'What does it matter? My life is but a shadow.'
The Reb took her to his breast, though she remained stony to his touch, and laid his wet face against her burning cheeks.
'My child, my poor Hannah! I thought God had sent thee peace ten years ago, that He had rewarded thee for thy obedience to His Law.'
She drew her face away from his.
'It was not His Law; it was a miserable juggling with texts. Thou alone interpretedst God's Law thus. No one knew of the matter.'
He could not argue; the breast against which he held her was shaken by a tempest of grief, which swept away all save human remorse, human love.
'My daughter,' he sobbed, 'I have ruined thy life!' After an agonised pause he said: 'Tell me, Hannah, is there nothing I can do to make atonement to thee?'
'Only one thing, father,' she articulated chokingly; 'forgive Levi.'
There was a moment of solemn silence. Then the Reb spake.
'Tell thy mother to put on her things and take what she needs for the journey. Perchance we may be away for days.'