"His name was Simon Abeles.

You talk of martyrdom! You shall know what it means--though it be too good for you, who spy upon the woman whom you say you love." The hectic flush of passion sank from Israel Kafka's cheek.

Rigid, with outstretched arms and bent head, he stood against the ancient gravestone.

Above him, as though raised to heaven in silent supplication, were the sculptured hands that marked the last resting-place of a Kohn.
"You shall know now," said Unorna.

"You shall suffer indeed.".