"To help your father in his projects of vengeance. You cannot conceive how exultant I am when I see you surrounded by hosts of Christian nobles, all doing homage to your beauty and your father's millions. Encourage them, Rachel, that they may become intoxicated with love, and that on the day when they ask me for my daughter's hand, I may tell them that my daughter is a Jewess, and can never be the wife of a Christian!"
Rachel made no reply; her head still rested on her father's bosom, and he could not see that tears were falling in showers from her eyes. But he felt her sobs, and guessing that something was grieving her, he drew her gently to a seat.
"Dear, dear child," cried he, anxiously, "tell me why you weep."
"I weep because I see that my father loves revenge far more than his only child; and that he is willing to peril her soul by defiling it with wicked coquetry. Now I understand why it is that such a profligate as Count Podstadsky has been suffered to pollute our home by his visits!"
The banker's face grew bright. "Then, Rachel, you do not love him?" said he, pressing his daughter to his heart.
"Love him!" exclaimed Rachel, with a shudder, "love a man who has neither mind nor heart!"
"And I was so silly as to fear that your heart had strayed from its duty, my child, and that the tears which you are shedding were for him! But I breathe again; and can exult once more in the knowledge of his love for you."
"No, father," said Rachel, "he does not love me. He loves nothing except himself; but he wearies me with his importunities."
"What has he done to you, my daughter?"
"During your absence he came three times to see me. As I denied myself, he had resort to writing, and sent me a note requesting a private interview. Read it for yourself, father. It lies on the table."