"She has kept the miniature to this day, and for three long years,
no matter how my eyes have longed for a glimpse of that sweet face,
I have never dared to ask for it. Many times she has worn it, in
great state, in her treacherous bosom, my father always supposing
that I loaned it as a special token of affection,--such, at least,
was the story she told him, and I have never dared contradict her."
As Leah finished this incident, her dark eye seem to kindle with a
new light and a quiver ran through her frame. She added, with
strange emphasis:

"One thing I would say, Lizzie, before passing from this subject,
and mark my words; my spirit is not so broken nor my sense of
justice so blunted but that one day I shall have that miniature
again. I have sworn it, and as I live, I'll keep my vow. But I must
hasten on; it is already growing late. I come now to the last and
sorest trouble of my life.

"For many years I have known Mark Abrams, the son of our rabbi. We
have been children and friends together, almost from the time my
mother died. He was always so gentle and kind to me in his boyhood,
that I often wondered what the world would be without Mark Abrams in
it. He was always the object of my childish admiration, and, indeed,
the only friend I ever had who dared, or cared to show me any
kindness. A year ago now; a little more than a year, he whispered to
me a tender tale of love, and my poor heart thrilled with ecstasy at
his words. Yes, he asked me to become his wife, when my school days
should be ended, and I promised him that I would.

"No one knew at that sweet time, of his love for me. I did not dream