at is that? You refuse my daughter! You, a common, stupid Jew from
Szybow, do not wish to marry a beautiful, educated girl like my Mera!
Fie upon you--an idiot, a profligate!"

Witebski tried in vain to mitigate the fury of his better half.

"Hush, Hannah, hush!" he said, holding her by the elbow.

But all the breeding and distinguished manners upon which Mistress
Hannah prided herself had vanished. She shook her clenched fist close
in Meir's face:

"You do not want Mera, my beautiful daughter! Ai! Ai! the great
misfortune!" she sneered. "It will certainly kill us with grief. She
will cry her eyes out after the ignorant Jew from Szybow! I shall
take her to Wilno and marry her to a count, a general, or a prince.
You think that because your grandfather is rich and you have money of
your own you can do what you like. I will show your grandfather and
all your family that I care for them as much as for an old slipper!"

Eli carefully closed the door and windows. Mistress Hannah rushed
toward a chest of drawers, opened it and took out, one after the
other, the velvet-lined boxes, and throwing them at Meir's feet,
exclaimed:

"There, take your presents and carry them to the beggar girl you are
consorting with; she will be just the wife for you."

"Hush!" hissed out the husband, almost despairingly, as he stooped
down to pick up the boxes but Mistress Hannah tore them out of his
hands.

"I will carry them myself to his grandfather, and break off the
engagement."

"Hannah," persuaded the husband, "you will only make matters worse. I
will take them myself and speak with Saul."

Hannah did not even hear what he said.

"For shame!" she cried out; "the madman, the profligate, to prefer
the Karaite's girl to my daughter! Well, the Lord be thanked we have
got rid of him. Now I shall take my daughter to Wilno and marry her
to a great nobleman."

It was about noon when Meir left Witebski's house, pursued by the
curses and scoldings of its mistress and the gentle remonstrances and
conciliatory words of Eli. The fair was now in full swing. The large
market square was full of vehicles of all kinds, animals and people,
that it seemed as if nobody could pass or find room any longer. In
one part of the square where the crowd was less dense, close by the
wall of a large building, sat an old man surrounded by baskets of all
shapes and sizes. It was Abel Karaim.

Though the day was warm and sunny, his head was covered with a fur