"'I don't know,' she began in a clear firm voice, 'who told my parents that I was in the habit of meeting you here every day, and it doesn't much matter who it was. I should have been certain to have told them myself some time, for I saw no harm in what I had done. But one day lately, when I went home, my father received me with vehement reproaches, and with words ... with words.... I will not repeat them, for they were very cruel and unjust. He said that I had forgotten my honor and my duty; he reminded me of the man to whom I am betrothed, and besought me to beware of you, for you were an unbeliever, and would tempt me to evil. His anger did not frighten me, but that did; for something all at once seemed to tell me why I had gone so regularly to the ruins, and why your words and looks made me so happy. Now--I know the truth. And when my father entreated me not to shame him, and to swear a holy oath that I would neither see nor speak to you again, I could not do it. If God and all the angels in heaven had commanded me to take that oath, I couldn't have done it--it would have seemed desecration. I bore my father's anger and my mother's tears, because I knew that I ... that I loved you....' "I would have spoken, but she raised her hand to stay me, and continued: "'When I first knew the truth I was filled with horror--I could not understand myself; and yet in spite of all that I felt happy. I saw the grief and despair that my conduct brought upon my parents, but, even to please them, I could not remain engaged to Chaim. The world still believes that I am, but I really belong to you. That is the reason why I could not help coming to see you yesterday in secret. Then I saw both in your words and looks that you loved me as really as I loved you. And now I ask you what is to be done? what is to be the end of all this?' "I did not hear the sadness of every tone of her voice, because I would not hear it--my heart was so full of joy unspeakable. "'Child,' I cried, 'you love me; then all is well!' "But she only looked at me gravely and sadly, and after a short pause went on: "'No--all is lost!... You feel happy, and so do I; but while you're contented with that, I look to the future. And there is no comfort, no light to be found there for me. I can not be your wife--the life I have hitherto led has unfitted me for that. I have had no education, no teaching. God knows that I am nothing, know nothing, and can do nothing. Woe is me, I can not even speak 'German.' What should you, who are going to be a doctor, do with a wife who is utterly ignorant of the life you lead and its ways? Oh, I fear your world with a deadly fear. Were I to marry you and then bring you to shame before others, because of my ignorance and mistakes, you would say in your heart that your love for me had been your bane....' "'Rachel,' I cried, 'don't say that; you only make both yourself and me miserable by giving way to such idle fears.'