ABSTRACT
Grieving and downcast, Zebulun went home to Rabinowa without kissing his daughter or saying goodbye before he left town. Zebulun left Iksiniszki like a man running away from the battle line. When he arrived home he had scarcely set foot across the doorstep when Rabnicki, the steward, hurried to meet him and greeted him. “The Devil take you, Zebulun,” Rabnicki said, a smile flitting across his face, “you gave your daughter away and did not say a word to us.”
