When the gabardined Maggid reached Miriam's house, his remains of
strength undermined by the long journey, he was nigh stricken dead on
the door-step by the news that his journey was vain.
"It is the will of God," he said hopelessly. The sinner was beyond
mercy. He burst into sobs and tears ran down his pallid cheeks and
dripped from his sweeping white beard.
"Thou shouldst have let us know," said Miriam gently. "We never
dreamed it was possible for thee to come."
"I came as quickly as a letter could have announced me."
"But thou shouldst have cabled."
"Cabled?" The process had never come within his ken. "But how should
I dream he could travel? Thy letter said he was on his death-bed. I
prayed God I might but arrive in time."
He was for going back at once, but Miriam put him to bed--the bed
Isaac should have died in.
"Thou canst cable thy forgiveness, at least," she said, and so,
without understanding this new miracle, he bade her ask the
schoolmaster to convey his forgiveness to his son.
"Isaac will inquire for me, if he arrives alive," he said. "The
schoolmaster will hear of him. It is a very small place, alas! for God
hath taken away its glory by reason of our sins."
The answer came the same afternoon. "Message just in time. Son died
peacefully."
The Maggid rent his bed-garment. "Thank God!" he cried. "He died in
Jerusalem. Better he than I! Isaac died in Jerusalem! God will have
mercy on his soul."
Tears of joy sprang to his bleared eyes. "He died in Jerusalem," he
kept murmuring happily at intervals. "My Isaac died in Jerusalem."
Three days later the Maggid died in London.
* * * * *