And then suppose she had a thousand rubles now, this minute, and he came in: "There, take the whole of it, see if I love you! There, take it, and then you needn't say you love me for nothing, just as I am." They sit beside the father's bed, she and her Eleazar.
Her heart overflows with content, she feels happier than she ever felt before, there are even tears of joy on her cheeks.
She sits and cries, hiding her face with her apron.
He takes her caressingly by the hands, repeating in his kind, sweet voice, "Feigele, stop crying, Feigele, please!"
The father lies turned with his face to the wall, and the beating of his heart is heard in the stillness.
They sit, and she feels confidence in Eleazar, she feels that she can rely upon him.
She sits and drinks in his words, she feels him rolling the heavy stones from off her heart.
The old father has turned round and looked at them, and a sweet smile steals over his face, as though he would say, "Have no fear, children, I agree with you, I agree with all my heart."
And Feigele feels so happy, so happy. . .
The father is still lying ill, and Feigele takes out one ruble after another, one five-ruble-piece after another. The old man lies and prays and muses, and looks at the children, and holds his peace.
His face gets paler and more wrinkled, he grows weaker, he feels his strength ebbing away.
