red with fresh linen for
the guest--Ulrich already lay in his bed, apparently asleep.

"We have no other room to give you," said Adam, pointing to the boy; but
the monk was content with his sleeping companions, and after his host
had left him, gazed earnestly at Ulrich's fresh, handsome face.

The smith's story had moved him, and he did not go to rest at once, but
paced thoughtfully up and down the room, stepping lightly, that he might
not disturb the child's slumber.

Adam had reason to be grateful to the man, and why should there not be
good Jews?

He thought of the patriarchs, Moses, Solomon, and the prophets, and had
not the Saviour himself, and John and Paul, whom he loved above all the
apostles, been the children of Jewish mothers, and grown up among Jews?
And Adam! the poor fellow had had more than his share of trouble, and he
who believes himself deserted by God, easily turns to the devil. He was
warned now, and the mischief to his son must be stopped once for all.
What might not the child hear from the Jew, in these times, when heresy
wandered about like a roaring lion, and sat by all the roads like a
siren. Only by a miracle had this secluded valley been spared the evil
teachings, but the peasants had already shown that they grudged the
nobles the power, the cities the rich gains, and the priesthood the
authority and earthly possessions, bestowed on them by God. He was
disposed to let mildness rule, and spare the Jew this time--but only on
one condition.

When he took off his cowl, he looked for a hook on which to hang it, and
while so doing, perceived on the shelf a row of boards. Taking one down,
he found a sketch of an artistic design for the enclosure of a fountain,
done by the smith's hand, and directly opposite his bed a linden-wood
panel, on which a portrait was drawn with charcoal. This roused his
curiosity, and, throwing the light of the torch upon it, he started
back, for it was a rudely executed, but wonderfully life-like head of
Costa, the Jew. He remembered him perfectly, for he had met him more
than once.

The monk shook his head angrily, but lifted the picture from the shelf
and examined more closely the doctor's delicately-cut nose, and the
noble arch of the brow. While so doing, he muttered unintelligible
words, and when at last, with little show of care, he restored the
modest work of art to its old place, Ulrich awoke, and, with a touch of
pride, exclaimed:

"I drew that myself, Fat