It was the portrait of a gentleman, full length, life-size, done in oils. The gentleman rested one hand upon a pile of ponderous, calf-bound volumes--law-books, or medical works, they looked like--that towered aloft from the floor. In his other hand, he held an unrolled scroll of parchment, upon which big black Hebrew characters were inscribed. Of artistic value the picture had little, or none at all; but it had another sort of value: it was a portrait of Elias's father. The rabbi pointed to it in silence. Elias thought the rabbi's proceeding a little theatrical; but he made no comment. By and by the rabbi lowered his arm, and faced about. Having done which, he raised his other arm, and this time brought his index finger to bear upon a portrait of Elias's mother. Theatrical, certainly; disagreeably so, too; Elias thought. At this point there befell an interruption which had somewhat the effect of an anti-climax. The breakfast-bell rang. “Well,” said the rabbi, “let's go to breakfast.” Elias turned off the gas. They left the parlor, and went down stairs to the dining-room. There, having taken their places at the table, the rabbi extracted a handkerchief from his pocket, and with it covered his head. Elias did likewise. Whereupon the rabbi chanted the usual grace before meat. At its conclusion, both he and Elias replaced their handkerchiefs in their pockets, and the maid-servant brought the coffee. For a while neither nephew nor uncle spoke. At last, “What are you thinking about, Elias?” the rabbi asked. “I was thinking, if you wish to know,” Elias answered, “of my great happiness--of the fact that to-day the lady whom I love is to become my wife.” “Ah, so? It doesn't seem to improve your appetite,” returned the rabbi. “You're not eating especially well.” He made Elias the object of a curious, meditative glance; then pursued: “Don't misunderstand me, Elias. It isn't at all my aim to dissuade you from this marriage. That, as I told you last night, would be a work of supererogation. But I _should_ like to ask you just a single question. Suppose your mother were still alive, would you entertain for an instant the idea of marrying a Christian?” “I don't know?” “You don't know?” “Well, probably not.” “Good. That is what I thought. And now, let me ask you one question more. Is it your opinion that, simply because your mother has died, you are absolved from all obligations toward her, and are at liberty to act in a way, which, if she were still with us, it would break her heart to have you act in? Is that your opinion?” Elias did not reply. He colored up, however, and bit his lip. The rabbi waited a moment, then queried, “Well?” “Well, what?” “You don't answer.” “I don't mean to answer. It isn't a fair question,” said Elias. The rabbi gave a short, contemptuous laugh.