The journey to Canada was longer than to the States, and the "freight" was less companionable. There were fewer Jews and women, more stalwart shepherds, miners, and dock-labourers. When after eleven days, land came, it was not touched at, but only remained cheeringly on the horizon for the rest of the voyage. At last the sisters found themselves unmolested on one of the many wharves of Montreal. But they would not linger a day in this unhomely city. The next morning saw them, dazed and worn out but happy-hearted, dodging the monstrous catapults of the New York motor-cars, while a Polish porter helped them with their bundles and convoyed them toward Srul's store. Ah, what ecstasy to be unregarded units of this free chaotic crowd. Outside the store--what a wonderful store it was, larger than the largest in the weavers' colony!--the sisters paused a moment to roll the coming bliss under their tongues. They peeped in. Ah, there is Srul behind the counter, waiting for customers. Ah, ah, he little knows what customers are waiting for him! They turned and kissed each other for mere joy. "Draw your shawl over your face," whispered Leah merrily. "Go in and ask him if he has a wedding-veil." Biela slipped in, brimming over with mischief and tears. "Yes, Miss?" said Srul, with his smartest store manner. "I want a wedding-veil of white lace," she said in Yiddish. At her voice Srul started. Biela could keep up the joke no longer. "Srul, my darling Srul!" she cried hysterically, her arms yearning to reach him across the counter. He drew back, pale, gasping for breath. "Ah, my dear ones!" blubbered Leah, rushing in. "God has been good to you, after all." "But--but--how did you get in?" he cried, staring. "Never mind how we got in," said Leah, every pock-mark glistening with smiles and tears. "And where is Tsirrélé--my dear little Tsirrélé?" "She--she is out marketing, with the mother." "And the mother?" "She is well and happy." "Thank God!" said Leah fervently, and beckoned the porter with the bundles. "But--but I let the room," he said, flushing. "I did not know that--I could not afford--" "Never mind, we will find a room. The day is yet high." She settled with the porter. Meantime Srul had begun playing nervously with a pair of scissors. He snipped a gorgeous piece of stuff to fragments. "What are you doing?" said Biela at last. "Oh--I--" he burst into a nervous laugh. "And so you ran the blockade after all. But--but I expect customers every minute--we can't talk now. Go inside and rest, Biela: you will find a sofa in the parlour. Leah, I want--I want to talk to you." Leah flashed a swift glance at him as Biela, vaguely chilled, moved through the back door into the revivifying splendours of the parlour. "Something is wrong, Srul," Leah said hoarsely. "Tsirrélé is not here. You feared to tell us." He hung his head. "I did my best." "She is ill--dead, perhaps! My beautiful angel!" He opened his eyes. "Dead? No. Married!"