Kitabı oku: «A Fair Jewess», sayfa 20

"It will be best for me to go," said Dr. Spenlove. "How strangely things turn out! It is fortunate that I came here to seek Mr. Moss."

"I must speak to Mrs. Gordon alone, without witnesses," said Aaron. "You and Mr. Moss will not mind waiting in the adjoining room for a few minutes. The poet's words are true: 'There is a Providence that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we may.' The mother may have cause to bless this night."

He bent his head humbly and solemnly as Dr. Spenlove and Mr. Moss left the room together.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A MOTHER'S JOY

For the first time in their lives these two beings, whose fates were so strangely linked together, faced each other-the mother who believed her child to be dead, the father who had brought up that child in ignorance of her birthright. It was a solemn moment, more trying to the man who had erred than to the woman who had fallen. To him the truth was as clear as though it were proclaimed with a tongue of fire, to her it had yet to be revealed. How feeble was the human act when brought into juxtaposition with destiny's decree!

Aaron's sin had been ever before him; the handwriting had been ever on the wall. Scarcely for one day during the last twenty years had the voice of conscience been stilled, and it had been dart of his punishment that the inherited instincts of the child had worked inexorably against all his efforts; her silent resistance to the lessons he would have inculcated had been too powerful for him; and in the end she had turned resolutely from the path into which, with inward reproaches, he had endeavored to lead her, and had obeyed the promptings of her nature in mapping out her own future.

Keen as was Aaron's sufferings, he experienced a sense of relief that the bolt had fallen, and that the hour of retribution had arrived; the agony of suspense was over, and he accepted with mournful resignation the decree which ordained that he should pass judgment upon himself.

A difficult task lay before him; the revelation he had to make must be made with tact and delicacy, in consideration for the mother's feelings. Joy, as well as sorrow, has its fears.

Forgetful for the moment of his own domestic grief, a sympathetic pity for the bereaved woman stirred Aaron's heart. Her tribulation was expressed in her face, which was pale with woe; her eyes were suffused with tears; her limbs trembled as she sank into the chair which he placed for her. It was not he alone who was experiencing the tortures of remorse.

Mrs. Gordon was in mourning, and Aaron believed it was for her child. Except that time had left its marks upon her countenance there was but little change in her, and few persons who had known her in her springtime would have failed to recognize her in her middle age.

Her union with Mr. Gordon had not been entirely unhappy; he had performed his duty toward her, as she had done toward him, and though he had a suspicion that, through all the long years, she never lost sight of her secret sorrow, he made no reference to it, and she, on her part, did not intrude it upon him. Even on his deathbed he did not speak of it; she understood him well enough to feel convinced that he would answer no questions she put to him, and she sincerely desired not to distress him, for she had grown to be grateful for his faithful fulfillment of the promise he had made.

And now she was free, and in the possession of great wealth. But she was alone, without a tie in the world. All her bright dreams had faded. She had indulged the hope that her child still lived, and as she traveled back to England had raised up mental pictures of her daughter which filled her with joy. The information she received from Dr. Spenlove had killed that hope, and her yearning desire was to visit the grave of the babe she had deserted, and to weep over it tears of bitter repentance.

It was not so much now to reclaim the iron box containing the clew to a shameful episode in her youthful life as to learn where her babe was buried, that she wished to learn into whose care her child had been given. There was a time when she nursed a fierce desire for revenge upon the man who had betrayed her, but this desire had burned itself away, and she would be content that the melancholy memories of the past should be buried in oblivion. No good result would accrue from rekindling the smoldering ashes of an experience so sad. She had lived down the shame; no word of reproach had been uttered against her; let the dead past bury its dead.

For a few moments there was silence between her and Aaron, and she was the first to speak.

"Dr. Spenlove has told me all," she said.

"He has told you what he knows," said Aaron, "but you have something more to hear. It was I who undertook the charge of your child. Mr. Moss brought her to me in Gosport, and delivered to me also the box which you intrusted to Dr. Spenlove. I hand you now the box in the same condition as it was handed to me. You will oblige me by convincing yourself that it has not been tampered with."

She unlocked the box with a key she carried in her purse, and taking from it the half of the letter she had deposited therein, glanced over it with a bitter smile, then replaced it in its hiding place and relocked the box.

"There was nothing else in it?" asked Aaron.

