ed the
half-ruined aqueduct for this city of Neapolis; in this purse are the
ten solidi, money down. Thou seest I can keep a wife, and besides, I am
thy cousin Rachel's son, so do not let me speak in vain, but give me
Miriam, thy child, to wife, so that she may set my house in order."

But the old man stroked his long grey beard, and shook his head slowly.

"Jochem, son of Rachel, I say to thee, leave it alone, leave it alone."

"Why, what hast thou against me? Who in Israel can speak against
Jochem?"

"No one. Thou art just and peaceful and industrious, and increasest thy
substance, and thy work flourisheth before the Lord. But hast thou ever
seen the nightingale mated with the sparrow, or the slender gazelle
with the beast of burden? They do not suit each other; and now, look
there, and tell me thyself if thou art fitted for Miriam?"

He softly pushed aside the curtain which shut off the outer chamber. At
a large bow-window which commanded a view of the splendid city, the
blue sea, and the distant mountains, stood a young girl, holding a
strangely-shaped stringed instrument in her arms. The room was filled
with the glowing light of the setting sun, which bathed the white
garments and the noble features of the girl with a rosy lustre. It
played upon her shining black hair, which, stroked back behind the
small ears, exposed the delicate temples; and, like this sunshine, a
poetical harmony seemed to envelop her whole figure, accompanying her
every movement, and every dreamy look of her dark blue eyes, which,
filled with gentle thoughts, gazed out over sea and city. Piso, the
poet, had called these eyes "dark sea-blue."

As if in a half dream, her fingers touched the strings of her
instrument softly, while from her half-open lips there breathed an old
and melancholy song:

"By the waters of Babylon
We sat down and wept.
When comes the day when Israel
Shall cease to weep?"

"Shall cease to weep?" she repeated dreamily, and leaned her head upon
her arm, which, enclosing the harp, she rested upon the window-sill.

"Look there!" said the old man in a low voice, "is she not as lovely as
the rose of Sharon, or the hind upon the mountain, without spot or
fleck?"

Before Jochem could answer, there sounded from below three knocks upon
the small iron door. Miriam started from her reverie, and hurried down
the narrow winding staircase. Jochem went to the window, and his fac