“Yours is a sweeping theory,” said Reuben; “and at present, I don’t feel inclined to go into the rights and wrongs of it; still less to deny its soundness. I can only say that, should I live to see it borne out, I should be very sorry. It may be a weakness on my part, but I am exceedingly fond of my people. If we are to die as a race, we shall die harder than you think. The tide will ebb in the intervals of flowing. That strange, strong instinct which has held us so long together is not a thing easily eradicated. It will come into play when it is least expected. Jew will gravitate to Jew, though each may call himself by another name. If prejudice died, if difference of opinion died, if all the world, metaphorically speaking, thought one thought and spoke one language, there would still remain those unspeakable mysteries, affinity and--love.” Reuben’s voice sounded curiously moved, and in his eyes, as he spoke, glowed a dreamy flame, as of some deep and tender emotion. Judith, leaning forward with parted lips, lifted her shining eyes to his face in a long, unconscious gaze. Reuben with his sword in his hand, fighting the battle for his people, seemed to her a figure noble and heroic beyond speech. In her own breast was kindled the flame of a great emotion; she felt the love of her race grow stronger at every word. Reuben, conscious to the finger-tips of Judith’s presence, of her gaze, which he did not return, was stirred, on his part, with a new enthusiasm. He praised her in the race, and the race in her; and this was conveyed in some subtle manner to her consciousness. Thus they acted and reacted on one another, deceiving and deceived, with that strange, unconscious hypocrisy of lovers. * * * * * The game of whist had come to an end, and every one rose, preparatory to departure. “Good-night, uncle Solomon,” said Reuben’s mother. She, too, was a Sachs, who had married her cousin. “Come along, mamma,” cried Esther yawning, “I am dead beat. The domestic habits of the cobra are not adapted to the human constitution, that is clear.” Reuben was standing in the hall with his mother, as Rose and Judith came down stairs in their outdoor clothes. “Your carriage is at the door,” said Israel Leuniger to Mrs. Sachs as he lit his cigar. Mrs. Sachs turned to her son: “Aren’t you coming, Reuben?” “No, but I do not expect to be late.” He answered gently and seriously, stooping down and folding a shawl about her shoulders as he spoke. Mrs. Sachs raised her wide, sallow, wrinkled face to her son’s, looked at him a moment, then, with a sudden impulse of tenderness, lifted her hand and stroked back the hair from his forehead. Ah, what had come to Judith, standing in a corner of the hall watching the little scene? Ah, what did it mean, what was it, this beating and throbbing of all her pulses, this strange, choked feeling in her throat, this mist that swam before her eyesight?