on took humble leave of her.

"You are not coming with us, mynheer?" she asked in astonishment.

"Not ... not just yet, mejuffrouw," murmured the Jew somewhat
incoherently, "it is too early yet in the afternoon ... er ... for me
to ... to leave my business.... I have the honour to bid the
jongejuffrouw 'Godspeed.'"

"But," said Gilda, who suddenly misliked Ben Isaje's manner, yet could
not have told you why, "the mevrouw--your wife--she is ready to receive
me?"

"Of a truth--certainly," replied the man. Gilda would have given much to
question him further. She was quite sure that there was something
strange in his manner, something that she mistrusted; but just as she
was about to speak again, there was a sudden command of "Forward!" the
driver cracked his whip, the harness jingled, the sledge gave a big
lurch forward and the next moment Gilda found herself once more being
rushed at great speed through the cold night air.

She could not see much round her, for the fog out in the open seemed
even more dense than it was inside the city and the darkness of the
night crept swiftly through the fog. All that she knew for certain was
that the city was very soon left behind, that the driver was urging his
horses on to unusual speed, and that she must be travelling along a
river bank, because when the harness rattled and jingled less loudly
than usual, she could hear distinctly the clink of metal skates upon the
ice, as wayfarers no doubt were passing to and fro.

Solitary as she was--for Maria and her eternal grumblings were poor
company--she fell to thinking again over the future, as she had done not
only last night but through the past few interminable days; it almost
seemed as if she had never, never thought of anything else, as if those
same few days stretched out far away behind her into dim and nebulous
infinity.

During those days she had alternately hoped and feared and been
disappointed only to hope again: but the disappointment of last night
was undoubtedly the most bitter that she had yet experienced. So bitter
had it been that for a time--after its intense poignancy had gone--her
faculties and power of thinking had become numbed, and now--very
gradually, unknown at first even to herself, hope shook itself free from
the grip of disappointment and peeped up at her out of the abyss of her
despair.

Did that unscrupulous knave really have the last word in the matter? had
his caprice the power to order the desti