"Those were the words," echoed the lady, still preserving her motionless attitude. "And in the note I inclosed the password by which only admittance can be gained to this mansion?" "You did. I used it; entered the mansion and met you." Her voice was scarcely audible and very tremulous. "You met me, oh, indeed you met me," said Israel, pulling his gray whiskers; "but what of that? An hour and more has passed. You have refused even a glass of wine,--have never replied one word to all my propositions; egad! I have not even seen your face." "And now you have brought me to this lonely apartment to repeat your proposals?" "Yes!" Israel picked up his turban and twirled it round on the end of his finger. "I want a plain answer, yes, or no! I am a plain man,--a man of business. You are poor, almost starving (pardon me if I pain you), and you have an aged and helpless father on your hands. You have nothing to look forward to, but starvation, or, the streets. You remember the scene in the shirt-store to-night?" The lady gently bowed her head, and raised both hands to her face. "I am rich, benevolent, always had a good heart,"--another twirl of the turban,--"and in a day or two I am about to sail for Havana. Accompany me! Your father shall be settled comfortably; the sea-breezes will do you good, and,--and,--the climate is delicious." And the fervent Turk stroked his bald head, and smoothed his white hairs. "Accompany you," said the lady, slowly; "in what capacity? As a daughter, perchance?" "Not ex-act-ly as a daugh-t-e-r," responded Israel; "but as a _companion_." There was a pause, and the robe was gently removed from the head and face of the Lady in Black. A beautiful countenance, shaded by dark brown hair, was disclosed; young and beautiful, although there was the shadow of sorrow on the cheeks, and traces of tears in the eyes. An expression inexpressibly sad and touching came over that face, as she said, in a voice which was musical in its very tremor,-- "And you, sir, knew my father in better days?" "I did." "You never knew any one of his race guilty of a dishonorable act?" "Never did." "And now you find him aged and helpless,--find myself, his only hope, reduced to the last extreme of poverty, with no prospect but (your own words), starvation, or the streets,--" "Ay." Israel, beneath his spectacles, seemed to cast an admiring glance at his Turkish trowsers and red morocco boots. "And in this hour, you, an old friend of the family, who have never known one of our name guilty of an act of dishonor, come to me, and seeing my father's affliction, and my perfectly helpless condition, gravely propose that I shall escape dishonor by becoming your--_mistress_! That is your proposition, sir."