ed. The court with all its
buildings, from the synagogue and hospital to the tiny dwelling of
the Rabbi was like the capital of a small realm: everything was there
which could promote the well-being of the public.

All these buildings had been raised at one time, to embody a great
idea, either to serve God or mankind. In what manner these lofty
ideas had been perverted and served other purposes than those first
conceived is another thing altogether--for this we must go to
history.

Eight days bad elapsed since the memorable evening when the young men
bad conversed and sung together on the meadow. On the ninth day,
after sunset, Meir left the Ha-Midrash and stood in its high portico.

Obedient to the order of the head of the family, he had spent the
week in utter solitude, reading the Talmud which he knew so well
already, and for which, in spite of all the doubts which troubled his
mind, he never lost the reverence implanted into him from his
childhood. The penance had not brought him any physical discomforts;
his meals were carried to him from home, where the charitable women
had tried to make them even more palatable than usual. Nevertheless,
he was much changed. He looked paler, thinner, yet withal more manly.
Neither in his expression nor bearing was there any trace of his
former almost childish timidity. Perhaps his intelligence had
rebelled against the injustice of the punishment; it may be the
solitude and the study of the many volumes in the Ha-Midrash had
called forth new ideas and confirmed him in the old ones. The nervous
contraction of his brow and his feverish burning eyes betrayed hard
mental work, all the harder because without help or guide. The
penance inflicted upon him bad missed its aim. Instead of quieting
and soothing the restless spirit, it made him bolder and more
rebellious.

When Meir descended the steps into the court another feeling took
hold of him--that of shame. At the sight of several people crossing
the courtyard he dropped his eyes and blushed. They were elders of
the Kahol, who seeing Meir, pointed at him and laughed. One of them,
Jankiel Kamionker, did not laugh, and seemingly had not noticed the
young man. He was walking apart from his companions, and his face
looked troubled and preoccupied. Instead of entering into the Kahol
building with the other men, he almost stealthily approached the
almshouse; he only passed it, but it was sufficient to exchange a few
whispered words wit