"It has to be done in mine," said Countess doggedly.

"I do not forbid thee to show mercy to the child. If he be, as thou sayest, an orphan and an exile, and thou moreover hast accepted some fashion of trust with regard to him (however foolish it were to do so), I am willing that thou shouldst keep him a day or two, till he has recovered. But then shelter must be sought for him with the Goyim."

"Do you two know," said Countess, in a low voice of concentrated determination, "that this child's parents, and all of their race that were with them, have been scourged by the Goyim?--branded, and cast forth as evil, and have died in the night and in the snow, because they would _not_ worship idols? These are not of the brood of the priests, who hate them. The boy is mine, and shall be brought up as mine. I sware it."

"But not for life?"

"I sware it."

"Did the child's father know what thou hadst sworn? as if not, perchance there may be means to release thee."

The black eyes flashed fire.

"I tell you, I sware unto him by Adonai, the G.o.d of Israel, and He knew it! In the lowest depths and loftiest heights of my own soul I sware, and He heard it. I repeated the vow this night, when I clasped the boy to my heart once more. G.o.d will do so to me and more also, if I bring not the boy unhurt to his father and his mother at the Judgment Day!"

"But, my daughter, if it can be loosed?"

"What do I care for your loosing? He will not loose me. And the child shall not suffer. I will die first."

"Let the child tarry till he has recovered: did I not say so? Then he must go forth."

"If you turn him forth, you turn me forth with him."

"Nonsense!"

"You will see. I shall never leave him. My darling, my white snow-bird! I shall never leave the boy."

"My daughter," said the Rabbi softly, for he thought the oil might succeed where the vinegar had failed, "dost thou not see that Leo's advice is the best? The child must tarry with thee till he is well; no man shall prevent that."

"Amen!" said Countess.

"But that over, is it not far better both for him and thee that he should go to the Goyim? We will take pains, for the reverence of thine oath, to find friends of his parents, who will have good care of him: I promise thee it shall be done, and Leo will a.s.sent thereto."

Leo confirmed the words with--"Even so, Cohen!"

"But I pray thee, my daughter, remember what will be thought of thee, if thou shouldst act as thou art proposing to do. It will certainly be supposed that thou art wavering in the faith of thy fathers, if even it be not imagined that thou hast forsaken it. Only think of the horror of such a thing!"

"I have not forsaken the faith of Abraham."

"I am sure of that; nevertheless, it is good thou shouldst say it."

"If the Cohen agree," said Leo, stroking his white beard, "I am willing to make a compromise. As we have no child, and thou art so fond of children, the child shall abide with thee, on condition that thou take a like oath to bring him up a proselyte of Israel: and then let him be circ.u.mcised on the eighth day after his coming here. But if not, some friend of his parents must be found. What say you, Cohen?"

"I am willing so to have it."

"I am not," said Countess shortly. "As to friends of the child's parents, there are none such, save the G.o.d for whom they died, and in whose presence they stand to-night. I must keep mine oath. Unhurt in body, unhurt in soul, according to their conception thereof, and according to my power, will I bring the boy to his father at the coming of Messiah."

"Wife, wouldst thou have the Cohen curse thee in the face of all Israel?"

"These rash vows!" exclaimed the Rabbi, in evident uneasiness.

"Daughter, it is written in the Thorah that if any woman shall make a vow, her husband may establish it or make it void, if he do so in the day that he hear it; and the Blessed One (unto whom be praise!) shall forgive her, and she shall not perform the vow."

"The vow was made before I was Leo's wife."

"Well, but in the day that he hath heard it, it is disallowed."

"There is something else written in the Thorah, Cohen. 'Every vow of a widow, or of her that is divorced, shall stand.'"

"Father Isaac! when didst thou read the Thorah? Women have no business to do any such thing."

"It is there, whether they have or not."

"Then it was thy father's part to disallow it."

"I told him of my vow, and he did not."

"That is an awkward thing!" said Leo in a low tone to the Rabbi.

"I must consult the Rabbins," was the answer. "It may be we shall find a loophole, to release the foolish woman. Canst thou remember the exact words of thy vow?"

"What matter the exact words? The Holy One (blessed be He!) looketh on the heart, and He knew what I meant to promise."

"Yet how didst thou speak?"

"I have told you. I said, 'G.o.d do so to me and more also, if I bring not the child to you unhurt!'"

"Didst thou say 'G.o.d'? or did the man say it, and thy word was only 'He'?" asked the Rabbi eagerly, fancying that he saw a way of escape.

"What do I know which it was? I meant Him, and that is in His eyes as if I had said it."

"Countess, if thou be contumacious, I cannot shelter thee," said Leo sternly.

"My daughter," answered the Rabbi, still suavely, though he was not far from anger, "I am endeavouring to find thee a way of escape."

"I do not wish to escape. I sware, and I will do it. Oh, bid me depart!" she cried, almost fiercely, turning to Leo. "I cannot bear this endless badgering. Give me my raiment and my jewels, and bid me depart in peace!"

There was a moment's dead silence, during which the two old men looked fixedly at each other. Then the Rabbi said--

"It were best for thee, Leo. Isaac the son of Deuslesalt [probably a translation of Isaiah or Joshua] hath a fair daughter, and he is richer than either Benefei or Jurnet. She is his only child."

"I have seen her: she is very handsome. Yet such a winter night! We will wait till morning, and not act rashly."

"No: now or not at all," said Countess firmly.

"My daughter," interposed the Rabbi hastily, "there is no need to be rash. If Leo give thee now a writing of divorcement, thou canst not abide in his house to-night. Wait till the light dawns. Sleep may bring a better mind to thee."

Countess vouchsafed him no answer. She turned to her husband.