"Darling Rose: I am in great trouble, and you must help me. You are the only friend I have in the world--but no, I must not say that; it is not true. What I mean is, you are the only friend at home I can trust.
"Father and mother, and you, too, think I am in Portsmouth with your family. Dear Rose, I am in London--I have been in London all the week. The happiness of my life is in your hands--remember that.
"I went down to Portsmouth, but I only stayed two days. I told your father I had to pay a visit to other friends, and he believed me. And now I hear he is in London and, of course, will come to the house. He is the only person you must tell; you must beg him not to say a word about my going from Portsmouth; you must make him promise; you don't know what depends upon it. Speak to him quietly, and say he must not betray me; he will do anything for you.
"Dear, darling Rose, I have a secret that I cannot disclose yet. I will soon, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a week--I cannot fix a time, because it does not depend upon me. But remember my happiness is in your hands. Your loving
"Ruth."
The young girl was bewildered and distressed by this communication. They had all believed that Ruth was on a visit to Rose's family, and Rose had received letters from her with the Portsmouth postmark on them. It was true that Ruth had asked her, as a particular favor, not to reply to the letters, and though Rose considered it a strange request, she had complied with it. Ruth's stronger will always prevailed with her. But what did it all mean? If Ruth had been in London a week where was she stopping? Rose's character could hardly as yet be said to be formed; it was sweet, but it lacked decision, and she looked helplessly round as if for guidance. She was glad when Prissy knocked at her door and said that her father was downstairs. Part of the responsibility seemed to be already lifted from her shoulders.
"Prissy," she said before she went down, "you haven't spoken to anyone about the letter?"
"No, miss."
"Don't say anything about it, please. Mrs. Cohen is not well, and the doctor is very particular that she shall not be bothered or worried.
"I won't say anything, miss."
She shook her head gravely as Rose tripped downstairs and muttered:
"Trouble's coming--or my name aint what it is."
"I am so glad you are here, father," said Rose; "I have something to tell you."
"I have something to tell you, Rose," said Mr. Moss. "Such an odd impression! Of course I must be mistaken. But first I want to know how Mrs. Cohen is. I thought she was not looking strong to-day."
Rose told him of the doctor's visit and the instructions he had given, and then handed him Ruth's letter, which he read in pain and surprise.
"I don't like the look of it, Rose," he said. "I hate mystery, and I cannot decide immediately whether it ought to be kept from Mr. Cohen."
"Oh, father!" cried Rose. "Ruth will never forgive me if I betray her."
"I don't think it is the question of a betrayal," said Mr. Moss. "She tells you to speak to me, and you have done so. I take the blame on myself, whatever happens. My dear, you are not old enough to understand such matters, and you must leave this to me. Give me the letter, my dear; it will be better in my keeping than in yours. Just consider, Rose; would you have behaved so?"
"No, father; I could not."
"There is the answer. The odd impression I spoke of was that I saw Ruth to-night in a hansom cab. I thought I was mistaken, but now I am convinced it was she. If I had known what I know now I should have followed her. As for Ruth never forgiving you, what will Mr. Cohen's feelings be toward you when he discovers that you have acted in such a treacherous manner? Ruth is very little older than yourself and, I am afraid, cannot discriminate between right and wrong; she must not be allowed to drag us into a conspiracy against the peace of the family."
Rose was dismayed; she had not looked upon it in that light.
"Was Ruth alone?" she asked in a faltering voice.
"No, she had a gentleman with her. It is a bad business--a bad business. I intended to return to Portsmouth to-morrow, but now I shall remain till the matter is cleared up."
"Shall you do anything to-night, father?"
"No. I shall do nothing till the morning. I must have time to consider how to act. Mr. Cohen will not be home till past midnight, and he will be jaded with the fatigues of the day. To think that it should turn out so. Good-night, my dear child. Get to bed and try to sleep. It may, after all, turn out better than I expect."
But there was very little sleep for Rose this night, and very little, also, for Mr. Moss or Aaron Cohen. The cloud that was gathering was too ominous for repose.
