hand in both her swarthy
hands, and raised it to her mouth.

Absorbed in his reading the man swiftly raised his head and looked in
astonishment at the girl, quickly withdrawing his hand from her
embrace and growing red with a warm blush.

"You don't know me," said the girl, in a voice which was muffled, but
which trembled not one whit.

"No," answered the young man.

"But I know you. You are Meir Ezofowich, rich Saul's grandson. I see
you often when you sit on the piazza of your beautiful house, or
when, with that book, you pass the hill of the Karaims."

All this she said in a grave, steady voice, her figure drawn erect.
In her face there was not the slightest sign of embarrassment or
timidity nor the slightest blush. Only her large eyes became darker
and shone with a warm light, and her pale lips assumed a soft and
gentle expression.

"And who are you?" asked Meir softly.

"I am Golda, the grand-daughter of Abel Karaim, despised and
persecuted by all your people."

And now her mouth trembled and her voice took on a gloomy tone.

"All your people persecute Abel Karaim and his grand-daughter Golda,
and you defend them. Long ago I wished to thank you."

Meir dropped his eyelids. His pale face flushed.

"Live in peace, you and your grandfather Abel," he said softly, "and
may the hand of the Eternal be stretched over your poor house--the
hand of Him who loves and defends those who suffer."

"I thank you for your good words," whispered the girl.

In the meanwhile she slipped down to the grass at the young man's
feet, and raising her clasped hands she whispered further:

"Meir, you are good, wise, and beautiful. Your name signifies
'light,' and I have light before my eyes every time I see you. Long
ago I wished to find you and talk with you, and tell you that
although you are a grandson of a rich merchant and I am a
grand-daughter of a poor Karaim, who makes baskets, yet we are equal
in the eyes of the Eternal, and it is permitted to me to raise my
eyes to you and looking on your light, to be happy."

And in fact she looked happy. Only now her thin, swarthy face burned
with a flame-like blush, her lips were purple, and in her eyes raised
to the young man's face and filled with passionate worship stood two
silvery tears.

Meir listened to her with downcast eyes, and when she was silent he
looked up and gazed at her for a while and whispered softly:

"Golda, how grateful and beautiful you are!"

For th