“Theer's summat wrong,” he said, when he had stood there for a minute or two, with the crisp, thick old paper crackling in his hand. “Summat the matter wi' my eyes. Read it—out.” His voice was ghastly strange.
Reuben approached him and took the letter from his fingers. In this exchange their hands met, and Ezra's was like ice. He laid it on Reuben's shoulder, repeating, “Read it out.”
“'Dear Mr. Gold,'” read Reuben, “I have not answered your esteemed note until now, though in receipt of it since Thursday.'”
“Thursday?” said Ezra.
“Thursday,” repeated Reuben. “'For I dare not seem precipitate in such a matter. But I have consulted my own heart, and have laid it before the Throne, knowing no earthly adviser.'”
There was such a tremor in the hand which held him that Reuben's voice failed for pure pity.
“Yes,” said Ezra. “Goon.”
“'Dear Mr. Gold,'” read Reuben, in a voice even less steady than before, “'it shall be as you wish.'” There he paused again, his voice betraying him.
“Go on,” said Ezra.
“'It shall be as you wish, and I trust God may help me to be a worthy helpmeet. So no more till I hear again from you. R.'”