"Nothing else," she replied; "it is as I delivered it to Dr. Spenlove. Tell me about my child. Did she live long? Was she buried in Gosport? You will tell me the truth-you will conceal nothing from me?"

"I will tell you the truth; I will conceal nothing from you; but what I have to say must be said in my own way. When Mr. Moss left your child with me there were two babes in my house of the same age, and we were in deep poverty and distress. My wife-my beloved wife lay at the point of death-" He covered his eyes with his hands. "Bear with me; these recollections overcome me." Presently he resumed. "But a short time before her confinement she had been stricken with blindness. Her own child, whose face she had never seen, lay quiet and still in her arms. The doctor who attended her feared the worst, and said her life depended upon the life of her babe. If our child died on the morrow the mother would die; if our child lived the mother would live. How can I expect you to forgive me for what I did in the agony of my heart?"

Again he paused, and tears gushed from his eyes. Mrs. Gordon sank back in her chair; there was not a vestige of color in her face.

"My God! my God!" she murmured. "Have I not suffered enough?"

These words recalled him to himself. He begged her to have courage, to be strong; there was no new suffering in store for her, he said; what he had to relate would bring joy into her life. He gave her wine, and when she had recovered he proceeded with his story, and gradually and tenderly revealed to her the truth. As he proceeded her face shone with incredulous joy, her heart beat tumultuously with the prospect of this unexpected happiness; and when his story was finished, and he sat before her with bowed head, there was a long, long silence in the room. He dared utter no further words; in silent dread he waited for his condemnation.

He felt a hand upon his knee, and looking down, he saw her kneeling at his feet. She was transfigured; the long pent up love of a mother made her young again; she took his hand, and kissed it again and again, bedewing it with happy tears. He gazed at her in wonder. He had expected revilings and she was all tenderness.

"Is it true?" she murmured. "Oh, is it true?"

"It is the solemn truth," he answered.

"And my child lives?"

"She lives."

"God in heaven bless you! She lives-my daughter lives!"

"And you do not blame me-you do not reproach me?"

"I shall bless you to my dying day! Oh, my heart, my heart! It will burst with happiness."

He entreated her to be composed, and in a little while she was calmer. Then for the first time he wrested himself from the environment of his own selfish sorrows; he put himself in her place, and understood the sacred joy which animated her. She was all impatience to see her child, but Aaron bade her restrain her impatience; he had much more to relate, which it was necessary she should hear.

"But I must see her to-night!" she cried.

"You shall see her to-night. I will take you to her."

She was fain to be satisfied with this assurance, but she would not be content till she saw a portrait of Ruth.

He gave her a cabinet photograph, and she gazed at it longingly, yearningly.

"She is beautiful, beautiful!"

"Yes, she is a beautiful girl," said Aaron, and then proceeded with the story, saying nothing, however, of what he had done for the young couple. At first she was grieved to hear that Ruth was married, but she found some consolation in the reflection that she had married into a peer's family. When Aaron related the particulars of the lawyer's visit to him, commissioned by Lord Storndale because of his stern objection to his son marrying a Jewess, she exclaimed: "But Ruth is not a Jewess!" and was appalled by the thought that her daughter was not born in wedlock. A child of shame! How would she be received? It was her turn now to fear, and Aaron, whose native shrewdness had returned to him, divined her fear; but it was not for him to moot the subject.

"My child," she said, with hot blushes on her face, "believes herself to be your daughter?"

"She does. It was my intention to undeceive her to-night."

"You know my story?"

"It was imparted to me," he replied, with averted head, "when I was asked to receive your child."

"Who knows the truth," she asked, trembling and hesitating, "about me?"

"I, Mr. Moss, Dr. Spenlove, and your husband's lawyers."

"No other persons?"

"No other persons." He took her hand. "Dear lady, from my heart I pity and sympathize with you. If I can assist you in any way-"

"You can-you can!" she cried. "For God's sake do not destroy the happiness that may be mine!"

"As Heaven is my judge, no word shall pass my lips. Be comforted, be comforted. The lawyers' lips are sealed, as you have already learned, and I will answer for Mr. Moss and Dr. Spenlove. Say to her and to her husband's family what you will-it will be justified. Your secret is safe."

She thanked him humbly and gratefully; it was she who was abashed; it was she who had to implore for mercy; and it was due to his wisdom that her aching heart was eased.

"If I can repay you-if I can repay you!" she murmured.

"You can repay me by saying you forgive me for the sin I committed."

