“Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; “something would I do more than this, something for thyself.—God knows the Jew is poor—yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe—but forgive me should I guess what thou most lackest at this moment.”
“If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “it is what thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou sayst thou art poor.”
“As I say?” echoed the Jew; “O! believe it, I say but the truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. Hard hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, my ships, and all that I possessed—Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is for a horse and armour.”
The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the Jew:—“What fiend prompted that guess?” said he, hastily.
“No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “so that it be a true one—and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.”
“But consider,” said the Palmer, “my character, my dress, my vow.”
“I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “and that the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in superstitious penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of dead men.”
“Blaspheme not, Jew,” said the Pilgrim, sternly.
“Forgive me,” said the Jew; “I spoke rashly. But there dropt words from you last night and this morning, that, like sparks from flint, showed the metal within; and in the bosom of that Palmer’s gown, is hidden a knight’s chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as you stooped over my bed in the morning.”
The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “Were thy garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, “what discoveries might not be made?”