"Oh, father," she cried, "read this! Bad news of Levi."
A spasm of pain contorted the old man's furrowed countenance.
"Mention not his name!" he said harshly "He is dead."
"He may be by now!" Hannah exclaimed agitatedly. "You were right, Esther. He did join a strolling company, and now he is laid up with typhoid in the hospital in Stockbridge. One of his friends writes to tell us. He must have caught it in one of those insanitary dressing-rooms we were reading about."
Esther trembled all over. The scene in the garret when the fatal telegram came announcing Benjamin's illness had never faded from her mind. She had an instant conviction that it was all over with poor Levi.
"My poor lamb!" cried the Rebbitzin, the coffee-cup dropping from her nerveless hand.
"Simcha," said Reb Shemuel sternly, "calm thyself; we have no son to lose. The Holy One—blessed be He!—hath taken him from us. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Hannah rose. Her face was white and resolute. She moved towards the door.
"Whither goest thou?" inquired her father in German.
"I am going to my room, to put on my hat and jacket," replied Hannah quietly.