The Jew's hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy pieces of gold.

The last ten he told over with much deliberation, pausing, and saying something as he took each piece from the table, and dropt it into his purse.

It seemed as if his avarice were struggling with his better nature, and compelling him to pouch zecchin after zecchin while his generosity urged him to restore some part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation to his agent.

His whole speech ran nearly thus: "Seventy-one--seventy-two; thy master is a good youth--seventy-three, an excellent youth--seventy-four--that piece hath been clipt within the ring--seventy-five--and that looketh light of weight--seventy-six--when thy master wants money, let him come to Isaac of York--seventy-seven--that is, with reasonable security." Here he made a considerable pause, and Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces might escape the fate of their comrades; but the enumeration proceeded.--"Seventy-eight--thou art a good fellow--seventy-nine--and deservest something for thyself---" Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth.

He weighed it upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring by dropping it upon the table.