The goitred _Chassid_ opened his lips and added, "If not now, when? as Hillel asked." "In our days at last must come the crowning glory of the house of Ben David," the young man went on. "For generations now, since the signs have pointed to the millennium, have the daughters of the house been kept unwedded." "What!" I cried. "Generations of _Bethulahs_ have been sacrificed to a dream!" Again the eyes of the first _Chassid_ dilated dangerously. I raised my pistol, but hastened to ask, in a more conciliatory tone, "Then how has the line been carried on?" "Through the sons, of course," said the young _Chassid_. "Now for the first time there are no sons, and only one daughter remains, the manifest vessel of salvation." I tried to call up that image of bustling Broadway that had braced me in colloquy with the old Wonder Rabbi, but it seemed shadowy now, compared with this world of solid spiritualities which begirt me. Could it be the same planet on which such things went on simultaneously? Or perhaps I was dreaming, and these three grotesque creatures were the product of Yarchi's cookery. But their hanging curls had a daylight definiteness, and down in the sunlit, translucent river I could see every shade of colour, from the green of the sinuous reed-snakes to the brown of the moss patches. On the bank walked two crows, and I noted for the first time with what comic pomposity they paced, their bodies bent forward like two important old gentlemen with their hands in the pockets of their black coat tails. They brought a smile to my face, but a menacing movement of the _Chassidim_ warned me to be careful. "And does the girl know all this?" I asked hurriedly. "She did not yesterday," said the elderly fellow. "Now she has been told." There was another long pause. I meditated rapidly but disjointedly, having to keep an eye against a sudden rush of my assailants, and mistrusting the goitred saint yet the more because he was so silent. "And is Bethulah content with her destiny?" I asked. "She is in the seventh heaven," said the elderly saint. I had a poignant shudder of incredulous protest. I recalled the flush of her sweet face at the sight of me, and brief as our meetings had been, I dared to feel that the irrevocable thrill had passed between us; that the rest would have been only a question of time. "Let Bethulah tell me so herself," I cried, "and I will leave her in her heaven." The men looked at one another. Then the eldest shook his head. "No; you shall never speak to her again." "We have maidens more beautiful among us," said the young man. "You shall have your choice. Ay, even my own betrothed would I give you." I flicked aside his suggestion. "But you cannot prevent Bethulah walking under God's heaven." They looked dismayed. "I will meet her," I said, pursuing my advantage. "And Yarchi and other good Jews shall be at hand." "She shall be removed elsewhere," said the first.