"You have settled all things as a gentleman, Captain. May my white hairs say a word to your heart this hour?" Hyde bowed; and he continued, in a voice of serious benignity: "The words of the Holy One are to be regarded, and not the words of men. Men call that 'honour' which He will call murder. What excuse is there in your lips if you go this night into His presence?" There was no excuse in Hyde's lips, even for his mortal interrogator. He merely bowed again, and slipped through the partially opened door into the busy street. Then Cohen put clean linen upon his head and arm, and went and stood with his face to the east, and recited, in low, rhythmical sentences, the prayer called the "Assault." Miriam sat quiet during his devotion but, when he returned to his place, she asked him plainly, "What murder is there to be, grandfather?" "It is a duel between Captain Hyde and another. It shall be called murder at the last." "The other, who is he?" "The young man Semple." "I am sorry. He is a courteous young man. I have heard you say so. I have heard you speak well of him." "O Miriam, what sin and sorrow thy sex ever bring to those who love it! There are two young lives to be put in death peril for the smile of a woman,--a very girl she is." "Do I know her, grandfather?" "She passes here often. The daughter of Van Heemskirk,--the little fair one, the child." "Oh, but now I am twice sorry! She has smiled at me often. We have even spoken. The good old man, her father, will die; and her brother, he was always like a watch-dog at her side." "But not the angels in heaven can watch a woman. For a lover, be he good or bad, she will put heaven behind her back, and stand on the brink of perdition. Miriam, if thou should deceive me,--as thy mother did,--God of Israel, may I not know it!" "Though I die, I will not deceive you, grandfather." "The Holy One hears thee, Miriam. Let Him be between us." Then Cohen, with his hands on his staff, and his head in them, sat meditating, perhaps praying; and the hot, silent moments went slowly away. In them, Miriam was coming to a decision which at first alarmed her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She was quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the young men, and probably he had given Hyde his promise not to do so; but she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any obligation, of silence. A word to Van Heemskirk or to the Elder Semple would be sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered "yes," although she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given. Perhaps Cohen divined her purpose, and was not unfavourable to it; for he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, "I am going to see my kinsman John Cohen. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset I will return."