he is mine...."

The question at the bottom of his mind had been this: "Does
_Margaret_, too, go with the land?" But he did not utter it even to
himself: went out, fingering the crop, stalking toward the spot
where he had left the man and the woman. But Margaret was then
coming through the wood; Frankl had gone up to the Hall; and Hogarth
crossed the bridge and went climbing toward the mansion.

It was a Friday evening, and up at the Hall the Sabbath had
commenced, two Sabbath-tapers shining now upon the Mezuzzah at the
dining-room door, Frankl being of the Cohanim, the priestly class--a
Jew of Jews. As he had passed in, two Moghrabim Jews had saluted him
with: "Shabbath"; and mildly he had replied: "Shabbath".

But swift upon his steps strode Hogarth: Hogarth was at the lodge-
gates--was on the drive--was in the hall.

But, since Frankl was just preparing to celebrate the _kiddush_, "He
cannot be seen now", said a man in the hall.

"He must", said Hogarth.

As he brushed past, two men raised an outcry: but Hogarth continued
his swift way, and had half traversed a _salon_ hung with a chaos of
cut-glass when from a side-door appeared the inquiring face of
Frankl in pious skull-cap.

"What is it?" he cried--"I cannot be seen--"