hid your poor old mother, and
kept her safe to see her boy come home. But give nothing to her little
husband: he is a bad fellow, and beats her.--Go, quick! take your
riches, and away!.... No; stay one moment just one little moment--that
the poor old wretch may feast her eyes with the sight of her darling
once more before she dies!'

'Before you die? Your son? God of my fathers, what is the meaning of
all this, Miriam? This morning I was the son of Ezra the merchant of
Antioch!'

'His son and heir, his son and heir! He knew all at last. We told him on
his death-bed! I swear that we told him, and he adopted you!'

'We! Who?'

'His wife and I. He craved for a child, the old miser, and we gave
him one--a better one than ever came of his family. But he loved you,
accepted you, though he did know all. He was afraid of being laughed at
after he was dead--afraid of having it known that he was childless, the
old dotard! No--he was right--true Jew in that, after all!'

'Who was my father, then?' interrupted Raphael, in utter bewilderment.

The old woman laughed a laugh so long and wild, that Raphael shuddered.

'Sit down at your mother's feet. Sit down.... just to please the poor
old thing! Even if you do not believe her, just play at being her child,
her darling, for a minute before she dies; and she will tell you all....
perhaps there is time yet!'

And he sat down.... 'What if this incarnation of all wickedness were
really my mother?.... And yet--why should I shrink thus proudly from the
notion? Am I so pure myself as to deserve a purer source?'.... And
the old woman laid her hand fondly on his head, and her skinny fingers
played with his soft locks, as she spoke hurriedly and thick.

'Of the house of Jesse, of the seed of Solomon; not a rabbi from Babylon
to Rome dare deny that! A king's daughter I am, and a king's heart I
had, and have, like Solomon's own, my son!.... A kingly heart.... It
made me dread and scorn to be a slave, a plaything, a soul-less doll,
such as Jewish women are condemned to be by their tyrants, the men. I
craved for wisdom, renown, power--power--power! and my nation refused
them to me; because, forsooth, I was a woman! So I left them. I went
to the Christian priests.... They gave me what I asked.... They gave
me more.... They pampered my woman's vanity, my pride, my self-will, my
scorn of wedded bondage, and bade me be a saint, the judge of angels and
archangels, the bride of God! Liars! lia