It was about the hour that Tom Hammond entered the Hall to listen to the Major’s second address. Cohen, the Jew, was in his workshop, his brain busy with many problems, while his hands wrought out that wondrous Temple work.
The door opened, quietly, and Zillah entered. She often came for a talk with him at this hour, as she was mostly sure of an uninterrupted conversation. Her sister, to a large extent, lived to eat, and always slept for a couple hours or more after her hearty two o’clock dinner.
The young Jew gave the beautiful girl a pleasant greeting. Then, after the exchange of a few very general words, the pair were silent. Zillah broke the silence at last.
“Abraham,” she began, “I want to talk to you on—on—well—I’ve something important to say.”
He eyed her curiously, a tender little smile moving about among the lines of his mouth. There was a new note in her voice, a new light in her eyes. He had caught glimpses of both when they had met at breakfast, and again at dinner, but both were more marked than ever now.
He had laid down his tool at her first word of address. Now she laid one of her pretty plump hands on his, as she went on:——
“You could not have been kinder, truer, dear Abraham, if you had been my own brother, after the flesh. I have looked upon you as a brother, as a friend, as a protector, and I have always felt that I could, and would make a confidant of you, should the needs-be ever arise.”
The gentle smile in his eyes as well as his mouth encouraged her, and she went on:—
“A gentleman has asked me to marry him, Abraham——”