162 FAITH UNTO DEATH. 



spoke he unclasped the volume before him and exhibited to his 

 companion a collection of sketches which he had made in his 

 wanderings ; they were drawn with a reed pen and tinted with 

 colour, and depicted all the sublime and gorgeous and singular 

 scenery of the lands which he had visited j there were views in 

 Rhodes, in Cyprus, in Candia, and Palestine, in Europe, in Asia, 

 and in Africa. There were Tyre, and Sidon, and Nazareth, and 

 Babylon and Bethlehem j there were Lebanon, and Carmel, and 

 Ararat j and the wilderness of mount Sinai j and there were the 

 River Jordan, and the Pool of Elisha at Jericho, and the Dead Sea, 

 and the valley of the Brook Kedron ; and there were Jerusalem, 

 and the Garden of Olives, and the Holy Sepulchre. There were 

 also whole lengths of strange tribes, there was the Libyan, the 

 Nubian, the Moresco, the Saracen, the Arab, the Greek, and many 

 others fantastic and wild, whose garb, as well as physiognomy, was 

 a thing novel and full of amusement to the Bohemian, who, casting 

 his eyes eagerly on the stranger, ventured to inquire his name. 

 " Hans Van Schoor^el •" was the immediate reply. " Hans Van 

 Schooreel!" repeated the Bohemian, with irrepressible surprise, 

 while his brow darkened, his colour changed, and his lip acquired a 

 sternness of character — " Hans Van Schooreel !" " Simply so," 

 said the painter with marked emphasis, marvelling at the extraor- 

 dinary perturbation occasioned by the announcement. The Bohe- 

 mian hastily opened his casket, and taking from it a miniature 

 embedded in gold and mounted with brilliants, he held it before 

 Schooreel : the portrait represented a female of exquisite beauty ; 

 her raven tresses were bound with gems, and her attire glittered 

 with the lustre of ornament ; but her personal charms exceeded 

 the light of her jewels, and the charm of her smile softened the air 

 of haughtiness that reigned on her brow. Van Schooreel started. 

 ** Thou knowest these features," coldly observed the Bohemian -, 

 *' The daughter of the Baron of Stiers !" exclaimed the artist, while 

 a crimson lide rushed into his face. " The same," returned the 

 Bohemian, " Adeline of Stiers j the heiress of the mines, the 

 wide forests and vales of her ancestors j thou didst refuse the 

 honor of her alliance." " AlasT I had no affection to proffer," 

 replied the painter, gazing intently on the miniature, " mine heart 

 and hand were plighted to another, to one fairer even than this fair 

 specimen of Nature's loveliness — one who is as a seraph walking 

 this earth but for a time appointed." The Bohemian violently put 

 back the miniature and fastened the casket, while his whole frame 

 shook with emotion. " Methinks we are strangers to each other," 

 remarked Schooreel, "yet my name and mine history — albeit 

 humble — seem to have awakened unwelcome sensations." " Par- 

 don me, good Sir," responded the Bohemian, " pardon me, if I lack 

 courtesy ; we are not strangers, yet have I never till this day 

 beheld thy features : we part, and on this spot ; and here let our 

 intimacy perish as it hath commenced." With a stately inclination 

 of the head he waved his hand as if in deprecation of parley, and 

 ere the astonished artist could give utterance to a word, he had 



