An old story, is it not? Aye, as old as life, as old as sin! And always the same—so monotonously the same. And always so pitiful. It is such a tempting path; the roses bloom redder here, and sweeter than anywhere else in the wide world. But there is always the darkness at the end—the same, weary darkness—the poor eyes that erstwhile shone so brightly grow dim in the vain endeavour to pierce it. Like a flower that has blossomed to full maturity Deborah began to wilt and fade. Her beauty quickly vanished—beauty in Hester Street is rarely durable—Deborah grew paler and paler, thinner and thinner. To do him full justice Hazard was greatly distressed. It was a great pity, he thought, that Deborah had not been born a Christian. Had she been a Christian he could have married her without blasting his whole future career. As it was—Fate had been cruel. Let Hazard have full justice. But it fell like a thunderbolt upon Berman when Deborah’s mother sent for him. “She has been raving for two days, and she keeps calling your name! Won’t you sit by her bedside for a while? It may calm her!” His heart almost stopped beating when he beheld how frail and fever-worn were the features that he had loved so well. When he took her hand in his the touch burned—burned through to his heart, his brain, his soul. “Berman will not come!” she cried. “He was kind to me, and I was so cruel. He will not come!” Berman tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Then, with that sing-song intonation of those who are delirious with brain fever, Deborah spoke—it sounded like the chanting of a dirge: “Ah, he was so cruel! What did it matter that I was a Jewess! What did it matter that he was a Christian! I never urged him, because I loved him so! He said it would ruin his career! But, oh, he could have done it! We would have been so happy! Once he made the sign of the Cross on my cheek. But I told him I would become a Christian if he wanted me to. What did I care for my religion? I cared for nothing but him! But he was so cruel! So cruel! So cruel!” It was more than blood could stand. With a cry of anguish Berman fled from the room. In the dawn of the following day Deborah’s mother, grey and worn, came out of the tenement. She saw Berman sitting on the steps. “It is over!” she said. Berman looked at her and slowly nodded. “All over!” he said.