"Your sin!" she cried in amazement. "You, who have brought up my child in virtue and honor! At my door lies the sin, not at yours."

"You forget," he groaned; "my wife, whom I love with a love dearer than life itself, has yet to receive the confession I have made to you. It was my love for her that led me into the error."

"An error," said Mrs. Gordon in tender accents, "that has saved a daughter from regarding her mother with abhorrence. Dear friend, God sees and judges, and surely he will approve what you have done. A grateful mother blesses you!"

"Remain here," said Aaron. "I will speak to my friends and yours, and then I will conduct you to your daughter."

CHAPTER XXXIX.
A PANIC IN THE CITY

On the following morning Aaron was up earlier than usual, and in the daily papers he read the confirmation of the intelligence which Mr. Moss had imparted to him. There was a panic in the City, and fortunes were already being won and lost. The bank in which his money was deposited, and in which he held a large number of shares, was tottering, and he knew that he was ruined if it could not weather the storm.

Mr. Moss found him reading the news over his breakfast table. Business, as we know, had not prospered with Mr. Moss of late years; his investments had turned out badly, and he was in low water himself. He had placed his dependence upon Aaron to pull him through, and the rock he had depended upon was crumbling away.

"You are in trouble, Mr. Moss," said Aaron as his friend made his appearance.

"I have the second edition of the morning papers," replied Mr. Moss with a white face. "The Stock Exchange is in a blaze."

"Rather early to commence business," observed Aaron calmly; "the outlook is not improving, I suppose?"

"Everything is going to the dogs, Cohen."

"Have you breakfasted?" asked Aaron.

"Had breakfast at seven o'clock. Couldn't sleep a wink all night."

"Why?"

"Why!" exclaimed Mr. Moss. "What a question to ask when ruin stares a man in the face."

"I hope," said Aaron gravely, "that you are not deeply involved."

"I am up to my neck. But what is my position compared with yours? Cohen, you are a mystery."

"Because I accept the inevitable. Can you show me how I can improve matters?"

"No, I can't," answered Mr. Moss, with a deep groan; "only if I had capital I could make a fortune."

"How?"

"By joining the bears. Cohen, there is a chance for you. Your credit is good. There is nothing for it but a plunge. It will set you right."

"How if it goes the other way, Mr. Moss?"

"You will be no worse off than a thousand men who are plunging."

"The majority of whom, before another sun rises, will find themselves disgraced. No, Mr. Moss, no. I have never dabbled in stocks and shares at the risk of my good name, and I never will. There is but one way to meet misfortune, and that is the straight way. We will go to the City, and ascertain, if we can, exactly how matters stand. Rachel and Rose do not return from Bournemouth till the afternoon."

In the City they learned the worst, and Aaron realized that he was beggared.

"Can you save nothing from the wreck?" asked Mr. Moss.

"Nothing," replied Aaron. "It may be that all I possess may not be sufficient to clear me. I think you had better take Rose back with you to Portsmouth; you have been absent from your business too long."

"I must go this evening," said Mr. Moss, "but Rose can stay. She will be a comfort to Mrs. Cohen."

"No, take her with you. In this crisis Rachel, I know, would prefer to be alone with me. Besides," he added, with a sad smile, "I have to provide another home, and I must be careful of my shillings."

"Another home, Cohen. What do you mean?"

"With certain ruin staring me in the face, and with claims coming upon me which I may not be able to meet, I must begin immediately to retrench. Our establishment is an expensive one, and I dare not carry it on a day longer than is necessary. Rachel and I will sleep in the house to-night for the last time. To-morrow I will pay off the servants, and we shall move into humbler quarters. So tumble down all our grand castles. Well, it has happened to better men, who, after years of toil, have to begin life over again. Rachel will not mind; we have faced poverty before to-day, and will face it again cheerfully."

"It drives me wild to hear you speak like that!" exclaimed Mr. Moss. "You are looking only on the black side. If you had the money you have got rid of the last two or three weeks-"

"Hush! Mr. Moss, hush!" said Aaron, interrupting him. "It is a consolation to me to know that the greater part of my legitimately earned fortune has been so well bestowed. I am glad I did not wait to make reparation for the great error of my life. Rachel has yet to hear my confession. If I obtain her forgiveness I can face the future bravely and cheerfully."

Under the seal of confidence Aaron had made Mr. Moss and Dr. Spenlove acquainted with the particulars of the story of the two babes and of the deception he had practiced in his home in Gosport. Mr. Moss was not greatly astonished, for the hints lately dropped by his friend had prepared him for some disclosure of a strange nature.

