us and hateful defence of self against everything
which flows from broad, sunny, but 'foreign' worlds.

CHAPTER II

It happened three years ago.

Damp fog was rising from the muddy streets of the town and made dark
the transparency of a starry evening. A breath of March wind mingled
with the odour of freshly ploughed fields, flew over low roofs, but
could not drive out the suffocating exhalations coming in clouds from
the doors and windows of the houses.

Notwithstanding the mists and exhalations which filled it, the town
had a gay and festive appearance. From behind gray curtains thousands
of windows shone with bright illuminations, and from lighted houses
came the sounds of noisy conversation or collective prayers. Whoever
passed through the streets and looked into this or that window of
this or that house, would see all around bright family scenes. In the
centre of larger or smaller rooms were long tables, covered with
white cloths, and all prepared for a feast. Around them bustled women
in variegated dresses, carrying and leaving contributions with a
smile on their faces, and admiring their own work in the decoration
of the tables. Bearded husbands, holding their children in their
arms, pressed their lips to the pink cheeks, or kissed the on the
mouth with a loud smack. They tossed them up to the low ceilings, to
the great mirth of the older members of the family. Others sat in
groups on benches and talked of affairs of the past week. Others
still, covered with the folds of their white talliths, stood
motionless, facing the walls, rocking their figures back and forward.
These were preparing themselves by fervent prayer to meet the holy
Sabbath day.

For it was Friday evening.

In the whole town there was but one house in which reigned darkness,
emptiness, and sadness. It was a little gray hut which seemed to have
been clapped on to a small hill at the other end of the town--it was
the only elevation on the waste plain. And even this hill was not
natural. Tradition said that it was made by Karaites, who built it on
their temple. Today there remained no traces of that temple. The
bare, sandy hill, protected the little hut from the winds and snow
storms, and the hut humbly and gratefully nestled in its shelter.
Over its roof, on the side of the hill, grew a large pear tree.
Through its branches the wind rushed sweetly--over it shone a few
stars. A large, cultivated field separated this spot from the tow