"Boruch Habo! (Welcome art thou who arrivest)" came the voice of Reb Shemuel front within, greeting the prophet.
"Hush!" said Hannah. "Listen a moment."
The sing-song undulations of the old Rabbi's voice mingled harshly with the wail of the wind: "Pour out Thy wrath on the heathen who acknowledge Thee not and upon the Kingdoms which invoke not Thy name, for they have devoured Jacob and laid waste his Temple. Pour out Thy indignation upon them and cause Thy fierce anger to overtake them. Pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens of the Lord."
"Quick, Hannah!" whispered David. "We can't wait a moment more. Put on your things. We shall miss the train."
A sudden inspiration came to her. For answer she drew his ring out of her pocket and slipped it into his hand.
"Good-bye!" she murmured in a strange hollow voice, and slammed the street door in his face.
"Hannah!"
His startled cry of agony and despair penetrated the woodwork, muffled to an inarticulate shriek. He rattled the door violently in unreasoning frenzy.
"Who's that? What's that noise?" asked the Rebbitzin.
"Only some Christian rough shouting in the street," answered Hannah.