"Besides," he said inwardly to himself, "Ruth bears no likeness to either Mr. or Mrs. Cohen. How blind we have all been!"

In his weak moments Mr. Moss was rather inclined to be wise after the event. Both he and Dr. Spenlove had pledged themselves to secrecy, but when they proceeded to justify Aaron for the act he stopped them, saying it was a matter between him and his conscience. Now on this disastrous morning, as they walked from the City, Mr. Moss asked Aaron whether he intended to tell his wife to-day.

"Not to-day," Aaron answered. "I must bide my time. The news that we are poor will be as much as Rachel can bear."

CHAPTER XL.
"CAN YOU FORGIVE ME?"

On the evening of the same day Aaron and Rachel were alone in their house in Prince's Gate. Rose had taken her leave of them, and she and her father were traveling to Portsmouth, Mr. Moss with a heavy heart; he was older than Aaron, and was not so courageous in the hour of adversity.

"What makes you so melancholy, father?" said Rose.

"When you reach my age, Rose," he replied, "I hope you will not discover that life is a dream."

The remark seemed to him rather fine and philosophical, but had he been asked to explain its precise meaning he would have found it difficult.

"I hope I shall, father," said Rose as she leaned back and thought of her lover; "a happy dream."

"I am glad to get back to you and to our dear home," Rachel was saying to her husband at the same moment. "You must never send me away again. Indeed, dear Aaron, if you intend it I shall for once in my life be rebellious, and shall refuse to go."

She spoke tenderly and playfully, and held his hand in hers, as in the olden days.

"Nevertheless, my love, your short visit to the seaside has done you good."

"Yes, dear, I am almost well; I feel much stronger."

"There is the justification," said Aaron. "I am not happy away from you, but there are occasions when it is our duty to make sacrifices. This is the longest separation there has been between us in the twenty-six years of our married life."

"How time has flown!" she mused. "Twenty-six years of happiness. It has always been the same, dear husband, whether we were poor or rich, I cannot recall a day in the past without its flower which money could not purchase."

"You make my task easier, Rachel," said Aaron. "I have something to disclose to you."

"And it is not good news, love," she said in a tone of much sweetness.

"It is not good news, Rachel. By what means have you divined that?"

"I see without eyes. In the early days of my blindness I used to tell you that I was acquiring new senses. It is true. Some accent in your voice, the touch of your hand, conveys the message to my mind, and I wait in patience, as I am waiting now. Aaron, my dear husband, I have known for some time past that you have a sorrow which one day you will ask me to share. How have I known it? I cannot tell, but it is clear to me. You have not had a joy in your life apart from me. It is my right, is it not, to share your sorrows?"

"It is your right, Rachel, and you shall share them. I have not been without my errors; once in the past my footsteps strayed, but in the straying I inflicted suffering upon no human being."

"Of that I am sure, my love. It is human to err, but it is not in your nature to inflict suffering or commit an injustice. I am not pressing you to confide in me before, in your judgment, the proper time arrives. Nothing can shake my faith and trust in you."

He regarded her in silence a while. The turn the conversation had taken favored the disclosure of his secret respecting Ruth, but he feared to speak of that and of his ruin in the same hour. The latter was the more imperative, because it demanded immediate action, and he resolved to confine himself to it on this evening.

"Your loving instinct, Rachel, has not misled you. I have a secret which I have concealed from you."

"Fearing to give me pain, dear husband."

"Yes; and fearing that it would disturb the faith you have in me. I place so high a value upon it that my life would be dark indeed were I to lose it."

"That is impossible, dear. Banish the fear from your mind. Were the hands of all men raised against you I would stand before you as your shield, and they would not dare to strike. So long as you are by my side I am happy and content."

"Dear life of my life, you inspire me with hope. But one secret which oppresses me cannot be divulged to-night. It is of my worldly troubles I must speak now; the rest shall follow at a more fitting time. Rachel, for twenty years Heaven has showered prosperity upon me; all my undertakings have succeeded, and I have heard it said, 'Everything Aaron Cohen touches turns to gold.' It really has been so. I accumulated a large fortune, and-with humbleness I say it-no man, however high or low his station, was the loser by it. But a breath may destroy what the labors of a lifetime have created. If such a reverse has come to me, Rachel, how would you accept it?"

