She observed also, more accurately than she had ever done before, that he always carried the key of his desk with him. He did not, indeed, put it under his pillow, or conceal it in bed, but he placed it with an old spectacle-case which he always carried, and a little worn pocket-book which Nina knew to be empty, on a low table which stood at his bed-head; and now during the whole of the afternoon he had the key on the table beside him. Nina did not doubt but that she could take the key while he was asleep; for when he was even half asleep--which was perhaps his most customary state--he would not stir when she entered the room. But if she took it at all, she would do so in the day. She could not bring herself to creep into the room in the night, and to steal the key in the dark. As she lay in bed she still thought of it. She had promised her lover that she would do this thing. Should she resolve not to do it, in spite of that promise, she must at any rate tell Anton of her resolution. She must tell him, and then there would be an end of everything. Would it be possible for her to live without her love? On the following morning it occurred to her that she might perhaps be able to induce her father to speak of the houses, and of those horrid documents of which she had heard so much, without disobeying any of Trendellsohn's behests. There could, she thought, be no harm in her asking her father some question as to the ownership of the houses, and as to the Jew's right to the property. Her father had very often declared in her presence that old Trendellsohn could turn him into the street at any moment. There had been no secrets between her and her father as to their poverty, and there could be no reason why her tongue should now be silenced, so long as she refrained from any positive disobedience to her lover's commands. That he must be obeyed she still recognised as the strongest rule of all--obeyed, that is, till she should go to him and lay down her love at his feet, and give back to him the troth which he had given her. "Father," she said to the old man about noon that day, "I suppose this house does belong to the Trendellsohns?" "Of course it does," said he, crossly. "Belongs to them altogether, I mean?" she said. "I don't know what you call altogether. It does belong to them, and there's an end of it. What's the good of talking about it?" "Only if so, they ought to have those deeds they are so anxious about. Everybody ought to have what is his own. Don't you think so, father?" "I am keeping nothing from them," said he; "you don't suppose that I want to rob them?" "Of course you do not." Then Nina paused again. She was drawing perilously near to forbidden ground, if she were not standing on it already; and yet she was very anxious that the subject should not be dropped between her and her father. "I'm sure you do not want to rob anyone, father. But--"