“Indeed you shall not,” said Ermine.
A second war of amiability seemed likely to follow, when a voice said at the door—
“Do you all want to go out? I am not going to the show. Will you trust me with the child?”
Isel turned and stared in amazement at the questioner.
“I would not hurt it,” pleaded the Jewish maiden in a tremulous voice. “Do trust me! I know you reckon us bad people; but indeed we are not so black as you think us. My baby brother died last summer; and my aims are so cold and empty since. Let me have a little child in them once more!”
“But—you will want to see the show,” responded Isel, rather as an excuse to decline the offered help than for any more considerate reason.
“No—I do not care for the show. I care far more for the child. I have stood at the corner and watched you with him, so often, and have longed so to touch him, if it might be but with one finger. Won’t you let me?”
Agnes was looking from the girl to Gerhardt, as if she knew not what to do.
“Will you keep him from harm, and bring him back as soon as we return, if you take him?” asked Gerhardt. “Remember, the God in whom we both believe hears and records your words.”
“Let Him do so to me and more also,” answered Countess solemnly, “if I bring not the child to you unhurt.”