He let himself into the house with his latch-key. Through the glass door of his uncle's study, at the end of the hall, he could see that a light was still burning within. He threw off his hat and overcoat, and marched into the rabbi's presence. “How that good man would start,” he thought, “if he should guess!” VI. THE rabbi's study was a bare enough apartment, furnished with a faded carpet, three or four chairs, and a writing table. The walls and ceiling were kalsomined in slate color, the former being lined half-way up with book shelves. A student's lamp, with a green shade, burned on the table. The oil in it must have been pretty low, for it shed but a dim light, and gave off a strong, offensive odor. The rabbi sat with his back to the door, bending over what looked like a manuscript sermon. The top of the rabbi's head was perfectly bald, and it reflected the lamplight like a surface of polished ivory. His little remaining hair and his beard were bluish black. His eyes, behind thick spectacles, were black, too--small, deep-set, bright, restless black beads. But his skin was intensely white, as white almost as the clerical collar that encircled his throat, and it looked as though it would feel chilly to the touch, like marble. The rabbi was a very little man, short of stature, spare of habit, with a frame and with features as slender and as delicate as a maiden's. Yet he had not at all the appearance of a weakling. You felt at once the presence of a strong will and of an active, if not enlightened or profound, intelligence. You felt the presence of a person who could, if he chose, be sufficiently good-natured, but who possessed also the capacity of becoming as hard and as cold as ice. At his nephew's entrance the rabbi glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, Elias,” he asked, in a tone which, though amiable, denoted very little interest, “where do you come from?” “The Academy of Design. I've been at the exhibition.” “So? Have you any pictures there?” “Only one. 'The Song of Deborah.'” “Ah! Is it well hung?” “Oh, yes--on the line.” “That's good. Some day I must drop in and see it.” On both sides the dialogue had been perfunctory. Now there befell a silence. The rabbi returned to his reading. Elias sank upon a chair, thrust his hands deep into his trowsers pockets, and fixed his eyes upon the carpet. For a while the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound. All at once Elias said: “Oh, yes--I forgot--I've been at Delmonico's, too.” “Ah,” rejoined the rabbi, “eating _trepha_ food.” “I ate neither pork nor shellfish,” Elias submitted. “I ate a bit of sweet-bread. Of course it hadn't been killed _kosher_. But is that such a great sin? Some of our most pious Jews go to Delmonico's. To-night, indeed, I saw Judge Nathan there, with his wife and daughters; and he's president of his congregation.”