“Little Belasez,” he said again, “didst thou like that man?”
“I think I loved him,” was her soft answer.
Abraham’s gesture, which she thought indicated despair and anguish, roused her to explain.
“Father,” she said hastily, “I do not mean anything wrong or foolish. I loved Father Bruno with a deep, reverential love—such as I give you.”
“Such as thou givest me—O Belasez!”
Belasez thought he was hurt by her comparison of her love for him to that of her love for a mere stranger.
“Father, how shall I explain? I meant—”
“My poor child, I need no explanation. Thou hast been more righteous than we. Belasez, the truth is hidden from thee because thou art too near it to behold it. My poor, poor child!” And suddenly rising, Abraham lifted up his arms in the attitude of prayer. “O Thou that doest wonders, Thou hast made the wrath of man to praise Thee. How unsearchable are Thy judgments, and Thy ways past finding out!” Then he laid his hand upon Belasez’s head.
“It is Adonai,” he said. “Let Him do what seemeth Him good. He said unto Shimei, Curse David. Methinks He hath said to thee, Love Bruno. The Holy One forbid that I should grudge the love of—of our child, to the desolate heart which we made desolate. Adonai knows, and He only, whether we did good or bad. Pray to Him, my Belasez, to forgive that one among us who truly needs His forgiveness!”
And Abraham hurried from the room, as if he were afraid to trust himself, lest if he stayed he should say something which he might afterwards regret bitterly.