of Ulrich's heart were stirred: "How glad I am! I could
never accomplish such a work. You will become a great artist, a
very distinguished one, like Moor. Take notice, you surely will. How
beautiful that is!--I can find no words to express my admiration."

At these words the blood mounted to Ulrich's brain, and either the fiery
wine he had drunk, or the delighted girl's prophetic words, or both,
fairly intoxicated him. Scarcely knowing what he said or did, he
seized Isabella's little hand, impetuously raised his curly head, and
enthusiastically exclaimed: "Hear me! your prophecy shall be fulfilled,
Belica; I will be an artist. Art, Art alone! The master said everything
else is vain--trivial. Yes, I feel, I am certain, that the master is
right."

"Yes, yes," cried Isabella; "you must become a great artist."

"And if I don't succeed, if I accomplish nothing more than this...."

Here Ulrich suddenly paused, for he remembered that he was going away,
perhaps to-morrow, so he continued sadly, in a calmer tone: "Rely upon
it; I will do what I can, and whatever happens, you will rejoice, will
you not, if I succeed-and if it should be otherwise...."

"No, no," she eagerly exclaimed. "You can accomplish everything, and
I--I; you don't know how happy it makes me that you can do more than I!"

Again he held out his hand, and as Isabella warmly clasped it, the
watchful duenna's harsh voice cried:

"What does this mean, Senorita? To work, I beg of you. Your father says
time is precious."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Time is precious! Magister Kochel had also doubtless said this to
himself, as soon as Ulrich left him the day before. He had been hired by
a secret power, with which however he was well acquainted, to watch the
Netherland artist and collect evidence for a charge--a gravamen--against
him.

The spying and informing, which he had zealously pursued for years in
the service of the Holy Inquisition, he called "serving the Church," and
hoped, sooner or later, to be rewarded with a benefice; but even if this
escaped him, informing brought him as large an income as he required,
and had become the greatest pleasure, indeed, a necessity of life to
him.

He had commenced his career in Cologne as a Dominican friar, and
remained in communication with some of his old brethren of the Order.

The monks, Sutor and Stubenrauch, whom Moor had hospitably received in
his wagon at the last Advent season but one, sometimes answered Koche