"
"She has turned Turk," screamed out the ladies. "She wants to be a
princess, and has turned Turk," roared the rabbis.
"Well, well," said Isaac, in rather an appeased tone, "let us hear what
the poor girl has got to say. Do you want to marry his royal highness,
Rebecca? Say the word, yes or no."
Another groan burst from the rabbis--they cried, shrieked, chattered,
gesticulated, furious to lose such a prize; as were the women, that she
should reign over them a second Esther.
"Silence," cried out Isaac; "let the girl speak. Speak boldly, Rebecca
dear, there's a good girl."
Rebecca was as pale as a stone. She folded her arms on her breast, and
felt the ring there. She looked round all the assembly, and then at
Isaac. "Father," she said, in a thrilling low steady voice, "I am not of
your religion--I am not of the Prince Boabdil's religion--I--I am of HIS
religion."
"His! whose, in the name of Moses, girl?" cried Isaac.
Rebecca clasped her hands on her beating chest and looked round with
dauntless eyes. "Of his," she said, "who saved my life and your honor:
of my dear, dear champion's. I never can be his, but I will be no
other's. Give my money to my kinsmen; it is that they long for. Take the
dross, Simeon and Solomon, Jonah and Jochanan, and divide it among you,
and leave me.
Pages:
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516