"Here you are, father," said Hannah, returning with the wine and some gla.s.ses which she had carefully dusted. Then she paused and gave a little cry, nearly losing her hold of the tray.

"What's the matter? What has happened?" she asked anxiously.

"Take away the wine--we shall drink n.o.body's health to-night," cried David brutally.

"My G.o.d!" said Hannah, all the hue of happiness dying out of her cheeks.

She threw down the tray on the table and ran to her father's arms.

"What is it! Oh, what is it, father?" she cried. "You haven't had a quarrel?"

The old man was silent. The girl looked appealingly from one to the other.

"No, it's worse than that," said David in cold, harsh tones. "You remember your marriage in fun to Sam?"

"Yes. Merciful heavens! I guess it! There was something not valid in the _Gett_ after all."

Her anguish at the thought of losing him was so apparent that he softened a little.

"No, not that," he said more gently. "But this blessed religion of ours reckons you a divorced woman, and so you can't marry me because I'm a _Cohen_."

"Can't marry you because you're a _Cohen_!" repeated Hannah, dazed in her turn.

"We must obey the Torah," said Reb Shemuel again, in low, solemn tones.

"It is your friend Levine who has erred, not the Torah."

"The Torah cannot visit a mere bit of fun so cruelly," protested David.

"And on the innocent, too."

"Sacred things should not be jested with," said the old man in stern tones that yet quavered with sympathy and pity. "On his head is the sin; on his head is the responsibility."

"Father," cried Hannah in piercing tones, "can nothing be done?"

The old man shook his head sadly. The poor, pretty face was pallid with a pain too deep for tears. The shock was too sudden, too terrible. She sank helplessly into a chair.

"Something must be done, something shall be done," thundered David. "I will appeal to the Chief Rabbi."

"And what can he do? Can he go behind the Torah?" said Reb Shemuel pitifully.

"I won't ask him to. But if he has a grain of common sense he will see that our case is an exception, and cannot come under the Law."

"The Law knows no exceptions," said Reb Shemuel gently, quoting in Hebrew, "'The Law of G.o.d is perfect, enlightening the eyes.' Be patient, my dear children, in your affliction. It is the will of G.o.d. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away--bless ye the name of the Lord."

"Not I!" said David harshly. "But look to Hannah. She has fainted."

"No, I am all right," said Hannah wearily, opening the eyes she had closed. "Do not make so certain, father. Look at your books again.

Perhaps they do make an exception in such a case."

The Reb shook his head hopelessly.

"Do not expect that," he said. "Believe me, my Hannah, if there were a gleam of hope I would not hide it from you. Be a good girl, dear, and bear your trouble like a true Jewish maiden. Have faith in G.o.d, my child. He doeth all things for the best. Come now--rouse yourself. Tell David you will always be a friend, and that your father will love him as though he were indeed his son." He moved towards her and touched her tenderly. He felt a violent spasm traversing her bosom.

"I can't, father," she cried in a choking voice. "I can't. Don't ask me."

David leaned against the ma.n.u.script-littered table in stony silence. The stern granite faces of the old continental Rabbis seemed to frown down on him from the walls and he returned the frown with interest. His heart was full of bitterness, contempt, revolt. What a pack of knavish bigots they must all have been! Reb Shemuel bent down and took his daughter's head in his trembling palms. The eyes were closed again, the chest heaved painfully with silent sobs.

"Do you love him so much, Hannah?" whispered the old man.

Her sobs answered, growing loud at last.

"But you love your religion more, my child?" he murmured anxiously.

"That will bring you peace."

Her sobs gave him no a.s.surance. Presently the contagion of sobbing took him too.

"O G.o.d! G.o.d!" he moaned. "What sin have I committed; that thou shouldst punish my child thus?"

"Don't blame G.o.d!" burst forth David at last. "It's your own foolish bigotry. Is it not enough your daughter doesn't ask to marry a Christian? Be thankful, old man, for that and put away all this antiquated superst.i.tion. We're living in the nineteenth century."

"And what if we are!" said Reb Shemuel, blazing up in turn. "The Torah is eternal. Thank G.o.d for your youth, and your health and strength, and do not blaspheme Him because you cannot have all the desire of your heart or the inclination of your eyes."

"The desire of my heart," retorted David. "Do you imagine I am only thinking of my own suffering? Look at your daughter--think of what you are doing to her and beware before it is too late."

"Is it in my hand to do or to forbear?" asked the old man, "It is the Torah. Am I responsible for that?"

"Yes," said David, out of mere revolt. Then, seeking to justify himself, his face lit up with sudden inspiration. "Who need ever know? The _Maggid_ is dead. Old Hyams has gone to America. So Hannah has told me.

It's a thousand to one Leah's people never heard of the Law of Leviticus. If they had, it's another thousand to one against their putting two and two together. It requires a Talmudist like you to even dream of reckoning Hannah as an ordinary divorced woman. If they did, it's a third thousand to one against their telling anybody. There is no need for you to perform the ceremony yourself. Let her be married by some other minister--by the Chief Rabbi himself, and to make a.s.surance doubly sure I'll not mention that I'm a _Cohen_" The words poured forth like a torrent, overwhelming the Reb for a moment. Hannah leaped up with a hysterical cry of joy.

"Yes, yes, father. It will be all right, after all. n.o.body knows. Oh, thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d!"

There was a moment of tense silence. Then the old man's voice rose slowly and painfully.

"Thank G.o.d!" he repeated. "Do you dare mention the Name even when you propose to profane it? Do you ask me, your father, Reb Shemuel, to consent to such a profanation of the Name?"

"And why not?" said David angrily. "Whom else has a daughter the right to ask mercy from, if not her father?"

"G.o.d have mercy on me!" groaned the old Reb, covering his face with his hands.

"Come, come!" said David impatiently. "Be sensible. It's nothing unworthy of you at all. Hannah was never really married, so cannot be really divorced. We only ask you to obey the spirit of the Torah instead of the letter."

The old man shook his head, unwavering. His cheeks were white and wet, but his expression was stern and solemn.

"Just think!" went on David pa.s.sionately. "What am I better than another Jew--than yourself for instance--that I shouldn't marry a divorced woman?"

"It is the Law. You are a _Cohen_--a priest."

"A priest, Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed David bitterly. "A priest--in the nineteenth century! When the Temple has been destroyed these two thousand years."

"It will be rebuilt, please G.o.d," said Reb Shemuel. "We must be ready for it."