soldier, and marched blindly out of the house, down the back
steps, across the street, and so into the temple.

The evening lights had just been turned on. The little
congregation, relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of
them, sat rapt and still except at those times when the
prayer book demanded spoken responses. The voice of the
little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre that made
it startlingly sweet and clear and resonant. Fanny slid
very quietly into the seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped
her moist and cold little hand into her mother's warm, work-
roughened palm. The mother's brown eyes, very bright with
unshed tears, left their perusal of the prayer book to dwell
upon the white little face that was smiling rather wanly up
at her. The pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or more
to the left. Just as Fanny remarked this, there was a
little moment of hush in the march of the day's long
service. The memorial hour had begun.

Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation
stirred a bit, changed its cramped position. Bella, the
guilty, came stealing in, a pink-and-gold picture of angelic
virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt very aloof, and clean,
and remote.

Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened.

"But you didn't, did you?" she whispered softly.

Fanny shook her head.