en up by the thought of other cares; but the heart of
a mother is ever wakeful." Throwing his pen down upon the table, Samuel
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 years, will be opened to-morrow to the descendants of my
ancestor's benefactor." So saying, Samuel turned his face sorrowfully
towards the house, which he could see through the window. The dawn was
just about to appear. The moon had set; belvedere, roof, and chimneys
formed a black mass upon the dark blue of the starry firmament.

Suddenly, Samuel grew pale, and, rising abruptly, said to his wife in
a tremulous tone, whilst he still pointed to the house: "Bathsheba! the
seven points of light--just as it was thirty years ago. Look! look:"

Indeed, the