leetle child!—left in a ditch, Nance; only think!"
"The child," said the girl, suddenly looking up, "is better where he is, than among us: and, if no harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies dead in the ditch, and that his young bones may rot there."
"What!" cried the Jew, in amazement.
"Ay, I do," returned the girl, meeting his gaze. "I shall be glad to have him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can't bear to have him about me. The sight of him turns me against myself and all of you."
"Pooh!" said the Jew, scornfully. "You're drunk, girl."
"Am I?" cried the girl bitterly. "It's no fault of yours if I am not! you'd never have me any thing else if you had your will, except now;—the humour doesn't suit you, doesn't it?"
"No!" rejoined the Jew furiously. "It does not."