her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She was
quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the
young men, and probably he had given Hyde his promise not to do so; but
she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any obligation, of
silence. A word to Van Heemskirk or to the Elder Semple would be
sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered "yes," although
she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given.

Perhaps Cohen divined her purpose, and was not unfavourable to it; for
he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, "I am going to see my
kinsman John Cohen. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset I
will return."

As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van Heemskirk these words: "Good
sir,--This is a matter of life and death: so then, come at once, and I
will tell you. MIRIAM COHEN."

With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching
for some messenger she could trust. It was not many minutes before Van
Heemskirk's driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to him she gave
the note.

That day Joris had gone home earlier than usual, and Bram only was in
the store. But it was part of his duty to open and attend to orders, and
he supposed the strip of paper to refer to a barrel of flour or some
other household necessity.

Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for, that it took him a
moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might be some
practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that