“The Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with Peace,” concluded the old man in unfaltering accents.  He rose from the table and strode to the door, stern and erect “Thou wilt remain here, Hannah, and thou, Simcha,” he said.  In the passage his shoulders relaxed their stiffness, so that the long snow-white beard drooped upon his breast.  The three women looked at one another.

“Mother,” said Hannah, passionately breaking the silence, “are you going to stay here while Levi is dying in a strange town?”

“My husband wills it,” said the Rebbitzin, sobbing.  “Levi is a sinner in Israel.  Thy father will not see him; he will not go to him till he is dead.”

“Oh yes, surely he will,” said Esther.  “But be comforted.  Levi is young and strong.  Let us hope he will pull through.”

“No, no!” moaned the Rebbitzin.  “He will die, and my husband will but read the psalms at his death-bed.  He will not forgive him; he will not speak to him of his mother and sister.”

“Let me go.  I will give him your messages,” said Esther.

“No, no,” interrupted Hannah.  “What are you to him?  Why should you risk infection for our sakes?”

“Go, Hannah, but secretly,” said the Rebbitzin in a wailing whisper.  “Let not thy father see thee till thou arrive; then he will not send thee back.  Tell Levi that I—­oh, my poor child, my poor lamb!” Sobs overpowered her speech.

“No, mother,” said Hannah quietly, “thou and I shall go.  I will tell father we are accompanying him.”

She left the room, while the Rebbitzin fell weeping and terrified into a chair, and Esther vainly endeavored to soothe her.  The Reb was changing his coat when Hannah knocked at the door and called “Father.”

“Speak not to me, Hannah,” answered the Reb, roughly.  “It is useless.”  Then, as if repentant of his tone, he threw open the door, and passed his great trembling hand lovingly over her hair.  “Thou art a good daughter,” he said tenderly.  “Forget that thou hast had a brother.”

“But how can I forget?” she answered him in his own idiom.  “Why should I forget?  What hath he done?”

He ceased to smooth her hair—­his voice grew sad and stern.

“He hath profaned the Name.  He hath lived like a heathen; he dieth like a heathen now.  His blasphemy was a by-word in the congregation.  I alone knew it not till last Passover.  He hath brought down my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave.”

“Yes, father, I know,” said Hannah, more gently.  “But he is not all to blame!”

“Thou meanest that I am not guiltless; that I should have kept him at my side?” said the Reb, his voice faltering a little.

“No, father, not that!  Levi could not always be a baby.  He had to walk alone some day.”

“Yes, and did I not teach him to walk alone?” asked the Reb eagerly.  “My God, thou canst not say I did not teach him Thy Law, day and night.”  He uplifted his eyes in anguished appeal.