“Reveal to me the written words, my father, I beseech thee,” said the young man, with the eagerness of one who thirsts.
The aged man, his father, lifted the mighty tome from the shelf, and, opening it at a page that contained no writing, placed his finger thereupon.
“See, beloved one,” said the aged man, with a meek triumph in his faint eyes, “it is there written.”
The young man turned to the passage with the frenzy of one devoured by pangs.
“Why, my father,” he cried out, “there is nothing there. The page is empty. It is all dark to my gaze.”
“Nay, beloved one,” said his father. “It is written there in sober verity. I have conned the page a thousand times. Look again, beloved one, I beseech thee.”
Again the young man traversed the page with his gaunt eyes.
“Oh, gentle Zeus,” he cried in a terror that was piteous to behold, “the page is blank; it contains no writing. I am to be cast into the streets of the great city.”
The wretched young man sank to his knees in the little room, biting at his nails.