“I don't drink to-day, father,” Ephraim faltered, “it's a fast.”
“A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too,” he continued, with a coarse laugh, “twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still hesitating whether he 'll go to bed or not... what have I got to do with your Fast-day?”
His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth glass, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle. Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast assuming that glassy brightness that is usually the forerunner of helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see. Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to leave. Then he, too, softly walked out of the room.
Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other's arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: “Ephraim, what do you think of him?”
“He is ill, I think...” said Ephraim, in a voice choked with sobs.
“What, you call that illness, Ephraim?” Viola cried; “if that's illness, then a wild beast is ill too.”
“Viola, for Heaven's sake, be quiet: he 's our own father after all!”
“Ephraim!” said the girl, with a violent outburst of emotion, as she again threw herself into her brother's arms... “just think if mother had lived to see this!”
“Don't, don't, Viola, my sweet!” Ephraim exclaimed, sobbing convulsively.
“Ephraim!” the girl cried, shaking her head in wild despair, “I don't believe in the Sechûs! When we live to see all this, and our hearts do not break, we lose faith in everything.... Ephraim, what is to become of us?”