the bloodshed, the sacrifices, all these
affected me as they had once affected her. I had the same fear of
death which she had. When I had gone with her to the cheder nebilin,
when I had used my sepet-ram to save life, she had perceived in me
feelings and impulses to which all her own nature responded. Finally,
when I asked about the Mista Kosek, she warned me not to go. When I
did go she was with me in thought and suffered all that I felt, until
the moment when I was brought back and laid senseless at her feet.

"Then," said Almah, "I felt the full meaning of all that lies before
us."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, anxiously. "You speak as though
there were something yet--worse than what has already been; yet
nothing can possibly be worse. We have seen the worst; let us now try
to shake off these grisly thoughts, and be happy with one another.
Your strength will soon be back, and while we have one another we can
be happy even in this gloom."

"Ah me," said Almah, "it would be better now to die. I could die happy
now, since I know that you love me."

"Death!" said I; "do not talk of it--do not mention that word. It is
more abhorrent than ever. No, Almah, let us live and love--let us
hope--let us fly."

"Impossible!" said she, in a mournful voice. "We cannot fly. There is
no hope. We must face the future, and make up our minds to bear our
fate."

"Fate!" I repeated, looking at her in wonder and in deep concern.
"What do you mean by our fate? Is there anything more which you know
and which I have not heard?"

"You have heard nothing," said she, slowly; "and all that you have
seen and heard is as nothing compared with what lies before us. For
you and for me there is a fate--inconceivable, abhorrent,
tremendous!--a fate of which I dare not speak or even think, and from
which there is no escape whatever."

As Almah said this she looked at me with an expression in which terror
and anguish were striving with love. Her cheeks, which shortly before
had flushed rosy red in sweet confusion, were now pallid, her lips
ashen; her eyes were full of a wild despair. I looked at her in
wonder, and could not say a word.

"Oh, Atam-or," said she, "I am afraid of death!"

"Almah," said I, "why will you speak of death? What is this fate which
you fear so much?"

"It is this," said she hurriedly and with a shudder, "you and I are
singled out. I have been reserved for years until one should be found
who might be joined w