Sultan gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"Eat away, old boy, eat away!" said Soloveitchik. "I would let you

loose for a little run, but I haven't got the key, and I'm so tired."

Then to himself, "What clever, well-informed people those are! They

know such a lot; good Christians, very likely; and here am I.... Ah!

well, perhaps it's my own fault. I should have liked to say a word to

them, but I didn't know how to do it."

From the distance, beyond the town, there came the sound of a long,

plaintive whistle. Sultan raised his head, and listened. Large drops

fell from his muzzle into the pail.

"Eat away," said Soloveitchik, "That's the train!"

Sultan heaved a sigh.

"I wonder if men will ever live like that! Perhaps they can't," said

Soloveitchik aloud, as he shrugged his shoulders, despairingly. There,

in the darkness he imagined that he could see a multitude of men, vast,

unending as eternity, sinking ever deeper in the gloom; a succession of

centuries without beginning and without end; an unbroken chain of

wanton suffering for which remedy there was none; and, on high, where

God dwelt, silence, eternal silence.

Sultan knocked against the pail, and upset it. Then, as he wagged his

tail, the chain rattled slightly.

"Gobbled it all up, eh?"

Soloveitchik patted the dog's shaggy coat and felt its warm body writhe

in joyous response to his touch. Then he went back to the house.

He could hear Sultan's chain rattle, and the yard seemed less gloomy

than before, while blacker and more sinister was the mill with its tall

chimney and narrow sheds that looked like coffins. From the window a

broad ray of light fell across the garden, illuminating in mystic

fashion the frail little flowers that shrank beneath the turbulent

heaven with its countless banners, black and ominous, unfolded to the

night.

Overcome by grief, unnerved by a sense of solitude and of some

irreparable loss, Soloveitchik went back into his room, sat down at the

table, and wept.




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