“We descended to the vault, where I found the lamp was always burning. And Adonijah, pointing to the parchments that lay on the table, said, “This is the matter wherein I need thy help; the collection and transcription whereof hath been the labour of more than half a life, prolonged beyond the bounds allotted to mortality; but,” pointing to his sunk and blood-shot eyes, “those that look out of the windows begin to be darkened, and I feel that I need help from the quick hand and clear eye of youth. Wherefore, it being certified unto me by our brother, that thou wert a youth who couldst handle the pen of a scribe, and, moreover, wast in need of a city of refuge, and a strong wall of defence, against the laying-in-wait of thy brethren round about thee, I was willing that thou shouldst come under my roof, and eat of such things as I set before thee, and such as thy soul desireth, excepting only the abominable things forbidden in the law of the prophet; and shouldst, moreover, receive wages as an hired servant.” “You will perhaps smile, Sir; but even in my wretched situation, I felt a slight but painful flush tinge my cheek, at the thought of a Christian, and a peer of Spain, becoming the amanuensis of a Jew for hire. Adonijah continued, “Then, when my task is completed, then will I be gathered to my fathers, trusting surely in the Hope of Israel, that mine eyes shall “behold the King in his beauty,--they shall see the land that is very far off.” And peradventure,” he added, in a voice that grief rendered solemn, mellow, and tremulous, “peradventure there shall I meet in bliss, those with whom I parted in woe--even thou, Zachariah, the son of my loins, and thou, Leah, the wife of my bosom;” apostrophizing two of the silent skeletons that stood near. “And in the presence of the God of our fathers, the redeemed of Zion shall meet--and meet as those who are to part no more for ever and ever.” At these words, he closed his eyes, lifted up his hands, and appeared to be absorbed in mental prayer. Grief had perhaps subdued my prejudices--it had certainly softened my heart--and at this moment I half-believed that a Jew might find entrance and adoption amid the family and fold of the blessed. This sentiment operated on my human sympathies, and I inquired, with unfeigned anxiety, after the fate of Solomon the Jew, whose misfortune in harbouring me had exposed him to the visit of the Inquisitors. “Be at peace,” said Adonijah, waving his bony and wrinkled hand, as if dismissing a subject below his present feelings, “our brother Solomon is in no peril of death; neither shall his goods be taken for a spoil. If our adversaries are mighty in power, so are we mighty also to deal with them by our wealth or our wisdom. Thy flight they never can trace, thy existence on the face of the earth shall also be unknown to them, so thou wilt hearken to me, and heed my words.”