"Speak, father! command him!" urged several voices.
The old man seemed to totter on his feet. A cruel struggle was taking place within him. Several times he tried to speak, but could not. At last in a heavy whisper, he said:
"He is not cursed yet--I am still allowed:"
"In the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob I bless you, son of my son!"
And trembling in every limb, his eyes full of tears, he sank back in his chair.
Those present exchanged glances of amazement and reverence. Meir bounded forward and threw himself at the feet of the old man. In a low, feverish voice he spoke of the love he bore him--about the Senior's legacy to his descendants, and that he would go into the world and come back sometime. Then he rose from his knees and quickly left the room.
At this moment there was nobody near the windows of the house. The great crowd of people had retreated towards the middle of the square, and there they stood almost motionless, quietly whispering with each other. A singular thing happened. Scarcely had the messenger finished reading the sentence when the storm of wrath and anger suddenly subsided. What had happened to them? Their emotional nature which, like a stringed instrument, answered to the slightest touch, quivered under a new feeling. It was respect and sympathy for the misfortune of an ancient and charitable family. The crowd, which such a short time before had yelled and cursed and was ready to tear everything to pieces, became suddenly quiet and subdued, and began to disperse peacefully. Here and there still sounded malicious laughter or insulting epithets, but more voices were heard in gentle pity.
"Yet he was good and charitable!"
"He never was proud!"
"He fed my foolish child and kissed it!"
"He saved my old father when the cart had fallen upon him!"
"He worked with us like a common man, and sawed wood!"
"His face shone with beauty and intelligence!"
"All eyes rejoiced looking at his young age!"
"Herem!! Herem! Herem!" (Excommunicated) repeated many.
Then they shook their heads in wonder, faces paled with horror, and breasts heaved with sighs.
Three shadows glided swiftly over the moonlit deserted fields which separated the town from the Karaite's Hill. The first belonged to a tall, slender man; the second to a child who clung to the sleeve of his garment; these two shadows were so close together that often they formed but one; the third shadow showed the outline of a burly figure, which kept carefully in the distance, now and then stood still or doubled up, at times disappearing altogether behind palings, shrubs, or trees. It was evident the shadow wanted to hide itself, and was looking for something, listening and watching for something or somebody.
At the open window of Abel's cottage a low voice called out:
"Golda! Golda!"
From the window bent a face, whitened in the moonlight, and surrounded by waves of black hair. A low passionate whisper sounded in the still evening air:
"Meir! Meir! I heard a terrible noise and awful voices! My heart trembled in fear; but it is nothing now you are here."
Two arms were stretched forth towards the approaching young man. The corals on her neck quivered under the throbbing emotion where sobs mingled with laughter.
Suddenly she uttered a piercing cry.
Meir stood before her, and she saw his torn garments and the red scar on his forehead.
She moaned, and put her hand gently on his brow, and caressingly touched the dusty hair and ragged clothes with the almost motherly feeling that longs to comfort and soothe. Meir sat on the bench in the posture of a man deadly tired. He leaned his head against the window-frame, and seemed to draw in the mild evening breeze. The moon reflected herself in the mournful eyes that were raised in question towards the silvery clouds. After a while he straightened himself and said quickly, in a low voice:
"Golda, people may search for me; if they find me they will take my treasure. I will give it to you to hide it, and then I will go into the fields and woods to cry out unto Jehovah for mercy."
The girl, too, stood straight and grave. "Give it to me," she said quietly. The leaves of the paper rustled in Meir's hands, and, giving them to the girl, he said:
"Hide it in your breast, and guard my treasure as the apple of your eye. It contains the precious words of my ancestor, which have removed all blindness from my eyes. They will be my passport which will open to me the doors and hearts of wise men. It is quiet here, and safe--nobody sees or suspects. When I am ready I shall come and ask you for it."
Golda took the paper.
"Rest tranquil about your treasure," she said. "I would rather lay down my life than give it up to anyone but you. It is safe here, it is quiet, nobody will suspect."
Meir rose from the bench.
"Sleep in peace," he said. "I must go; my soul is full of cries; I must walk, walk. I shall go and throw myself down among the trees, and send my prayers up to Jehovah with the evening breeze. I must unburden my mind of the heavy load."
He was going away, but Golda held him by the sleeve.
"Meir," she whispered, "tell me what has happened. Why did the people beat and hurt you? Why must you go out into the world?"
"People have beaten and stoned me," replied Meir gloomily, "because I would not go against the truth, and would not agree to what the people agree. I must go, because to-morrow a terrible curse will be pronounced against me, and I shall be excommunicated and expelled from Israel."
"Herem!" (the curse) shrieked the girl, and she threw her folded hands in horror above her head. She stood thus for a moment; then a gentle, thoughtful smile came on her face.
"Meir!" she whispered, "zeide is cursed and I am cursed; but the mercy of the Lord is greater than the greatest terror and His justice vaster than the vastest sea. When zeide reads this, he leaves off grieving and says: 'The cursed ones are happier than those that curse . . . because a time will come when the justice of the Lord will enter into the human heart, and then they will bless the names of those that have been cursed.'"
Meir looked at the girl, whose deep-set eyes glowed with inspiration.
"Golda!" he said softly, "you are the second half of my soul. Come with me into the world as my wife; holding each other's hands, we will bear the curse together and live so that people shall bless our names."
A great wave of fire passed over Golda's face and left it radiant with ineffable joy.
"Oh, Meir!" she exclaimed. She wanted to say something more, but could not. She bent her lithe figure very low and hung upon his arm.
He put his arm around her neck and pressed his lips to the wavy black hair. It was only for a moment. The girl straightened herself, and with the hot blush still dying her face, she said softly:
"And zeide?"
Meir looked at her like a man suddenly aroused from sleep. She went on in the same low voice:
"His feet are so weak that he could not go with us, and besides he would never leave the graves of his fathers. How can I leave him? How could he live without me, whom he brought up with his hands, taught to spin, to read the Bible, and told all his beautiful stories? Who would feed him if I went away? Who during the cold winter nights would lie at his feet and warm his cold limbs? And when the soul is about to part from his body, who will rock the old head to its eternal sleep? Meir! Meir! you have a grandfather whose hair is white as snow, and who will rend his garments when you are gone. But your zeide has many sons, daughters, and grandchildren; he is rich and respected by everybody. My zeide has only this poor hut, his old Bible and granddaughter Golda."
Meir sighed.
"You are right, Golda; but what will become of you when your grandfather dies, and you remain alone in the world, exposed to poverty and human scorn?"
Golda sat down because her limbs trembled. She passed both her hands over her hot face, and with upraised eyes replied: