Then only did Ephraim grasp his father's meaning.

"Don't worry yourself, father..." he said lovingly.

"Would you like to support me, perhaps!" Ascher shouted, with cutting disdain.

Ephraim's heart almost ceased to beat. Then movements were heard in the adjoining room.

"Have you any one with you?" cried Ascher, springing up. His sharp ears had instantly caught the sounds, and again the strong man was seized with violent trembling.

"Father, it's only dear Viola," said Ephraim.

A nameless terror seemed to have over-powered Ascher. With one hand convulsively clenched upon the arm of the chair, and the other pressed to his temple, he sat breathing heavily. Ephraim observed with alarm what a terrible change had come over his father's features during the last few seconds: his face had become ashen white, his eyes had lost their l.u.s.tre, he seemed to have aged ten years.

The door opened, and Viola entered.

"Viola!" cried Ephraim, "here is our--"

"Welcome!" said the girl, in a low voice, as she approached a few steps nearer. She extended her hand towards him, but her eyes were cast down.

She stood still for a moment, then, with a hurried movement, turned away.

"Gudule!" cried Ascher, horror-stricken, as he fell back almost senseless in his chair.

Was it the glamour of her maiden beauty that had so overpowered this unhappy father? Or was it the extraordinary resemblance she bore to the woman who had so loved him, and whose heart he had broken? The utterance of her name, the terror that accompanied the exclamation, denoted the effect which the girl's sudden appearance had produced upon that sadly unhinged mind.

"Viola!" Ephraim cried, in a sorrow-stricken voice, "why don't you come here?"

"I _can't_, Ephraim, I _can't_..." she moaned, as, with halting steps, she walked towards the door.

"Come, speak to him, do," Ephraim entreated, taking her hand in his.

"Let me go!" she cried, trying to release herself.... "I am thinking of mother!"

Suddenly Ascher rose.

"Where's my stick?" he cried. "I want the stick which I brought with me.... Where is it? I must go."

"Father, you won't..." cried Ephraim.

Then Viola turned round.

"Father," she said, with twitching lips... "you'll want something to eat before you go."

"Yes, yes, let me have something to eat," he shouted, as he brought his fist down upon the table. "Bring me wine... and let it be good... I am thirsty enough to drink the river dry.... Wine, and beer, and anything else you can find, bring all here, and then, when I 've had my fill, I 'll go."

"Go, Viola," Ephraim whispered in his sister's ear, "and bring him all he asks for."

When Viola had left the room, Ascher appeared to grow calmer. He sat down again leaning his arms upon the table.

"Yes," he muttered to himself: "I 'll taste food with my children, before I take up my stick and go.... They say it's lucky to have the first drink of the day served by one's own child... and luck I _will_ have again, at any price... What good children! While I 've been anything but a good father to them, they run hither and thither and take the trouble to get me food and drink, and I, I 've brought them home nothing but a wooden stick. But I 'll repay them, so help me G.o.d, I 'll make them rich yet, but I 've got nothing but a wooden stick, and I want money, no play without money, and no luck either...."

Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher's agitated features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite escaped his father's observation. With a chilling shudder running through his frame, his hair on end with horror, he listened to the strange soliloquy!... Then he saw his father's eyes travelling slowly in the direction of the old bureau in the corner, and there they remained fixed. "Why does he leave the key in the door, I wonder," he heard him mutter between his teeth, "just as Gudule used to do; I must tell him when he comes back, keys should n't be left in doors, never, under any circ.u.mstances." The entrance of Viola interrupted the old gambler's audible train of thought.

Ephraim gave a gasp of relief.

"Ah, what have you brought me?" cried Ascher, and his eyes sparkled with animation, as Viola produced some bottles from under her ap.r.o.n, and placed them and some gla.s.ses upon the table.

"Now then, fill up the gla.s.s," he shouted, in a commanding voice, "and take care that you don't spill any, or you 'll spoil my luck."

With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a single drop. Then he took up the gla.s.s and drained it at one draught.

His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another gla.s.s.

"Are n't you drinking, Ephraim?" he exclaimed, after he had finished that gla.s.s also.

"I don't drink to-day, father," Ephraim faltered, "it's a fast."

"A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too," he continued, with a coa.r.s.e laugh, "twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still hesitating whether he 'll go to bed or not... what have I got to do with your Fast-day?"

His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth gla.s.s, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle.

Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast a.s.suming that gla.s.sy brightness that is usually the forerunner of helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see.

Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to leave. Then _he_, too, softly walked out of the room.

Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other's arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: "Ephraim, what do you think of him?"

"He is ill, I think..." said Ephraim, in a voice choked with sobs.

"What, you call _that_ illness, Ephraim?" Viola cried; "if that's illness, then a wild beast is ill too."

"Viola, for Heaven's sake, be quiet: he 's our own father after all!"

"Ephraim!" said the girl, with a violent outburst of emotion, as she again threw herself into her brother's arms... "just think if mother had lived to see this!"

"Don't, don't, Viola, my sweet!" Ephraim exclaimed, sobbing convulsively.

"Ephraim!" the girl cried, shaking her head in wild despair, "I don't believe in the _Sechus!_ When we live to see all this, and our hearts do not break, we lose faith in everything.... Ephraim, what is to become of us?"

"Hush, dear Viola, hush, you don't know what you are saying," replied Ephraim, "I believe in it, because mother herself told us... you must believe in it too."

But Viola again shook her head. "I don't believe in it any longer," she moaned, "I can't."

Noiselessly, Ephraim walked toward the door of the front room; he placed his ear against the keyhole, and listened. Within all was silent. A fresh terror seized him. Why was no sound to be heard?... He opened the door cautiously lest it should creak. There sat his father asleep in the arm-chair, his head bent on his bosom, his arms hanging limp by his side.

"Hush, Viola," he whispered, closing the door as cautiously as he had opened it, "he is asleep....I think it will do him good. Be careful that you make no noise."

Viola had seated herself upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door, and was sobbing silently. In the meantime, Ephraim, unable to find a word of solace for his sister, went and stood at the street door, so that no unbidden guest should come to disturb his father's slumbers.

It was mid-day; from the church hard by streamed the peasants and their wives in their Sunday attire, and many bestowed a friendly smile upon the well-known youth. But he could only nod his head in return, his heart was sore oppressed, and a smile at such a moment seemed to him nothing short of sin. He went back into the house, and listened at the door of the room. Silence still reigned unbroken, and with noiseless steps he again walked away.

"He is still sleeping," he whispered to his sister. "Just think what would have happened if we had still had that bird.... He would n't have been able to sleep a wink."

"Ephraim, why do you remind me of it?" cried Viola with a fresh outburst of tears. "Where is the little bird now, I wonder?..."