FAITH UNTO DEATH. 167 



him as then ; the trees waved as lithely, the flowers stnelled as 

 sweet, the dew glistened as bright, and the breeze rustled as 

 j)ensively through the leaves — even sky, and star, were alike — 

 " No ! nothing hath been changed !" murmured he, " thank 

 heaven ! here all is the same ! yon bower — yon path — yon ancient 

 oak — there are the bay trees, and here — yes, here is the very bush 

 from which my beloved plucked the rose I now bear in my bosom !" 

 and he bent down and kissed the leaves, in his gladness. Momen- 

 tary as were his indulged recollections, he chid the delay, and 

 would have broke from the spot, had not the sound of one walk- 

 ing in the principal path induced him to retreat till he reconnoitred 

 the party. A guelder-rose shaded his form, and from this leafy 

 covert he looked out with a breathless expectancy j the step was 

 slow, and measured, as of one who mused in their walk, yet did it 

 seem somewhat graver than that of the fairy-footed girl he had 

 left : the years that had passed were forgotten, and the change 

 they had wrought was equally undreamt of! As yet the party 

 was hidden from view by the wide-spreading foliage, and, agitated 

 with almost uncontrollable impulse, Schooreel still watched in the 

 agonies of suspense: the step advanced j a bright kirtle became 

 visible through the leaves, and a fair hand was seen cropping 

 a lily J she who culled it paused for awhile, as if to examine the 

 plant — should he rush from his concealment ? — no ! — yet a mo- 

 ment's delay ! — one second only, and the lady appeared, but her 

 face was averted, a bird fluttering round a branch had arrested her 

 glance — who was she ? she was taller of stature, and somewhat 

 fuller of form than his Unna, but there was a sweet stateliness in 

 her movements that reminded him of his beloved. Her attire was 

 sumptuous, a silken train rustled in long folds on the grass, and 

 her stomacher sparkled with gems j yet the form and the tint of 

 the robe were graver than those worn by his mistress in the 

 dawning years of her youth j her white neck was shaded by a 

 kerchief of lace, but bright tresses of auburn fell in rings on her 

 shoulders — Schooreel's heart leaped in his bosom j though slightly 

 altered in mien, " it was, it must be her ! that surpassing grace — 

 that elegance — that matured loveliness could be hers alone !" he 

 sprang forward — he caught her robe in his hands — he threw 

 himself before her — he looked up speechlessly, passionately, im- 

 ploringly, and his heart almost burst in its ecstacy, as the radiant 

 eyes of his mistress once more dwelt on his face. It was, indeed, 

 herself^ — Unna, the daughter of Cornelitz, the first love of Van 

 Schooreel — the adored of his bosom ! Her cheek was paler, and 

 her brow more thoughtful than in days gone by, and there was a 

 something of sadness in her mien, but her beauty was mor^ 

 seraphic than ever. " Unna ! beloved of my soul ! I am come — I 

 am come !" and he bowed his head down upon her hands, and cover- 

 ed them with kisses, they were chill and nerveless, and returned 

 not his pressure — the lover looked up, the face of his mistress 

 was as that of the dead ; she spoke not, but contemplated him with 

 harrowing earnestness — "Unna! mine own Unna! mine idolized ! 



