“Free the horse,” the command is heard again. The slaves have leaped away. The horse bounds forward. A deafening shout fills the air. Whips and cords and wires are whirled about and whistle loudly. The horse, wild with terror, rushes across the market-place, across the streets, over the alley and far, far out of the town.... The vagrant soul has drawn a blood-stained pin out of the victim’s body and is on her way to heaven with it! And the angel at the little window soothes her, saying: “But _one_ more gift!” IV. THE THIRD GIFT And downward again the soul wends her way. But one more gift! And as before, year follows year and melancholy has its grip upon her. The world has grown little indeed. Men are becoming ever more insignificant. Their deeds too are tiny and more so; the good and the evil alike.... And a new thought occurs to her: “What if the Lord, Blessed be His name, were to halt the world process this very moment and announce the final Judgment; would not then the Advocate appear on the right side of the Balance and pour out the contents of his white sack, its tiny particles and little grains of sand; would not the Accuser follow and empty his sack on the left scale--his little wee bits and fragments? What a long process that would be! What a multitude of little things! “And when the emptying of the sack is completed, what then? Of course, the indicator would be pointing right to the center! “Such insignificant things weigh nothing; no matter what their number. Indeed, what can be the weight of a tiny thread, of a straw or of an empty husk? “What might the decision of the Lord be then? “Would he turn the whole into a void again? Certainly not; for the Evil deeds do not weigh more than the good. “Perhaps he might grant salvation to all. But that, too, is unlikely, for the deeds of Good do not prevail over those of Evil. “It is hard to see what would follow then. “Might he not say: ‘Pass ye along. Rove ye from the realms of Hell to Heaven amid Love and Hate, in tears of mercy or vaporous blood ... from cradle unto grave, rove ye farther--even farther.’” However, Destiny seems to have planned the deliverance of the Soul from her gloomy reflections. The din of beating drums arouses her.... “Where am I now, and what the time?” She cannot recognize the place. She has no idea of the time. She beholds the courtyard of a prison. The rays of the sun hover about the little windows and even penetrate the iron bars.... They glide along the wall and fall upon a heap of sundry weapons supported there. The soldier-guards have but a moment ago received their whips.... Two long rows of soldiers and only a narrow passage between. Who is it that must run the gauntlet here? Oh, it is but an insignificant Jew. A torn shirt is on his emaciated body and a skull-cap on his half-shaven head. There he is being led forth.