_Odessa, Wednesday Night._--Six months have passed. I am on the free list of the _Novoe Vremia_. Almost every day brings me a fresh stab as I read. But I am a "constant reader." It is my penance, and I bear it as such. After a long silence, I have just had a letter from Nicholas Alexandrovitch, and I reopen my diary to note it. He is about to marry a prosperous widow, and is going over to Catholicism. He writes he is very happy. Lucky, soulless being. He does not know he will be a richer man when I die. Happily, I am ready, though it were to-day. My peace is made, I hope, with God and man, though Paul knows nothing even now. He could not fail to learn it, though, if he came to Odessa again. I have bribed the spies and the clergy heavily. Thanks to their silence, I am one of the most prominent Jews of the town, and nobody dreams of connecting me with the trenchant editor of the _Novoe Vremia_. I see now that I could have acted so all along, if I had not been such a coward. But I keep Paul away. It is my last cowardice. In a postscript Nicholas writes that Paul's articles are causing a great sensation in the remotest parts of Russia. Alas, I know it. Are there not anti-Jewish riots in all parts, encouraged by cruel Government measures? Do not the local newspapers everywhere reproduce Paul's printed firebrands? Have I not the pleasure of coming across them again in our own Odessa papers, in the _Wiertnik_ and the _Listok_? I should not wonder if we had an outbreak here. There was a little affray yesterday in the _pereouloks_ of the Jewish quarter, though we are quiet enough down this way.... Great God! What is that noise I hear?... Yes! it is! it is! "Down with the _Zhits_! Down with the _Zhits_!" There is red on the horizon. _Bozhe moi!_ It is flame! _Voi!_ They are pillaging the Jewish quarter. The sun sinks in blood, as on that unhappy day among the village hills.... _Ach!_ Paul, Paul! Why did I not stop your murderous pen?... But if not you, another would have written.... No, that is no excuse.... Forgive me, O God, I have been weak. Ever weak and cowardly from the day I first deserted Thee, even unto this day.... I am not worthy of my blood, of my race.... They are coming this way. It goes through me like a knife. "Down with the _Zhits_! Down with the _Zhits_!" And now I see them. They are mad, drunk with the vodka they have stolen from the Jewish inns. Great God! They have knives and guns. And their leader is flourishing a newspaper and shouting out something from it. There are soldiers among them, and sailors, native and foreign, and mad muzhiks. Where are the police?... The mob is passing under my window. _God pity me, it is Paul's words they are shouting._... They have passed. No one thinks of me. Thank God, I am safe. I am safe from these demons. What a narrow escape!... Ah, God, they have captured Rabbi Isaac and are dragging him along by his white beard toward the barracks. My place is by his side. I will rouse my brethren.