"I never meant to deceive your mother, Mirah," said Lapidoth, putting back his handkerchief, but beginning with a voice that seemed to struggle against further sobbing. "I meant to take you back to her, but chances hindered me just at the time, and then there came information of her death. It was better for you that I should stay where I was, and your brother could take care of himself. Nobody had any claim on me but you. I had word of your mother's death from a particular friend, who had undertaken to manage things for me, and I sent him over money to pay expenses. There's one chance to be sure--" Lapidoth had quickly conceived that he must guard against something unlikely, yet possible--"he may have written me lies for the sake of getting the money out of me."
Mirah made no answer; she could not bear to utter the only true one--"I don't believe one word of what you say"--and she simply showed a wish that they should walk on, feeling that their standing still might draw down unpleasant notice. Even as they walked along, their companionship might well have made a passer-by turn back to look at them. The figure of Mirah, with her beauty set off by the quiet, careful dress of an English lady, made a strange pendant to this shabby, foreign-looking, eager, and gesticulating man, who withal had an ineffaceable jauntiness of air, perhaps due to the bushy curls of his grizzled hair, the smallness of his hands and feet, and his light walk.

"I never meant to deceive your mother, Mirah," said Lapidoth, with a voice that struggled against further sobs. "I meant to take you back to her, but then I had word of her death from a particular friend, and I sent him money to pay necessary expenses. To be sure-" Lapidoth had quickly conceived that he must guard against something unlikely, yet possible - "he may have written me lies for the sake of getting money out of me."
Mirah made no answer; she could not bear to utter the only true one - "I don't believe one word you say" - and she simply walked on. They might well have caused passers-by to turn to look at them: the figure of Mirah, with her beauty set off by the quiet, careful dress of an English lady, made a strange pendant to this shabby, foreign-looking, eagerly gesticulating man, with his light, jaunty walk.
