It was evident from the clouded mien of the men and their scanty greetings that he was not so welcome to them as he used to be. Nobody rose when he passed, or approached him with a friendly word. Only the child got up as he went by, pushed his hands into the sleeves of his garment, and followed him.
Walking one behind the other, they crossed a long, narrow street, and found themselves in the fields which divided Abel Karaim's hut from the town.
It was now almost dark, but no flickering light was to be seen in Abel's window. They were not asleep yet, as Meir could see the dark outline of Golda near the window.
They greeted each other with a silent motion of the head.
"Golda," said Meir, in a low and rapid voice, "have you met with any unpleasantness lately? Has anybody molested you?"
The girl pondered a little over his question. "Why do you ask me that, Meir?"
"I was afraid some injury might have been done to you. People have spread some foolish slander about us."
"I do not mind injury; I have grown up with it. Injury is my sister."
Meir still looked troubled. "Why have you no light burning?" he asked.
"I have nothing to spin, and zeide prays in darkness."