"Just what is this 'big thing' you have undertaken?" interrupted Uncle Peabody. "You forget that I have not yet been taken into your confidence."

Armstrong turned to his questioner seriously. "I have really stumbled upon something which has not been done before and which ought to have been undertaken long ago. You see, Cerini has there at the library hundreds of letters which belong to the Buonarroti archives. Many of them were written by Michelangelo, and many more were written to him.

The correspondence is between him and men in all walks of life--popes, kings, princes, tradesmen, and even some from the workmen in the Carrara quarries."

"And you and Miss Thayer are translating these letters?" Uncle Peabody antic.i.p.ated.

"Yes; but that is not the work which most interests me, except indirectly. Any number of volumes have been published upon the life and manners and customs of every age before and since that in which Michelangelo lived, yet practically nothing concerning this particular period. The artistic importance of the epoch has been written up with minute detail, but the intimate life of the people and its significance seems to have been wholly overlooked--probably because it was overshadowed. Very few of these letters have ever been printed, and they ought to form the basis of a great work upon this subject. Cerini has turned them over to me to see what I can do with them. At first I started with the idea of going through everything myself, but that would be a hopeless task unless we plan to live in Florence indefinitely. Now, Miss Thayer reads over the letters and takes out the important data, leaving me free to work on the book itself. We are really making splendid progress, and I shall be bitterly disappointed if Miss Thayer has to go away and leave me to finish it alone."

"I am sure Inez will stay as long as she can, Jack," Helen said, quietly. "She knows how welcome she has been, but we must not urge her beyond what she thinks is best."

She broke off suddenly; then, with an a.s.sumed nonchalance, said: "I wonder if I could not help in some way and thus get the work completed just that much sooner. Of course, I don't understand Italian, but perhaps I could do some copying or something. Don't you think three would accomplish more than two, Jack, even if one of them was a weak sister?"

Helen looked over to her husband with obvious expectancy, but she could not fail to notice the momentary hush.

"I know how ridiculous my proposition sounds," she continued, bravely, "but I would really like to try."

"Why, of course," Armstrong replied, hastily. "Miss Thayer's suggestion to leave and your willingness at last to come to my rescue have combined to give me two unexpected shocks--one unpleasant, the other delightful.

Let me see. Miss Thayer and I have been developing a kind of team work, so this means a little readjustment."

"Never mind, if it is not perfectly convenient." Helen made an effort to appear indifferent.

"Of course it is convenient," Jack hastened to add, ashamed of his hesitation. "You know how much I have wanted you to do this, and I am perfectly delighted. I am sure it can be arranged and that you can help us a great deal."

"I wish you knew Italian, Helen, so that you could take my place," added Inez. "Then Mr. Armstrong would not accuse me of deserting my post of duty."

"Not at all," protested Armstrong, impulsively. "Even then I could not get along without your a.s.sistance. We can easily find something for Helen to do which will help the work along and encourage her in her budding enthusiasm. This is splendid! Helen interested at last in my dusty old divinities! Perhaps we can even infect Uncle Peabody."

"Perhaps," a.s.sented Uncle Peabody; "but for the present I shall devote myself to my own researches--even though your masterpiece is forced to suffer thereby. But I will ride down with you as far as the Duomo."

No one in the automobile, unless it was the chauffeur, could help feeling a certain tenseness in the situation as the car conveyed the party to its destination. Helen's action was the result of a sudden decision, quite at variance with all the conclusions at which she had arrived during the wakeful hours of the preceding nights. Armstrong had so long since given up all thought of having his wife co-operate with him in this particular expression of himself, and the work upon which he and Miss Thayer were engaged had settled down into so regular a routine, that he was really disturbed by Helen's change of base, although he had been entirely unwilling to admit it. Inez inwardly resented the intrusion, at the same time blaming herself severely for her att.i.tude; and Uncle Peabody, who saw in the whole affair only a clever ruse on Helen's part instigated by a tardily aroused jealousy, was in danger, for the first time, of not knowing just what to do.

As a result of all these conflicting emotions, the efforts at conversation during the ride would have seemed ludicrous had the situation been less serious. Armstrong kept up a continuous and irrelevant conversation into which each of the others joined weakly with equal irrelevance. Each was trying to talk and think at the same time.

The car reached the Piazza del Duomo almost abruptly, as it seemed, and Uncle Peabody alighted with considerable alacrity, waving a good-bye which was mechanically acknowledged as the machine slowly moved into the narrow Borgo San Lorenzo. At the library, Armstrong led the way through the cloister and up the stone stairs to the little door where Maritelli was this time waiting to give them entrance.

