"Don't make my departure harder than I can bear, Kathinka. I must go—for your sake as well as for mine. I tremble even now, lest they should discover me. I will go to Berditchef for the present."
"And your aspirations for a physician's career—what will become of them?" asked his father.
Joseph sighed, and his eyes were dimmed with tears.
"It will be hard to give up my plans, but I see no alternative."
"Don't worry, my boy," said the Rabbi, consolingly. "There are more ways than one to make an honorable living. Honesty, thrift and energy will enable you to succeed in any undertaking. Whether you be a doctor or a cobbler, we will not think the less of you, and I am sure Kathinka will love you none the less."
Kathinka threw her arms about her lover's neck and clung to him affectionately. Joseph's face brightened.
"Get me something to eat," sighed the young man, "for I am famished and the way is long."
A meal was hastily brought, and a substantial lunch was prepared by Kathinka's hands, to cheer the wanderer upon his lonely path.
Night came. The storm had not abated, the wind still moaned and the rain fell in torrents. It was a wretched night for a foot-journey to Berditchef, and Joseph's mother and his affianced endeavored to persuade the young man to postpone his journey until morning.
Joseph shook his head, sorrowfully.