The Countess's step was heard approaching, but just before entering she stopped at the head of the stairs.

"Thou hast given the girl her dinner, Levina?"

"Oh yes, my Lady!"

"What had she?"

"I brought her apple-pie, if it please my Lady, and cheese, and gateau de Dijon, and ham, and--a few other little things: but she would not touch the ham, and scarcely the cheese."

"Thou hast forgotten, Levina: I told thee no meat of any kind, nor fish; and I believe no Jew will touch ham. I did not know they objected to cheese. But had she enough? Apple-pie and gateau de Dijon make but a poor dinner."

And without questioning Levina further, the Countess went on and addressed Belasez direct.

"My maid, hast thou fared well? I fear Levina did not bring thee proper things."

Belasez hesitated. She was very unwilling to say no: and how could she in conscience say yes?

"They were according to our law, I thank my Lady,--all but the ham.

That, under her gracious leave, I must decline."

"But thou didst not take the cheese?"

"No,--with my Lady's leave."

"Was it not in accordance with thy law, or didst thou not like it?"

"If my Lady will pardon me," said poor Belasez, driven into a corner, "I did not like it."

"What kind was it?"

"Levina said it was Suffolk cheese." Belasez's conscience rather smote her in giving this answer.

"Ah!" responded the unconscious Countess, "it is often hard, and everybody does not like it, I know."

Belasez was silent beyond a slight reverence to show that she heard the observation.

"But hast thou had enough?" pursued the Countess, still unsatisfied.

"I am greatly obliged to my Lady, and quite ready to serve her," was the evasive reply.

The Countess looked hard at Belasez, but she said no more. She despatched Levina for the scarf which was to be copied, and gave the young Jewess her instructions. The exquisite work which grew in Belasez's skilful hands evidently delighted the Countess. She was extremely kind, and the reserved but sensitive nature of Belasez went out towards her in fervent love.

To Margaret, the Jewish broideress was an object of equal mystery and interest. She would sit watching her work for long periods. She noticed that Belasez ignored the existence of her private oratory, made no reverence to the gilded Virgin which stood on a bracket in her wardrobe, and pa.s.sed the _benitier_ without vouchsafing the least attention to the holy water. Manifestly, Jews did not believe in gilded images and holy water. But then, in what did they believe? Had they any faith in any thing? Belasez had owned to saying her prayers, and she acknowledged the existence of some law which she felt herself bound to obey. But whose law was it?--and to whom did she pray? These thoughts seethed in Margaret's brain till at last, one afternoon when she sat watching the embroidery, they burst forth into speech, "Belasez!"

"What would my damsel?"

"Belasez, what dost thou believe?"

The Jewess looked up in surprise.

"I am not sure that I understand my damsel's question. Will she condescend to explain?"

"I mean, what G.o.d dost thou worship?"

"There is but one G.o.d," answered Belasez, solemnly.

"That I believe, too: but we do not worship the same G.o.d, do we?"

"I think we do--to a certain extent."

"But there is a difference between us. What is the difference?"

Belasez seemed to hesitate.

"Don't be afraid, but speak out!" said Margaret, eagerly.

"If I say what my Lady would not approve, would it be right in me?"

"My Lady and mother will not mind. Go on!"

"Damsel, I think the difference touches Him who is the Sent of G.o.d, and the Son of the Blessed. We believe in Him, as well as you. But we believe that He is yet to come, and is to be the salvation of Israel.

You believe,"--Belasez's words came slowly, as if dragged from her--"that He is come, long ago; and you think He will save all men."

"But that is our Lord Christ, surely?" said Margaret.

"You call Him so," was Belasez's reply. "But He did come!" said Margaret, in a puzzled tone.

"A man came, undoubtedly, who claimed to be the Man who was to come.

But was the claim a true one?"

"I have always been told that it was!"

"And I have always been told that it was not."

"Then how are we to find out which is true?" Belasez spread her hands out with a semi-Eastern gesture, which indicated hopeless incapacity, of some sort.

"Damsel, do not ask me. The holy prophets told our fathers of old time that so long as Israel walked contrary to the Holy One, so long should they wander over the earth, forsaken exiles, and be punished seven times for their sins. Are we not exiles? Is He not punishing us? Our holy and beautiful house is a desolation; our land is overthrown by strangers. Yet we are no idolaters; we are no Sabbath-breakers; we do not profane the name of the Blessed. Do you think I never ask myself for what sin it is that we are thus cast away from the presence of our King? In old days it was always for such sins as I have named: it cannot be that now. Is it--O Abraham our father! can it be?--that He has come, the King of Israel, and we have not known Him? Damsel, there are thousands of the sons of Israel that have asked that question! And then--"

Belasez stopped suddenly.

"Go on!" urged Margaret. "What then?"

"I shall say what my damsel will not wish to hear, if I do go on."

"But I wish very much to hear it."

"And then we look around on you, who call yourselves servants of Him whom ye say is come. We ask you to tell us what you have learned of Him. And ye answer us with the very things which the King of Israel solemnly forbade. Ye point us to images of dead men, and ye hold up before us a G.o.ddess, a fair dead woman, and ye say, These are they whom ye shall serve! And we answer, If these things be what ye have learned from him that is come, then he never can be the Sent of G.o.d. G.o.d forbade all idolatry, and all image-making: if he taught it, can he be Messiah? This is why in all the ages we have stood aloof. We might have received him, we might have believed him,--but for this."

"But I do not know," said Margaret, thoughtfully, "that holy Church lays much stress on images. I should think, if ye prefer to pray without them, she would allow you to do so. I cannot understand how ye can pray without them; for what is there to pray to? It is your infirmity, I suppose."