"I will take you to meet Cerini," said Armstrong.

"While I," interrupted Inez, "will seek out our table and get all in readiness for our triple labors."

A gentle voice called "Avanti," in answer to Jack's tap upon the door of Cerini's study, and the old man rose hastily as he saw a new figure by Armstrong's side.

"My wife, padre." Jack smiled at the admiration in Cerini's face as he took Helen's hand and raised it to his lips. "She could not longer resist the magnet which draws us to you and to your treasures."

"Your wife," repeated the old man, looking from Helen to Armstrong. "I have looked forward to this day when I might meet her here. But where is your sister-worker? Surely she has not given up the splendid task which she has so well begun?"

Helen flushed consciously at Cerini's praise of Inez. "No, father; Miss Thayer is already at her work, and Mr. Armstrong is equally eager to return to it. May I not stay a little while with you?"

"Have you time to show her some of the things here which we know and love so well?" asked Armstrong.

"Most certainly."

He turned to Helen. "If you will accept my guidance we can let these humanists resume their labors while we enjoy the accomplishments of those who have gone before."

Armstrong left them, and Cerini conducted Helen through the library, explaining to her the various objects of interest. It was quite apparent to Helen that the old man was studying her minutely, and she felt ill at ease in spite of his unfailing courtesy.

"You have known my husband for a long while, have you not?" Helen asked as they pa.s.sed from one case to another.

"Yes, indeed--even before he came to know himself."

"Then you must know him very well."

Helen smiled, but the old man was serious.

"Better than you know him, even though you are his wife. But see this choir-book. It was illuminated by Lorenzo Monaco, teacher of Fra Angelico. Can anything be more wonderful than these miniatures, in the beauty of their line and color?"

Helen a.s.sented with a show of interest, but she was not thinking of the blazoned page before her. The old man's words were burning in her heart.

Pa.s.sing through a smaller room to reach Cerini's study, they came suddenly to a corner lighted only by a small window where Armstrong and Inez were at work. So intent were they that the approach of Helen and the librarian had not been noticed. Cerini held up his hand warningly.

"Quiet!" he commanded, softly. "Let us not disturb them. I have never seen two individualities cast in so identical a mould. One sometimes sees it in two men, but rarely in a man and a woman."

Helen felt her breath come faster as she watched them for a moment longer. Inez was pointing out something in the text of the original letter which lay before them. Armstrong's head was bent, studying it intently. Then Inez spoke, and her companion answered loud enough for Helen to hear.

"Splendid! And to think that we are the first ones to put these facts together!"

The expression of sheer joy upon her husband's face held Helen spellbound, and Cerini was obliged to repeat his suggestion that they return to his study by another route.

"It is just as you have seen it, day after day," said the librarian as he closed the door quietly, and Helen seated herself in the Savonarola chair beside his desk. "When I heard from him that he was to be married I hoped that his wife might be able to enter into this joy of his life; but, since that could not be, it is well that he has found a friend so sympathetic."

Helen told herself that the old man could not intend deliberately to wound her as he was doing.

"Why are you so sure that his wife cannot enter into it also?" she asked, quietly.

Cerini looked at her in evident surprise. "Because what I have seen during these weeks, and what you have seen to-day, can happen but once in a lifetime. You are more beautiful than his companion, but you are not so intellectual."

It was impossible to take offence at the old man's frankness because of his absolute sincerity. He spoke of her beauty exactly as he spoke of one of the magnificent bindings he had just shown her, and of Inez'

intellectuality as if it were the content of one of his priceless tomes.

"I came to the library to-day for the definite purpose of joining in their work--" Helen began, hesitatingly.

"Surely not!" replied Cerini, emphatically. "You would not disturb these labors which mean so much in the development of them both? It would mean stopping them where they are."

"Could I not a.s.sist them at some point, even to a slight extent, and partic.i.p.ate in this development myself?"

Cerini was mildly indulgent at her lack of understanding. "My daughter,"

he said, kindly, "some one has written that it is no kindness to a spider, no matter how gentle the touch, to aid it in the spinning of its web. Any one can work at translating, truly--almost any one can write a book--but few can accomplish what your husband and Miss Thayer are doing now. The book they are engaged upon in itself is the least of value.

They do not themselves realize, as I do, that it is the influence of this work upon their own characters which is making it a success. They were humanists before they knew the meaning of the word. They come into the highest expression of themselves here in this atmosphere. You were born for other things, my daughter--perhaps far more important things--but not for this."

"You cannot understand, father," Helen replied, desperately. "I am his wife, and it is my place, rather than that of any other woman, to share with him any development which affects his life as deeply as you say this does. It must be so."