“Does the watchman look into the room when he passes by?” asked Ascher, while his eyes almost burst from their sockets, with the intent-ness of their gaze.
“Never,” Ephraim assured him.
“Let me see, wait...” whispered Ascher.
The three well-known knocks now resounded upon their own door, then the shadow of a passing figure was thrown upon the opposite wall. With a sigh of relief, the words escaped Ascher's bosom:
“He did not look inside...” he muttered to himself.
Then he removed his hand from the door-knob, came back into the centre of the room, and approaching the table, rested his hand upon it.
“Ephraim...” he said after a while, in that suppressed tone which seemed to be peculiar to him, “are n't you going to synagogue?”
“No, father,” replied Ephraim, “I 'm not going to-day.”
“But they 'll want to know,” Ascher observed, and at the words an ugly sneer curled the corners of his lip; “they 'll want to know who your guest is. Why don't you go and tell them?”
“Father!” cried Ephraim.