The end had come. Channah sitting with wet eyes on a corner of the sofa knew it. Mrs. Massel in the scullery lifting her apron to her eyes and sobbing ever so quietly knew it. Philip in the darkness of the empty chayder with his head between his hands knew it. Reb Monash knew it, breaking his fast in the kitchen, saying not a word.
The next morning Reb Monash turned to Mrs. Massel. Philip was in the room. "He must go somewhere! He cannot sleep here to-night! He has broken me, let him not stay to laugh in my face!"
"What can he do? Where can he go?"
"I know not! He must go!" There was no doubting the finality of his command.
Not a word passed between Philip and his father. Mrs. Massel dared not trust herself to utter a sound until Reb Monash had gone upstairs for his afternoon nap.
"Nu, Feivele," she ventured then, "seest thou what has befallen us? God knows I have not too many years to see thee in ... and now this black year! Schweig den, schweig, Feivel! What shall be with us?"
Channah realized that it lay with her to take the initiative.
"Mother," she urged, "all will be well! You mustn't upset yourself like this! The thing we've to talk about now is what we're going to do with Philip!"
"Yes, what?" Philip asked helplessly.
"We've understood for a long time it was going to end up like this, there was nothing else for it. We were talking about it only last week. She said..."