a mighty wave of organ-music that surged from this low earth
heavenwards to break against the footstool of God in the crystal
firmament. And suddenly I knew what my soul was pining for. I knew the
meaning of that restless craving that has always devoured me, though I
spake not thereof, those strange hauntings, those dim perceptions--in
a flash I understood the secret of peace."

"And that is--Joseph?" asked Miriam gently, for Rachel drew such
laboring breath she could not speak.

"Sacrifice," said Joseph softly, with rapt gaze. "To suffer, to give
one's self freely to the world; to die to myself in delicious pain,
like the last tremulous notes of the sweet boy-voice that had soared
to God in the Magnificat. Oh, Miriam, if I could lead our brethren out
of the Ghetto, if I could die to bring them happiness, to make them
free sons of Rome."

"A goodly wish, my son, but to be fulfilled by God alone."

"Even so. Let us pray for faith. When we are Christians the gates of
the Ghetto will fall."

"Christians!" echoed Rachel and Miriam in simultaneous horror.

"Ay, Christians," said Joseph unflinchingly.

Rachel ran to the door and closed it more tightly. Her limbs shook.
"Hush!" she breathed. "Let thy madness go no further. God of Abraham,
suppose some one should overhear thee and carry thy talk to thy
father." She began to wring her hands.

"Joseph, bethink thyself," pleaded Miriam, stricken to the heart. "I
am no scholar, I am only a woman. But thou--thou with thy
learning--surely thou hast not been befooled by these jugglers with
the sacred text? Surely thou art able to answer their word-twistings
of our prophets?"

"Ah, Miriam," replied Joseph tenderly. "Art thou, too, like our
brethren? They do not understand. It is a question of the heart, not
of texts. What is it I feel is the highest, divinest in me? Sacrifice!
Wherefore He who was all sacrifice, all martyrdom, must be divine."

"Bandy not words with him, Miriam," cried his mother. "Oh, thou
infidel, whom I have begotten for my sins. Why doth not Heaven's fire
blast thee as thou standest there?"

"Thou talkest of martyrdom, Joseph," cried Miriam, disregarding her.
"It is we Jews who are martyrs, not the Christians. We are penned here
like cattle. We are marked with shameful badges. Our Talmud is burnt.
Our possessions are taxed away from us. We are barred from every
reputable calling. We may not even bury our dead with honor or carve
an epitaph over their