They flung the door open. Some one fumbled at the window frantically for a minute or two, then realized that the window could not open. With quick sobs of alarm Channah threw water into Reb Monash's face, while Dorah held his head to the air. Reb Monash opened his eyes. "Where's Feivele?" he asked faintly. "Here!" the boy whispered. "Feivele!" said his father. "Feivele, let it be over! It has lasted too long!" "Father, what meanest thou? I knew not what I was saying...." "No, that is finished; it is said! The fighting, let it be over! Go thine own way! If thou wilt come mine, some day far off, God be praised! But the fighting, let it be over! I am tired!" The boy stared into his father's face. Memory after memory floated like vapours darkly over the seas of the past, interposed themselves between that sallow face and his eyes. Then he saw the eyelids fail wearily. The memories drew away along the wide levels. He knew what issue had been declared. They had suffered much and waited long, his father and he. To Death had fallen the decision of their conflict. "Father, let it be over!" The tension was only broken that night. Harry Sewelson came in and after a speechless, eloquent handshake, informed Philip that he had been away all yesterday and had learned of the death only a couple of hours ago. He had heard women discussing it over the counter in his father's shop. Alec and his family had left the town unexpectedly a few days ago or Alec would have come in too.... People kept on crowding into the kitchen till the room was unbearably stuffy. Harry had relapsed into reverent silence in a corner. Philip was certain he would choke unless he went to the front door to breathe. He passed along the lobby and opened the door. At that moment old Serra Golda, who had just climbed the stairs, was about to knock, and even as her hand rose to the knocker, the door swung noiselessly inward. Her little puckered eighty-year-old face, caught faintly by the gleam of a street lamp, was distraught with fright. She uttered a slight screech of horror. Her beady eyes stared from her head in a manner intolerably ridiculous. A demon of laughter seized Philip overwhelmingly and a great raucous peal bellowed from his lips. He swayed impotently, hands waving in the air, each mouthful of laughter louder and more hideous than the last. The old lady bustled by him, muttering indignantly, "Thou loafer! such a year upon thee!" The words only emphasized the insanity of his mirth. He managed to close the door and then stood in the darkness of the lobby, beating his head on the wall in his transports. He felt his ribs cracking in the onslaught of laughter, and clasped his hands tight round his body. He found Harry standing beside him. "Good God! Philip!" he exclaimed. "It isn't seemly! How can you do it!" For long Philip could shape no word. The tears streamed from his eyes. At last, with infinite difficulty, he brought out: