curtain which had hitherto concealed some object from the view. The cardinal turned to face it, and then stepped back, awe-struck at the sight which the withdrawing of the drapery revealed. Placed on a rude pedestal which stood several feet above the floor, stood a massive brazen head, with grand impassive face, and an expression of such dignified grandeur, such commanding repose, that it was as if the haughty features of some Grecian god had been revealed to the awe-struck gaze of the cardinal.
As he gazed, from the deep-set but luminous eyes, true Jovine lightning seemed to issue, and a deep rumbling sound like distant thunder shook the floor on which they stood.
The legate involuntarily crossed himself, and then looking at Bacon, who slowly dropped the curtain which concealed the head, he asked in a half whisper,—
“Is this thy work?”
“Mine, and one other cherished brother in science, Master Bungay of Oxford,” answered the monk. “This is the slow work of seven years, my lord cardinal, and, as thou mayst guess, wrought for no common purpose. This head is formed with utmost care and skill by direction which I found writ out in parchments more ancient than the Church we worship. If my work have no
