_Saturday Night._--I slouched into the synagogue this morning, the cynosure of suspicious eyes. I nearly uncovered my head in forgetfulness. Somebody offered me a _Talith_, which I wrapped round myself with marked awkwardness. The service moved me beyond measure. I have neither the pen nor the will to describe my sensations. I was a youth again. The intervening decades faded away. Rachel's father said the _Kaddish_. The peace of God has touched my soul. Paul is asleep. I have made Nicholas take his much-needed rest. I am reading the Hebrew Psalms. The language comes back to me bit by bit. _Monday._--Paul is sitting up reading--proofs. I have been to condole with Rachel's father, as he sat mourning upon the ground. I explained that I was a stranger in the town, and had heard of the accident. I have given five hundred roubles to the synagogue. The whole congregation is buzzing with the generosity of the rich Jewish farmer from the country. Fortunately there is no danger of Paul hearing anything of my doings. He is a prisoner; and Nicholas and myself keep watch over him by turns. _Tuesday._--I have just come from a meeting of the Palestine Colonization Society. Heavens, what ideals burn in these breasts supposed to throb only with cupidity and cunning! Their souls still turn to the Orient, as the needle turns to the pole. And how the better-off among them pity their weaker brethren! With what enthusiasm they plot and plan to get them beyond the frontier into freer countries, but chiefly into the centre of all Jewish aspiration, the Holy Land! How they wept when I doubled their finances at a stroke. My poor, much-wronged brethren! * * * * * _Odessa, Monday._--It is almost a year since I closed this book, and now, after a period of peace, I am driven to it again. Paul has made an irruption into my tranquil household. For eleven months now I have lived in this little two-storied house overlooking the roadstead, with Isaac and the _ekonomka_ for my sole companions. So long as I could pour my troubles into the ear of the venerable old rabbi (who was starving for material sustenance when I took him, as I was for spiritual), so long I had no need of you, my old confidant. But this visit of Paul has reopened all my sores. I have smuggled the rabbi out of the way; but even if he were here, he could not understand the terrible situation. The God of Israel alone knows what I feel at having to deny Him, at having to hide my faith from my own son. He must not stay. The New Year is nigh, with its feasts and fasts. Moreover, surrounded as one is by spies, Paul's presence here may lead to discoveries that I am not what the authorities imagine. Perhaps it would have been better if I had gone back to the village. But no. There was that church-going. A village is so small. In this great and bustling seaport I am lost, or comparatively so. A few roubles in the ecclesiastical palm, and complete oblivion settles on me.