ppeared unnatural and restrained. Still Mendel
looked and tried to reflect. That arm awoke a strange train of thoughts.
His mind appeared sluggish to-day; he could remember nothing.

Suddenly the Rabbi uttered a piercing cry. Yes, it all came back to him
now.

"Jacob!" he cried, advancing towards the priest. "My brother Jacob
arrayed against his own people!"

The monk recoiled a step and looked at the Jew in surprise.

"Is the man mad?" he asked, addressing the Governor.

"No; I am not mad," cried Mendel, excitedly. "As true as there is a God
above us, you are my brother Jacob!"

The priest, fully believing that the Rabbi had suddenly become insane,
recoiled a step and drew his garments about him. The Governor glanced
significantly at his wife, who had become as pale as death.

The Rabbi was unable to control his excitement.

"Jacob, my brother," he cried again; "do you not remember me, Mendel? Do
you not remember our home in Togarog? Do you not recollect how we were
both stolen away from home on the night of my _bar-mitzvah_; how we were
taken to Kharkov by the soldiers, and how we escaped and fled into the
country? Do you not remember how we travelled along, weary and
foot-sore, until you could no longer walk, and I ran to a neighboring
village for assistance? When I returned, you had disappeared. Jacob, do
you remember nothing?"

Mikail stood with his head buried in his hands, drinking in every word
of the gesticulating Rabbi.

Yes; he did remember something; indistinctly, of course, but as each
event was recalled it evoked a corresponding picture in his brain. Many
things suddenly became clear which had been hitherto shrouded in
mystery. The secret of his birth, concerning which he had so often
questioned Countess Drentell without receiving a satisfactory reply, the
indistinct recollection of strange events, and, finally, the familiarity
of the ritual in the synagogue. When Mendel had ceased speaking, he
turned abruptly to the Countess, who, pale and agitated, was standing by
the side of her husband. Surprise, anger, passion were portrayed in the
priest's flashing eye and contracted features, and Louise shrank from
him as he approached her.

"Madam," he said, hoarsely, "what can I say in reply to this charge? You
have been my protectress from childhood. Tell this man that he lies,
that I am not the brother of a Jew."

The Countess' lips parted, but neither she nor the Count found a reply.

"See, thei