It was evident that he feared only on her account. "Why should I fasten either window or door? A strong hand could easily wrench them open."
Meir went round the base of the hill, and soon found himself on the other side. What he saw there filled him with the greatest astonishment.
In a half-circle, upon the sandy furrows, stood a great many carts laden with casks of all sizes. Around the carts a great many people were moving—peasants and Jews. The peasants were busy unload-the carts and rolling the casks into a cavern, which either nature or human hands had shaped in the hill.
The Jews, who were flitting in and out among the carts and looking at the casks, or sounding them with their knuckles, finally crowded round a man who stood leaning his back against the side of the hill, and a low-voiced, but lively discussion followed. Among the Jews, Meir recognised several innkeepers of the neighbourhood, and in the man with whom they conversed, Jankiel Kamionker. The peasants whose task it was to unload the carts preserved a gloomy silence. A strong smell of alcohol permeated the air.
The astonishment of Meir did not last long. He began to see the meaning of the whole scene, and seemingly had made up his mind what to do, as he moved a few steps in Jankiel Kamionker's direction.
He had not gone far when a huge shadow detached itself from a projection of the hill and barred the way.
"Where are you going, Meir?" whispered the man.
"Why do you stop me from going, Johel?" replied Meir, as he tried to push him aside.
But Johel grasped him by the coat tails.
"Do you no longer care for you life?" he whispered. "I am sorry for you, because you are good and charitable; take warning and go at once."