ndered it possible to identify him: for it was he.

Changed, indeed, was his costume. The turban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals and scimitar—all his finery had been stripped off; and in its place appeared a coarse Osnaburg shirt and trousers—the dress of a plantation negro.

He looked wretched, but not crestfallen.

No doubt he had by this time learnt, or suspected, the fate that was in store for him; but, for all that, his features exhibited the proud air of a prince; and the glances which he cast upon the overseer by his side, but oftener upon Jessuron—whose instrument he knew the other to be—were those of concentrated anger and defiance.

Not a word escaped his lips, either of protest or reproach. This had all passed before—when the first rude assault had been made upon him, to deprive him of his garments and the adornments of his person. The hour of recrimination was past. He knew he had no alternative but submission, and he was submitting—though in angry and sullen silence.

He had no idea of what was now designed for him. He had been shut up in a windowless room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that had just passed. Some new outrage he anticipated; but of what nature he could not guess.

He was not allowed to remain long in ignorance. Ravener, roughly grasping him by the wrist, led him up to the furnace.

The iron by this time was ready—glowing red-hot among the coals. The operator stood watching for the signal to use it; and on its being given, he seized the instrument in his grasp, and poised it aloft.

The prince now perceived the intention, but shrank not at the sight. His eyes were not upon the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of the furnace itself, were directed upon the face of the old Jew—at intervals upon that of the angel-like demon at his side.

The Jew alone shrank from the glance; his daughter returned it with a mo