"The Almighty is more merciful than thou," he answered. "It is He that hath ordained it is not good for man to live alone. And yet men shun me--people talk--and she--she may leave me to my loneliness again." His voice faltered with self-pity. "Here thou hast friends, nurses, visitors. I--I have nothing. True, thou didst bear me children, but they withered as by the evil eye. My only son is across the ocean; he hath no love for me or thee." The recital of their common griefs softened her toward him. "Go!" she whispered. "Go and send me the _Get_. Go to the Maggid, he knew my grandfather. He is the man to arrange it for thee with his friends. Tell him it is my wish." "God shall reward thee. How can I thank thee for giving thy consent?" "What else have I to give thee, my Herzel, I who eat the bread of strangers? Truly says the Proverb, 'When one begs of a beggar the Herr God laughs!'" "I will send thee the _Get_ as soon as possible." "Thou art right, I am a thorn in thine eye. Pluck me out quickly." "Thou wilt not refuse the _Get_, when it comes?" he replied apprehensively. "Is it not a wife's duty to submit?" she asked with grim irony. "Nay, have no fear. Thou shalt have no difficulty in serving the _Get_ upon me. I will not throw it in the messenger's face.... And thou wilt marry her?" "Assuredly. People will no longer talk. And she must needs bide with me. It is my one desire." "It is mine likewise. Thou must atone and save thy soul." He lingered uncertainly. "And thy dowry?" he said at last. "Thou wilt not make claim for compensation?" "Be easy--I scarce know where my _Cesubah_ (marriage certificate) is. What need have I of money? As thou sayest, I have all I want. I do not even desire to purchase a grave--lying already so long in a charity-grave. The bitterness is over." He shivered. "Thou art very good to me," he said. "Good-bye." He stooped down--she drew the bedclothes frenziedly over her face. "Kiss me not!" "Good-bye, then," he stammered. "God be good to thee!" He moved away. "Herzel!" She had uncovered her face with a despairing cry. He slouched back toward her, perturbed, dreading she would retract. "Do not send it--bring it thyself. Let me take it from thy hand." A lump rose in his throat. "I will bring it," he said brokenly. The long days of pain grew longer--the summer was coming, harbingered by sunny days that flooded the wards with golden mockery. The evening Herzel brought the _Get_, Sarah could have read every word on the parchment plainly, if her eyes had not been blinded by tears. She put out her hand toward her husband, groping for the document he bore. He placed it in her burning palm. The fingers closed automatically upon it, then relaxed, and the paper fluttered to the floor. But Sarah was no longer a wife.