“Well, you are as cautious as they make them. Oh, perfectly right, you know--perfectly right”--he touched O'Hara's chest--“not a word to say against that. I am the same kind of man myself--” “Come; are you for making a move?” “Agreed. Where is my hat? I suppose a man may get his hat!--ha! ha!--I can't very well go in this cap---” “You use mine--with the greatest pleasure. I do not need--Ah? quite the fit, quite the fit”. “Why, so it is. Ha! ha! why, it's a curate's hat, and--_I'm a Jew_!” “Excellent, excellent, ha! ha!” So they made merry, and, with the bitter lip-corners of forced merriment, went out, while Rebekah, who had caught a great deal of that dialogue, crouched a long time there, agitated, uncertain what to do. That her father should coolly look on at an assassination for a fortune was no revelation to her: she had long despised, yet, with an inconsistency due to the tenderness of Jewish family ties, still loved him; the notion of appealing to the police, therefore, who might ruin Hogarth, too, did not enter her head. She ran and wrote: “Your life and bag of gems are _at this moment_ in danger”; and sent it by a mounted messenger addressed to “The Guest at the Paper Shop”. But in twenty minutes the messenger returned to her with it, Hogarth having gone to the _rendezvous_ at the elm--long before the appointed time. When, accordingly, Frankl, O'Hara, and Harris arrived at the paper-shop back yard, and Harris had stolen up the back stairs, he presently, to the alarm and delight of the others, sent a whisper from the window: “No one 'ere as I can see!” And the search for the diamonds was short: for Hogarth had actually left the bag containing them on the trunk, and Frankl and O'Hara returned with it to Westring, holding it out at arm's length, one with the right, one with the left hand, like standard-bearers. Hogarth, meantime, was striding about the elm, and once fell to his knees, adoring a vision, and once, at a fancied step, his teeth-edges chattered. Rebekah! He called, groaned, hissed that name, while his to-and-fro ranging quickened to a trot. And now, fancying that he heard a call “_Come !_” he stood startled, struck into a twisting enquiry to the four winds; but could not locate the call, ran hither and thither, saw no one. “Come to me, little sister”, he wailed tenderly, while to swallow was a doubtful spasm for him, her name a mountain in his bosom. When he was certain that it must be nearer ten than “nine”, he set out in the sway of a turbulent impulse to spurt for the Hall: but as he reached the point of proximity between path and park, just there where her father had stood that morning he saw her patiently waiting--ever since that “_Come!_”