The morning repast, prepared by the old servant who had lived since Myrrah’s birth in her father’s employ, being made, the two at once repaired to the small but beautiful garden, which bore no little resemblance, on a small scale, to the Paradise Eden one is wont to conceive of. A stranger, passing through the small, mean street in which Raguel lived, would never have imagined, as he cast his eye carelessly on the unpromising, dismally high and dark-looking house, which stood close upon the side-walk, of the taste and elegance which reigned within those walls. Costly adornments filled the beautifully-finished rooms, which were befitting a palace; and the caskets of the Jewess held many a gem which a queen had not disdained to wear. But it was in the little garden, in the pleasant shade of whose trees the devoted pair invariably spent their mornings when the weather proved fine, that the most perfect arrangement of taste in the laying out of the limited grounds, in the disposal of the shrubs, and trees, and flowering plants, that the guiding hand of a woman essentially refined, was to be seen. Ensconced in the luxurious chair, which Myrrah wheeled into the silent place, consecrated to the voices of singing-birds, and the fragrance of beauteous flowers, and the sweet sounds of his dear child’s voice, the hours passed swiftly on in blissful tranquillity to the old man. It was in such hours that Myrrah sat at her father’s feet, and read aloud in tones so musical and entrancing, the records their fathers of the old time had left, of God’s dealings with his loved people; of the marvelous creation—of the faithful and beloved Abraham, of Joseph, and of Jacob—of Daniel, and David, and Absalom—of the long line of kings and princes—of holy women, of prophets, and priests, and all their wondrous deeds, wrought through the power which God gave to them—of the first and momentous transgressions of the tempted, tempting Eve—of the too easily beguiled Adam—of the blessed hope which from the day of their fall from the height of excellence and purity, had been kindled, and had lived within the hearts of all the faithful until that day when they still looked with fond and hopeful and anxious eyes for His coming who would bruise the serpent’s head. And when the old man grew sad, as the blessed promises were reiterated in his ears, whose fulfillment he had so long looked and sighed for, the reader’s melodious voice would grow fainter and fainter, the holy book be closed again, and with still softer tones, accompanied by her harp, she would sing of the great coming salvation—of the rescue which was surely drawing nigh, till the color would deepen on his aged, furrowed cheek, his eye grow bright again, and the trembling hand would be laid in blessing on his darling’s head.