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Updated: May 27, 2025
'Open the window, one of you! panted Haigitcha, her shoulders still straining against the door. 'Call a policeman the man is drunk! He staggered back, his pressure relaxed, the door slammed. This repetition of his 'Yvonne Rupert' experience sobered him effectually. What right, indeed, had he to force himself upon this woman, upon these children, to whom he was dead?
And she had brought up the children unaided. Dear Haigitcha! What madness had driven him from her side? But he would make amends yes, he would make amends. He would slip again into his own niche, take up the old burdens and the old delights perhaps even be again treasurer of 'The Gates of Mercy. He knocked at the door. Haigitcha herself opened it.
Mandle still live here? he asked with a horrible heart-sinking. 'Yes, first floor, said Gideon, staring. Ah, how his heart leapt up again! Haigitcha, his dear Haigitcha! He went up the ever-open dusty staircase jostling against a spruce, handsome young fellow who was hurrying down. He looked back with a sudden conviction that it was his son.
He wanted to cry her name, but the word stuck in his throat. For this was not his Haigitcha; this was a new creature, cold, stern, tragic, prematurely aged, framed in the sombre shadows of the staircase. And in her eyes was neither rapture nor remembrance. 'What is it? she asked. 'I am Elkan; don't you know me? She stared with a little gasp, and a heaving of the flat breasts.
And so, while Haigitcha walks in darkness, Yvonne prays in her chapel and Elkan preaches in his church. When Schneemann, the artist, returned from Rome to his native village in Galicia, he found it humming with gossip concerning his paternal grandmother, universally known as the Bube Yenta.
God could never forgive sins till the sinner had first straightened out the human wrongs. Ah, true, true! If he could only find his family again. If he could try by love and immeasurable devotion to atone for the past. Then again life would have a meaning and an aim. Poor, poor Haigitcha! How he would weep over her and cherish her. And his children! They must be grown up.
'Forgive us now, pardon us now, atone for us now! he cried, smiting his breast and rocking to and fro. His poor deserted wife and children! How terrible for Haigitcha to wake up one morning and find him gone! As terrible as for him to wake up one morning and find Gittel gone. Ah, God had indeed paid him in kind! Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. The philanthropist himself preached the sermon.
'Then go back to thy dung-heap! She shut the door. He thrust his foot in desperately ere it banged to. 'Haigitcha! he shrieked. 'Let me come in. Forgive me, forgive me! It was a tug-of-war. He forced open the door; he had a vision of surprised 'hands' stopping their machines, of a beautiful, startled girl holding the ends of a half-laid tablecloth his Rachel, oh, his Rachel!
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