Whether this applied only to those who were in sight
of his statue on the bridge of Prague, or whether it was good in all
rivers of the world, she did not know. Then she tried to think whether
she had ever heard of any case in which the saint had saved one who
had--who had done the thing which she was now about to do. She was
almost sure that she had never heard of such a case as that. But, then,
was there not something special in her own case? Was not her suffering
so great, her condition so piteous, that the saint would be driven to
compassion in spite of the greatness of her sin? Would he not know that
she was punishing the Jew by the only punishment with which she could
reach him? She looked up into the saint's wan face, and fancied that
no eyes were ever so piteous, no brow ever so laden with the deep
suffering of compassion. But would this punishment reach the heart of
Anton Trendellsohn? Would he care for it? When he should hear that she
had--destroyed her own life because she could not endure the cruelty of
his suspicion, would the tidings make him unhappy? When last they had
been together he had told her, with all that energy which he knew so
well how to put into his words, that her love was necessary to his
happiness.
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