sorrow? Is it not enough to know those I love in captivity, to behold my
people, once so noble and heroic, degraded to the very refuse of humanity
despised and detested of all men, having their dwelling on a barren rock,
and earning by crime and bloodshed a precarious existence and doubtful
freedom? Is it not enough"--

"Hush!" interrupted the lady in a quick sharp whisper, raising her finger,
and glancing towards the door of the apartment. There was a noise as of
stealthy footsteps in the corridor. Strasolda sprang from the kneeing
posture which she had maintained during her conversation with her mistress,
and resumed her station in the recess of a window, while the counsellor's
lady snatched up a rich shawl from a damask covered ottoman, and threw it
over the caskets spread out upon the table. Scarcely were these
arrangements completed, when the door was partially opened, and a wild
sunburnt and bearded countenance showed itself at the aperture.

"Heaven and the saints be praised!" exclaimed the lady. "They are come at
last. In with you, Jurissa Caiduch: there is no one but Strasolda here."

The person thus addressed, was a strongly built and active man, rather
under the middle size, muffled in a coarse brown cloak, which was drawn
over the lower part of his face, apparently with a view to concealment. A
broad-brimmed felt hat was slouched over his small black eyes, which
glittered through its shadow like those of a snake, never fixing
themselves on an object, but casting restless and suspicious glances, as
though apprehensive of danger or treachery. Gliding into the room, and
closing the door noiselessly behind him, he approached the table, and
placed upon it a tolerably large casket, which he produced from under his
cloak; then retreating a step or two, he removed his hat, and stood in an
attitude of silent respect, his eyes still gleaming, however, with their