He sat down, and his eyes could not fly over the somewhat faded characters with sufficient swiftness. He read on:--
"My brother was taken the best care of. Death had once ravished from our benefactor Baruch Süss two hopeful boys in one week. These boys must have been of about our age, and this circumstance heightened the sympathy that his noble heart felt for us, especially for my sick brother.--It happened just as Baruch Süss had prophesied. For three weeks my brother lay in fever and delirium: on the twenty first day he dropped for the first time into a profound and peaceful slumber. Süss waited for the sick child's waking with almost fatherly compassion. At length my poor brother to my inexpressible delight opened his beautiful dark eyes, raised himself in bed, and looked about him in wonderment. 'Where are we? Mosche!' he asked in a feeble trembling voice. I threw myself passionately on to his neck and my tears bedewed his pale sunken cheeks.
"'Thou hast been ill, poor child,' said Süss, 'God has permitted thy recovery, thou must be grateful to him.'
"I related with an overflowing feeling of gratitude, with how much goodness our benefactor had behaved towards us, and as my brother seized the noble man's hand in deep emotion, pressed it to his quivering lips, and vainly struggled after words to express his heartfelt thanks, a strange convulsive movement passed over the face of Süss, and his eyes filled with tears.... 'You are dear good boys!' he said, profoundly agitated.... The memory of his two early lost sons may have combined with the warm sympathy of his own great heart. He hurried out of the room, that he might not depress the spirits of the convalescent by his unwonted emotion. We remained alone. At this moment we felt ourselves infinitely calmed, we did not stand any longer so entirely alone, so entirely forsaken! Süss allowed the convalescent to take fresh air in the garden attached to his house, and it was there, that we became better acquainted with his daughters. They were probably rather younger than ourselves. Both of them, but especially Miriam the elder, had been endowed with the most excellent natural gifts. Their extraordinary and, especially for maidens of their age, almost unparalleled beauty most perfectly harmonised with a subtle, comprehensive, deeply penetrating intellect, with a disposition that seemed formed to be a shining example to youthful womanhood. The friendly, confiding, almost sisterly behaviour of the girls which their good father manifestly approved of, made a profound, inerasable impression upon us.
"So long as my brother was not quite recovered, we dared not think of accomplishing the aim of our journey, of visiting our mother's grave. It cost me a severe struggle, not to hasten alone to the burial ground, but it would have vexed my poor brother, and I loved him so fervently!
"At last he was strong enough.... we walked out to the burial ground. Our father had given us a sufficient description of the stone that covered our mother's grave; we found it easily, and the long desired aim of our journey was reached. The frame of mind in which we found ourselves I cannot paint to you, my dear children? The most reverential fear, the most sorrowful emotion seized powerfully hold of our young minds.... We prayed long and softly, and when at length we were forced to tear ourselves away in order to return home, we flung ourselves with loud sobs into each other's arms. 'We have no father, no mother, ...' said my brother, deeply moved. 'I have only thee, thou hast only me!--I will love thee for ever, for ever, I will never forsake thee, never! Brother, love me too, as I love thee!...'
"I could not answer from excitement. I folded him impetuously to my loud-beating heart, and pressed my hot lips to his pale forehead, on which at that instant a bright streak of flame was burning. The firm bond of brotherly love was to be knitted if possible still more closely, the beautiful covenant was anew concluded, in a sacred hour, in a spot that was infinitely holy to us children!
"'What will you do now?' asked Süss, when we returned, grave and agitated, to his house. This question surprised us. Since our father's death we had entertained no other thought, could not have grasped any other thought than to pray at our mother's grave. It had so entirely filled our young minds, had kept our spirits in such perpetual excitement, that we had not even for a moment considered what was to come after, that we now for the first time cast a scrutinising look upon our future. We stood with downcast eyes for a while in silence before Süss. My brother recovered himself first. 'What do we propose to do?' he repeated.--'Before anything else to render thanks to you, dear benefactor, for your inexpressible goodness, for the kindness, for the fatherly affection that you have devoted to us poor forsaken orphans in such abundant measure, to thank you for tending me a poor boy, and with God's assistance healing me in a sore sickness--to thank you, ye dear good girls for your compassion, for that ye were not proud towards the poor stranger boys, that you weeped when I was sick and rejoiced, when the good God let me recover,--for that you were kind to us as sisters, you rich beautiful maidens to us poor, poor boys!' ... and next he continued after a short pause during which he strove to overcome his deep emotion, and swallowed with an effort his hot tears, next we shall pursue our journey, go to some school, study God's word, and endeavour to become worthy of our father Reb Jizchok Meduro, to become worthy of our grandfather, who ended his life heroically upon the scaffold, in remembrance of whom the fiery mark sparkles on our forehead in moments of sanctification!'
"My brother ceased; he was glorious to look upon, his eyes flashed beaming with soul, and the fiery mark of which he spoke, even then rose splendidly and contrasted with the pale, still somewhat sickly, child's face, with the pure forehead white as alabaster.--I gazed with a sad fraternal pride on my twin-brother, who seemed to draw his words in strange wise out of his breast. The two girls sobbed softly, and Baruch Süss required some time to collect himself.
"'I will not let you go, you dear fine boys,' he cried, 'never, no never God forbid that I should let you go out into the wide world, forsaken, orphaned. Seeing that a fortunate dispensation caused you to cross my threshold, you must now remain with me. I too had once two beautiful good boys.... The Lord hath taken them from me. Will you supply their place to me? Will you be my sons, will you be the brothers of these girls?'