It was time to divide the roasted ox among the guests. But first it was necessary to find Jonah, who was expected to perform the sacrifice to the god, in the absence of a priest. So Uncle David went to look for him; but he did not find him at once. For Jonah was in a corner of the garden with Judith, Ahab’s niece. The moonlight fell down upon them through the leaves like a shower of milky petals and blossoms without weight and without fragrance. The faint cheep of frogs, the shrill screech of the cicada, rose from the ground and answered from the branches through the air laden with sweetness. A single bird, cheated by the moon, sang far away; his song tumbled through the air like water falling. They leaned against the trunk of a tree, shadows making pools of darkness over their eyes, moonlight in their hair and on their hands. And their hearts, cheated, too, by the night, sang in confusion a song of joy which seemed to them like pain. They had little to say to each other. They discussed the weather. “What a beautiful night,” said Jonah. “It is like the nights on the desert, so still, so calm, and yet it makes me sad.” “It makes me sad, too,” whispered Judith. “Why does it make me sad, Jonah?” He shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Beauty often makes people sad. It is something they would like in their hearts, and their sadness is their longing.” She looked at him in the darkness. “Yes,” she said, “that’s it; that is what I feel sometimes when I look in my little mirror.” Jonah did not answer. The fragrance, the rapture of the night, moved through his heart. It seemed to flow from the young girl at his side and return to her again, lovely, obscure, a sweet sorrow, a longing filled with grief. He raised his head to the little dapple of moonlight among the leaves. “I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he thought. “It is like having God speak to me. “How beautiful she is. And she would like to be poor, like me. Of course, that is nonsense. Still....” He thought that she swayed a little closer to him. Intoxicated by an imperceptible warmth, he touched her hand. “Judith,” he whispered. “Yes?” “No--nothing. How lovely it is out here.” He trembled; his hand, twined with hers, was moist and warm, but he shivered as though with cold. She stood beside him, breathless, drowsy with sweetness, waiting.... “This is love,” she thought. “He loves me, and I love him. How exciting it is. “I am a young girl, and already I am in love with a prophet.” She gave his hand a faint squeeze. Jonah sighed deeply. Was there anything else so lovely in the whole world, he thought. Judith raised her head. “Listen,” she said, “there’s a bird singing. Just think, in the moonlight; isn’t it sweet, Jonah? This is beauty, isn’t it? I could stay here forever.” No--there was nothing else in the whole world....