“Thou dost not believe what I say?” “I can disbelieve it and still remain a Jewess.” Then, satire boiling over into passion, she cried, vehemently: “We are threshing empty ears. Thinkst thou I am not aware of the judgments--I, the granddaughter of Reb Shloumi? Thinkst thou I am ignorant thou couldst not obtain a Gett against me--me, who have borne thee children, who have wrought no evil? I speak not of the Beth-Din, for in this impious country they are loath to follow the judgments, and from the English Beth-Din thou wouldst find it impossible to obtain the Gett in any case, even though thou didst not marry me in this country, nor according to its laws. I speak of our own Rabbonim--thou knowest even the Maggid would not give thee Gett merely because thy wife is bed-ridden. That--that is what thou wast afraid of.” “But if thou art willing,” he replied, eagerly, ignoring her scornful scepticism. His readiness to accept the sacrifice was salt upon her wounds. “Thou deservest I should let thee burn in the lowest Gehenna,” she cried. “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 you.” The recital of their common griefs softened her toward him. “Go,” she whispered. “Go and send me the Gett. 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 Gett as soon as possible.” [Illustration] “Thou art right, I am a thorn in thine eye. Pluck me out quickly.” “Thou wilt not refuse the Gett when it comes?” he replied, apprehensively. “Is it not a wife’s duty to submit? Nay, have no fear. Thou shalt have no difficulty in serving the Gett 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 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-by.” He stooped down; she drew the bedclothes frenziedly over her face. “Kiss me not!”