We ran up to the soldiers. They were standing in a ring, and picture it,
gentlemen! they were laughing, laughing at poor Girshel. I flew into a
rage and shouted at them. The Jew saw us and fell on his daughter's
neck. Sara clung to him passionately.

The poor wretch imagined he was pardoned.... He was just beginning to
thank me... I turned away.

'Your honour,' he shrieked and wrung his hands; 'I'm not pardoned?'

I did not speak.

'No?'

'No.'

'Your honour,' he began muttering; 'look, your honour, look... she, this
girl, see--you know--she's my daughter.'

'I know,' I answered, and turned away again.

'Your honour,' he shrieked, 'I never went away from the tent! I wouldn't
for anything...'

He stopped, and closed his eyes for an instant.... 'I wanted your money,
your honour, I must own... but not for anything....'

I was silent. Girshel was loathsome to me, and she too, his
accomplice....