aid he, going
out.

He was a thin, hard-working man. His whole soul was possessed by his
great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not
turn him from his work. When the day was over he would indulge in
brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed. He
stepped out again into the evening glow. The wind had grown stronger,
and he bent his head forward and walked against it towards the west. He
felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his
own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town.
He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an
atmosphere. The curate was broad in his views. 'All nations and all
people,' thought he, 'lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less
worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him. This is the
selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.' When he got
to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up.
'But, thank God,' he said to himself, 'the True Life is still in the
world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make
the triumph of our children sure.' So reasoned the curate; he was a
rather fanatical fellow.

The people near gave him 'good-day' when they saw him stop. All up and
down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering
feet. The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile
and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire,
threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave
reflection to the coloured light. He had come near the end of the town,
and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs
and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the cliff.
The elm trees were in the squire's park, and the curate looked at them
sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.

Up a little lane at the end of the street he found the entrance to a low
square hall. There was a small ante-room to the place of service, and in
this a dull-looking man was seated polishing a candlestick. He was a
crossing-sweeper by trade and a friend of the curate.

'Well, Issachar; so you've got your synagogue open again!'

The man Issachar made some sound meant for a response, but not
intelligible.

'How many Jews will there be in the town?'

'Twenty that are heads of families, and two grown youths,' said
Issachar.

'That's enou