“One thing I would say, Lizzie, before passing from this subject, and mark my words; my spirit is not so broken nor my sense of justice so blunted but that one day I shall have that miniature again.  I have sworn it, and as I live, I’ll keep my vow.  But I must hasten on; it is already growing late.  I come now to the last and sorest trouble of my life.

“For many years I have known Mark Abrams, the son of our rabbi.  We have been children and friends together, almost from the time my mother died.  He was always so gentle and kind to me in his boyhood, that I often wondered what the world would be without Mark Abrams in it.  He was always the object of my childish admiration, and, indeed, the only friend I ever had who dared, or cared to show me any kindness.  A year ago now; a little more than a year, he whispered to me a tender tale of love, and my poor heart thrilled with ecstasy at his words.  Yes, he asked me to become his wife, when my school days should be ended, and I promised him that I would.

“No one knew at that sweet time, of his love for me.  I did not dream of it myself, till he told me—­surprised me, with the unexpected revelation.  I begged that our happiness be kept a secret until my school days were finished.  This was my fatal mistake.  You know our people have few secret engagements, and if I had only allowed Mark to speak to my father at first, then all would have been well.  But the enemy has at last overtaken me, and I fear I am conquered and ruined forever.  For some months I have thought that my step-mother suspected my secret, and have imagined that I could detect her intention to break the attachment if she found her suspicion to be correct.  Her every action has betrayed this intention.  I have at times vaguely hinted my trials and sorrows to Mark, but of the extent of that woman’s evil designing, he has had no conception.  I was ashamed to acquaint him fully with her true character.  Would that I had, dear Lizzie! would that I had, long ago!  My fears that Mark was being led into the subtle web of that evil woman’s weaving, and would surely be taken from me, were confirmed by his absence from Bertha Levy’s tea-party.  He promised me to attend, and my step-mother offered some inducement that kept him away.  To resist her will, one must have the strength of a Hercules.

“Lizzie!  Lizzie!  I cannot tell you more; the sequel of my fears is too dreadful to unfold!  Even yet, my poor heart struggles to disbelieve it.”  Leah dropped her head for a moment, while a sigh escaped her tremulous lips, and was silent.

“Go on, dear Leah.  Tell me all,” said Lizzie.

And Leah continued.  “For a long time I have been perplexed to know where my step-mother kept the key to a small cabinet drawer that I believed contained my long-hidden miniature.  By diligent search, I found it the day after Bertha’s party, and, feeling unusually unhappy, I determined, if possible, to see my mother’s face once more.  It was Sunday, and that night we were invited to some private theatricals at Mr. Israel Bachman’s, whose daughter had just returned from school.  You may remember his house on Vine street.  I declined to attend.  By remaining at home, I thought I could accomplish my purpose of discovering the hidden treasure.