"They did not wish to act against their hearts," answered the girl gravely.
They were silent again. The spindle still turned in Golda's hand, but less and less swiftly and more quietly. Gusts of wind blew through the chinks in the wall and caused the yellow flame of the candle to flicker.
"Golda," said Meir, "is it not frightful for you in this solitary cabin, when the long fall and winter drop black darkness over the earth, and great winds enter through the walls and moan about the house?"
"No," answered the girl, "it is not frightful for me, because the Eternal watches the poor huts standing in the darkness, and when the winds enter here and moan, I listen to the stories zeide tells me, and I do not hear their moaning."
Meir gazed pityingly into the face of the grave child. Golda looked at him with motionless eyes, which shone like black, fiery stars.
"Golda," said Meir again, "do you remember the story of Rabbi Akiba?"
"I shall never forget it to the end of my life," she answered.
"Golda, could you wait fourteen years, like the beautiful Rachel?"
"I could wait until the end of my life."
She said this quietly and gravely, but the spindle slipped from her hand and dropped.