ich argosies of the East once
more will float over the waters of the tideless sea."

"Not in our time, Abbe, not in our time," said the Jew, smiling.

"But are we only to build for ourselves?" said D'Esmonde. "Was it thus
your own great forefathers raised the glorious Temple?"

The allusion called up but a cold sneer on the Israelite's dark
countenance, and D'Esmonde knew better than to repeat a blow which
showed itself to be powerless.

A tap at the door here broke in upon the colloquy, and Jekyl's voice was
heard on the outside.

"Say you are engaged, that you cannot admit him," whispered D'Esmonde.
"I do not wish that he should see me here."

"A thousand pardons, Morlache," said Jekyl, from without; "but when
I followed you to the 'Pitti,' I left a young lady here, has she gone
away, or is she still here?"

"I never saw her," said Morlache. "She must have left before I
returned."

"Thanks, good-bye," said Jekyl; and his quick foot was heard ascending
the stairs again.

"The night air grows chilly," said the Abbe, as he arose and shut the
window; and the boatmen, mistaking the sound for a summons to approach,
pulled up to the spot.

With a sudden spring Kate bounded into the boat, while yet some distance
off, and hurriedly said, "To the stairs beside the Santa Trinita."

The clink of money, as she took out her purse, made the brief command
intelligible, and they shot down the stream with speed.

"Do not speak of me," said she, covering her face with her kerchief as
she stepped from the boat; and a gold Napoleon enforced the caution.

It was now night, the lamps were all lighted, and the streets crowded by
that bustling throng of population whose hours of business or pleasure
commence when day has closed. A thin drizzling rain was falling, and
the footway was wet and muddy. Dressed in the height of fashion, all her
attire suited to a carriage, Kate set out to walk homeward, with a
heart sinking from terror. Many a time in her condition of poverty,
with patched and threadbare cloak, had she travelled the dark road from
Lichtenthal to Baden after nightfall, fearless and undismayed, no dread
of danger nor of insult occurring to her happy spirit, the "Gute nacht"
of some homeward-bound peasant the only sound that saluted her. But now,
she was no longer in the secluded valley of the great Vaterland; her
way led through the crowded thoroughfares of a great city, with all its
crash and noise and movement.

I