I pointed to the exact spot.
"H'm!" he mused, "and that ship must be Greek or Levantine by its rig. Compare the crowns on her masts, too, with that on the plaque …" He stepped to the wall and peered into the frescoes. "Now this hand and arm"
"They belong to me," said a voice immediately behind me, and turning, I saw that the poor girl had followed us into the church.
The young Jew had turned also. "What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply.
"She means nothing," I began, and made as if to tap my forehead significantly.
"Yes, I do mean something," she persisted. "They belong to me. I remember"
"What do you remember?"
Her expression, which for a moment had been thoughtful, wavered and changed into a vague foolish smile. "I can't tell … something … it was sand, I think …"
"Who is she?" asked Mr. Laquedem.
"Her name is Julia Constantine. Her parents are dead; an aunt looks after her—a sister of her mother's."
He turned and appeared to be studying the frescoes. "Julia Constantine—an odd name," he muttered. "Do you know anything of her parentage?"
"Nothing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm. The family has belonged to
