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.”

As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van Heemskirk these words:  “Good sir,—­This is a matter of life and death:  so then, come at once, and I will tell you.  MIRIAM COHEN.”

With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching for some messenger she could trust.  It was not many minutes before Van Heemskirk’s driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to him she gave the note.

That day Joris had gone home earlier than usual, and Bram only was in the store.  But it was part of his duty to open and attend to orders, and he supposed the strip of paper to refer to a barrel of flour or some other household necessity.

Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for, that it took him a moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might be some practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that the Jew’s granddaughter had herself given him the message.  Assured of this fact, he answered the summons for his father promptly.  Miriam was waiting just within the door; and, scarcely heeding his explanation, she proceeded at once to give him such information as she possessed.  Bram was slow of thought and slow of speech.  He stood gazing at the beautiful, earnest girl, and felt all the fear and force of her words; but for some moments he could not speak, nor decide on his first step.

[Illustration:  “Why do you wait?”]

“Why do you wait?” pleaded Miriam.  “At sunset, I tell you.  It is now near it.  Oh, no thanks!  Do not stop for them, but hasten to them at once.”

He obeyed like one in a dream; but, before he had reached Semple’s store, he had fully realized the actual situation.  Semple was just leaving business.  He put his hand on him, and said, “Elder, no time have you to lose.  At sunset, Neil and that d——­ English soldier a duel are to fight.”

“Eh?  Where?  Who told you?”

“On the Kalchhook Hill.  Stay not for a moment’s talk.”

“Run for your father, Bram.  Run, my lad.  Get Van Gaasbeeck’s light wagon as you go, and ask your mother for a mattress.  Dinna stand glowering at me, but awa’ with you.  I’ll tak’ twa o’ my ain lads and my ain wagon, and be there instanter.  God help me!  God spare the lad!”