Viola had seated herself upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door, and was sobbing silently. In the meantime, Ephraim, unable to find a word of solace for his sister, went and stood at the street door, so that no unbidden guest should come to disturb his father’s slumbers. It was mid-day; from the church hard by streamed the peasants and their wives in their Sunday attire, and many bestowed a friendly smile upon the well-known youth. But he could only nod his head in return, his heart was sore oppressed, and a smile at such a moment seemed to him nothing short of sin. He went back into the house, and listened at the door of the room. Silence still reigned unbroken, and with noiseless steps he again walked away. “He is still sleeping,” he whispered to his sister. “Just think what would have happened if we had still had that bird…He wouldn’t have been able to sleep a wink.” “Ephraim, why do you remind me of it?” cried Viola with a fresh outburst of tears. “Where is the little bird now, I wonder?…” Ephraim sat down beside his sister, and took her hand in his. Thus they remained seated for some time, unable to find a word of comfort for each other. At length movements were heard. Ephraim sprang to his feet and once more approached the door to listen. “He is awake!” he softly said to Viola, and slowly opening the door, he entered the room. Ascher was walking up and down with heavy tread. “Do you feel refreshed after your sleep, father?” Ephraim asked timidly. Ascher stood still, and confronted his son. His face was still very flushed, but his eyes had lost their glassy stare; his glance was clear and steady. “Ephraim, my son,” he began, in a kindly, almost cheerful tone, “you’ve grown into a splendid business man, as good a business man as one can meet with between this and Vienna. I’m sure of it. But I must give you one bit of advice; it’s worth a hundred pounds to one in your position. Never leave a key in the lock of a bureau!” Ephraim looked at his father as though stupefied. Was the man mad or delirious to talk in such a strain? At that moment, from the extreme end of the Ghetto, there sounded the three knocks, summoning the people to evening prayer. As in the morning, so again now the sound seemed to stun the vigorous man. His face blanched and assumed an expression of terror; he trembled from head to foot. Then again he cast a frightened glance in the direction of the window. “Nothing but knocking, knocking!” he muttered. “They would like to knock the most hidden thoughts out of one’s brains, if they only could. What makes them do it, I should like to know?…To the clanging of a bell you can, at all events, shut your ears, you need only place your hands to them…but with that hammer they bang at every confounded door, and drive one crazy. Who gives them the right to do it, I should like to know?” He stood still listening. “Do you think he will be long before he reaches here?” he asked Ephraim, in a frightened voice.