Bear went out in the market-place one fine day and saw Chayah in maiden ringlets. She was a slim, graceful little thing, with nothing obviously odd about the legs, and was buying onions. Her back was towards him, but in another moment she turned her head and Bear's. As he caught the sparkle of her eye, he felt that without her life were worse than the conscription. Without delay, he made inquiries about the fair young vision, and finding its respectability unimpeachable, he sent a _Shadchan_ to propose to her, and they were affianced: Chayah's father undertaking to give a dowry of two hundred gulden. Unfortunately, he died suddenly in the attempt to amass them, and Chayah was left an orphan. The two hundred gulden were nowhere to be found. Tears rained down both Chayah's cheeks, on the one side for the loss of her father, on the other for the prospective loss of a husband. The Rabbi was full of tender sympathy. He bade Bear come to the dead man's chamber. The venerable white-bearded corpse lay on the bed, swathed in shroud, and _Talith_ or praying-shawl. "Bear," he said, "thou knowest that I saved thy life." "Nay," said Bear, "indeed, I know not that." "Yea, of a surety," said the Rabbi. "Thy mother hath not told thee, but all thy brothers and sisters perished, and, lo! thou alone art preserved! It was I that called thee a beast." Bear bowed his head in grateful silence. "Bear," said the Rabbi, "thou didst contract to wed this dead man's daughter, and he did contract to pay over to thee two hundred gulden.'' "Truth." replied Bear. "Bear," said the Rabbi, "there are no two hundred gulden." A shadow flitted across Bear's face, but he said nothing. "Bear," said the Rabbi again, "there are not two gulden." Bear did not move. "Bear," said the Rabbi, "leave thou my side, and go over to the other side of the bed, facing me." So Bear left his side and went over to the other side of the bed facing him. "Bear," said the Rabbi, "give me thy right hand." The Rabbi stretched his own right hand across the bed, but Bear kept his obstinately behind his back. "Bear," repeated the Rabbi, in tones of more penetrating solemnity, "give me thy right hand." "Nay," replied Bear, sullenly. "Wherefore should I give thee my right hand?" "Because," said the Rabbi, and his tones trembled, and it seemed to him that the dead man's face grew sterner. "Because I wish thee to swear across the body of Chayah's father that thou wilt marry her." "Nay, that I will not," said Bear. "Will not?" repeated the Rabbi, his lips growing white with pity. "Nay, I will not take any oaths," said Bear, hotly. "I love the maiden, and I will keep what I have promised. But, by my father's soul, I will take no oaths!" "Bear," said the Rabbi in a choking voice, "give me thy hand. Nay, not to swear by, but to grip. Long shalt thou live, and the Most High shall prepare thy seat in Gan Iden."