"But not to suspect my own father!"

"I do not ask you to suspect him."

"But you suspect him?"

"Yes; I do. I am older than you, and know more of men and their ways
than you can do. I do suspect him. You must promise me that you will
search for this deed."

Again she paused, but after a moment or two a thought struck her, and
she replied eagerly, "Anton, I will tell you what I will do. I will ask
him openly. He and I have always been open to each other."

"If he is concealing it, do you think he will tell you?"

"Yes, he would tell me. But he is not concealing it."

"Will you look?"

"I cannot take his keys from him and open his box."

"You mean that you will not do as I bid you?"

"I cannot do it. Consider of it, Anton. Could you treat your own father
in such a way?"

"I would cling to you sooner than to him. I have told him so, and he
has threatened to turn me penniless from his house. Still I shall cling
to you, because you are my love. I shall do so if you are equally true
to me. That is my idea of love. There can be no divided allegiance."

And this also was Nina's idea of love--an idea up to which she had
striven to act and live when those around her had threatened her with
all that earth and heaven could do to her if she would not abandon the
Jew. But she had anticipated no such trial as that which had now come
upon her. "Dear Anton," she said, appealing to him weakly in her
weakness, "if you did but know how I love you!"

"You must prove your love."

"Am I not ready to prove it? Would I not give up anything, everything,
for you?"

"Then you must assist me in this thing, as I am desiring you." As he
said this they had reached the corner from whence the street ran in the
direction of the bridge, and into this he turned instead of continuing
their walk round the square. She said nothing as he did so; but
accompanied him, still leaning upon his arm. He walked on quickly and
in silence till they came to the turn which led towards Balatka's
house, and then he stopped. "It is late," said he, "and you had better
go home."

"May I not cross the bridge with you?"

"You had better go home." His voice was very stern, and as she dropped
her hand from his arm she felt it to be impossible to leave him in that
way. Were she to do so, she would never be allowed to speak to him or
to see him again. "Good-night," he said, preparing to turn from her.

"Anton, Anton, do not leave me like that."

"How then