He went further into the quarter, carefully avoiding the groups that he encountered, and finally entered the dwelling of a Christian woman, who sublet rooms to Jewish tenants. The information which awaited him here must have been important, for it was quite a while before he emerged into the street and retraced his steps towards the city. His path led directly past Mendel's synagogue. Through the window he heard the chant of the _hazan_, and he paused, reflectively.

"After all," he murmured, "what harm can it do if I go in. I am in search of facts and where shall I be better able to find them than in the Jews' stronghold, their synagogue?"

Crossing himself devoutly, he opened the door and entered.

The _shamas_ (s.e.xton), surprised to see a _gallach_ (priest) in the synagogue, stood for some moments in doubt, but finally shuffled up to the stranger and showed him a seat in the last row of benches.

Mikail sat down pa.s.sively. For a moment he seemed dazed and stupefied.

Perhaps it was only the heat and the glare of the burning candles; but gradually a strange spell came over him, which he tried in vain to shake off.

He could not remember ever having been in a synagogue, and yet the praying-desks, the pulpit and the ark for the holy scrolls seemed singularly familiar. He looked up. Yes, there was the latticed gallery filled with women, just as he had expected to find it!

The _hazan_ was intoning a prayer. Between the words he interjected a number of strange trills and turns. How weird it all sounded, and yet how familiar to the wondering priest. Mikail found himself almost instinctively supplying the following word before it was uttered by the reader. Then the congregation arose and responded to the prayer, and Mikail arose, too, and it seemed as though the words of the responses were laid upon his tongue.

It was strange, very strange, and yet it was fascinating.

Again the congregation arose. The Rabbi went to the ark at the back of the pulpit and took out one of the scrolls, covered with a red velvet cloth curiously embroidered with golden letters. Mikail followed his every movement with intense interest. He scarcely breathed.

"_Shema Israel,_" sang the Rabbi; "_Adonai Elohenu,_" and then he paused a moment to clear his throat of something he must have inhaled.

"Why don't he continue," thought Mikail, impatient at the momentary interruption, and then in a voice loud enough to be heard over the entire synagogue, he ended the sentence by crying:

"_Adonai Echod!_"

All turned to look at the speaker, and they whispered among themselves in surprise at hearing a monk recite the _shema_ in a _schul_. The women looked down from the gallery in amazement.

Mikail's face flushed. His first impulse was to flee, to get out of the accursed place, to break the spell of enchantment that bound him. With a muttered prayer he strode to the door, only to find it locked from without. It was customary to bolt the door during certain portions of the service, to prevent noise and consequent disturbance.

The priest was therefore obliged to remain. Obeying a natural impulse, he made the sign of the cross, set his jaws firmly, and awaited further developments.

The _hazan_ opened the Pentateuch and the _parnas_ of the congregation was called to the _Torah_. Every movement was antic.i.p.ated by the priest.

The parnas reverently lifted the fringes of his _tallis_, and with them touched the sacred Scroll; then, kissing them, he recited the customary blessing. Mikail repeated it with him. It sounded almost as familiar as his own liturgy. Suddenly a reaction came over the stern and haughty priest as the services continued. A strange storm broke within his bosom; undefined recollections, visions of a once happy home, a tangled revery of fanciful memories chased each other through his excited brain.

Without knowing why, he felt the hot tears coursing down his cheeks, tears which not even the harsh treatment he had endured during his early years at the monastery could force from their reservoirs. One after another, seven men were called to the _Torah_, and their actions and prayers were a repet.i.tion of those of the _parnas_. The monotonous reading at length came to an end, Mikail heard the bolts withdrawn, and with hasty strides he cleared the pa.s.sage into the street. On he sped through the city, looking neither to the right nor the left, scarcely knowing whither he went, until he finally reached the Petcherskoi convent, where he had taken up his temporary quarters. Without returning the greetings of the monks, apparently unconscious of his surroundings, he went straight to his cell and there gave way to a flood of pa.s.sion.

An hour afterwards a monk found him upon his knees before an icon, in fervent prayer.

"I have been bewitched, Sergeitch," he said, with his wonted calmness.

"Pray for me that the evil spirit may leave me."

CHAPTER XXIX.

LORIS FALLS IN LOVE.

