“When I told this to Rebecca, the creature was so frightened, that away she ran, leaving me in the room with the body.  Swift as thought,” continued the woman, “I caught the silver dish, and was running down stairs,—­it was gloaming—­when I saw a door open opposite the chamber of death, and there, in the glimmering, I saw the child of the family asleep in a little crib.  She had on her usual dress, with the ornaments I spoke of, and seemed to have fallen asleep before her time, as she was not undressed.  I caught her up, asleep as she was, and the next moment I was out in the yard, and across the court, and through the back-door, and away over the common, and to where I knew that none would follow me, but they of my people, who would help my flight.”

“And the child with you,” said Salmon, “did you take the child?”

“More I will not tell,” added the woman; “no, nor more shall any tortures force from me, unless you bind yourselves not to prosecute me,—­unless you promise me my liberty.”

“I have told you,” said the Laird, “that if you tell every thing you shall be free,—­do you question my truth?”

“No, Dymock,” said the vagrant; “I know you to be a man of truth, and in that dependence you shall hear all.”

“I stripped the child of her gaudery, I wrapped her in rags, and I slung her on my back; but I did her no harm, and many a weary mile I bore her, till I came to the moor; and then, because she was a burden, and because the brand on her shoulder would assuredly identify her, if suspicion fell on me for having stolen her, I left her in the old blacksmith’s shed, and there she found a better father than you would have made her; for what are you but a wicked Jew, with a heart as hard as the gold you love.”

The fixed, and almost stone-like attitude in which the old man stood for some moments after his understanding had admitted the information given by the vagrant, so drew the attention of all present, that there was not a sound heard in the room, every one apprehending that the next moment they should see him drop down dead, nor did any one know what was best to do next; but this moment of terror was terminated by the old man’s sinking on his knees, clasping his hands, and lifting his eyes, and breaking out in a short but solemn act of thanksgiving, and then turning his head without rising, as it were looking for his daughter, she sprang toward him, and threw her arms about him, whilst he still knelt.  It would be difficult to describe the scene which followed:  Dymock began to caper and exult, Mrs. Margaret to weep, Rebecca to utter imprecations, and Shanty to sing and whistle, as he was wont to do when hammering in his shed, and the vagrant to dare the old Jewess to deny any thing which she had said.  When Dymock had assisted Tamar to lift her father into the chair, and when the old man had wept plentifully, he was again anxious to examine the case more closely; and a discussion