If the Red Beadle had not been a widower, the unfeigned success of the Herz union might have turned his own thoughts to that happy state. As it was, the sight of their happiness occasionally shot through his breast renewed pangs of vain longing for his Leah, whose death from cancer had completed his conception of Nature. Lucky Zussmann, to have found so sympathetic a partner in a pretty female! For Hulda shared Zussmann's dreams, and was even copying out his great work for the press, for business was brisk and he would soon have saved up enough money to print it. The great work, in the secret of which the Red Beadle came to participate, was written in Hebrew, and the elegant curves and strokes would have done honor to a Scribe. The Beadle himself could not understand it, knowing only the formal alphabet such as appears in books and scrolls, but the first peep at it which the proud Zussmann permitted him removed his last disrespect for the intellect of his master, without, however, removing the mystery of that intellect's aberrations. "But you dream with the eyes open," he said, when the theme of the work was explained to him. "How so?" asked Hulda gently, with that wonderful smile of hers. "Reconcile the Jews and the Christians! _Meshuggas_--madness." He laughed bitterly. "Do you forget what we went through in Poland? And even here in free England, can you walk in the street without every little _shegetz_ calling after you and asking, 'Who killed Christ?'" "Yes, but herein my husband explains that it was not the Jews who killed Christ, but Herod and Pilate." "As it says in Corinthians," broke in Zussmann eagerly: "'We speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, which none of the princes of this world knew; for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory.'" "So," said the Red Beadle, visibly impressed. "Assuredly," affirmed Hulda. "But, as Zussmann explains here, they threw the guilt upon the Jews, who were too afraid of the Romans to deny it." The Beadle pondered. "Once the Christians understand that," said Zussmann, pursuing his advantage, "they will stretch out the hand to us." The Beadle had a flash. "But how will the Christians read you? No Christian understands Hebrew." Zussmann was taken momentarily aback. "But it is not so much for the Christians," he explained. "It is for the Jews--that they should stretch out the hand to the Christians." The Red Beadle stared at him in shocked silent amaze. "Still greater madness!" he gasped at length. "They will treat you worse than they treat me." "Not when they read my book." "Just when they read your book." Hulda was smiling serenely. "They can do nothing to my husband; he is his own master, God be thanked; no one can turn him away." "They can insult him." Zussmann shook his head gently. "No one can insult me!" he said simply. "When a dog barks at me I pity it that it does not know I love it. Now draw to the table. The pickled herring smells well."