clasp."

"I see," remarked her father. Notwithstanding his limited powers of
observation, it did not escape the old man's eyes that Gudule looked
alarmingly wan and emaciated. He saw it, and it grieved his very soul.
He said nothing however: only, when leaving, and after he had kissed the
_Mezuza_* he said to Gudule (who, with little Viola in her arms, went
with him to the door), in a voice quivering with suppressed emotion:
"Gudule, my child, the pearl necklet which I have given your little
Viola has a clasp strong enough to last a hundred years... you need
never, therefore, give it to your husband to have a new clasp made for
it."

* Small cylinder inclosing a roll of parchment inscribed
with the Hebrew word _Shadai_ (Almighty) and with other
texts, which is affixed to the lintel of every Jewish house.

And without bestowing another glance upon his child the easy-going man
left the house. It was his last visit. Within the year Gudule received
a letter from her eldest brother telling her that their father was dead,
and that she would have to keep the week of mourning for him. Ever since
his last visit to her--her brother wrote--the old man had been somewhat
ailing, but knowing his vigorous constitution, they had paid little heed
to his complaints. It was only during the last few weeks that a marked
loss of strength had been noticed. This was followed by fever and
delirium. Whenever he was asked whether he would not like to see Gudule,
his only answer was: "She must not give away the clasp of little Viola's
necklet." And but an hour before his death, he raised his voice, and
loudly called for "the letter." Nobody knew what letter. "Gudule knows
where it is," he said, with a gentle shake of his head. Those were the
last words he spoke.

Had the old man's eyes deceived him on the occasion of his last visit
to his son-in-law's house? No! For, setting aside the incident of the
missing pearls, the whole Ghetto could long since have told him that the
warning of the anonymous letter was not unfounded--for Gudule was the
wife of a gambler.

With the resistless impetuosity of a torrent released from its prison
of ice and snow, the old invincible disease had again overwhelmed its
victim. Gudule noticed the first signs of it when one day her husband
returned home from one of his business journeys earlier than he had
arranged. Gudule had not expected him.

"Why did you not come to meet me with the children?" h