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A letter from Kathinka Kierson to her father: JULY 1, 1887. DEAR FATHER: We grieved and rejoiced on the receipt of your last letter: grieved that the Jews of Russia are still smarting under the lash of persecution, that outbreaks of intolerance still continue; and we rejoice to learn that dear mother has almost entirely recovered her reason.
The Rabbi walked up and down the room in great perturbation. The affair promised no pleasant conclusion. "Alas, that your beauty should have attracted the young Count!" he said. "It is very unfortunate. Who knows to what extremes he may go to revenge himself upon you for having refused his advances." "Was there any other course for me to take?" asked Kathinka. "No, my child; you acted honorably.
The children that played in the squalid lanes of the old quarter ceased their romping when she passed and lovingly kissed her hand. She desired no better lot than to do good in her own sphere, and to deserve the approbation of her own conscience. Such was Kathinka, a girl of many graces and sterling worth in heart and soul a Jewess.
The day that sees you at my side will restore your friend to liberty. Do not deem me cruel. I would serve you if you but gave me the right to do so. I await your reply. When Kathinka had ceased reading, she dropped the letter and hid her burning head in her hands, while her body rocked with grief and despair. Her father gazed at her in silence, with a look of intense commiseration on his face.
"She took me although I was but a poor Talmud scholar without a kopeck that I could call my own. Joseph will succeed. He has ambition and talent." Kathinka kissed her father, affectionately. "Then you are satisfied with my choice?" she asked. "Yes, my dear, I am content. When Reb Wolf, the schadchen, comes for his answer we will know just what to tell him."
Old Kierson thenceforth went daily to the police headquarters, endeavoring in vain to obtain information about his son. He found no one that could enlighten him as to his present condition or future fate, and he trudged homeward, feeling daily more sick at heart, more depressed in spirit. At the end of a week, Kathinka received a second letter from her persecutor.
Then, as Loris again wound his arms about her; she cried loudly for help: "Come to my aid," she cried, imploringly. "Do none of you know me; will none lend me a helping hand? I am Kathinka, the daughter of Rabbi Winenki! Will no one raise his arm in my defence?" There was no reply to her appeal; the rioters had no mercy for the despised Jewess. Of a sudden the crowd parted.
"I am hungry and tired, and yet since I have seen Kathinka I am supremely happy." It was a sad and fearful night. Sleep was out of the question for the threatened Israelites. All night long the noise of hammering could be heard; the Christians were attaching little wooden crosses to their houses that they might be spared by the mob.
In the Rabbi's house there was some show of festivity, although the attempt was half-hearted and conveyed an impression far from joyous. It was the long anticipated wedding day of Kathinka and Joseph. All their bright prospects and pleasant anticipations of a professional life at home were at an end. Their one desire was to be married before seeking a new existence in America.
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.
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