Elias's excitement, his nervousness, his impatience, were constantly becoming more intense. At every unexpected noise, no matter how slight or how commonplace, at every footstep in the hall, at every clatter of dishes in the kitchen, at every gust of wind upon the window-pane, he started and caught his breath. He felt his heart alternately growing hot and cold. Now it would leap with joy, at the thought of what was so near at hand; now it would cease beating, in spasmodic terror of some unknown calamity. It began to gallop tempestuously, when at last Elias heard the carriage rattle up, and stop before the house. “Oh,” he told himself, “it's only the way any man in my place would feel. One doesn't get married every day in the week.” His cheeks burned. His mouth was dry and feverish. His hands gave off a cold perspiration, and they shook like those of an old man. The rabbi entered the carriage. Elias, having instructed the coachman where to drive, followed. The carriage moved off. “At a church?” questioned the rabbi. “No; at their house,” replied Elias. “A large affair? Many guests?” “Very few. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty. Their friends.” “That's good. It would be a pity to have a crowd.” After which both held their peace. Elias leaned back in his seat, and looked out of the window. Now, not only his hands, but all his limbs, were trembling, quaking, as if he had the ague. He gritted his teeth firmly together to keep them from chattering. In his breast he was conscious of a vague, palpitating pain, very like extreme fear. He tried hard, but vainly, to exercise his will and his intelligence. In his brain all was bewilderment and confusion. Mechanically, he repeated to himself, “It is as every man in my place would feel.” But he did not believe it. His condition mystified him completely. He was suffering miserably. One thought alone rode clear above the mental hurricane: “Thank God, it will soon be over.” Meanwhile, in a dull, sick way, he was looking out of the window, and observing the progress of the carriage. Onward, onward, they were jolting, through the wet streets, where the sidewalks, like inky mirrors, gave back distorted images of the street lamps; past blazing shop-fronts, past jingling horse-cars, past solitary foot-passengers; ever nearer and nearer to their destination; and that sinking in his breast, and that uproar in his brain, ever growing more marked, more painful, more perplexing. A happy bridegroom driving to his wedding! More like a doomed criminal driving to the place of expiation. Presently they reached the great circle at the junction of Fifty-ninth Street and Eighth Avenue. Elias drew a long, deep breath, clenched his fists, straightened up, by a huge effort mustered a little self-possession, and announced faintly, “Well, we're almost there.” To his bewildered senses, his own voice sounded unfamiliar and far away.