It was not the only cloud that threatened Aaron's fortunes and happiness. Others were ready to burst, and in the gathering storm he saw, not too clearly, perhaps, the peril in which he stood. His fair reputation was in danger, the honorable edifice he had built for himself was tottering, the wealth he had amassed was jeopardized by circumstances over which he had no control. In the course of a few days all these things were to happen, and although on the day following that on which so great an honor had been paid to him he did not realize that ruin stared him in the face, he was sufficiently conscious that more than one sword was hanging over his head. But mere worldly misfortune was a trifle in comparison with the stings of his conscience and with a sting as bitter which he learned from the lips of Dr. Roberts. The physician had not been quite ingenuous in his report of Rachel's condition; his ripe experience scented a crisis which might or might not occur. It did not depend upon him, but upon the patient, and a few hours would decide the extent of the danger. It was this that caused him to call early at the house to see Rachel, and after he had been with her for a quarter of an hour he had a private conversation with Aaron.
"There is no absolute danger," he said, "but I shall be better satisfied if you will send her at once to the seaside. She will be better out of London. I saw on the table a number of letters--begging letters, I was informed--which Miss Rose had been reading to her. She must be free from the emotions created by these appeals and from anything of an agitating nature. Perfect repose and rest--that is what she requires, with brighter sunshine and balmier air. I should recommend Bournemouth, and if you wish I'll run down and see her there. Meanwhile I will give you the name of a physician who will understand her case as well as I do. Let Miss Rose go with her; your wife is fond of her, and she is a cheerful companion, though she seems to be rather depressed this morning. I have been lecturing the young lady, and she tells me she has had a bad night. It will do them both good."
"I cannot accompany her to-day," said Aaron, "I have so many important matters to attend to. We will go down to-morrow."
"Send her to-day," urged the physician, "and you can follow onto-morrow, or later. It is good weather for traveling; in a few hours it may change. To-day, by all means. We doctors are autocrats, you know, and will not listen to argument. To-day."
Had the business he had to attend to been of less importance Aaron would have put it aside, and traveled with his wife to the seaside, but it was business which imperatively demanded his present attention, and he had no alternative but to send her with Rose and theever-faithful Prissy, in whom he had every confidence. He accompanied them as far as the railway station, and held Rachel's hand in his as they drove to Waterloo. It was not only that they were still lovers, but that he felt the need of the moral support which he derived from the tender handclasp.
"Do not be anxious about me, dear," said Rachel, "and do not come down till Friday. Then you can stop till Monday morning, and perhaps Joseph will be home by then, and he can come with you. He will not be able to keep away from Rose, and he has but a short time to remain in England. There is really nothing the matter with me except a little weakness which I shall soon overcome. If Ruth is happy in Portsmouth let her remain there if she wishes. We are growing old, love, you and I, and we must not tie our children too closely to our sides. They will fly away as the young birds do, and make nests of their own. May their homes be as happy as ours has been--may their lives be as happy as you have made mine."
In such-like tender converse the minutes flew by, and as the train steamed out of the station Rachel's face, with a bright smile upon it, was turned toward her husband.
On the road home Aaron telegraphed to Ruth in Portsmouth, addressing his telegram to Mr. Moss' house; he desired her to return to London to-day or to-morrow. He felt that he must speak to her with as little delay as possible respecting the disclosure which Mr. Dillworthy had made to him; it would be playing the coward's part indeed if he did not immediately ascertain the nature of her feelings for the Honorable Percy Storndale. Thus far the first step of his duty; what steps were to follow he had not yet determined upon.
Arriving at his house, he found Mr. Moss waiting to see him. Rose had left a letter for her father acquainting him with their departure for the seaside, and giving him their address in Bournemouth, which she was enabled to do, because Aaron had made arrangements by telegraph for their reception in a Jewish house there. After a few words of explanation of the cause of Rachel and Rose leaving so suddenly, Aaron informed his friend that he had telegraphed to Ruth to come home at once.
Mr. Moss started.
"You sent the telegram to my house?" he said.
"Certainly. I am sorry to break her visit, which she must have enjoyed, but there is a necessity for it. As my oldest friend you should not be kept in ignorance of this necessity, and will agree that it is not to be spoken of outside ourselves without my consent."
