There was a moment’s dead silence, during which the two old men looked fixedly at each other. Then the Rabbi said—
“It were best for thee, Leo. Isaac the son of Deuslesalt (probably a translation of Isaiah or Joshua) hath a fair daughter, and he is richer than either Benefei or Jurnet. She is his only child.”
“I have seen her: she is very handsome. Yet such a winter night! We will wait till morning, and not act rashly.”
“No: now or not at all,” said Countess firmly.
“My daughter,” interposed the Rabbi hastily, “there is no need to be rash. If Leo give thee now a writing of divorcement, thou canst not abide in his house to-night. Wait till the light dawns. Sleep may bring a better mind to thee.”
Countess vouchsafed him no answer. She turned to her husband.
“I never wished to dwell in thy house,” she said very calmly, “but I have been a true and obedient wife. I ask thee now for what I think I have earned—my liberty. Let me go with my little child, whom I love dearly,—go to freedom, and be at peace. I can find another shelter for to-night. And if I could not, it would not matter—for me.”
She stooped and gathered the sleeping child into her arms.
“Speak the words,” she said. “It is the one boon that I ask of you.”
Leo rose—with a little apparent reluctance—and placed writing materials before the Rabbi, who with the reed-pen wrote, or rather painted, a few Hebrew words upon the parchment. Then Leo, handing it to his wife, said solemnly—