and he began to reel off the
Eighteen Benedictions, but not till he reached the Confession could he
collect his scattered thoughts, and realize what he was saying. When he
raised his hands to beat his breast at "We have trespassed, we have
robbed," the hand remained hanging in the air, half-way. A shudder went
through his limbs, the letters of the words "we have robbed" began to
grow before his eyes, they became gigantic, they turned strange
colors--red, blue, green, and yellow--now they took the form of large
frogs--they got bigger and bigger, crawled into his eyes, croaked in his
ears: You are a thief, a robber, you have stolen and plundered! You
think nobody saw, that it would all run quite smoothly, but you are
wrong! We shall stand before the Throne of Glory and cry: You are a
thief, a robber!

Berel stood some time with his hand raised midway in the air.

The whole affair of the hundred rubles rose before his eyes.

A couple of months ago he had gone into the house of Reb Moisheh
Chalfon. The latter had just gone out, there was nobody else in the
room, nobody had even seen him come in.

The key was in the desk--Berel had looked at it, had hardly touched
it--the drawer had opened as though of itself--several
hundred-ruble-notes had lain glistening before his eyes! Just that day,
Berel had received a very unpleasant letter from the father of his
daughter's bridegroom, and to make matters worse, the author of the
letter was in the right. Berel had been putting off the marriage for two
years, and the Mechutton wrote quite plainly, that unless the wedding
took place after Tabernacles, he should return him the contract.

"Return the contract!" the fiery letters burnt into Berel's brain.

He knew his Mechutton well. The Misnaggid! He wouldn't hesitate to tear
up a marriage contract, either! And when it's a question of a by no
means pretty girl of twenty and odd years! And the kind of bridegroom
anybody might be glad to have secured for his daughter! And then to
think that only one of those hundred-ruble-notes lying tossed together
in that drawer would help him out of all his troubles. And the Evil
Inclination whispers in his ear: "Berel, now or never! There will be an
end to all your worry! Don't you see, it's a godsend." He, Berel,
wrestled with him hard. He remembers it all distinctly, and he can hear
now the faint little voice of the Good Inclination: "Berel, to become a
thief in one's latter years! You who so