"But what? I suppose young Trendellsohn has been talking to you again about it. I suppose he suspects me; if so, no doubt, you will suspect me too." "Oh, father! how can you be so cruel?" "If he thinks the papers are here, it is his own house; let him come and search for them." "He will not do that, I am sure." "What is it he wants, then? I can't go out to your uncle and make him give them up." "They are, then, with uncle?" "I suppose so; but how am I to know? You see how they treat me. I cannot go to them, and they never come to me--except when that woman comes to scold." "But they can't belong to uncle." "Of course they don't." "Then why should he keep them? What good can they do him? When I spoke to Ziska, Ziska said they should be kept, because Trendellsohn is a Jew; but surely a Jew has a right to his own. We at any rate ought to do what we can for him, Jew as he is, since he lets us live in his house." The slight touch of irony which Nina had thrown into her voice when she spoke of what was due to her lover even though he was a Jew was not lost upon her father. "Of course you would take his part against a Christian," he said. "I take no one's part against anyone," said she, "except so far as right is concerned. If we take a Jew's money, I think we should give him the thing which he purchases." "Who is keeping him from it?" said Balatka, angrily. "Well--I suppose it is my uncle," replied Nina. "Why cannot you let me be at peace then?" Having so said he turned himself round to the wall, and Nina felt herself to be in a worse position than ever. There was nothing now for her but to take the key, or else to tell her lover that she would not obey him. There could be no further hope in diplomacy. She had just resolved that she could not take the key--that in spite of her promise she could not bring herself to treat her father after such fashion as that--when the old man turned suddenly round upon her again, and went back to the subject. "I have got a letter somewhere from Karil Zamenoy," said he, "telling me that the deed is in his own chest." "Have you, father?" said she, anxiously, but struggling to repress her anxiety.