Let us now return to the night on which Ephraim opened the door to his father. How had it come about? A thousand times Ephraim had thought about his father’s return—and now he durst not even kindle a light, to look upon the long-estranged face. As silent as when he had come, Ascher remained during the rest of the night; he had seated himself at the window, and his arm was resting upon the very spot where formerly the cage had stood. The bird had obtained its freedom, and was, no doubt, by this time asleep, nestling amid the breeze-swept foliage of some wooded glen. HE too had regained his liberty, but no sleep closed his eyes, and yet he was in safe shelter, in the house of his children. At length the day began to break. The sun was still hiding behind the mountain-tops, but its earliest rays were already reflected upon the window-panes. In the Ghetto footsteps became audible; here and there the grating noise of an opening street-door was heard, while from round the corner resounded, ever and anon, the hammer of the watchman, calling the people to morning service; for it was a Fast-day, which commenced at sunrise. At that moment Ascher raised himself from his chair, and quickly turned away from the window. Ephraim was already by his side. “Father, dear father!” he cried from the inmost depths of his heart, as he tried to grasp the hand of the convict. “Don’t make such a noise,” said the latter, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the window, and speaking in the same mysterious whisper in which he had asked for admittance into the house. What a strange awakening it was to his son, when, in the gray twilight of the breaking day, he looked at Ascher more closely. In his imagination Ephraim had pictured a wan, grief-worn figure, and now he saw before him a strong, well-built man, who certainly did not present the appearance of a person who had just emerged from the dank atmosphere of a prison! On the contrary, he seemed stronger and more vigorous than he had appeared in his best days. “Has he had such a good time of it…?” Ephraim felt compelled to ask himself… “how different our poor mother looked!” With a violent effort he repressed the feelings which swelled his bosom. “Dear father,” he said, with tears in his eyes, “make yourself quite comfortable; you haven’t closed your eyes the whole night, you must be worn out. You are at home, remember…father!” “It’s all right,” said Ascher, with a deprecating gesture, “WE fellows know other ways of spending the night.” “WE FELLOWS!” The words cut Ephraim to the heart. “But you may be taken ill, father,” he timidly observed. “I taken ill! What do you take me for?” Ascher laughed, boisterously. “I haven’t the slightest intention of falling ill.”