t if she acted so, believing the king would
never know."

"You can make the story so in your mind, Ezra, because you are great,
and like to fancy the greatest that could be. But I think it was not
really like that. The Jewish girl must have had jealousy in her heart,
and she wanted somehow to have the first place in the king's mind. That
is what she would die for."

"My sister, thou hast read too many plays, where the writers delight in
showing the human passions as indwelling demons, unmixed with the
relenting and devout elements of the soul. Thou judgest by the plays,
and not by thy own heart, which is like our mother's."

Mirah made no answer.

CHAPTER LXII.

"Das Gluck ist eine leichte Dirne,
Und weilt nicht gern am selben Ort;
Sie streicht das Haar dir von der Stirn
Und kusst dich rasch und flattert fort

Frau Ungluck hat im Gegentheile
Dich liebefest an's Herz gedruckt;
Sie sagt, sie habe keine Eile,
Setzt sich zu dir ans Bett und strickt."
--HEINE.

Something which Mirah had lately been watching for as the fulfilment of
a threat, seemed now the continued visit of that familiar sorrow which
had lately come back, bringing abundant luggage.

Turning out of Knightsbridge, after singing at a charitable morning
concert in a wealthy house, where she had been recommended by Klesmer,
and where there had been the usual groups outside to see the departing
company, she began to feel herself dogged by footsteps that kept an
even pace with her own. Her concert dress being simple black, over
which she had thrown a dust cloak, could not make her an object of
unpleasant attention, and render walking an imprudence; but this
reflection did not occur to Mirah: another kind of alarm lay uppermost
in her mind. She immediately thought of her father, and could no more
look round than if she had felt herself tracked by a ghost. To turn and
face him would be voluntarily to meet the rush of emotions which
beforehand seemed intolerable. If it were her father he must mean to
claim recognition, and he would oblige her to face him. She must wait
for that compulsion. She walked on, not quickening her pace--of what
use was that?--but picturing what was about to happen as if she had the
full certainty that the man behind her was her father; and along with
her picturing went a regret that she had given her word to Mrs. Meyrick
not to use any concealment about him. The regret