pened to be of a melancholy
temperament, and withal pettish and suspicious, Doertje's conduct could
not fail of giving rise to many little jealousies. Now it was precisely
these jealousies that tickled Doertje's malicious humour; and it was her
delight to torment the poor George Pepusch in a variety of ways: but as
every thing can be carried only to a certain point, so at last the
long-smothered resentment of the lover blazed forth. He was speaking of
that wondrous time when he, as the thistle, Zeherit, had so dearly
loved the fair Hollandress, who was then the daughter of King Sekakis,
and was reminding her, with all the fire of love, that the circumstance
of his battle with the Leech-Prince had given him the most
incontestable right to her hand. On her part, she declared that she
well remembered it, and had already felt the foreboding of it, when
Pepusch gazed on her with the thistle-glance; she spoke, too, so
sweetly of these wonderful matters, seemed so inspired with love to the
thistle, Zeherit, who had been destined to study at Jena, and then
again find the Princess Gamaheh in Berlin, that George Pepusch fancied
himself in the Eldorado of all delight. The lovers stood at the window,
and the little-one suffered her enamoured friend to wind his arm about
her. In this familiar position they caressed each other, for to that at
last came the dreamy talk about the wonders in Famagusta, when it
chanced that a handsome officer of the guards passed by in a brand-new
uniform, and familiarly greeted the little-one, whom he knew from the
evening entertainments; Doertje had half closed her eyes and turned away
her head from the street, so that one would have thought it was
impossible for her to see the officer; but great is the magic of a fine
new uniform! The little-one,--roused, perhaps, by the clatter of the
sabre on the pavement,--opened her eyes broad and bright, twisted
herself from George's arm, flung open the window, threw a kiss to the
officer, and watched him till he had disappeared round the corner.

"Gamaheh!" shouted George Pepusch, quite beside himself--"Gamaheh! what
is this? Do you mock me? Is this the faith you have promised to your
Thistle?"

The little-one turned round upon her heel, burst into a loud laughter,
and exclaimed,--

"Go, go, George; if I am the daughter of the worthy old King Sekakis,
if you are the thistle, Zeherit, that dear officer is the genius,
Thetel, who, in fact, pleases me much bette