leaned his forehead upon his hands in sorrow.

Bathsheba resumed, as if she found a melancholy pleasure in these cruel
remembrances: "Yes; that was the last day on which our son, Abel, wrote
to us from Germany, to announce to us that he had invested the funds
according to your desire and was going thence into Poland, to effect
another operation."

"And in Poland he met the death of a martyr," added Samuel. "With no
motive and no proof, they accused him falsely of coming to organize
smuggling, and the Russian governor, treating him as they treat our
brothers in that land of cruel tyranny, condemned him to the dreadful
punishment of the knout, without even hearing him in his defence. Why
should they hear a Jew? What is a Jew? A creature below a serf, whom they
reproach for all the vices that a degrading slavery has engendered. A Jew
beaten to death? Who would trouble themselves about it?"

"And poor Abel, so good, so faithful, died beneath their stripes, partly
from shame, partly from the wounds," said Bathsheba, shuddering. "One of
our Polish brethren obtained with great difficulty permission to bury
him. He cut off this lock of beautiful black hair--which, with this scrap
of linen, bathed in the blood of our dear son, is all that now remains to
us of him." Bathsheba covered the hair and clasp with convulsive kisses.

"Alas!" said Samuel, drying his tears, which had burst forth at these sad
recollections, "the Lord did not at last remove our child, until the task
which our family has accomplished faithfully for a century and a half was
nearly at an end. Of what use will our race be henceforth upon earth?"
added Samuel, most bitterly. "Our duty is performed. This casket contains
a royal fortune--and yonder house, walled up for a hundred and fifty