Cohen gave a quick little start, but in her eagerness she did not notice it.
“I have promised,” she continued, “for I love him, and he loves me as only——”
“Who is he, Zillah?”
“Mr. Hammond, dear!”
His eyes flashed with the mildest surprise. But, to her astonishment, she noticed that he showed no anger.
In spite of all his usual gentleness she had half expected a little outburst, for to marry out of the Jewish faith, was equal in shame almost to turning Meshumed, and usually brought down the curse of one’s nearest and dearest.
“He is of the Gentile race, Zillah!” Cohen said quietly.
She noticed that he said race, and not faith, and she unconsciously took courage from the fact.
She was silent for a moment. Her lips moved slightly, but no sound came from her. Watching her, he wondered. She was praying!
Suddenly she lifted her head, proudly almost. She suffered her great lustrous eyes,—liquid in their love-light—to meet his, as she said, with a ringing frankness:——