At last Sheshana whispered her reply: “You remain with me, and let them do as they deem best.” “To the shame and dishonour of the whole Jewish people!” exclaimed Zerubbabel, and a deep sadness suddenly came over him. Then Sheshana spoke her tactless words: “They are in the majority, and they know what is for the best.” Zerubbabel recoiled as if a snake had bitten him. He was at first impelled to cry with bitter lamentations, but he felt a great anger surging within. He placed his hand on his heart and beat his breast, then all at once turned to the door. He remained before it, leaning heavily against it as he said, with a hoarse voice, “You will never see me again, Sheshana!” A tremor passed through her every limb; filled with fright and despair she cried out, “But, Zerubbabel!” Again he murmured, “You will never see me again, Sheshana!” Terrified, again she shrieked, “But, Zerubbabel!” She brought her white, shuddering hands to her cheeks and her glance was that of a frightened, stupefied dove. Zerubbabel spoke with a quivering voice: “I love you, and my love is as strong as death. At night upon my couch I will call your name and my heart will languish with yearning. I will gash my body with the nails of my fingers and my eyes will burn under hot tears. But not _you_ can be Zerubbabel’s wife,—not _you_ the mother of his children. You will never see me again, Sheshana!” Sheshana’s bosom heaved convulsively; her rapid breathing was choked with tears, and her shriek was heart-rending. “Zerubbabel!” But he had already opened the door, and standing upon the threshold he turned his face to the maiden and said, in firm accents, “Go and learn to be Zerubbabel’s wife!” Then he closed the door behind him. She screamed; it was the cry of a wounded deer. She rushed to the door, but her legs gave way beneath her. She stretched her hands out against the closed door, groaning and bemoaning her great misfortune. She could not speak. Her throat was as if clamped, and her tongue could not move. Only later was she able to whisper the name scarce audibly: “Zerubbabel, Zerubbabel, Zerubbabel!” Only his name could she murmur, and nothing more. Then she threw herself upon the bed, her hands pressed to her face, and her body in a heap, and it seemed to her as if some one had slapped her. And Zerubbabel strode on through the night and the gloom, far beyond the city, into deep solitude, to the place where a huge cliff rose high above a deep abyss. DRABKIN _A Novelette of Proletarian Life_ DRABKIN _A Novelette of Proletarian Life_ I