“Listen to me now, Veile,” he began, slowly.  “I will talk with you.”

“I listen, rabbi,” she whispered.

“But do you hear me well?”

“Only speak,” she returned.

“But will you do what I advise you?  Will you not oppose it?  For I am going to say something that will terrify you.”

“I will do anything that you say.  Only tell me,” she moaned.

“Will you swear?”

“I will,” she groaned.

“No, do not swear yet, until you have heard me,” he cried.  “I will not force you.”

This time came no answer.

“Hear me, then, daughter of Ruben Klattaner,” he began, after a pause.  “You have a twofold sin upon your soul, and each is so great, so criminal, that it can only be forgiven by severe punishment.  First you permitted yourself to be infatuated by the gold and silver, and then you forced your heart to lie.  With the lie you sought to deceive the man, even though he had intrusted you with his all when he made you his wife.  A lie is truly a great sin!  Streams of water cannot drown them.  They make men false and hateful to themselves.  The worst that has been committed in the world was led in by a lie.  That is the one sin.”

“I know, I know,” sobbed the young woman.

“Now hear me further,” began the rabbi again, with a wavering voice, after a short pause.  “You have committed a still greater sin than the first.  You have not only deceived your husband, but you have also destroyed the happiness of another person.  You could have spoken, and you did not.  For life you have robbed him of his happiness, his light, his joy, but you did not speak.  What can he now do, when he knows what has been lost to him?”

“Naphtali!” cried the young woman.

“Silence! silence! do not let that name pass your lips again,” he demanded, violently.  “The more you repeat it the greater becomes your sin.  Why did you not speak when you could have spoken?  God can never easily forgive you that.  To be silent, to keep secret in one’s breast what would have made another man happier than the mightiest monarch!  Thereby you have made him more than unhappy.  He will nevermore have the desire to be happy.  Veile, God in heaven cannot forgive you for that.”

“Silence! silence!” groaned the wretched woman.

“No, Veile,” he continued, with a stronger voice, “let me talk now.  You are certainly willing to hear me speak?  Listen to me.  You must do severe penance for this sin, the twofold sin which rests upon your head.  God is long-suffering and merciful.  He will perhaps look down upon your misery, and will blot out your guilt from the great book of transgressions.  But you must become penitent.  Hear, now, what it shall be.”

The rabbi paused.  He was on the point of saying the severest thing that had ever passed his lips.

“You were silent, Veile,” then he cried, “when you should have spoken.  Be silent now forever to all men and to yourself.  From the moment you leave this house, until I grant it, you must be dumb; you dare not let a loud word pass from your mouth.  Will you undergo this penance?”