s as if
inviting him to join:

"O Lord of Hosts, how long wilt thou be angry against the prayer of
thy people?"

Meir stood a few steps apart and responded, as the people respond to
the singer:

"Thou feedest them with the bread of stones, and givest them tears to
drink in great measure."

"Thou makest us a strife unto our neighbours, and our enemies laugh
among themselves," intonated Eliezer.

In this way the two friends sang one of the most beautiful complaints
that ever rose from earth to heaven. Every word is a tear, every word
a melody expressing the tragic history of a great people.

There were as different expressions in the faces of the two young men
as their characters were unlike each other. Eliezer's blue eyes were
full of tears, his delicate features full of dreaminess and rapture;
Meir stood erect, his burning eyes fixed on the sky, and his brow
contracted as if in anger. They both prayed from the depths of their
hearts until the end, and then their formally united souls parted.
Eliezer intoned a prayer for the Wise Men of Israel:

"O Lord of heaven! guard and watch over the Wise Men of Israel, their
wives, children and disciples, always and everywhere! Say unto me
Amen!"

Meir did not say Amen. He was silent.

The singer seemed to wait for a response, when Meir, slightly raising
his voice, said, with quivering lips:

"Guard, O Lord, and watch over our brethren in Israel that live in
sin and darkness, always and everywhere; bring them from darkness
into light, from bondage to freedom! Say unto me Amen!"

"Amen!" exclaimed Eliezer, turning towards his friend; and their
hands met in a hearty grasp.

"Eliezer," said Meir, "you look changed since I saw you last."

"And you, Meir, look different."

Only a week had passed over their heads. Sometimes one week means as
much as ten years.

"I have suffered much during the week," whispered the singer.

Meir did not complain.

"Eliezer," he said, "give me 'More Nebuchim.' I came to you so early
to ask for that book. I want it very much."

Eliezer stood with his head hanging down dejectedly.

"I no longer have the book," he said, in a low voice.

"Where is it?" asked Meir.

"The book which brought us light and comfort is no more. The fire has
devoured it, and its ashes are scattered to the winds."

"Eliezer!" burst out Meir, "have you got frightened and burned it?"

"My hands could never have committed the deed; even had my mouth
command