Thereupon he related the part of his interview with Mr. Dillworthy that affected Ruth and the son of Lord Storndale.
"There is another matter," he said, "of great importance which was mentioned during the interview, and which we may speak of presently. You now know my reason for sending to Ruth to come home. I must learn the truth from her own lips."
"Strangely enough," said Mr. Moss rather nervously, "I have come to say something about Ruth myself."
"Surely not in connection with this matter?" exclaimed Aaron.
"You must be the judge of that, Cohen. Did you notice whether Rose was looking well?"
"She looked tired. Dr. Roberts said she had passed a bad night, and that the change would do her good."
"A bad night! No wonder, poor child. I scarcely slept an hour with what is on my mind. You will be surprised at what I have to tell you. But first--Rose said nothing about Ruth?"
"Nothing whatever."
"You must not blame her; she acted by my directions, and her lips are sealed."
"Why should I blame her? She is a dear, good child; I have implicit faith and confidence in her. You alarm me, Mr. Moss. Speak plainly, I beg of you."
"Yes, I will do so; but I would have liked to break it gradually. Cohen, Ruth is not in Portsmouth."
"Not in Portsmouth! Where, then?"
"If what she writes and my eyes are to be believed she is in London, and has been here all the week. She remained with us two days, and then left, saying she was going to pay a visit to some other friends. We naturally thought, though we expected her to make a longer stay, that you were aware of it, and that the plan of her visit had been altered with your concurrence. Last night as I passed through Regent Street I saw a lady in a hansom in the company of a gentleman, and I could have sworn it was Ruth; but the cab was driving at a quick pace, and I thought I must have been mistaken. I came on here to Rose, and the poor child was in deep distress. She had received, a letter from Ruth, which she gave me to read. I do not offer any excuse for taking the letter from her; she is but a child, and is quite unfit for a responsibility which, without her consent, was imposed upon her. Here is the letter. It explains itself."
Aaron read it in silence, and with conflicting feelings.
His first thought was that Ruth had taken her fate into her own hands.
He had done his duty jealously by her in the past whatever might be his duty in the present. If, as was his fervent hope, no dishonor to her was involved in her flight--for it was no less than flight and desertion of the home in which she had been reared--if there had been a secret marriage, new contingencies of the future loomed dimly before him, contingencies in which the stern task it was his duty to perform was not so terrible in its import.
The past could never be condoned, but in his consideration of the future one figure towered above all others, the figure of his wife. If for her the suffering could be made less--if the fact of Ruth taking her course without his prompting, even in defiance of the lessons he had endeavored to inculcate, would mitigate the severity of her blow, was it not something to be grateful for?
If, he argued mentally, she and the son of Lord Storndale were married they had little to hope for from the Storndale family.
Their dependence, then, rested upon him, and he resolved that he would not fail the rash couple. His hope of an honorable, though secret, marriage was based upon his knowledge of Ruth's character. She was not given to exaggerated sentiment, he had never known her go into heroics, she possessed certain sterling qualities of strength and determination. Granted that she was led away by the glamour of wedding the son of a peer, he was convinced she would not so far forget herself as to bring shame upon herself and her connections. She was a Christian born, and she had the right to marry a Christian; by her own unprompted act she had cut the Gordian knot. That the Honorable Percy Storndale had a double motive in pursuing her was likely enough, love, Aaron hoped, being one, the fact of her reputed father being a wealthy man the other. Well, he would fulfill the young man's expectations; there was nothing in the shape of worldly atonement which he was not ready and anxious to make.
In the midst of his musings a servant presented himself with a telegram and a card. The card bore the name of The Hon. Percy Storndale, the telegram was from Mrs. Moss, in Portsmouth.
"Wait outside," Aaron said to the servant, who left the room.
The telegram was to the effect that Ruth was not in Portsmouth, and that Mrs. Moss, in her absence, had taken the liberty of reading the message, under the idea that it might contain something which required an immediate answer. "Is Ruth coming to us again?" Mrs. Moss asked.
Aaron passed the telegram and the card to Mr. Moss.
