"A letter from my Yitzchokel." The Dayan rose, came up and looked at her, took the letter, and began to read it silently to himself. "Well done, excellent, good! The little fellow knows what he is saying," said the Dayan more to himself than to her. Tears streamed from Taube's eyes. "If only _he_ had lived! if only he had lived!" "Shechitas chutz ... Rambam ... Tossafos is right ..." went on the Dayan. "Her Yitzchokel, Taube the market-woman's son," she thought proudly. "Take the letter," said the Dayan, at last, "I've read it all through." "Well, and what?" asked the woman. "What? What do you want then?" "What does it say?" she asked in a low voice. "There is nothing in it for you, you wouldn't understand," replied the Dayan, with a smile. Yitzchokel continued to write home, the Yiddish words were fewer every time, often only a greeting to his mother. And she came to Reb Yochanan, and he read her the Yiddish phrases, with which she had to be satisfied. "The Hebrew words are for the Dayan," she said to herself. But one day, "There is nothing in the letter for you," said Reb Yochanan. "What do you mean?" "Nothing," he said shortly. "Read me at least what there is." "But it is all Hebrew, Torah, you won't understand." "Very well, then, I _won't_ understand...." "Go in health, and don't drive me distracted." Taube left him, and resolved to go that evening to the Dayan. "Rebbe, excuse me, translate this into Yiddish," she said, handing him the letter. The Dayan took the letter and read it. "Nothing there for you," he said. "Rebbe," said Taube, shyly, "excuse me, translate the Hebrew for me!" "But it is Torah, an exposition of a passage in the Torah. You won't understand." "Well, if you would only read the letter in Hebrew, but aloud, so that I may hear what he says." "But you won't understand one word, it's Hebrew!" persisted the Dayan, with a smile. "Well, I _won't_ understand, that's all," said the woman, "but it's my child's Torah, my child's!" The Dayan reflected a while, then he began to read aloud. Presently, however, he glanced at Taube, and remembered he was expounding the Torah to a woman! And he felt thankful no one had heard him. "Take the letter, there is nothing in it for you," he said compassionately, and sat down again in his place. "But it is my child's Torah, my Yitzchokel's letter, why mayn't I hear it? What does it matter if I don't understand? It is my own child!" The Dayan turned coldly away. When Taube reached home after this interview, she sat down at the table, took down the lamp from the wall, and looked silently at the letter by its smoky light. She kissed the letter, but then it occurred to her that she was defiling it with her lips, she, a sinful woman! She rose, took her husband's prayer-book from the bookshelf, and laid the letter between its leaves. Then with trembling lips she kissed the covers of the book, and placed it once more in the bookcase. THE SINNER