The girl set her goat at liberty, walked quicker than formerly, and after a while reached the edge of the meadow. Then she stopped and looked in one direction with a sudden amazement of joy. This point was a thick birch trunk lying at the foot of the grove, and on this trunk sat a young man with an open book in his lap. The girl's amazement was short. With her eyes fastened on the young man's face, which was bent over the book, she crossed the whole length of the meadow, straight and light, and having stopped near the trunk on which he was sitting, she bent, seized his hand in both her swarthy hands, and raised it to her mouth.
Absorbed in his reading the man swiftly raised his head and looked in astonishment at the girl, quickly withdrawing his hand from her embrace and growing red with a warm blush.
"You don't know me," said the girl, in a voice which was muffled, but which trembled not one whit.
"No," answered the young man.
"But I know you. You are Meir Ezofowich, rich Saul's grandson. I see you often when you sit on the piazza of your beautiful house, or when, with that book, you pass the hill of the Karaims."
All this she said in a grave, steady voice, her figure drawn erect.
In her face there was not the slightest sign of embarrassment or timidity nor the slightest blush. Only her large eyes became darker and shone with a warm light, and her pale lips assumed a soft and gentle expression.
"And who are you?" asked Meir softly.
"I am Golda, the grand-daughter of Abel Karaim, despised and persecuted by all your people."
And now her mouth trembled and her voice took on a gloomy tone.
"All your people persecute Abel Karaim and his grand-daughter Golda, and you defend them. Long ago I wished to thank you."
Meir dropped his eyelids. His pale face flushed.
"Live in peace, you and your grandfather Abel," he said softly, "and may the hand of the Eternal be stretched over your poor house--the hand of Him who loves and defends those who suffer."
"I thank you for your good words," whispered the girl.
In the meanwhile she slipped down to the grass at the young man's feet, and raising her clasped hands she whispered further:
"Meir, you are good, wise, and beautiful. Your name signifies 'light,' and I have light before my eyes every time I see you. Long ago I wished to find you and talk with you, and tell you that although you are a grandson of a rich merchant and I am a grand-daughter of a poor Karaim, who makes baskets, yet we are equal in the eyes of the Eternal, and it is permitted to me to raise my eyes to you and looking on your light, to be happy."
And in fact she looked happy. Only now her thin, swarthy face burned with a flame-like blush, her lips were purple, and in her eyes raised to the young man's face and filled with passionate worship stood two silvery tears.
Meir listened to her with downcast eyes, and when she was silent he looked up and gazed at her for a while and whispered softly:
"Golda, how grateful and beautiful you are!"
For the first time during her conversation with Meir, Golda dropped her eyes and mechanically began to pluck the high grass growing around her. Meir looked at her silently. The innocence of her heart was plainly manifested in her confusion, which caused him to blush, and a timid joy shone with double light from his gray eyes, which remained cast down.
"Sit beside me," said he finally, in a soft voice.
The girl rose from the ground and sat in the place indicated by him.
She had recovered all her boldness and gravity. She was silent and looked at the youth who did not look at her. They were silent a long time. Silence was around them; only above their heads the tall birches rustled softly, and around the pond near by, which was grown up with osier, the whistling and carolling of the marsh-dwelling birds was heard.
Meir, who kept looking at the grass spread at his feet, was the first to speak:
"Why do you bring your goat so late to the pasture?"
Golda answered:
"Because I don't wish to meet the other girls here."
"Do they also persecute you?"
"They laugh at me when they see me, and call me ugly names, and drive me from them."
Meir raised his eyes to the girl, and in his glance there was deep pity.
"Golda, are you afraid of those girls?"
Golda gravely shook her head in negation.
"I have grown up together with fear," she answered. "It's my brother, and I am accustomed to it. But when I return home the old zeide asks: 'Have you met anybody? Have they annoyed you?' I can't lie, and if I tell the truth the old zeide is very sad and he weeps."
"Did zeide alone bring you up?"
She nodded her head affirmatively.
"My parents died when I was as small as that bush. Zeide didn't have any children, so he took me to his home and took care of me, and when I was ill he carried me in his arms and kissed me. When I was older he taught me to spin and read the Bible, and told me beautiful stories which the Karaims brought from the far world. Zeide is good; zeide is a dear old man--but so old--so old, and so poor. His hair is snow-white from great age and his eyes are red as corals from weeping. When he is making baskets I often lie at his feet and keep my head in his lap, and he caresses my hair with his old, trembling hand, and repeats: 'Josseyme! Josseyme!' (orphan)."
While thus speaking she sat a little bent over, with her elbow resting on her knee. She balanced herself softly, looking into space.
Meir was now gazing in her face as on a rainbow, and when she pronounced the last word, he repeated after her in a soft voice, filled with pity:
"Josseyme!"
At that moment, quite a distance behind them in the grove, was heard the bleating of the goat. Meir looked back.
"Your goat--will it not be lost in the forest?" he asked.
"No," answered the girl quietly. "She never goes too far, and when I call her she returns to me. She is my sister."
"Fear is your brother, and a she-goat your sister!" said the young man, smiling.
The girl turned her head toward the grove, and gave voice to a few short exclamations. Immediately there came from the thicket the sound of quick, racing steps, and among the green birch branches appeared the snow-white hairy animal. It stood still and looked at the two people sitting beside each other.
"Come here!" called Golda.
The goat approached and stood near her. Golda caressed the animal's neck, and Meir did the same smiling. The goat gave a short bleat, jumped aside, and in the twinkling of an eye was biting at one of the birches.
"How obedient she is," said Meir.
"She is very fond of me," said Golda gravely. "I brought her up in the same way that zeide did me. She was a little kid when zeide brought her home and made me a present of her. I used to carry her in my arms and feed her with my hands, and when she was sick I sang to her, as zeide used to sing to me."
In speaking thus she smiled, and the smile gave her a childish appearance. She looked not more than fourteen years old.
"Would you like to have another little kid?" asked Meir.
"Why not?" she answered. "I would like it very much. When zeide shall sell a great many baskets, and I shall spin much wool we will buy another little kid."