not tell what to think; her words and
looks were those of truth. She was apparently as kind as possible. She
showed me her baby--thyself, Belasez; and encouraged me to play with
Delecresse, who was then a lively child of three years. I came away,
baffled, yet unsatisfied. I should have been better pleased had I seen
thy father. But he, I was told, was again absent on one of his business
journeys."

"True," was the one word interpolated by Abraham, "I went to the house
of my friend, Walcheline de Fulshaw. He was an apothecary. I told my
story to him and to Isabel his wife, desiring their counsel as to the
means whereby I should get at the truth. Walcheline seemed perplexed;
but Isabel said, `Father, I think I see how to find out the truth. Dost
thou not remember,' she said, turning to her husband, `the maiden Rosia,
daughter of Aaron, whom thou didst heal of her sickness a year past?
Let me inquire of her. These Jews all know each other. The child is
bright and shrewd, and I am sure she would do what she could out of
gratitude to thee.' Walcheline gave consent at once, and a messenger
was sent to the house of Aaron, requesting that his daughter would visit
Isabel de Fulshaw, who had need of her. The girl came quickly, and very
intelligent she proved. She was about twelve years of age, and was
manifestly loving and desirous to oblige Isabel, who had, as I heard
afterwards, shown her great kindness. She said she knew Abraham thy
father well, and Licorice and Anegay. `Had Anegay been there of late?'
Isabel asked her. `Certainly,' answered Rosia. `Was she there now?'
The child hesitated. But the truth came out when Isabel pressed her.
Licorice had been absent from home, for several weeks, and when she
returned, Anegay was with her, and four men were also in her company.
Anegay had been very ill: very, very ill indeed, said the child. But--
after long hesitation--she was better now. `What about the baby?' asked
Isabel. Rosia looked surprised. She had heard of none, except
Licorice's own--thee, Belasez. Had she spoken with Anegay? The girl
shook her head. Had she seen her? Yes. How was it, that she had seen
her, but not spoken with her? The child replied, she was too ill to
speak; she knew no one."

"She did not know me, Belasez," said Abraham sorrowfully, lifting his
white, troubled face. "I came home to find her there, to my great
surprise. But she did not know me. She took me for some other