“Oh, you mustn't think of that. That isn't your affair. The Lord has used her as His instrument. Now that her usefulness has ceased, the Lord will dispose of her as He deems wisest.”
“But she will suffer, all the same. And here is what is strangest. It stands to reason—it is obvious—and I know perfectly well—that she will suffer. And yet, I seem to feel no pity, no sorrow, no sympathy, for her—not any more than as though my heart were a stone. My whole capacity for feeling seems to have been destroyed. Perhaps it is so. Perhaps it has been. Perhaps the Lord—I don't know how to say just what I mean; but it seems as though I had grown indifferent to every thing.”
“In the main, that is the result of the shock you have sustained. It will pass. But as for her, the Lord will not allow you to feel for her. You have suffered enough. Her turn has come. If you have no sympathy for her, it is because she is entitled to none. The Lord desires that she shall receive none. She is a Christian, a Goy, despised and abominated of the Lord. She has served her purpose. Now she must bear her punishment.”
“And yet—”
“No, no, boy. Don't think about it. Don't let your mind dwell upon it. You must not think of any thing but of how grateful you ought to be for your own escape. Put all your mind and heart into thanksgiving. Praise the Lord! It is irreverent for you to question, to lament, the consequences which the Most High, in His wisdom, has ordained.”
After an interim of silence, Elias said, “There is something in this connection which, I think, I ought to tell you. Night before last, up in my studio—” And he went on to give the rabbi an account of the curious experience he had had with his mother's portrait. “I thought at the time,” he concluded, “that it was simply a morbid illusion of my senses. But now I am not so sure. What do you say? What is your explanation?”
“I do not believe that the souls or spirits of the dead are ever permitted to manifest themselves to the living,” replied the rabbi; “and therefore I do not for an instant entertain the theory that it could have been a genuine apparition of your mother. But neither do I believe that it was a mere trick of your senses. I believe that the Lord, as a warning to you, caused you to see what you saw—caused an image of your mother's face to rise before you. I am not surprised. I have known of His causing similar things to happen before.”
“It is wonderful, it is incomprehensible,” said Elias, “why the Lord should take such an intimate interest in the welfare of a mere individual, like me.”
“You are a Jew. There is not a faithful Jew living, but is kept constantly in the Lord's eye, in the Lord's mind. The longer you live, the more perfectly will you realize the ineffable privilege you have enjoyed in being born a Jew.”
At about five o'clock, surely enough, old Redwood called. The maid ushered him into the rabbi's study, where Elias and his uncle awaited him. He halted just within the threshold, and made a stiff bow to the rabbi. Then he advanced upon Elias, with extended hand, exclaiming, “Well, Elias, I'm glad to see you. How are you? How do you do?”