Next week was always Abraham’s time for doing every thing.
“If thou wilt. The gear has all been ready long ago. There is only the feast to provide.”
“Then I suppose I had better speak to Hamon,” said Abraham, in the tone of a man who would have been thankful if allowed to let it alone. “It is time, I take it?”
“It is far past the time, husband,” said Licorice. “That girl’s heart, as I told thee, is gone after the creeping things. Didst thou not see the look in her eyes to-night? Like to like—blood to blood! It made mine boil to behold it.”
“Forbid it, God of our fathers!” fervently ejaculated Abraham. “Licorice, dost thou think the child has ever guessed—”
“Hush, husband, lest she should chance to awake. Guessed! No, and she never shall.”
Belasez’s ears, it is unnecessary to say, were strained to catch every sound. What was she not to guess?
“Art thou sure that Genta knows nothing?”
Genta was the daughter of Abraham’s brother Moss.
“Nothing that would do much harm,” said Licorice, but in rather a doubtful tone. “Beside, Genta can hold her peace.”