he gigantic bodies of the stars, had given the sky its glittering
blue, had indented and rounded the mountains, had bestowed form and color
on everything that runs, creeps, flies, buds and blossoms, and had
fashioned man--created in His own image--in the most majestic form of
all.

How wonderful the works of God appeared to him in the solitude of the
dark dungeon--and if the world was beautiful, was it not the work of His
Divine Art!

Heaven and earth knew no word greater, more powerful, more mighty in
creating beauty than: Art. What, compared with its gifts, were the
miserable, delusive ones of Fortune: gay clothes, spiced dishes,
magnificent rooms, and friendly glances from beautiful eyes, that smile
on every one who pleases them! He would blow them all into the air, for
the assistance of Art in joyous creating. Rather, a thousand times
rather, would he beg his bread, and attain great things in Art, than riot
and revel in good-fortune.

Colors, colors, canvas, a model like Sophonisba, and success in the realm
of Art! It was for these things he longed, these things made him yearn
with such passionate eagerness for deliverance, liberty.

Months glided by, maturing Ulrich's mind as rapidly as if they had been
years; but his inclination to retire within himself deepened into intense
reserve.

At last the day arrived on which, through the influence of the Marquesa
Romero, the doors of his dungeon opened.

It was soon after receiving a sharp warning to renounce his obstinacy at
the next examination, that the youth was suddenly informed that he was
free. The jailer took off his fetters, and helped him exchange his prison
garb for the dress he had worn when captured; then disguised men threw a
sack over his head and led him up and down stairs and across pavements,
through dust and grass, into the little court-yard of a deserted house in
the suburbs. There they left him, and he soon released his head from its
covering.

How delicious God's free air seemed, as his chest heaved with grateful
joy! He threw out his arms like a bird stretching its wings to fly, then
he clasped his hands over his brow, and at last, as if a second time
pursued, rushed out of the court-yard into the street. The passers-by
looked after him, shaking their heads, and he certainly presented a
singular spectacle, for the dress in which he had fled many months
before, had sustained severe injuries on the journey from Avila; his hat
was lost on the