no
matter how base--for was it not for you? And I have conquered! You are
the richest Jew south of the Mediterranean, you, my son! And you deserve
your wealth. You have your mother's soul in you, my boy! I watched
you, gloried in you--in your cunning, your daring, your learning, your
contempt for these Gentile hounds. You felt the royal blood of Solomon
within you! You felt that you were a young lion of Judah, and they the
jackals who followed to feed upon your leavings! And now, now! Your only
danger is past! The cunning woman is gone--the sorceress who tried to
take my young lion in her pitfall, and has fallen into the midst of it
herself; and he is safe, and returned to take the nations for a prey,
and grind their bones to powder, as it is written, "He couched like a
lion, he lay down like a lioness's whelp, and who dare rouse him up?"'

'Stop!' said Raphael, 'I must speak! Mother! I must! As you love me, as
you expect me to love you, answer! Had you a hand in her death? Speak!'

'Did I not tell you that I was no more a Christian? Had I remained
one--who can tell what I might not have done? All I, the Jewess, dare
do was--Fool that I am! I have forgotten all this time the proof--the
proof--'

'I need no proof, mother. Your words are enough,' said Raphael, as
he clasped her hand between his own, and pressed it to his burning
forehead. But the old woman hurried on 'See! See the black agate which
you gave her in your madness!'

'How did you obtain that?'

'I stole it--stole it, my son; as thieves steal, and are crucified for
stealing. What was the chance of the cross to a mother yearning for
her child?--to a mother who put round her baby's neck, three-and-thirty
black years ago, that broken agate, and kept the other half next her own
heart by day and night? See! See how they fit! Look, and believe your
poor old sinful mother! Look, I say!' and she thrust the talisman into
his hands.

'Now, let me die! I vowed never to tell this secret but to you: never
to tell it to you, until the night I died. Farewell, my son! Kiss me but
once--once, my child, my joy! Oh, this makes up for all! Makes up even
for that day, the last on which I ever dreamed myself the bride of the
Nazarene!'

Raphael felt that he must speak, now or never. Though it cost him the
loss of all his wealth, and a mother's curse, he must speak. And not
daring to look up, he said gently--

'Men have lied to you about Him, mother: but has He ever lied t