rejoinder. "I wanted to tell you that I expect a visit
to-morrow from an acquaintance out of my own district; I can not,
therefore, come to the office."

"You have this last year gone after your own affairs so often," rudely
replied Ehrenthal, "that I don't care how long you remain away."

"Do you know what you have just said?" Veitel broke out. "You have said,
'Itzig, I need you no longer; you may go;' but I shall go when it suits
me, not when it suits you."

"You are a bold man," cried Ehrenthal. "I forbid you to speak thus to
me. Who are you, young Itzig?"

"I am one who knows your whole business, who can ruin you if he will,
and one who means kindly toward you, better than you do toward yourself;
and, therefore, when I come to the office the day after to-morrow, you
will say, 'Good morning, Itzig.' Do you understand me now, Mr.
Ehrenthal?" and, seizing his cap, he hurried into the street, where his
suppressed wrath broke out into a flame, and, gesticulating wildly, he
muttered threatening words. And so did Ehrenthal alone in the office.

The baron returned to his daughter, threw himself heavily down on the
sofa, and scarcely heard her loving words. There was nothing to detain
him in town but the dread of communicating this intelligence to his
wife. He alternately brooded over plans for getting over the possible
loss, and painted its consequences in the blackest colors.

Meanwhile Lenore sat silent at the window, looking down upon the noisy
streets, with their rolling carriages and the stream of passers-by; and
while she wondered if any of these had ever felt the secret anxiety,
fear, and dejection which the last few years had brought her young
heart, one of the throng would now and then look up to the plate-glass
windows of the stately dwelling, and, his eye resting admiringly on the
beautiful girl, he perhaps envied the happy destiny of the nobly born,
who could thus look calmly down on those whose lot it was to toil for
daily bread.

The streets grew dim, the lamps threw their dull rays into the room,
Lenore watched the play of light and shade on the wall, and her sadness
increased as the darkness deepened. Meanwhile two men were standing in
eager conversation at the house door; the bell sounded, a heavy step was
heard in the ante-room, and the servants announced Mr. Pinkus. At that
name the baron rose, called for candles, and went to the next room.

The innkeeper entered, bobbing his great head, but seeme