She stayed until he was asleep again, and then, leaving him in the charge of Anne, returned to her own room. Too much perturbed to methodically disrobe, she took her favourite seat by the casement window, and rested her elbows lightly on the ledge. The moon still shone with brilliant splendour, illumining the whole city with its silvery radiance; and away to the east she could see the Sacred Mount upon whose slopes she had so recently stood. The view recalled her lofty aspirations, and endued her with courage. She was surely not so weak as to quail at the first attack! But the sound of her husband’s footsteps caused her heart to beat fast again with apprehension. What would he say, she wondered, and how display his anger? She had never seen him angry—at least, never with her; for in all the four years of their married life they had not quarrelled once. She glanced up from beneath her long lashes as he entered the room, and noticed with a pang of compunction that he looked haggard and pale. But although she longed to say something, the words froze on her lips. Always reserved by nature, she became suddenly self-conscious, and instead of showing sympathy, as she longed to do, the result was a stony silence. But Montella understood. Locking the door with his usual care, he advanced towards the dressing-table and turned up the light. Then taking a little chair at her side, he grasped both her hands. “Patricia, how could you?” he said, so quietly that she could scarcely catch his voice. “How could you, dearest? You do not realise what you have done!” He gazed into the depths of her eyes, as though he would read her very soul. She looked back, and saw that there was no anger, but only deep, impenetrable sorrow reflected there. And then he explained. He was not so shocked that she had returned to her former religion—indeed, he had always known that she had found Judaism difficult; but that she should have publicly confessed her relapse, and in the very presence of the Chief Rabbi—that was where she had done irreparable harm. “Under those circumstances prevarication was justifiable,” he said, when she had protested her inability to answer otherwise. “You could have said something—anything—only to defy Ben Yetzel and put him off the track.” “I could not tell a deliberate falsehood,” she answered, in a voice as low as his own. “I am sure no good ever comes of telling a lie.” “Ah, but you do not understand!” he said, in agitation. “To Ben Yetzel your admission is the peg on which to hang his revenge. He has hated me ever since I opposed his priestly tyranny, and now he has the power to ruin me. Shall I tell you the ultimatum he has given to Engelmacher concerning us? Believe me, dearest, it is as hard for me to say as it is for you to hear; but it is this: either I must resign my post—which means leaving Palestine in disgrace—or—or there must be a—divorce.”