"Thy mother hath not told thee, but all thy brothers and sisters perished, and, lo! thou alone art preserved! It was I that called thee a beast." Bear bowed his head in grateful silence.
"Bear," said the Rabbi, "thou didst contract to wed this dead man's daughter, and he did contract to pay over to thee two hundred gulden.'' "Truth." replied Bear.
"Bear," said the Rabbi, "there are no two hundred gulden." A shadow flitted across Bear's face, but he said nothing.
"Bear," said the Rabbi again, "there are not two gulden." Bear did not move.
"Bear," said the Rabbi, "leave thou my side, and go over to the other side of the bed, facing me." So Bear left his side and went over to the other side of the bed facing him.
"Bear," said the Rabbi, "give me thy right hand." The Rabbi stretched his own right hand across the bed, but Bear kept his obstinately behind his back.
"Bear," repeated the Rabbi, in tones of more penetrating solemnity, "give me thy right hand." "Nay," replied Bear, sullenly.

"Wherefore should I give thee my right hand ?" "Because," said the Rabbi, and his tones trembled, and it seemed to him that the dead man's face grew sterner.

"Because I wish thee to swear across the body of Chayah's father that thou wilt marry her." "Nay, that I will not," said Bear.
"Will not ?" repeated the Rabbi, his lips growing white with pity.
"Nay, I will not take any oaths," said Bear, hotly.

"I love the maiden, and I will keep what I have promised.

But, by my father's soul, I will take no oaths!" "Bear," said the Rabbi in a choking voice, "give me thy hand.