He knew vaguely that there were persons who had the luck to be ill and to get broths and jellies. To others, also, a board of guardian angels doled out payments, though some one had once told him you had scant chance unless you were a Dutchman. But the inexperienced in begging are naturally not so successful as those always at it. 'Twas vain for Zussmann to kick his heels among the dismal crowd in the corridor, the whisper of his misdeeds had been before him, borne by some competitor in the fierce struggle for assistance. What! help a hypocrite to sit on the twin stools of Christendom and Judaism, fed by the bounty of both! In this dark hour he was approached by the thin-nosed gentlewomen, who had got wind of his book and who scented souls. Zussmann wavered. Why, indeed, should he refuse their assistance? He knew their self-sacrificing days, their genuine joy in salvation. On their generosities he was far better posted than on Jewish--the lurid legend of these Mephistophelian matrons included blankets, clothes, port wine, and all the delicacies of the season. He admitted that Hulda had indeed been brought low, and permitted them to call. Then he went home to cut dry bread for the bedridden, emaciated creature who had once been beautiful, and to comfort her--for it was Friday evening--by reading the Sabbath prayers; winding up, "A virtuous woman who can find? For her price is far above rubies." On the forenoon of the next day arrived a basket, scenting the air with delicious odors of exquisite edibles. Zussmann received it with delight from the boy who bore it. "God bless them!" he said. "A chicken--grapes--wine. Look, Hulda!" Hulda raised herself in bed; her eyes sparkled, a flush of color returned to the wan cheeks. "Where do these come from?" she asked. Zussmann hesitated. Then he told her they were the harbingers of a visit from the good sisters. The flush in her cheek deepened to scarlet. "My poor Zussmann!" she cried reproachfully. "Give them back--give them back at once! Call after the boy." "Why?" stammered Zussmann. "Call after the boy!" she repeated imperatively. "Good God! If the ladies were to be seen coming up here, it would be all over with your Idea. And on the Sabbath, too! People already look upon you as a tool of the missionaries. Quick! quick!" His heart aching with mingled love and pain, he took up the basket and hurried after the boy. Hulda sank back on her pillow with a sigh of relief. "Dear heart!" she thought, as she took advantage of his absence to cough freely. "For me he does what he would starve rather than do for himself. A nice thing to imperil his Idea--the dream of his life! When the Jews see he makes no profit by it, they will begin to consider it. If he did not have the burden of me he would not be tempted. He could go out more and find work farther afield. This must end--I must die or be on my feet again soon." Zussmann came back, empty-handed and heavy-hearted.