But Gabriel was not to be won over to the worthy physician's view, and only half to the man himself. Yet was not this his last visit, for he clung to Dom Diego as to the only Jew he knew, and borrowed from him a Hebrew Bible and a grammar, and began secretly to acquire the sacred tongue, bringing toys and flowers to the little Ianthe, and once a costlier lute than her own, in return for her father's help with the idioms. Also he borrowed some of Dom Diego's own works, issued anonymously from the printing presses of Amsterdam; and from his new friend's "Paradise of Earthly Vanity," and other oddly entitled volumes of controversial theology, the young enthusiast sucked instruction and confirmation of his doubts. To Dom Diego's Portuguese fellow-citizens the old gentleman was the author of an erudite essay on the treatment of phthisis, emphatically denouncing the implicit reliance on milk. But Gabriel could not imitate this comfortable self-adjustment to surroundings. 'Twas but a half fight for the Truth, he felt, and ceased to cultivate the semi-recreant physician. For as he grew more and more in love with the Old Testament, with its simple doctrine of a people, chosen and consecrate, so grew his sense of far-reaching destinies, of a linked race sprung from the mysterious East and the dawn of history, defying destruction and surviving persecution, agonizing for its faith and its unfaith--a conception that touched the springs of romance and the source of tears--and his vision turned longingly towards Amsterdam, that city of the saints, the home of the true faith, of the brotherhood of man, and the fatherhood of God. VI "Mother," said Gabriel, "I have something to say to thee." They were in the half-orange room, and she had looked in to give her good-night kiss to the lonely student, but his words arrested her at the door. She sat down and gazed lovingly at her handsome eldest-born, in whom her dead husband lived as in his prime. "'Twill be of Isabella," she thought, with a stir in her breast, rejoiced to think that the brooding eyes of the scholar had opened at last to the beauty and goodness of the highborn heiress who loved him. "Mother, I have made a great resolution, and 'tis time to tell thee." Her eyes grew more radiant. "My blessed Gabriel!" "Nay, I fear thou wilt hate me." "Hate thee!" "Because I must leave thee." "'Tis the natural lot of mothers to be left, my Gabriel." "Ah, but this is most unnatural. Oh, my God! why am I thus tried?" "What meanest thou? What has happened?" The old woman had risen. "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.