"I shall transfer them. My earnest wish is that I shall be forgotten, and allowed to live in peace. I am growing old; let my place, which I unworthily hold, be occupied by a better man."
"That is hardly likely to come to pass," said Mr. Moss gravely. "You are not old; you are in the prime of life, with very many years of usefulness before you. But I will not argue with you; when you have recovered from your depression, when Rachel is well again, you will think better of it. We need you; no other man can fill your place. You deliver your address on Sunday, do you not?"
"No."
"But, Cohen, it is expected; it is looked forward to, and the best results are anticipated from it. You will not go from your word?"
"I must. The address is destroyed. I must bear whatever is said of me; I accept it as part of my punishment."
"Of your punishment! I do not understand you."
"You will by and by. Mr. Moss, the man who presumes to set down the laws of right and wrong should be above reproach. Can a thief preach honesty? Can a liar lift his voice in praise of truth?"
"These are strange utterances, Cohen, from your lips."
"There is a sad foundation for them. To know yourself--that is the height of human wisdom; and I have learned too late. Pray do not continue the subject; you stand in the dark, I in the light."
"Well, well," said Mr. Moss, with a sigh, "we will speak of this another time. Have you seen the papers this morning?"