"Sir Christian, stop!" interrupted Ben Israel, who, now his feelings had

found vent, had composed himself, so as to meet his wily adversary with

tolerable fortitude: "Sir Christian, stop! There are two classes of

human kind your sect deceive without regret--betray without

compunction--and destroy, body and soul, without remorse--women and

Jews. It is nought, sir, nought--mere pastime--women's hearts and

reputations, and old men's grey hairs! Alas! alas! and is such the

religion of England!" The old man bent his head, and moaned heavily;

then, after a little space of time, raised himself, and said, "In the

name of the God of Jacob, I will take you point by point! Reply unto my

questioning; and, if thou canst, acquit thyself."--A ray of hope darted

over his expressive features, like a beam of light athwart a

thunder-cloud. "But no," he continued, his countenance again darkening,

"it cannot be--it cannot be."

"Worthy Ben Israel! excellent Rabbi!" replied Burrell; "dissect me as

you will; and if I answer not thy expectation----"

"Too truly wilt thou answer my expectation," said the Jew. "The Lord of

Hosts be praised that these iniquities are unpractised by the children

of my people! The innocent lamb torn from the fold; or, what is worse,

decoyed from the tents of her fathers! Had she been dead, I could have

said, 'The Lord's will be done,' He hath taken the child back into her

mother's bosom. But answer unto me these points--Didst often see

Zillah?"

"I certainly did see your daughter at times, during my stay in Paris."

"And why, having delivered my messages? Of what importance ought thy

visits to have been to one of the despised race?"

"You surely would not impute evil to my inquiring if your daughter

wished to write to her father when I forwarded despatches to England?"

"Strange, then, she should never have availed herself of such kindness.

Did she give no reason for this neglect of her parent?"

"I saw so little of her," replied Burrell carelessly, "that I really

forget."

The Rabbi shook his head.

"Perhaps, then, Sir Willmott Burrell, you can remember this trinket, and

inform me how it came into my daughter's hands: it was forced from her

previous to her flight."

Burrell started, for it was a miniature of himself, which he had given

her in the bud of his affection. At last he brazened out an assurance

that, however like, it was not his; that he could not tell how young

ladies obtained miniature pictures; that, if the Rabbi would look, he

would observe the hair and eyes to be much lighter.




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