"I must leave Portugal."
"Wherefore? in Heaven's name! Leave Portugal?"
"Hush, or the servants will hear. I would become," he breathed low, "a Jew!"
Dona da Costa blenched, and stared at him breathless, a strange light in her eyes, but not that which he had expected.
"'Tis the finger of God!" she whispered, awestruck.
"Mother!" He was thrilled with a wild suspicion.
"Yes, my father was a Jew. I was brought up as a Jewess."
"Hush! hush!" he cautioned her again, and going to the door peered into the gloom. "But my father?" he asked, shutting the door carefully.
She shook her head.
"His family, though likewise Marranos, were true believers. It was the grief of my life that I dared never tell him. Often since his death, memories from my girlhood have tugged at my heart. But I durst not influence my children's faith—it would have meant deadly peril to them. And now—O Heaven!—perchance torture—the stake—!"