“Yes, but he is not all to blame,” she repeated.  “Thy teaching did not reach his soul; he is of another generation, the air is different, his life was cast amid conditions for which the Law doth not allow.”

“Hannah!” Reb Shemuel’s accents became harsh and chiding again.  “What sayest thou?  The Law of Moses is eternal; it will never be changed.  Levi knew God’s commandments, but he followed the desire of his own heart and his own eyes.  If God’s Word were obeyed, he should have been stoned with stones.  But Heaven itself hath punished him; he will die, for it is ordained that whosoever is stubborn and disobedient, that soul shall surely be cut off from among his people.  ’Keep My commandments, that thy days may be long in the land,’ God Himself hath said it.  Is it not written:  ’Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou that for all these things the Lord will bring thee into judgment’?  But thou, my Hannah,” he started caressing her hair again, “art a good Jewish maiden.  Between Levi and thee there is naught in common.  His touch would profane thee.  Sadden not thy innocent eyes with the sight of his end.  Think of him as one who died in boyhood.  My God! why didst thou not take him then?” He turned away, stifling a sob.

“Father,” she put her hand on his shoulder, “we will go with thee to Stockbridge—­I and the mother.”

He faced her again, stern and rigid.

“Cease thy entreaties.  I will go alone.”

“No, we will all go.”

“Hannah,” he said, his voice tremulous with pain and astonishment, “dost thou, too, set light by thy father?”

“Yes,” she cried, and there was no answering tremor in her voice.  “Now thou knowest!  I am not a good Jewish maiden.  Levi and I are brother and sister.  His touch profane me, forsooth!” She laughed bitterly.

“Thou wilt take this journey though I forbid thee?” he cried in acrid accents, still mingled with surprise.

“Yes; would I had taken the journey thou wouldst have forbidden ten years ago!”

“What journey? thou talkest madness.”

“I talk truth.  Thou hast forgotten David Brandon; I have not.  Ten years last Passover I arranged to fly with him, to marry him, in defiance of the Law and thee.”

A new pallor overspread the Reb’s countenance, already ashen.  He trembled and almost fell backwards.

“But thou didst not?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I did not, I know not why,” she said sullenly; “else thou wouldst never have seen me again.  It may be I respected thy religion, although thou didst not dream what was in my mind.  But thy religion shall not keep me from this journey.”

The Reb had hidden his face in his hands.  His lips were moving; was it in grateful prayer, in self-reproach, or merely in nervous trembling?  Hannah never knew.  Presently the Reb’s arms dropped, great tears rolled down towards the white beard.  When he spoke, his tones were hushed as with awe.