By this time Golda was sufficiently cheered up to meditate her annual theft of the _Afkuman_, that segment of Passover cake under Aaron's pillow, morsels of which, distributed to each as the final food to be tasted that night, replaced the final mouthful of the Paschal Lamb in the ancient Palestinian meal. II But Elijah's goblet stood in the centre of the table untasted. Every time the ritual cup-drinking came round, the children had glanced at the great silver goblet placed for the Prophet of Redemption. Alas! the brimming raisin wine remained ever at the same level. They found consolation in the thought that the great moment was still to come--the moment of the third cup, when, mother throwing open the door, father would rise, holding the goblet on high, and sonorously salute an unseen visitor. True, in other years, though they had almost heard the rush of wings, the great shining cup had remained full, and when it was replaced on the white cloth, a vague resentment as at a spurned hospitality had stirred in each youthful breast. But many reasons could be found to exculpate Elijah--not omitting their own sins--and now, when Ben Amram nodded to his wife to open the door, expectation stood on tip-toe, credulous as ever, and the young hearts beat tattoo. But the mother's heart was palpitating with another emotion. A faint clamour in the Polish quarter at the back, as she replaced the samovar in the kitchen, had recalled all her alarms, and she merely threw open the door of the room. But Ben Amram was not absent-minded enough to be beguiled by her air of obedient alacrity. Besides, he could see the shut street-door through the strip of passage. He gestured towards it. Now she feigned laziness. 'Oh, never mind.' 'David, open the street-door.' The eldest boy sprang up joyously. It would have been too bad of mother to keep Elijah on the doorstep. 'No, no, David!' Golda stopped him. 'It is too heavy; he could not undo the bolts and bars.' 'You have barred it?' Ben Amram asked. 'And why not? In this season you know how the heathen go mad like street-dogs.' 'Pooh! They will not bite us.' 'But, Aaron! You heard about the lost Christian child!' 'I have saved many a Christian child, Golda.' 'They will not remember that.' 'But I must remember the ritual.' And he made a movement. 'No, no, Aaron! Listen!' The shrill noises seemed to have veered round towards the front of the house. He shrugged his shoulders. 'I hear only the goats bleating.' She clung to him as he made for the door. 'For the sake of our children!' 'Do not be so childish yourself, my crown!' 'But I am not childish. Hark!' He smiled calmly. 'The door must be opened.' Her fears lent her scepticism. 'It is you that are childish. You know no Prophet of Redemption will come through the door.' He caressed his venerable beard. 'Who knows?' 'I know. It is a Destroyer, not a Redeemer of Israel, who will come. Listen! Ah, God of Abraham! Do you not hear?'