y.

What did they read the whole night, and of what were they talking?
What sentiment of enthusiasm and hope united their hands as a sign of
a pact? Nobody ever learned. It is sunk in the dark night of
historical secrets, with many other desires and thoughts. Adversities
plunged it there. It was hidden, but not lost. Sometimes we ask
ourselves whence come the lightnings of those thoughts and desires
which nobody has known before? And we do not know that their sources
are the moments not written on the pages of the history by any
writer.

The next day a coach driven by six horses stopped before time house
of the nobleman. The noble, with his Jewish guest, got in, and
together they went to the capital of the country.

A couple of months afterwards Hersh returned from Warsaw to Szybow.
He was very active in the town and its environments, he spoke,
explained, persuaded, trying to gain partisans for the changes which
were in preparation for his people. Then he went away again, and
again he returned--and went away. This lasted a couple of years.

When Hersh returned from Ins last journey he was very much changed.
His looks were sad, and his forehead was lined with sorrow. He
entered the house, sat on the bench, and began to pant heavily.
Freida stood before him, sorrowful and uneasy, but quiet and patient.
She did not dare to ask. She waited for her husband's words and
look. Finally he looked at her sadly, and said:

"Everything is lost!"

"Why lost?" whispered Freida.

Hersh made a gesture, indicative of the downfall of something grand.

"When a building falls," he said, "the beams fall on the heads of
those who are within, and the dust fills their eyes."

"It is true," affirmed the woman.

"A great building is in the mire. The beams have fallen on all the
great problems and our great works, and the dust covers them--for a
long time."

Then he rose, looked at Freida with eyes full of big tears, and said:

"We must hide the Senior's testament, because it will be useless
again. Come, let us hide it carefully. If some great-grandson of ours
will wish to get it, he will find it the same as we did."

From that day Hersh grew perceptibly older. His eyes dulled, and his
hack grew bent. He sat for hours on the bench, sighing deeply, and
repeating:

"Assybe! assybe! assybe! dajde!" (Misfortune! Misfortune! Woe!)

Around this sad man moved softly and solicitously a slender woman
dressed in a flowing gown and white