On reentering the room he saw a woman’s form sitting in the chair which he usually occupied.  She had her back turned to him.  Her head was bent low over her breast.  Her golden wedding-hood, with its shading lace, was pulled down over her forehead.  Courageous and pious as the rabbi was, he could not rid himself of a feeling of terror.

“Who are you?” he demanded, in a loud tone, as if its sound alone would banish the presence of this being that seemed to him at this moment to be the production of all the enchantments of evil spirits.

She raised herself, and cried in a voice that seemed to come from the agony of a human being: 

“Do you not know me—­me, whom you married a few hours since under the chuppe (marriage-canopy) to a husband?”

On hearing this familiar voice the rabbi stood speechless.  He gazed at the young woman.  Now, indeed, he must regard her as one bereft of reason, rather than as a specter.

“Well, if you are she,” he stammered out, after a pause, for it was with difficulty that he found words to answer, “why are you here and not in the place where you belong?”

“I know no other place to which I belong more than here where I now am!” she answered, severely.

These words puzzled the rabbi still more.  Is it really an insane woman before him?  He must have thought so, for he now addressed her in a gentle tone of voice, as we do those suffering from this kind of sickness, in order not to excite her, and said: 

“The place where you belong, my daughter, is in the house of your parents, and, since you have to-day been made a wife, your place is in your husband’s house.”

The young woman muttered something which failed to reach the rabbi’s ear.  Yet he only continued to think that he saw before him some poor unfortunate whose mind was deranged.  After a pause, he added, in a still gentler tone:  “What is your name, then, my child?”

“God, god,” she moaned, in the greatest anguish, “he does not even yet know my name!”

“How should I know you,” he continued, apologetically, “for I am a stranger in this place?”

This tender remark seemed to have produced the desired effect upon her excited mind.

“My name is Veile,” she said, quietly, after a pause.

The rabbi quickly perceived that he had adopted the right tone towards his mysterious guest.

“Veile,” he said, approaching nearer her, “what do you wish of me?”

“Rabbi, I have a great sin resting heavily upon my heart,” she replied despondently.  “I do not know what to do.”

“What can you have done,” inquired the rabbi, with a tender look, “that cannot be discussed at any other time than just now?  Will you let me advise you, Veile?”

“No, no,” she cried again, violently, “I will not be advised.  I see, I know what oppresses me.  Yes, I can grasp it by the hand, it lies so near before me.  Is that what you call to be advised?”