he said;
"and in truth the countenance you have given to yonder saint, with the
pale glory, is one of exquisite beauty. I wonder not that you should be
grieved to look upon so sweet a face no more; although, methinks, I know
a face as fair, to which it bears a marvellous resemblance."

"What meanest thou, Magdalena?" said the young artist, bending his head
still lower over his work. "Whom dost thou know who could bear a
likeness to this creation of my own imagination?"

"Of your own memory, Master Gottlob! you should have said," pursued
Magdalena. "Surely--or my eyes deceive themselves most strangely--although
in that sweet face they were not easily deceived; surely the face is
that of"----

The old woman again paused, as if to suppress her emotion.

"Of whom?" enquired Gottlob in a low tone, also in much agitation.

"Of the fair Fraulein Bertha, the noble Ober-Amtmann's daughter."

"You think so, Magdalena?" replied the young man. "Perhaps it maybe a
slight shade of a resemblance, caught unconsciously"----

"It is she herself," exclaimed Magdalena. "It is the same angelic
smile--the same beam of innocent brightness athwart her brow! It is
she!"

"Perhaps thou art right," stammered Gottlob, still in much confusion,
but evidently well pleased with the species of praise thus bestowed
upon his performance. "There is, in truth, more resemblance to the
Fraulein Bertha than I had thought."

Magdalena seemed for a minute lost in her reflection, as if a new and
painful idea had struck her; and after giving a long and anxious look at
the window, from which the young artist had drawn back upon her
entrance, she pressed her hand heavily to her heart, as if to support
her in a sudden resolution, and, advancing to the artist's side, said in
an earnest tone, "Young man! thou lovest her!"

"Magdalena! thou knowest not what thou sayest," cried Gottlob, more
harshly than as the wont of his gentle nature.

"Oh! pardon me if I have offended. Condemn me not!" said the excited
woman. "But I do entreat you, tell me! Tell me your secret as you would
confide it to a mother--to your own mother, Gottlob. It is the purest
interest for you--for her--that guides me! I swear it to you! Oh! tell
me--is it not so? You love that fair and gentle girl!"

The young man looked at his strange interrogator with some astonishment
at her evident agitation. The tears were swelling in her eyes. But
without pausing to question the reasons of her emo