rments then. Why do you wear gay garments now, when the Lord is
wroth with the congregation?" He began to murmur a prayer, and again
collapsed.

Rosalie rose impatiently; and her mother said, in much embarrassment,
"He is worse to-day than he has ever been. I wished your father to be
present at his daughter's betrothal, but I see that he can not perform
the duties of the head of the family. I have, then, in my character of
mother, to make a happy announcement to the company assembled." Then
solemnly taking her daughter's hand, she said, "Draw nearer, Itzig."

Hitherto Itzig had silently stood with the rest, and stared at the old
man, from time to time shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head
over the melancholy spectacle, as became his position in the family. But
there was another form present before his eyes: he knew better than any
who it was that wailed and groaned; he knew, too, who had died and had
not forgiven. Mechanically he advanced, his eyes still fixed on
Ehrenthal. The guests now formed a circle around him and Rosalie, and
her mother took his hand.

Then the old man in the arm-chair began again. "Hush!" said he,
distinctly; "there he stands--the invisible. We go home from the burial,
and he dances among the women. He will strike down all he looks upon.
There he stands!" he screamed, and rose from his chair. "There! there!
Throw down your water-jars and fly into the house, for he who stands
there is cursed of the Lord. Cursed!" he screamed; and, clenching his
hands, he tottered like a madman toward Itzig.

Itzig's face grew ghastly; he tried to laugh, but his features quivered
with fear. Suddenly the door was opened, and his errand-boy looked
anxiously into the room. One glance sufficed to tell Itzig all that the
youth had to say. He was discovered--he was in danger. He sprang to the
door and disappeared.

Lay aside your bridal attire, fair Rosalie; throw off the turquoise
bracelet. For you there is no betrothal--no marriage feast. Soon you
will leave the town with drooping head, glad, by flying among strangers,
to escape the mockery of cruel hearts at home. The gold that your father
heaped up for his children by usury and fraud will again roll from hand
to hand, will serve good and bad alike, will swell the mighty tide of
wealth by which human life is sustained and adorned, peoples and states
made great and powerful, and individuals strong or weak, each according
to his work.

Without, the night