The monk tore the gold necklace from his grasp, looked at it for a moment with childish wonder, as a savage might at some incomprehensible product of civilised industry, and then, spitting on it in contempt, dashed it on the ground, and trampled it into the mud.
‘Follow the golden wedge of Achan, and the silver of Iscariot, thou root of all evil!’ And he rushed on, yelling, ‘Down with the circumcision! Down with the blasphemers!’—while the poor girl vanished among the crowd.
Raphael watched him with a quaint thoughtful smile, while Miriam shrieked aloud at the destruction of the precious trumpery.
‘The monk is right, mother. If those Christians go on upon that method, they must beat us. It has been our ruin from the first, our fancy for loading ourselves with the thick clay.’
‘What will you do?’ cried Miriam, clutching him by the arm.
‘What will you do?’
‘I am safe. I have a boat waiting for me on the canal at the garden gate, and in Alexandria I stay; no Christian hound shall make old Miriam move afoot against her will. My jewels are all buried—my girls are sold; save what you can, and come with me!’
‘My sweet mother, why so peculiarly solicitous about my welfare, above that of all the sons of Judah?’
‘Because—because—No, I’ll tell you that another time. But I loved your mother, and she loved me. Come!’
Raphael relapsed into silence for a few minutes, and watched the tumult below.