I was about to answer. I checked myself—a sudden thought flashed upon me—I trembled from head to foot.
"Have you—have you any reason for supposing that she died a Christian?" I faltered.
The old man started and changed colour.
"I—I—that is a strange question," he stammered. "Why do you ask it?"
"Yes or no?" I cried wildly. "Yes or no?"
He frowned, looked down, hesitated.
"I admit," he said, after a moment or two,—"I admit that I may have heard something tending that way. It may be that the maiden cherished some secret doubt. Yet she was no professed Christian."
"Laid in earth without one Christian prayer; with Hebrew rites; in a Hebrew sanctuary!" I repeated to myself.
"But I marvel how you come to have heard of this," continued the rabbi. "It was known only to her father and myself."
"Sir," I said solemnly, "I know now that Salome da Costa is dead; I have seen her spirit thrice, haunting the spot where...."