In the largest of these two rooms--where, against the walls, hung a row of heavy keys belonging to the principal and side doors of this important gate, a curved signal-horn, and the spear of the gate-keeper--sat Isaac, the aged warder, a tall, bony figure, with the hooked nose and arched and bushy eyebrows of his nation. He sat upon a reed mat, with his legs crossed, a long staff laid upon his knees, listening attentively to the words of a young, ill-favoured-looking man, evidently an Israelite, whose hard, sober features were expressive of all the cunning of his race. "Look here, father Isaac," he was saying, in a thin, unpleasant voice, "my words are no vain words, and do not come only from the heart, which is blind, but from the mind, which is sharp to discern. I have brought letter and document for every word that I speak. Here is my appointment as architect of all the aqueducts in Italy; fifty gold solidi yearly, and ten more for every new undertaking. I have just reconstructed the half-ruined aqueduct for this city of Neapolis; in this purse are the ten solidi, money down. Thou seest I can keep a wife, and besides, I am thy cousin Rachel's son, so do not let me speak in vain, but give me Miriam, thy child, to wife, so that she may set my house in order." But the old man stroked his long grey beard, and shook his head slowly. "Jochem, son of Rachel, I say to thee, leave it alone, leave it alone." "Why, what hast thou against me? Who in Israel can speak against Jochem?" "No one. Thou art just and peaceful and industrious, and increasest thy substance, and thy work flourisheth before the Lord. But hast thou ever seen the nightingale mated with the sparrow, or the slender gazelle with the beast of burden? They do not suit each other; and now, look there, and tell me thyself if thou art fitted for Miriam?" He softly pushed aside the curtain which shut off the outer chamber. At a large bow-window which commanded a view of the splendid city, the blue sea, and the distant mountains, stood a young girl, holding a strangely-shaped stringed instrument in her arms. The room was filled with the glowing light of the setting sun, which bathed the white garments and the noble features of the girl with a rosy lustre. It played upon her shining black hair, which, stroked back behind the small ears, exposed the delicate temples; and, like this sunshine, a poetical harmony seemed to envelop her whole figure, accompanying her every movement, and every dreamy look of her dark blue eyes, which, filled with gentle thoughts, gazed out over sea and city. Piso, the poet, had called these eyes "dark sea-blue." As if in a half dream, her fingers touched the strings of her instrument softly, while from her half-open lips there breathed an old and melancholy song: "By the waters of Babylon We sat down and wept. When comes the day when Israel Shall cease to weep?"