wered:

"Jehovah!"

The melamed's body shook as in a fit of ague. With violent speech and
gesture he called upon the people to stand up for their beloved sage,
and punish the audacious rebels. But the more he spoke, the more
amazed he grew. Nobody moved. The rich and prominent of the community
sat silent, their foreheads supported on their hands, their eyes
riveted to the floor. They were in deep meditation. The bulk of the
people remained motionless and mute.

The melamed understood at last that all efforts to rouse them were
useless. He became silent, but his eyes opened wider in great wonder;
he could not understand why they did not listen.

But through the misty brain of Isaak Todros passed a ray of light,
and he got a glimpse of the terrible truth. Something whispered to
him that in the young breasts all the dormant desires and aspirations
of which the excommunicated man had been the interpreter, had stirred
into life. The young man was, then, not the only one; but he was
bolder, more enterprising and proud. He heard another whisper. The
young heads whose fearless attitude bad made him powerless to-day,
had been touched by the wings of the angel of Time, which, as he
perceived in a dull, indistinct way, was full of rebellion and
upheaving and would break down the barriers he had raised between
them and the highest truth. And he heard again why the people had not
stood up for him, because the angel of Time, who carries with him
rebellion, and battle, also brings charity and forgiveness, and
sweeps away curses and hatred with his powerful, yet soft, wings.

All this Todros heard in a dim and vague way; but it was enough, to
benumb his heart, full of petrified faith and pride.

"Bat Kohl," he whispered.

The voice of his own conscience he took for the mysterious voice said
to be heard in great crises by the lawgivers and priests of Israel.

"Bat Kohl," he repeated with trembling lips, and turned his gaze
around the building.

The interior of the synagogue was half-empty. The people dispersed
slowly and silently, as if they were seized by a great sorrow and
doubt. The poor and rich, until now great admirers of the Rabbi.
There was the rustle of the belated women in the gallery, and then
everything was quiet and deserted.

As in times of yore, Joseph Akiba was coming back in the moonlit
night, to his shepherd's hut, so Meir pale and trembling approached
the house of his fathers.

He went there, but withou