"Keep in the house," he said, "while I have an interview with this gentleman. Wait in the library, and tell the servant to show Mr. Storndale into this room."
In a few moments the young man was ushered in, and Aaron motioned him to a seat.
It is a human failing to run into extremes. No man is quite so good or bad as he is represented to be by his admirers and detractors. In his anxiety to prejudice Aaron against Lord Storndale's son Mr. Dillworthy had done the young man an injustice. A scapegrace he was, without doubt, but he had been reared into his vices and extravagancies--it may be said with truth carefully reared--and he was certainly no worse than hundreds of other men who are brought up with no definite aim in life, and educated without any sensible and serious effort being made to impress them with life's responsibilities. He had, indeed, the advantage of many, for although he considered it perfectly excusable to get into debt with tradesmen, and to borrow from money lenders without any expectation of being able to pay either one or the other, he would not have descended so low as to pick a pocket or cheat at cards. More of the pigeon than the gull, he looked always to his family to get him out of his scrapes; he believed it to be their duty; and it was upon him, not upon them, that injustice was inflicted when he was thrown entirely upon his own resources, and when he was given to understand that for the future he would have to settle his own liabilities.
He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and passably good-looking; beyond this there was nothing remarkable in his appearance; but there was that air of good humor and careless ease about him which generally wins favor with women who do not look beneath the surface.
Just now he was manifestly ill at ease, for he had never before been engaged upon a mission so awkward and embarrassing.
That he was impressed by Aaron's dignified manner was evident; he had expected to meet a man of a different stamp.
Each waited for the other to speak, and Aaron was not the first to break the silence.
"I have taken the liberty of visiting you upon a rather delicate matter," said the young gentleman, "and it is more difficult than I anticipated."
"Yes?" said Aaron, and said no more.
The monosyllable was uttered in the form of a half question, and did not lessen the difficulties in the young man's way.
"Yes," he replied, and was at a loss how to continue; but again Aaron did not assist him.
"Upon my honor," he said at length, "I would not undertake to say whether I would rather be in this room than out of it, or out of it than in it."
He gave a weak laugh here, with a half idea that he had said something rather clever, but still he met with no encouragement from Aaron.
"It is so difficult, you see," he added. "I do not suppose you know me."
"No," said Aaron. "I do not know you."
"I thought it possible that your daughter, Miss Cohen, you know, might have mentioned me to you."
"She has never done so."
"It was my fault entirely. I said, on no account; and naturally she gave in."
"Did she wish to mention you to me?"
"Oh, yes, but I insisted. I don't exactly know why, but I did, and she gave in. I dare say I was a blockhead, but I hope you will find excuses for me."
"At present I can find none. We shall understand each other if you come to the point."
"I will try to do so, but it is not easy, I assure you, Mr. Cohen, after the way I have behaved. Upon second thoughts I do not see, upon my honor, I do not see how you can be expected to find excuses for me. But it does happen sometimes that a fellow meets another fellow who helps a lame dog over the stile. I am the lame dog, you know."
"It may assist you," said Aaron, "If I ask you one question, and if you frankly answer it. Are you a married man?"
"Upon my soul, sir," exclaimed the Honorable Percy Storndale, "I cannot be sufficiently thankful to you. Yes, sir, I am a married man."
"Long married?"
"Four days, Mr. Cohen."
"Can you show me proof of it?"
"I thank you again, sir. But it wasn't my idea; it was my wife's. 'Take the marriage certificate with you,' she said. She has wonderful ideas."
"Let me see the certificate."
The young man instantly produced it, and Aaron, with a deep-drawn breath of relief, saw recorded there the marriage of Miss Ruth Cohen and the Honorable Percy Storndale.
"You married my--my daughter, I see," said Aaron, "in a registrar's office."
