ducated me and opened my mind amazingly.'

'It seems to have done so,' said Tancred, quietly.

Shortly after this, Tancred, attended by Baroni, passed the gate of
Sion. Not a human being was visible, except the Turkish sentries. It was
midsummer, but no words and no experience of other places can convey an
idea of the canicular heat of Jerusalem. Bengal, Egypt, even Nubia, are
nothing to it; in these countries there are rivers, trees, shade, and
breezes; but Jerusalem at midday in midsummer is a city of stone in a
land of iron with a sky of brass. The wild glare and savage lustre of
the landscape are themselves awful. We have all read of the man who had
lost his shadow; this is a shadowless world. Everything is so flaming
and so clear, that it would remind one of a Chinese painting, but that
the scene is one too bold and wild for the imagination of the Mongol
race.

'There,' said Baroni, pointing to a group of most ancient olive trees
at the base of the opposite hill, and speaking as if he were showing the
way to Kensington, 'there is Gethsemane; the path to the right leads to
Bethany.'

'Leave me now,' said Tancred.

There are moments when we must be alone, and Tancred had fixed upon this
hour for visiting Gethsemane, because he felt assured that no one would
be stirring. Descending Mount Sion, and crossing Kedron, he entered the
sacred grove.

CHAPTER XXVI.

_The Lady of Bethany_

THE sun had been declining for some hours, the glare of the earth had
subsided, the fervour of the air was allayed. A caravan came winding
round the hills, with many camels and persons in rich, bright Syrian
dresses; a congregation that had assembled at the Church of the
Ascension on Mount Olivet had broken up, and the side of the hill was
studded with brilliant and picturesque groups; the standard of the
Crescent floated on the Tower of David; there was the clang of Turkish
music, and the governor of the city, with a numerous cavalcade, might be
discerned on Mount Moriah, caracoling without the walls; a procession
of women bearing classic vases on their heads, who had been fetching
the waters of Siloah from the well of Job, came up the valley of
Jehosha-phat, to wind their way to the gate of Stephen and enter
Jerusalem by the street of Calvary.

Tancred came forth from the garden of Gethsemane, his face was flushed
with the rapt stillness of pious ecstasy; hours had vanished during his
passionate reverie, and he stare