Judith drove with the doctor to the little house in Roskowska to take a last look at her old friend. They had not yet placed her in the coffin. She sat, in her Sabbath clothes, in her arm-chair. Speechlessly Judith gazed on the face, which wore an expression of pure, unalloyed happiness.
"Do you know why Miriam smiled as she died?" asked Dr. Reiser. "She heard the guns which announced your approach;" and then he told Judith of their last conversation. "She died as a conqueror. She took it as an omen that her child had been forgiven, and that she would meet her soon in Paradise."
Judith knelt and kissed the dead hand. "You are right," she said. "She was happy, dying as a victor."
"And you are happy in living as a victor," he added.
"Do not speak so," she protested. "Only the innocent have a right to live after such a fight. The guilty do not survive their victories. But excuse me, I must go; my brother will be waiting."
"What an enigma she is!" thought the doctor, as he watched her drive away. After that he gave no more thought to her.
Raphael was at the grave punctually; and here, at the most sacred spot on earth for them, the long-estranged brother and sister sank into each other's arms in a close embrace.
"This is my place, is it not?" said Judith, pointing to the vacancy between her parents' graves. "No one can deprive me of this--because I am the wife of a Christian, and the pious might say-- But you will not allow them--will you, Raphael?"
"If I survive you, you shall be buried there. But we can speak of this in thirty years from now."
"But swear it--by the memory of our father. You know how excited I am to-day."