"I don't know how to apologize to you, sir," said the young man, as relieved by Aaron's calm attitude as Aaron was himself at this proof of an honorable union. "I can't conceive anything meaner, but what could I do? Ruth--Miss Cohen, you know--being a Jewess, could not well have been married in a church, and I, being a Christian, could not well have been married in a synagogue. It was a very delicate point; I am not acquainted with the law on the subject, but no fellow can deny that it was a delicate point. Then there was another difficulty. Bridesmaids, bridesmaids' presents, and general expenses, to say nothing of the publicity, when the parties principally concerned wanted to get it over quietly and quickly. Ruth said you would never consent; I said my family would never consent; so what else was there for it? Pray forgive me if I am expressing myself clumsily."
"Your family did not encourage the match?"
"Dead against it; from the first dead against it. Bullied and threatened me. 'What!' they cried. 'Marry a Jewess!' 'As good as any Christian,' I retorted. But did you ever know a Storndale listen to reason, Mr. Cohen?"
"You are a Storndale," said Aaron quietly.
"Had me there," chuckled the young man. "Gad, sir, you had me there. Well, sir, that is how it stands, and if you show me the door I'll not say I don't deserve it."
"I will not show you the door, but it is not correct to say that is how it stands, as if there were nothing more to explain. Mr. Storndale, if the lady you have married were a Christian would your family have objected?" The young man laughed in a weak, awkward way. "Answer me frankly this and other questions it is my duty to put."
"My family would not have objected," said the Honorable Percy Storndale, "if there had been settlements. You see, sir, we are not exactly rolling in money, and I am a younger son. No expectations, sir. A poor gentleman."
"An imprudent marriage, Mr. Storndale."
"No denying it, sir; and it has only come home to me the last day or two. Marriage in such circumstances pulls a fellow up, you see; makes him reflect, you know. My wife's an angel, and that makes it cut deeper. A married fellow thinks of things. As a bachelor I never thought of to-morrow. I give you my word on it. To-morrow! Hangto-morrow! That was the way of it. I've only just woke up to the fact that there is a to-morrow."
"Was it a love match, Mr. Storndale?"
"On both sides, sir. Without vanity--and I don't deny I've got my share of that--I may speak for her as well as for myself."
"From the first a love match, Mr. Storndale? Did it never occur to you that I was a rich man?"
"You drive me hard, sir, but I'm not going to play fast and loose with you. 'Be prepared, Percy,' Ruth says to me. 'My father is a wise, as well as a just and kind, man, and I don't know whether he will ever forgive me; but you will make a sad mistake if you don't speak the honest truth to him.' The truth it shall be, as I am a gentleman. I did think of Ruth's father being a rich man, and seeing us through it. But after a little while I got so over head and heels in love that I thought only of her. I give you my word, sir, I never had the feelings for any woman that I have for Ruth, and that, I think, is why I'm rather scared when I think of to-morrow. If I hadn't been afraid of losing her I might have come straight to you, but I didn't care to run the risk. What would you do, sir, for a woman you loved?"
"Everything, anything."
"You would stake everything against nothing, with a certainty of losing, rather than give her up?"
"I would make any earthly sacrifice for her."
"Well, sir, then you know how I feel. I don't set myself up as a good man; I've done many foolish things, and I dare say shall do more foolish things, but not half nor quarter as many with a clever woman by my side to keep me straight. What some of us want, sir, is ballast; I never had it till now, and even now perhaps it's of no use to me. Until a week ago I had to think for one; now I have to think for two. But thinking won't help me through, I'm afraid."
Never before had the Honorable Percy Storndale expressed himself in so manly a fashion; it was as though contact with Aaron were bringing out his best qualities.
"Was it your intention, Mr. Storndale, to come to me so soon after your marriage?"
"I had no settled intention when to come, sir, but I have been forced to it sooner than I expected."
"What has forced you to it?"
"Writs. When needs must, you know, sir."
"Are you heavily in debt?"
"To the tune of three thousand, sir."
"When a question of this kind is asked the answer is generally below the mark."
"True enough, sir, but I am pretty close to it this time. Ruth's an angel, but she's a sensible woman as well. She made me put everything down."
"If I settle the claims against you "--the young man looked up with a flush in his face--"you will get into debt again."
"I'll try not to, sir."
"Honestly, Mr. Storndale."
"Honestly, Mr. Cohen. Ruth will keep me straight."
