He would do two pictures: Monmouth, and an ancient subject--that legend of the ancient city of Ys, on the coast of Brittany.

He had had it in his mind for years.

He came back and sat down, keen, eager.
"I've a big subject brewing," he said; "better than the Monmouth, though it is good enough as I shall handle it.

It shall be royal, melancholy, devilish: a splendid bastard with creation against him; the best, most fascinating subject in English history.

The son dead on against the father--and the uncle!" He ceased for a minute, fashioning the picture in his mind; his face pale, but alive with interest, which his enthusiasm made into dignity.
Then he went on: "But the other: when the king takes up the woman--his mistress--and rides into the sea with her on his horse, to save the town! By Heaven, with you to sit, it's my chance! You've got it all there in you--the immense manner.