FRIAR. I hardly think that, Nathan; For I already told you that I passed A short time with him. NATHAN. Can you tell at least The mother’s family name? She was, I think, A Stauffen. FRIAR. May be—yes, in fact, you’re right. NATHAN. Conrade of Stauffen was her brother’s name— He was a templar. FRIAR. I am clear it was. But stay, I recollect I’ve yet a book, ’Twas my dead lord’s—I drew it from his bosom, While we were burying him at Askalon. NATHAN. Well! FRIAR. There are prayers in’t, ’tis what we call A breviary. This, thought I, may yet serve Some Christian man—not me indeed, for I Can’t read. NATHAN. No matter, to the thing. FRIAR. This book is written at both ends quite full, And, as I’m told, contains, in his hand-writing About both him and her what’s most material. NATHAN. Go, run and fetch the book—’tis fortunate; I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it, And thousand thanks beside—Go, run. FRIAR. Most gladly; But ’tis in Arabic what he has written. [_Goes_. NATHAN. No matter—that’s all one—do fetch it—Oh! If by its means I may retain the daughter, And purchase with it such a son-in-law; But that’s unlikely—well, chance as it may. Who now can have been with the patriarch To tell this tale? That I must not forget To ask about. If ’t were of Daya’s? NATHAN _and_ DAYA. DAYA (_anxiously breaks in_). Nathan! NATHAN. Well! DAYA. Only think, she was quite frightened at it, Poor child, a message— NATHAN. From the patriarch? DAYA. No— The sultan’s sister, princess Sittah, sends. NATHAN. And not the patriarch? DAYA. Can’t you hear? The princess Has sent to see your Recha. NATHAN. Sent for Recha Has Sittah sent for Recha? Well, if Sittah, And not the patriarch, sends. DAYA. Why think of him? NATHAN. Have you heard nothing from him lately—really Seen nothing of him—whispered nothing to him? DAYA. How, I to him?