"`Oh that mine head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!'" "_Ha, chetife_!--what is the matter?" "Lady, there has been an awful slaughter of my people." And she stood up and flung up her hands towards heaven, in a manner which seemed to the Countess worthy of some classic prophetess. "`Remember, O Adonai, what is come upon us; consider, and behold our reproach!' `O God, why hast Thou cast us off for ever? why doth Thine anger smoke against the sheep of Thy pasture? We see not our signs: there is no more any prophet.' `Arise, O Adonai, judge the earth! for Thou shalt inherit all nations.'" The Countess stood mute before this unparalleled outburst. She could not comprehend it. "My child, I do not understand," she said, kindly enough. "Has some relative of thine been murdered? How shocking!" "Are not all my people kindred of mine?" exclaimed Beatrice, passionately. "Dost thou mean the massacre of the Jews in London?" said the Countess, as the truth suddenly flashed upon her. "Oh yes, I did hear of some such dreadful affair. But, my dear, remember, thou art now a De Malpas. Thou shouldst try to forget thine unfortunate connection with that low race. They are not thy people any longer." Beatrice looked up, with flashing eyes from which some stronger feeling than sorrow had suddenly driven back the tears. "`If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning!' Lady, thou canst not fathom the heart of a Jew. No Christian can. We are brethren for ever. And you call my nationality unfortunate, and low! Know that I look upon that half of my blood as the King does upon his crown,--yea, as the Lord dees upon His people! `We are Thine; Thou never barest rule over them; they were not called by Thy name.' But you do not understand, Lady." "No,--it is very strange," replied the Countess, in a dubious tone. "Jews do not seem to understand their position. It is odd. But dry thine eyes, my dear child; thou wilt make thyself ill. And really--" The Countess was too kind to finish the sentence. But Beatrice could guess that she thought there was really nothing to weep over in the massacre of a few scores of Jews. She found little sympathy among the younger members of the family party. Margaret said she was sorry, but it was evidently for the fact that her friend was in trouble, not for the event over which she was sorrowing. Eva openly expressed profound scorn of both the Jews and the sorrow. Marie wanted to know if some friend of Beatrice were among the slain: because, if not, why should she care any thing about it? Doucebelle alone seemed capable of a little sympathy. But before the evening was over, Beatrice found there was one Christian who could enter into all her feelings. She was slowly crossing the ante-chamber in the twilight, when she found herself intercepted and drawn into Bruno's arms.