"Stop!" he cried; "in the name of the Madonna, I command you to stop!"
The mob, overawed by his aspect as well as by his words, paused in their mad career. The ringleaders fell back for a moment in surprise.
"Hush!" said one; "it is Mikail the priest who appointed us to our posts and gave us our instructions. Let us hear what he has to say."
"You have been deceived," cried the priest, wildly. "Stop your mad slaughter. The Jews are innocent of the wrongs that have been imputed to them. Do you hear me? The Jews must not be persecuted! The ukase giving you their property does not exist; it was but an invention!"
"Nonsense," answered one of the leaders; "I saw it with my own eyes. On, friends! We want the wealth of the Jews; we want their blood! Down with them!"
Mikail endeavored to bar the way.
"You shall not do further harm, I tell you! Hear me! In the name of the Czar, I command you to halt!"
The monk's incoherent sentences fell upon deaf ears. Like an avalanche, the mighty mob swept down upon him, carrying him along upon the resistless tide.
When Joseph found his street deserted, he uttered a fervent prayer of gratitude.
"We are safe for the moment, father," he said; "it will be some time before the rabble returns this way. I shall change my wet clothing, and while you guard the house, I will go to Rabbi Winenki's. Perhaps he needs my assistance."