e
been by the most celebrated painters of the Dutch School! They were
generally scenes from life; for instance, a company of people coming
back from the chase, singing, and playing on instruments, and the like.
They were full of deep meaning; and the heads, particularly, had a
wonderful expression of life and vigour. As Traugott was going back to
the other room, he noticed a picture close to the door, before which he
paused as if spell-bound. It was a portrait of a most beautiful girl,
in ancient German dress, but the face was exactly that of the lad, only
rounder and with more colour; and the figure seemed to be on a fuller
scale. A thrill of nameless delight went through Traugott at the sight
of this beautiful lady. In power and vigour the picture was quite equal
to a Vandyke. The dark eyes gazed down on Traugott with a might of
love-appeal; the sweet lips, half-parted, seemed to be whispering words
of affection.

"'Oh Heaven! oh Heaven!' sighed Traugott out of the depths of his
heart, 'where is she to be found?'

"'Come, sir,' said the lad, 'we must go to my father.'

"But Traugott cried, like one beside himself:

"'Ah! that is she, the beloved of my soul, whom I have so long
treasured in the depths of my heart, whom I was conscious of, and
recognized only in dreams! Where is she? Where is she?'

"The tears streamed from young Berklinger's eyes; he seemed torn with a
spasm of pain, scarce able to master his emotion.

"'Come!' he said at last, in a firm, steady voice. 'That is a portrait
of my sister, my unfortunate sister, Felizitas. She is lost, gone for
ever. You will never see her.'

"Traugott, scarcely conscious what he was doing, let himself be
conducted back to the other room. The old man was still asleep, but he
started up, with eyes flashing anger, and cried:

"'What are you doing here, sir?'

"The lad reminded him that he had just been showing Traugott his new
picture. He then seemed to remember what had happened. He appeared to
get weaker, and said, very faintly:

"'You will pardon an old man's forgetfulness, my dear sir?'

"Your new picture is a most magnificent work,' said Traugott. 'I have
never seen anything like it. It must take enormous labour and study to
paint like that. I trace in myself a great, irresistible bent towards
art, and I beg you most earnestly, my dear old master, to take me as
your most diligent and hard-working pupil.'

"The old man grew quite serene and kindly. He embr