the captain of a fishing-smack in a long, narrow wooden
house with sloping mossy tiles and small-paned windows. The old man
threw open the door of the little shell-decorated parlor and peered
in. "Klaartje!" his voice rang out. A parrot from the Brazils
screamed, but Spinoza only heard the soft "Yes, father," that came
sweetly from some upper region.

"Guess whom I've brought thee?"

"Benedict!" She flew down, a vision of loveliness and shimmering silk
and white pearls. Spinoza's hand trembled in hers that gleamed snowily
from the ruffled half-sleeve; the soft warmth burnt away philosophy.
They exchanged the commonplaces of the situation.

"But where is Kerkkrinck?" said the doctor.

"At his toilette." She exchanged a half-smile with Spinoza, who
thrilled deliciously.

"Then I'll go make mine," cried her father. "We sup in half an hour,
Benedict. Thou'lt stay, we go to-morrow. 'Tis the last supper." And,
laughing as if he had achieved a blasphemy, and unconscious of the
shadow of doom, the gay old freethinker disappeared.

As Klaartje spoke of his book with sparkling eyes, and discussed
points in a low, musical voice, something crude and elemental flamed
in the philosopher, something called to him to fuse himself with the
universal life more tangibly than through the intellect. His doubts
and vacillations fled: he must speak now, or the hour and the mood
would never recur. If he could only drag the conversation from the
philosophical. By a side door it escaped of itself into the personal;
her father did not care to take her with him to Paris, spoke of
possible dangers, and hinted it was time she was off his hands. There
seemed a confession trembling in her laughing eye. It gave him courage
to seize her fingers, to falter a request that she would come to
_him_--to Heidelberg! The brightness died suddenly out of her face: it
looked drawn and white.

After a palpitating silence she said, "But thou art a Jew!"

He was taken aback, he let her fingers drop. From his parched throat
came the words, "But thou art--no Christian."

"I know--but nevertheless--oh, I never dreamed of anything of this
with thee--'twas all of the brain, the soul."

"Soul and body are but one fact."

"Women are not philosophers. I--" She stopped. Her fingers played
nervously with the pearl necklace that rose and fell on her bosom. He
found himself noting its details, wondering that she had developed
such extravagant tastes. Then, awaking t