Soloveitchik stood at the door for some time, looking up to the

starless sky and rubbing his thin fingers.

The wind whistled round the gloomy tin-roofed sheds, bending the tree-

tops that were huddled together like a troop of ghosts. Overhead, as if

driven by some resistless force, the clouds raced onward, ever onward.

They formed black masses against the horizon, some being piled up to

insuperable heights. It was as though, far away in the distance, they

were awaited by countless armies that, with sable banners all unfurled,

had gone forth in their dreadful might to some wild conflict of the

elements. From time to time the restless wind seemed to bring with it

the clamour of the distant fray.

With childish awe Soloveitchik gazed upwards. Never before had he felt

how small he was, how puny, how almost infinitesimal when confronted

with this tremendous chaos.

"My God! My God!" he sighed.

In the presence of the sky and the night he was not the same man as

when among his fellows. There was not a trace of that restless, awkward

manner, now; the unsightly teeth were concealed by the sensitive lips

of a youthful Jew in whose dark eyes the expression was grave and sad.

He went slowly indoors, extinguished an unnecessary lamp, and clumsily

set the table and the chairs in their places again. The room was still

full of tobacco-smoke, and the floor was covered with cigarette ends

and matches.

Soloveitchik at once fetched a broom and began to sweep out the rooms,

for he took a pride in keeping his little home clean and neat. Then he

got a bucket of water from a cupboard, and broke bread into it.

Carrying this in one hand, the other being outstretched to maintain his

balance, he walked across the yard, taking short steps. In order to see

better, he had placed a lamp close to the window, yet it was so dark in

the yard that Soloveitchik felt relieved when he reached the dog's

kennel. Sultan's shaggy form, invisible in the gloom, advanced to meet

him, and a chain rattled ominously.

"Ah! Sultan! Kusch! Kusch!" exclaimed Soloveitchik, in order to give

himself courage. In the darkness, Sultan thrust his cold, moist nose

into his master's hand.

"There you are!" said Soloveitchik, as he set down the bucket.

Sultan sniffed, and began to eat voraciously, while his master stood

beside him and gazed mournfully at the surrounding gloom.

"Ah! what can I do?" he thought. "How can I force people to alter

their opinions? I myself expected to be told how to live, and how to

think. God has not given me the voice of a prophet, so, in what way can

I help?"




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