And now her mouth trembled and her voice took on a gloomy tone.
"All your people persecute Abel Karaim and his grand-daughter Golda, and you defend them. Long ago I wished to thank you."
Meir dropped his eyelids. His pale face flushed.
"Live in peace, you and your grandfather Abel," he said softly, "and may the hand of the Eternal be stretched over your poor house—the hand of Him who loves and defends those who suffer."
"I thank you for your good words," whispered the girl.
In the meanwhile she slipped down to the grass at the young man's feet, and raising her clasped hands she whispered further:
"Meir, you are good, wise, and beautiful. Your name signifies 'light,' and I have light before my eyes every time I see you. Long ago I wished to find you and talk with you, and tell you that although you are a grandson of a rich merchant and I am a grand-daughter of a poor Karaim, who makes baskets, yet we are equal in the eyes of the Eternal, and it is permitted to me to raise my eyes to you and looking on your light, to be happy."
And in fact she looked happy. Only now her thin, swarthy face burned with a flame-like blush, her lips were purple, and in her eyes raised to the young man's face and filled with passionate worship stood two silvery tears.
Meir listened to her with downcast eyes, and when she was silent he looked up and gazed at her for a while and whispered softly:
"Golda, how grateful and beautiful you are!"