If she could
become ill and die, with a good kind nun standing by her bedside, and
with the cross pressed to her bosom, and with her eyes fixed on the
sweet face of the Virgin Mother as it was painted in the little picture
in her room--in that way she thought that death might even be grateful.
But to be carried away she knew not whither in the cold, silent, black-
flowing Moldau! And yet she half believed the prophecy of Lotta. Such a
quiet death as that she had pictured to herself could not be given to
her! What nun would come to her bedside--to the bed of a girl who had
declared to all Prague that she intended to marry a Jew? For weeks past
she had feared even to look at the picture of the Virgin.
"I'm afraid you'll think I am very late, father," she said, as soon as
she reached home.
Her father muttered something, but not angrily, and she soon busied
herself about him, doing some little thing for his comfort, as was
her wont. But as she did so she could not but remember that she had
undertaken to be a spy upon him, to secrete his key, and to search
surreptitiously for that which he was supposed to be keeping
fraudulently.
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