eing a young gentleman whose first visit
had been so agreeable that they had "done nothing but talk of it ever
since." Young Mrs. Cohen was very sorry that baby was asleep, and then
very glad that Adelaide was not yet gone to bed, entreating Deronda not
to stay in the shop, but to go forthwith into the parlor to see "mother
and the children." He willingly accepted the invitation, having
provided himself with portable presents; a set of paper figures for
Adelaide, and an ivory cup and ball for Jacob.

The grandmother had a pack of cards before her and was making "plates"
with the children. A plate had just been thrown down and kept itself
whole.

"Stop!" said Jacob, running to Deronda as he entered. "Don't tread on
my plate. Stop and see me throw it up again."

Deronda complied, exchanging a smile of understanding with the
grandmother, and the plate bore several tossings before it came to
pieces; then the visitor was allowed to come forward and seat himself.
He observed that the door from which Mordecai had issued on the former
visit was now closed, but he wished to show his interest in the Cohens
before disclosing a yet stronger interest in their singular inmate.

It was not until he had Adelaide on his knee, and was setting up the
paper figures in their dance on the table, while Jacob was already
practicing with the cup and ball, that Deronda said--

"Is Mordecai in just now?"

"Where is he, Addy?" said Cohen, who had seized an interval of business
to come and look on.

"In the workroom there," said his wife, nodding toward the closed door.

"The fact is, sir," said Cohen, "we don't know what's come to him this
last day or two. He's always what I may call a little touched, you
know"--here Cohen pointed to his own forehead--"not quite so rational
in all things, like you and me; but he's mostly wonderful regular and
industrious so far as a poor creature can be, and takes as much delight
in the boy as anybody could. But this last day or two he's been moving
about like a sleep-walker, or else sitting as still as a wax figure."

"It's the disease, poor dear creature," said the grandmother, tenderly.
"I doubt whether he can stand long against it."

"No; I think its only something he's got in his head." said Mrs. Cohen
the younger. "He's been turning over writing continually, and when I
speak to him it takes him ever so long to hear and answer."

"You may think us a little weak ourselves," said Cohen, apologetical