"And why not?" said David angrily. "Whom else has a daughter the right to ask mercy from, if not her father?"
"God have mercy on me!" groaned the old Reb, covering his face with his hands.
"Come, come!" said David impatiently. "Be sensible. It's nothing unworthy of you at all. Hannah was never really married, so cannot be really divorced. We only ask you to obey the spirit of the Torah instead of the letter."
The old man shook his head, unwavering. His cheeks were white and wet, but his expression was stern and solemn.
"Just think!" went on David passionately. "What am I better than another Jew—than yourself for instance—that I shouldn't marry a divorced woman?"
"It is the Law. You are a Cohen—a priest."
"A priest, Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed David bitterly. "A priest—in the nineteenth century! When the Temple has been destroyed these two thousand years."
"It will be rebuilt, please God," said Reb Shemuel. "We must be ready for it."
"Oh yes, I'll be ready—Ha! Ha! Ha! A priest! Holy unto the Lord—I a priest! Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you know what my holiness consists in? In eating tripha meat, and going to Shool a few times a year! And I, I am too holy to marry your daughter. Oh, it is rich!" He ended in uncontrollable mirth, slapping his knee in ghastly enjoyment.
His laughter rang terrible. Reb Shemuel trembled from head to foot. Hannah's cheek was drawn and white. She seemed overwrought beyond endurance. There followed a silence only less terrible than David's laughter.