Chapter IX · (continued 3)

"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:

"I shall sit before the door of this hut, spin my wool and tend my goats, looking along the road whence you will come back!"

It was an adaptation from the story of Akiba.

Meir asked dreamily:

"And what will you do if people come and laugh at you and say: 'Akiba is drinking at the spring of wisdom whilst your body is consumed with misery and your eyes are dull from weeping?'"

A voice stifled with emotion replied to him:

"I shall answer this: 'Let misery consume my body, and my eyes run over with tears; yet truly will I guard my husband's faith.' And if he stood before me and said: 'I have come back because I did not wish you to weep any longer,' I should say to him: 'Go and drink more.'"

Meir rose. There was no despair on his face now, but hope and courage depicted in his whole bearing.

"I will come back, Rachel," he exclaimed. "Jehovah will give me strength, and good people will help me if I show them my hard yearning after knowledge and the writing of the Senior, which is the covenant of peace between Israel and the nations. I shall drink long and eagerly at the spring of wisdom; then come back and teach my people, and for all the misery and contempt which you suffer, I shall put a golden crown upon your head."

Golda shook her head. The expression in her face showed she had been carried away by a wonderful dream. She dreamt she was Rachel, greeting her husband Akiba. With passionate eyes and a far-away smile, she whispered:

"And I shall embrace your knees, and with eyes that have regained their former beauty I shall look at all your glory and say: 'Lord and Master! your glory be my crown.'"

They looked long at each other, and through their tearful eyes there shone a love as deep and earnest as their hearts were pure and heroic.

A low, childish laughter reached their ears. They looked astonished in the direction whence it came. Upon the threshold of the hut sat Lejbele, holding in his arms a snow-white kid. The kid had been purchased at the fair with the money Golda had taken for the baskets. The child had seen it in the entrance, brought it out on the threshold, and nestled his face to the soft white hair and laughed aloud.

"The child always follows you," said Golda. "He kissed me to-day, when everybody beat and stoned me; with him I shielded my treasure against their strong hands," replied Meir. Golda disappeared from the window and stood upon the threshold. She bent over the child, her flowing hair covered his head and shoulders, and she kissed him on the forehead. Lejbele was not frightened; he seemed to feel safe here. He had seen the girl before, whose luminous eyes looked at him with an expression of great sweetness. He raised his grateful, now almost intelligent, eyes to her, and whispered:

"Let me play with this little goat?"

"Will you have some milk?" said Golda.

"Yes," he said; "please give me some."

She brought a bowl full of milk and fed the child; then asked:

"Why do you leave your father and mother, and follow Meir?"

The child rocked his head and replied:

"He is better than daddy, and better than mammy. He fed me and patted my head, and saved me from Reb Moshe."

"Whose little boy are you?" asked Golda. Lejbele remained silent and kept on rocking his head. He evidently tried to collect his confused thoughts. Suddenly he raised his finger and pointed after the retreating figure of Meir, and said aloud:

"I am his."

And he laughed: but it was no longer the laugh of an idiot, only the expression of joy that he had found the way to clothe in words the thoughts of his loving little heart.

Golda looked in the direction where Meir had disappeared, and sighed heavily. Presently she rose, wrapped herself in a gray shawl, went half-way up the hill, and sat down under a dwarfed pine-tree. Perhaps she wanted to look down and watch his return from the woods. Her elbows resting on her knees—her face buried in her hands, she sat motionless, like a statue of sorrow; the black hair which covered her like a mantle, glittered and shone in the bright moonlight.

At the same time the low door of the Rabbi's hut was softly opened and Reb Moshe crept in, looking worn, ashamed and troubled. He squatted down near the fireplace and looked anxiously at Isaak Todros who sat in the open window, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"Rabbi!" he whispered timidly.

"Rabbi!" he said a little louder, "your servant will look guilty in your eyes—he has not brought the abominable writing. The storm was fearful, but his friends defended him; he resisted himself, and then a little child shielded him. The foolish people tore his clothes, beat, abused and stoned him; but did not take the writing from him."

"Nassi! your servant is ashamed and troubled; have mercy upon him, and do not punish him with the lightning of your eyes."

Todros, without taking his eyes from off the sky, said:

"The writing must be taken from him and delivered into my hands."

"Nassi! the writing is no longer in his hands."

"And where is it?" said the Rabbi, in a louder voice, without turning round.

"Rabbi! I should not have dared to appear before you, had I not known what became of it. I followed him—my whole soul entered into my eyes and ears. I saw how he gave the writing to the Karaitish girl to hide it; I heard how he called it his treasure, and his passport to go into the world with, and which would open for him the hearts of the people."

Todros shuddered convulsively.

"It is true," he whispered angrily. "That writing will be to him a shield and weapon, on which our sharpest arrows will have no effect. Moshe!" he said, in a more determined voice, "the writing must be taken from the Karaitish girl."

The melamed crawled to his master's knees, and raising his face to him said, in a low voice:

"Rabbi! the girl said she would sooner lay down her life than part with the writing."

Todros was silent for a moment, and then repeated:

"The writing must be taken from her."

The melamed remained, silent and thoughtful for a long time.

"Rabbi!" he said in a very low whisper, "and if anything happens to the girl?"

Todros did, not answer at once. At last he said:

"Blessed is the hand that removes garbage from the house of Israel!"

The melamed seemed to drink in the words eagerly and ponder over their meaning. Then he smiled.

"Rabbi!" he said, "I have understood your wish—depend upon your servant; he will find men whose hands are strong and whose hearts are steel. Rabbi!" he added, entreatingly, "let a gentle ray from your eyes fall upon your servant; let him see your wrath is softened towards him. My soul without your love and favour is like a well without water or a dark prison where no love enters."

Todros replied:

"No gentle ray will come from my eye, nor will my wrath be softened till the writing has been torn out of the accursed hands."

Moshe groaned:

"Rabbi, the writing shall be in your hands tomorrow."

The moon fell bright upon the faces of both men, of whom one looked at the heavens, the other into his master's face. The master searched the heavens for the silvery streaks which are the ways the angels travel from star to star through eternity; the pupil looked into the master's eyes for the reflection of the supernatural light.

In both their minds the name of the angel of death whom they had called up was present—yet both their hearts were full of love and boundless admiration.