“But I want the money, Gamaliel,” she urged. “I must have it.”
“Must?” he repeated with a smile. “Well, must is a nail that drives through wood, no doubt; but if it hits iron it is apt to bend. Not that I am so hard as that; but money, money, money! And whose money do you mean, little maid? If you want money of mine to spend in bread, or in cakes, which is more likely, I will shut my eyes and put my hand boldly into my wallet; but, if I am not mistaken, you are well provided for by Rufinus the Greek, in whose house there is no lack of anything; and I have a nice round sum in my own keeping which your grandfather placed in my hands at interest two years since, with a remark that it was a legacy to you from your godmother, and the papers stand in your name; so your necessity looks very like what other folks would call ease.”
“Necessity! I am in no necessity,” Mary broke in. “But I want the money all the same; and if I have some of my own, and you perhaps have it there in your box, give me as much of it as I want.”
“As much as you want?” laughed the jeweller. “Not so fast, little maid. Before such matters can be settled here in Egypt we must have plenty of time, and papyrus and ink, a grand law court, sixteen witnesses, a Kyrios...”
“Well then, buy the ring! You are such a good, kind man Gamaliel. Just to please me. Why, you yourself do not really think that I want to buy cakes!”
“No. But in these hard times, when so many are starving, a soft heart may be moved to other follies.”
“No indeed! Do buy the ring; and if you will do me this favor...”
“Old Gamaliel will be both a rogue and a simpleton!—Have you forgotten the emerald? I bought that, and a pretty piece of business that was! I can have nothing to say to the ring, my little maid.” Mary withdrew her hand, and the grief and disappointment expressed by her large, tearful eyes were so bitter and touching, that the Jew paused, and then went on seriously and heartily:
“I would sooner give my own old head to be an anvil than distress you, sweet child; and Adonai! I do not mean to say—why should I—that you should ever leave old Gamaliel without money. He has plenty, and though he is always ready to take, he is ready to give, too, when it is meet and fitting. I cannot buy the ring, to be sure, but do not be down-hearted and look me well in the face, little maid. It is much to ask, and I have handsomer things in my stores, but if you see anything in it that gives you confidence, speak out and whisper to the man of whom even your grandfather had some good opinion: ‘I want so much, and what is more—how did you put it?—what is more, I must have it.’”
Mary did see something in the Jew’s merry round face that inspired her with trust, and in her childlike belief in the sanctity of an oath she made a third person—a believer too, in a third form of religion—swear not to betray her secret, only marvelling that the administering of the oath, in which she had now had some practice, should be so easy. Even grown-up people will sometimes buy another’s dearest secret for a light asseveration. And when she had thus ensured the Israelite’s silence, she confided to him that she was charged by Orion to send out a messenger to meet Amru, that he and Paula might be reprieved in time. The goldsmith listened attentively, and even before she had ended he was busying himself with an iron chest built into the wall, and interrupted her to ask! “How much?”