They rambled over the great building first, with its vast windows showing the wide landscape of mountain and plain, and far away the golden domes and' airy spires of the city shining through a soft mist of olive trees. The glory of this house was gone, but it was beautiful still with the sweet clear sunlight streaming through its innumerable chambers, and touching the soft hues of frescoed walls that had grown faded with age, but had been painted by Spinello, by Francia, by the great Frate, and by a host whose names were lost, of earnest workers, and men with whom art had been religion.
It was all dim and worn and grey with the passage of time; but it was harmonious, majestic, tranquil. It was like the close of a great life withdrawn from the world into a cloistered solitude and content to be alone with its God.
"Do not wish for riches," said the Lady Hilda to him, as he said something to her of it. "If you had riches you would desecrate this; you would 'restore' it, you would 'embellish' it, you would ruin it."
He smiled a little sadly.
