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 talent, and therefore we commission you to execute a painting representing some passages in the life of our blessed patron, St. Philip. This picture is destined for the Church of St. Ursula, and must be ready for the feast of St. Philip, which occurs within a month."

"The term assigned is very short," replied the artist, "but in token of my gratitude for your Majesty's protection, I will engage to conclude the painting by St. Philip's eve."

"I accept your word. In my palace you will find a room assigned to you, and an assistant. Our staff of servants will be at your orders, and our treasurer will supply you with what sums you may require."

Sanchez Coello thought that he was dreaming, but his dream was a reality. He was soon installed in an apartment almost regal, while a bevy of servants ready to obey his smallest wish were in attendance. An easel stood before him, with a large canvas ready for his work. He at once began to sketch the picture demanded by the King.

In spite of the industry and perseverance of Coello, the picture was of such colossal size that he was forced to work far into the night if he hoped to conclude it by the time appointed. Indeed, as the time flew by he could not, if he was to keep his vow, leave his work even for a moment's rest.

It wanted but a few days to the time appointed, and he was labouring with feverish haste, when an unknown individual entered his studio.

"At last I have found you!" cried the stranger. "What trouble I have had, to be sure! But how could I imagine that the man who meant to drown himself, and who was starving, should be lodged in the King's palace, with a crowd of servants to attend him! Well, to business! My wife is named Philippa, and you owe me the portrait for which I paid you in advance. I want you to take my portrait instantly, so that I may present it to her on the feast of St. Philip."

Sanchez was endeavouring to recognise the voice and the features of the man who had saved him from death, but he could not do so. Yet he spoke of the singular adventure of that night—a circumstance unknown to anyone; and moreover he displayed the very note which he himself had signed under the lamp of the shrine.

"I am willing to fulfil my contract," replied Coello, "but not for the feast of St. Philip. I have to finish a picture for the King, and it will be hard work to have it ready by the day appointed. I have not a moment to lose."

"That is nothing to me. I ordered my portrait and paid for it before the King