Hannah sprang after her, clasped her around the waist, and holding her
tightly, cried out in terror:

"Don't, my lady! for Heaven's sake, don't hurt the child! He is such a
poor little mite; he cannot live many days; he must die, and it will be
a great blessing that he does; but still, for all that, I mustn't see
him killed before my very face. No, you shan't, my lady! you shan't go
anigh him! You shan't, indeed!" exclaimed Hannah, as the countess
struggled once to free herself.

"How dare you hold me?" exclaimed Berenice.

"Because I am strong enough to do so, my lady, without your leave! And
because you are not yourself, my lady, and you might kill the child,"
said Hannah resolutely enough, though, to tell the truth, she was
frightened almost out of her senses.

"Not myself? Are you crazy, woman?" indignantly demanded Berenice.

"No, my lady, but you are! Oh, do try to compose your mind, or you may
do yourself a mischief!" pleaded Hannah.

Berenice suddenly ceased to struggle, and became perfectly quiet. Hannah
was resolved not to be deceived, and held her firmly as ever.

"Hannah," said the countess, "I begin to see how it is that you think me
mad. You, a Christian maid, and I, a Jewish matron, do not understand
each other. We think, and look, and speak from different points of view.
You think I mean to say that the child upon the bed is the son of my own
bosom!"