“Hush! mine Shoodith! Shpeak low, for the luf of Gott! Don’t let him hear you talk in that shtyle. Theesh young Englishmen are not ushed to our ways. I hash a reason for being friendly to him.”
“What! because he is the nephew of Vanity Vaughan? Is that your reason, rabbi?”
“I shay, shpeak low! He’s in his shleeping room, and may hear you. A single word like that you shay might shpoil all my plans.”
“Well, father, I’ll talk in whispers, if you like. But what are your plans? You’ll let me know them, I suppose?”
“I will, Shoodith, but not shoost now. I hash an idea, mine daughter—a grand idea, it ish! And if all goes right, you, Shoodith, will be the richest woman in Shamaica.”
“Oh, I have no objection to that—to be the richest woman in Jamaica, with a prince for my footman! Who won’t envy Judith Jessuron, the daughter of the slave-merchant?”
“Shtay! a word about that, Shoodith dear. In hish presence we musht say as little ash possible upon the subject of shlaves. He musht see no shlave-whipping here—at leasht till he gets ushed to it. Ravener musht be told to behave himshelf. I knowsh of more than one young Englishmans who left his place joosh for that very thing. He needn’t go among the field handsh at all. I’ll take care of that. But, dearest Shoodith! everything depends on you; and I knowsh you can, if you will.”
“Can what, worthy father?”
“Make this young fellow satishfied to shtay with ush.”
The look which accompanied these words betokened some other meaning, than what they might have literally conveyed.