res.
That Leonardo came from Genoa, and was a gift to our father from my
cousin, Marshal Manasseh: that Murillo was pawned to my uncle by Marie
Antoinette before the flight to Varennes--the poor lady could not
redeem the pledge, you know, and the picture remains with us. As for the
Rafael, I suppose you are aware that he was one of our people. But what
are you gazing at? Oh! my sister--I forgot. Miriam! this is the Lord
Codlingsby."

She had been seated at an ivory pianoforte on a mother-of-pearl
music-stool, trying a sonata of Herz. She rose when thus apostrophized.
Miriam de Mendoza rose and greeted the stranger.

The Talmud relates that Adam had two wives--Zillah the dark beauty;
Eva the fair one. The ringlets of Zillah were black; those of Eva
were golden. The eyes of Zillah were night; those of Eva were morning.
Codlingsby was fair--of the fair Saxon race of Hengist and Horsa--they
called him Miss Codlingsby at school; but how much fairer was Miriam the
Hebrew!

Her hair had that deep glowing tinge in it which has been the delight
of all painters, and which, therefore, the vulgar sneer at. It was of
burning auburn. Meandering over her fairest shoulders in twenty thousand
minute ringlets, it hung to her waist and below it. A light blue velvet
fillet clasped with a diamond aigrette (valued at two hundred thousand
tomauns, and bought from Lieutenant Vicovich, who had received it from
Dost Mahomed), with a simple bird of paradise, formed her head-gear. A
sea-green cymar with short sleeves, displayed her exquisitely moulded
arms to perfection, and was fastened by a girdle of emeralds over
a yellow satin frock. Pink gauze trousers spangled with silver, and
slippers of the same color as the band which clasped her ringlets (but
so covered with pearls that the original hue of the charming little
papoosh disappeared entirely) completed her costume. She had three
necklaces on, each of which would have dowered a Princess--her fingers
glistened with rings to their rosy tips, and priceless bracelets,
bangles, and armlets wound round an arm that was whiter than the ivory
grand piano on which it leaned.

As Miriam de Mendoza greeted the stranger, turning upon him the solemn
welcome of her eyes, Codlingsby swooned almost in the brightness of
her beauty. It was well she spoke; the sweet kind voice restored him to
consciousness. Muttering a few words of incoherent recognition, he sank
upon a sandalwood settee, as Goliath, the li