up her hand. "I know what is the truth. You don't like what I did. You are angry with me. You think I robbed you of something. You are on your grandfather's side, and you will always have a condemnation of me in your heart."
Deronda felt himself under a ban of silence. He rose from his seat by her, preferring to stand, if he had to obey that imperious prohibition of any tenderness. But his mother now looked up at him with a new admiration in her glance, saying—
"You are wrong to be angry with me. You are the better for what I did." After pausing a little, she added, abruptly, "And now tell me what you shall do."
"Do you mean now, immediately," said Deronda; "or as to the course of my future life?"
"I mean in the future. What difference will it make to you that I have told you about your birth?"
"A very great difference," said Deronda, emphatically. "I can hardly think of anything that would make a greater difference."
"What shall you do, then?" said the Princess, with more sharpness. "Make yourself just like your grandfather—be what he wished you—turn yourself into a Jew like him?"
"That is impossible. The effect of my educa-
