"Never can I do aught," he thought, bitterly, looking
at his own clumsy designs, "And sometimes by the help of cherubs
the saints work miracles,"
"It will be no miracle," said Raffaelle, hearing him murmur this;
"it will be myself, and that which the dear God has put into me."
From that hour Luca let him do what he would, and through all
these lovely early summer days the child came and shut himself up
in the garret, and studied, and thought, and worked, and knitted
his pretty fair brows, and smiled in tranquil satisfaction,
according to the mood he was in and the progress of his labors.
Giovanni Sanzio went away at that time to paint an altar-piece
over at Citta di Castello, and his little son for once was glad he
was absent. Messer Giovanni would surely have remarked the long
and frequent visits of Raffaelle to the attic, and would, in all
likelihood, have obliged him to pore over his Latin or to take
exercise in the open fields; but his mother said nothing, content
that he should be amused and safe, and knowing well that Pacifica
loved him and would let him come to no harm under her roof.
Pacifica herself did wonder that he deserted her so perpetually
for the garret. But one day when she questioned him the sweet-
faced rogue clung to her and murmured, "Oh, Pacifica, I do want
Luca to win you, because he loves you so; and I do love you both!"
And she grew pale, and answered him, "Ah, dear, if he could!" and
then said never a word more, but went to her distaff; and
Raffaelle saw great tears fall off her lashes down among the flax.
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