Rebecca temporized as best she might.  She thought her uncle was too old.  She besought dear Moses and dear Simeon not to quarrel with each other, and offend their father by pressing their suit.  Ben Minories from London, she said, was too young, and Jochanan from Paris, she pointed out to Isaac of York, must be a spendthrift, or he would not wear those absurd waistcoats.  As for Ben Jonah, she said, she could not bear the notion of tobacco and Dutch herrings:  she wished to stay with her papa, her dear papa.  In fine, she invented a thousand excuses for delay, and it was plain that marriage was odious to her.  The only man whom she received with anything like favor, was young Bevis Marks of London, with whom she was very familiar.  But Bevis had come to her with a certain token that had been given to him by an English knight, who saved him from a fagot to which the ferocious Hospitaller Folko of Heydenbraten was about to condemn him.  It was but a ring, with an emerald in it, that Bevis knew to be sham, and not worth a groat.  Rebecca knew about the value of jewels too; but ah! she valued this one more than all the diamonds in Prester John’s turban.  She kissed it; she cried over it; she wore it in her bosom always and when she knelt down at night and morning, she held it between her folded hands on her neck. . . .  Young Bevis Marks went away finally no better off than the others; the rascal sold to the King of France a handsome ruby, the very size of the bit of glass in Rebecca’s ring; but he always said he would rather have had her than ten thousand pounds:  and very likely he would, for it was known she would at once have a plum to her fortune.

These delays, however, could not continue for ever; and at a great family meeting held at Passover-time, Rebecca was solemnly ordered to choose a husband out of the gentlemen there present; her aunts pointing out the great kindness which had been shown to her by her father, in permitting her to choose for herself.  One aunt was of the Solomon faction, another aunt took Simeon’s side, a third most venerable old lady—­the head of the family, and a hundred and forty-four years of age—­was ready to pronounce a curse upon her, and cast her out, unless she married before the month was over.  All the jewelled heads of all the old ladies in council, all the beards of all the family, wagged against her:  it must have been an awful sight to witness.

At last, then, Rebecca was forced to speak.  “Kinsmen!” she said, turning pale, “when the Prince Abou Abdil asked me in marriage, I told you I would not wed but with one of my own faith.”

“She has turned Turk,” screamed out the ladies.  “She wants to be a princess, and has turned Turk,” roared the rabbis.

“Well, well,” said Isaac, in rather an appeased tone, “let us hear what the poor girl has got to say.  Do you want to marry his royal highness, Rebecca?  Say the word, yes or no.”

Another groan burst from the rabbis—­they cried, shrieked, chattered, gesticulated, furious to lose such a prize; as were the women, that she should reign over them a second Esther.