"Without murmuring, love," she said, drawing him close to her, and kissing his lips. "I should have but one regret-that I could not work for you as you have worked for me. But that, also, is God's will, and I have never repined. Who would presume to question his wisdom? His name be praised forever and ever!

"Amen! In our old home in Gosport you were happy."

"I have never been happier, Aaron. I have sometimes felt pride in your successes, but surely that is pardonable. Love is the most precious gift that life can bestow. All else is nought. It is our soul life and dies not with the body."

"You do not value money, Rachel?"

"For the good it may do to others, not for the good it can do to the possessor; for the suffering it may be made the means of relieving, for the blessings it may bring into the lives of the afflicted and unfortunate. Then it becomes Godlike, and when so used the angels smile approval."

"Dear love, you lighten my burden. When I won you my life was blessed. Listen, Rachel. This is a dark day for many men who find themselves fallen from their high estate. Despair sits in many homes at this hour."

"But not in ours, Aaron, whatever has happened."

"Thank God! It is my happy belief that this hour is not dark for us. It was my intention, Rachel, to retire altogether from business and public life, and to that end I took advantage of your absence from London to settle my affairs. My resolution was prompted by the secret, the burden of which, although I have not yet disclosed it to you, you have made it lighter for me to bear. Brought to public knowledge, which I fear its peculiar nature will render inevitable, it will be immediately said that I am unfitted to retain my position as a leader and teacher. To tarry until that judgment was pronounced would be to aggravate the disaster, and I resolved to anticipate the verdict by resigning the honors which have been conferred upon me. I have done so, and I have withstood the pressure that has been put upon me to withdraw my resignation. An examination of my worldly affairs resulted in my finding myself in possession of nearly a hundred thousand pounds. I divided this into three portions, one of which I intended to retain in order that we might pass what years of life remained to us in comfort; the second portion I devoted to charity, and it has thus been distributed; the third portion was devoted to repairing to some extent the error of which I had been guilty."

He looked at Rachel after he had uttered these words, which he had spoken with averted head. There was no change in her. Sweetness and sympathy were expressed in her beautiful face, and it seemed as if her soul's light dwelt thereon.

"Do you approve, Rachel?"

"Entirely, love. Let me hold your hand."

He continued. "The money I intended for our private use was lodged in a City bank, and in this bank I hold shares for which I am liable to the depositors. Yesterday Mr. Moss brought me news of a commercial crisis in which I discerned-"

"Go on, dear husband, I am prepared for the worst."

"In which I discerned my ruin. This morning I convinced myself that the news was true."

"And we are poor again," said Rachel in a gentle voice.

"And we are poor again. Everything is lost. I do not know the extent of my liabilities upon the shares I hold in the bank, but it is certain that my property in this house and what it contains will scarcely be sufficient to meet them. I have nothing more to tell of my worldly trouble, Rachel."

"Dear love," said Rachel sweetly, with her arms around him, "it is a small trouble, and we will meet it bravely. With all my heart and soul I will help you to meet it. We cannot remain in the house; the expenses are too great."

"You echo my own words, Rachel. I have already discharged the servants, and have paid what is due to them. To-morrow they take their departure, and we must be content to move into humbler quarters."

"I am content," said Rachel. "I am happy. We have each other. What does Prissy say?"

"She will not leave us. With or without my consent, she insists upon sharing our poverty."

"Dear, faithful girl! Let it be as she wishes, love. I know her constant, devoted nature. She will be a comfort to both of us."

She paused before she spoke again, and then it was in a voice trembling with emotion.

"We commence a new life to-morrow. O Aaron, dear husband, my heart is aching, not because we are poor, not for myself, but for you, love, for you! Aaron, you have said nothing of Ruth. Let this night end your sorrows, and let me share them now. It is the thought of Ruth that oppresses you. I feel it, I have known it long, but did not dare to mention it. Give me all your confidence; I am well, I am strong. There is nothing I cannot bear for your dear sake."

He could not resist the appeal. In a voice as tremulous as her own he made confession of his sin, and not for one moment while he spoke would she relinquish his hand. And when his confession was ended she held him close in her embrace and mingled her tears with his.

"Can you forgive me, Rachel?"

"It is for me to bless, not to forgive," she sobbed. "For me you strayed, for me you have suffered. Comfort his bruised heart, O God, who sees and judges! And, Aaron, dear and honored husband, we have still a son to bless our days!"