He lingered uncertainly.
“And thy dowry?” he said at last. “Thou wilt not make claim for compensation?”
“Be easy—I scarce know where my cesubah [marriage certificate] is. What need have I of money? As thou sayest, I have all I want. I do not even desire to purchase a grave—lying already so long in a charity grave. The bitterness is over.”
He shivered. “Thou art very good to me,” he said. “Good-by.”
He stooped down; she drew the bedclothes frenziedly over her face.
“Kiss me not!”
“Good-by, then,” he stammered. “God be good to thee!” He moved away.
“Herzel!” She had uncovered her face with a despairing cry. He slouched back toward her, perturbed, dreading she would retract.
“Do not send it—bring it thyself. Let me take it from thy hand.”
A lump rose in his throat. “I will bring it,” he said, brokenly.