It was after he left the university that his religious views underwent a change. From orthodoxy he drifted into reform—a reform which was dangerously akin to Rationalism, and then putting a stern check upon himself, he adopted a belief not unlike that of the Karaites. He tried to reject the Talmud and the whole authority of tradition, and to adhere only to the written Law; but finding this unsatisfactory, he was gradually making his way back to conventional Judaism once again. That accounted for his presence in the synagogue on this solemn occasion, for whatever his views on the lesser details of the faith might be, on _Yom Kippur_ he was as strict as the most orthodox of his _confrères_. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon, and vitality in the synagogue was at a somewhat low ebb. Most of the children, and those of their elders who were too delicate to sustain the rigours of an absolute fast, had gone home to lunch, leaving their stricter co-religionists to satisfy the cravings of hunger by naught but spiritual refreshment. It was in the gallery where the ordeal was found most severe, for the ladies possessed less staying power than the more hardy men; moreover, the mere fact of having to refrain from the gossip in which they delighted was in itself a trial of no little magnitude. Their faces showed signs of weariness and _ennui_, and the air of smartness which had been theirs at the beginning of the service had almost disappeared. Two or three of them created a diversion by fainting—the majority of them were too healthy to swoon. They sat still, and counted the hours and minutes to nightfall; it seemed as if the Fast would never end. In the quietest part of the service a noise from the street was heard. A number of boys were calling out the afternoon editions of the newspapers, but although their voices floated in through the open windows, the substance of their announcement was lost. Lionel Montella almost unconsciously raised his head to listen, for he was always on the alert for new tidings of any kind, but the peculiar enunciation of the newspaper boys baffled even his acute ear. All he could make out was the word “death.” Who was dead he had not the faintest idea. He raised his prayer-book, and applied himself with renewed diligence to the text. They were saying the _Ameedah_, and he repeated the responses with the rest of the congregation; but all the time the word “death” was at the back of his mind. It worried him so much that he was unable to give his undivided attention to the service, and when the newspaper boys repassed the synagogue, he listened to their shouts with all the intensity of which he was capable. He could not help feeling—perhaps it was a premonition—that the death was an important one, that it affected him in some way he could not define; and when at last he caught the name, the surprise which he ought to have experienced was absent—only the deep, inexpressible horror remained.