellow-man; this is so new an experience that we can not bring ourselves to believe. For a long time we sat looking at each other in silent surprise, not knowing what to make of the singular effusion to the memory of Giotto. "It must be, it must be!" murmured the Baronet at length. "It's quite clear to me that Angelo stabbed his model."