"I stood up from my dead, and I demanded of Licorice why she had done this cruel thing. And she said, `Why! How little does a Christian know the heart of a Jew! Canst thou not guess that in our eyes it is a degradation for a daughter of Israel to be looked on by such as you Gentiles--that for one of you so much as to touch her hand is pollution that only blood can wipe away? Why! I wanted to revenge myself on thee, and if it were not too late, to save the child's soul. Thou canst hang me now, if thou wilt: I have had my revenge!' And I said, `Licorice, my faith teaches me that revenge must be left to God, and that only forgiveness is for the lips of men. I, a sinner as thou art, must have nothing to do with vengeance. But, O Licorice, by all that thou deemest dear and holy, by the love that thou bearest to that babe of thine in the cradle, I conjure thee to tell me what has become of my child. Is she yet living?' She paused a while. Then she said in a low voice, `No, Bruno. The journey was too much, in such a season, for so young an infant. She died the day after we arrived here. Perhaps,' said Licorice, `thou wilt not believe me; but I am sorry that the child is dead. I meant to bring her up a strict Jewess, and to wed her to some Jew. That would have been sweet to me. She and my Belasez would have grown together like twin sisters, for they were almost exactly of an age.' I could not refuse credence, for her look and tone were those of truth. It explained, too, if Beatrice had died so soon after arrival, why the child Rosia had not heard of her. So then I knew, Belasez, that the life to which my God called me thenceforward was to be a lonely walk with Him, sweetened by no human love any more, only by the dear hope that Heaven would hold us all, and that when we met in the Golden City we should part no more." Tears were dimming Belasez's eyes. Bruno turned to Abraham. "Now, my father, I have done thy will. But suffer me to say that it is no slight perplexity to me, why thou hast thought it meet that this sorrowful story should be told to the child of her that did the wrong." Abraham made no answer but to rise from the position in which he had been sitting all the time, and to walk straight to the window. He seemed unwilling to speak, and his companions looked at him in doubtful surprise. They had to wait, however, till he turned from the window, and came and stood before Bruno. "Son," he said, "what saith thy faith to this question?--When a man hath taken the wrong road, and hath wandered far away from right, from truth, and God, is it ever too late, while life lasts, for him to turn and come back?" "Never," was Bruno's answer. "And is it, under any circumstances, lawful for a man to lie unto his neighbour?"