Sachel.
Another day—a whole precious day devoured by your drivelling nonsense! Are you a son? Have you an old blind father? Oh, my business, my splendid business, that I slaved and sweated out my marrow for, dwindling, dwindling with every ticking of the clock! And he wants me to buy a new headboard! I had better buy one for myself. I had better be dead than not, with such a son.
Esther.
Sachel! Sachel! You cry—for a son like that! He is not worth one tear.
God punishes me for all my sins. When he was a child I have stolen the bread from my mouth for him, weeks at a time; and now I may burrow alone in the dark for all he cares, chained to my door-post, chained to wait till some one comes to deal with me—to rob and swindle and mock me—because I am alone—and blind.
Rafael.
And the saddest is, it is not my doing, and I cannot help it.
Sachel.
Not his doing! Oh, my Maker! Can I keep him in irons and make him use his eyes for me?