Kathinka, well wrapped in a heavy mantle, walked briskly along the darkening street. She had gone to the extreme end of the city to succor a sick and needy widow and was now hastening homeward with a light and happy heart. The world seemed bright and cheerful to the young girl whose every desire was gratified and every wish granted. As she neared her home, she became aware of the presence of a man some yards behind her, keeping pace with her own steps. Kathinka quickened her gait, but the man was evidently determined not to lose sight of her and hurried after her. The girl remembered that she had been followed by the same person some days before, and, while she attached no importance to the incident at that time, she now became frightened and glanced timidly about her. The street was deserted and there was no place of refuge in sight. With a little cry of alarm, she lifted her skirts and ran at full speed in the direction of her dwelling, but she had not proceeded far before the stranger caught up with her, and, grasping her by the arm, held her as in a vise. Kathinka stopped and, with flushed and angry look, faced the stranger.

"Lovely creature," said the man, insinuatingly, when he had recovered his breath, "why do you flee from me? Can you not see that I am anxious to speak with you?"

"Let me go!" cried the girl, indignantly. "You hurt me."

Loris, for the stranger was no other than the Governor's son, released the girl's arm, but he barred her escape by placing himself directly before her. Kathinka tried in vain to pa.s.s him; then, pausing, with heaving bosom, she cried:

"What do you mean, sir? Have you no manhood left, that you molest a defenceless woman?"

"Listen to me but a moment," answered Loris, pa.s.sionately; "and then go your way if you will. I have been following your footsteps for the last two weeks, desiring, yet fearing, to speak to you. From the day I first beheld you, I have thought of nothing else. I have sighed for you and dreamed of you. I was happy when I caught a glimpse of you and sad when you were out of my sight, sad until I saw your features again. Do not now repulse me. Take pity upon me."

These sentences, expressed with all the pa.s.sionate earnestness of which youth is capable, greatly terrified Kathinka.

"Sir, I do not know you," she exclaimed; "and if I did I could have nothing in common with you. Let me go, and if you are a gentleman, you will in future avoid troubling me."

"By G.o.d, you shall not leave me without giving me some encouragement.

Kathinka, I love you! When you know who I am you will not treat me so cruelly."

"If you were the Governor himself I should have but one answer for you, and that is that you have outraged every sentiment of honor," cried the girl, with growing indignation.

Loris seized her hand.

"No, do not despise me; hear me to the end!" he cried, pa.s.sionately. "I am Loris Drentell, the son of your Governor. I know what I am risking in loving a Jewess, but I cannot help it. Kathinka, you have bewitched me.

I love you! Do you understand me? I love you! I only ask you to think kindly of me, to see me of your own free will, and to give me the blessed hope that you will in time return my affection. Do not consign me to misery!"

Kathinka struggled to free her hand from his grasp. Overcome by terror, it was some time before she could gain strength to reply.

"Count Drentell," she said, at length; "you have spoken the truth. I am a Jewess, and any contact with me would dishonor you. Moreover, I am betrothed to one of my own race, and while I feel the honor you would bestow upon me in offering me your love, I have but one reply to make: I do not wish to see you again."

"Don't drive me to despair, Kathinka; I cannot live without your friendship, without your love. Why should your betrothed stand in the way? I am rich and powerful. I can give you whatever your heart desires.

You shall want for nothing, if you will only look upon me with favor."

And he again seized her hand and covered it with kisses.

This flattering speech filled Kathinka with loathing. Well she knew that it meant not love, but the basest of pa.s.sions, and that a Jewess could never become more than the pa.s.sing fancy of Count Drentell. With a disdainful glance at him, she turned to go.

"Count Drentell," she answered, calmly; "this is disgraceful. You seem to forget your position, your birth. You forget that I belong to a proscribed race."

"You are right," replied the young man, bitterly; "I forgot everything but my love for you."

"Then try and forget that. And now, sir, enough of this farce. Let me pa.s.s, or I shall call for help."

Loris bit his lips in vexation.

"Do not decide so hastily," he said. "A terrible danger threatens the Jews. My father, who detests your people, is even now plotting their destruction. I may, perhaps, avert the calamity, may dissuade him from his terrible projects. Will you allow me to serve you? One word of encouragement and I will be your willing slave."

Kathinka started. Was it true that a new danger menaced her people? She could not tell. Perhaps it was but an invention of the Count to further his own ends. In her opinion, he was base enough for anything.

"The G.o.d of Israel has been our support in the past," she answered, firmly; "He will not desert us in the future. Come what will, I shall not endeavor to avoid it by the loss of my self-respect. Now, make way, sir; let me go."

"And is this the end of all my dreams? Am I to abandon all hope of ever seeing you again?" asked Loris, gloomily.