had often been discussed between her and her lover, and she had been
candid enough in explaining to him that she could not leave her father
desolate. He had always replied that his wife's father should want for
nothing, and she had been delighted to think that she could with joy
accept that from her husband which nothing would induce her to accept
from her lover. This thought had sufficed to comfort her, as the evil
of absolute destitution was close upon her. Surely the day of her
marriage would come soon.

But now it seemed to her to be certain that the day of her marriage
would never come. All those expectations must be banished, and she must
look elsewhere--if elsewhere there might be any relief. She knew well
that if she would separate herself from the Jew, the pocket of her aunt
would be opened to relieve the distress of her father--would be opened
so far as to save the old man from perishing of want. Aunt Sophie, if
duly invoked, would not see her sister's husband die of starvation.
Nay, aunt Sophie would doubtless so far stretch her Christian charity
as to see that her niece was in some way fed, if that niece would be
duly obedient. Further still, aunt Sophie would accept her niece as
the very daughter of her house, as the rising mistress of her own
establishment, if that niece would only consent to love her son. Ziska
was there as a husband in Anton's place, if Ziska might only gain
acceptance.

But Nina, as she rose from her chair and walked backwards and forwards
through her chamber, telling herself all these things, clenched her
fist, and stamped her foot, as she swore to herself that she would
dare all that the saints could do to her, that she would face all the
terrors of the black dark river, before she would succumb to her cousin
Ziska. As she worked herself into wrath, thinking now of the man she
loved, and then of the man she did not love, she thought that she could
willingly perish--if it were not that her father lay there so old
and so helpless. Gradually, as she magnified to herself the terrible
distresses of her heart, the agony of her yearning love for a man who,
though he loved her, was so unworthy of her perfect faith, she began to
think that it would be well to be carried down by the quick, eternal,
almighty stream beyond the reach of the sorrow which encompassed her.
When her father should leave her she would be all alone--alone in the
world, without a friend to regard her, or one living human