Here and there were the usual spectral effects which are always suggested to the mind by unfinished plaster models--an arm in one place, a head in another; a torso, or a single hand, protruding ghost-like from a fold of dark drapery.

At the very end of the room stood a large erect figure, the outlines of which could but dimly be seen through its linen coverings; and to this work, whatever it was, Zara did not appear desirous of attracting my attention.

She led me to one particular corner; and, throwing aside a small crimson velvet curtain, said: "This is the last thing I have finished in marble.

I call it 'Approaching Evening.'" I stood silently before the statue, lost in admiration.

I could not conceive it possible that the fragile little hand of the woman who stood beside me could have executed such a perfect work.