It had taken Abraham a long while to summon up his courage to make what he felt would be to Licorice an unwelcome communication. He was rather dismayed to find it so badly received at the first step. "Do go on, thou weariest of old jackdaws! I'm half asleep." "I have spoken to the child, Licorice." "As if thou couldst not have said that half an hour ago! Well, how do matters stand?" "There is one person in particular whom she is sorry to leave." "Of course there is! I saw that as plain as the barber's pole across the street. Didn't I tell thee so? Is it some young Christian gallant, and who is he? Blessed be the memory of Abraham our father!--why did we ever let that girl go to Bury?" "It is not as thou art fearing, wife. But--it is worse." "Worse!" Licorice seemed wide awake enough now. "Why, what could there be worse, unless she had married a Christian, or had abjured her faith?" "Wife, this is worse. She has seen--him." "De Malpas?" The name was almost hissed from the lips of Licorice. "The same. It was to be, Licorice. Adonai knows why! But it is evident they were fated to meet." "What did the viper tell her?" "I do not gather that he told her any thing, except that she brought a face to his memory that he had known of old. She fancies--and so of course does he--that it was her sister." A low, peculiar laugh from her mother made Belasez's blood curdle as she lay listening. There seemed so much more of the fiend in it than the angel. "What an ass he must be, never to guess the truth!" "She wants to know the truth, wife. She asked me if she might not." "Thou let it alone. I'll cook up a nice little story, that will set her mind at rest." "O Licorice!--more deception yet?" "Deception! Why, wouldst thou tell her the truth? Just go to her now, and wake her, and let her know that she is--" Belasez strained her ears to their utmost, but the words which followed could not be heard from her mother's dropped tones. "What would follow--eh?" demanded Licorice, raising her voice again. "Adonai knows!" said Abraham, sadly. "But I suppose we could not keep her long." "I should think not! Thou canst go and tell the Mayor, and see what he and his catch-polls will say. Wouldn't there be a pretty ferment? Old man, it would cost thee thy life, and mine also. Give over talking about lies as if thou wert one of the cherubim (I'll let thee know when I think there's any danger of it), and show a little spice of prudence, like a craftsman of middle earth as thou art. More deception! Of course there is more deception. A man had better keep off a slide to begin with, it he does not want to be carried down it." "The child fancies, Licorice, that Anegay was her sister, and that she either became a Christian or married one. She has no idea of any thing more." "Who told her Anegay's name?" "I cannot imagine. It might be Bruno." "We have always been so careful to keep it from her hearing." There was a pause.