"Leave me your address. I will come and see you to-night at eight o'clock. Make out a clear and truthful list of your debts; omit nothing. Meanwhile----"
He wrote a check and handed it to the young man, who shook hands with him gratefully, and with a light heart went to gladden his young wife with the good news.
Before Mr. Moss rejoined him Aaron had repented of his promise to call and see the young couple in the evening. This vacillation was a proof of the effect recent events had upon his mind; it was really unbalanced; the prompt decision of all matters, whether great or small, which presented themselves for consideration, seemed to have deserted him. He felt that he could not depend upon himself in the promised interview with Ruth, and that he might precipitate a discovery the proper time for which he believed had not yet arrived.
That it would have to be made eventually was certain; truth and justice demanded it, and the claim should be met, but not to-day, not until other plans with respect to his future were settled. For there was growing in his mind a conviction that he was not worthy of the position he held among his co-religionists, that it was his duty to retire into obscurity and not presume to teach what should be done in important issues where he himself had so signally failed. He mentally asked, why had he not recognized this earlier? and the answer that trod upon the heels of the question brought a pitiful smile ofself-despisal to his lips.
He had been living deliberately in a fool's paradise, trusting to chance to avoid detection and exposure. He could lay blame upon no other shoulders than his own; he, and he alone, was responsible for the consequences of his acts. Well, he would not shrink from them, he would accept them humbly, and rest his hopes in the mercy of God. If when the hour arrived for open confession--and arrive it must, he knew, before many weeks were past--he could still retain the love of his wife, if she would forgive him for the deception he had practiced, he would be content; he might even be happy again, fallen as he would be from his high estate.
The first duty he had to perform was to lift Ruth and her husband from poverty, to place them in an honorable and independent position, and this task he would ask his friend Mr. Moss to undertake for him.
"All is explained," he said when that gentleman re-entered the room. "Ruth has done what cannot be undone. She and Mr. Storndale are married."
"Married!" exclaimed Mr. Moss. He was startled at the news, but no less startled at the calm voice in which it was communicated to him. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Accept it," replied Aaron, "there is no alternative."
"It is an outrage. He should be made to suffer for it."
"He must not be made to suffer for it, nor must Ruth. The young man is in difficulties, and I have resolved to clear him from them and to provide for their future. They will expect to see me to-night, but I cannot trust myself. I wish you to undertake the task for me, and to carry the whole matter through. Mr. Moss, all through my life you have been my sincere friend; you will not fail me now?"
"No, Cohen, no; I will do whatever you wish me to do, but it is hardly what I expected of you."
"You are surprised that I do not show anger at this marriage--that I do not express resentment against Mr. Storndale?"
"I am, Cohen."
"Before long," said Aaron, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, "you will understand why I am so calm. I can trust you, and when I confess that there was in my life an hour when temptation assailed me and I fell before it, I feel that my confidence will be respected until the time arrives when all the world will know what is hidden in my breast--what has been hidden for the last twenty years."
"For the last twenty years! Cohen, that takes us back to the old Gosport days."
"It does. But ask me no questions now, for I am not prepared to answer them. Great changes are coming in my life, and I must arm myself to meet them. If only Rachel will forgive!"
He covered his eyes with his hand, and turned away.
"Cohen," said Mr. Moss presently, "I see that you are unstrung, that you are suffering. You are doing yourself an injustice; I am sure of it, I am sure of it. I do not pretend to understand what it is that distresses you, but I would like to say that you may depend upon me in any difficulty. You may turn against yourself, but you are not going to turn an old friend like me against you."
Aaron pressed Mr. Moss' hand, and explained the task he wished performed. Mr. Moss was to call upon Ruth and her husband, and obtain from them an honest and faithful account of their position. This done he was to pay every shilling the young man owed; after which a settlement of a thousand pounds a year was to be made upon Ruth as a marriage portion, the money to be absolutely at her own disposal.
"It is not a great deal," said Aaron, "for the son of a peer to live upon, but his family in a little while, when they learn the truth about Ruth"--he paused, and Mr. Moss nodded gravely; a strange suspicion was beginning to haunt him,--"may be disposed to forgive him, and through their influence he may obtain a lucrative appointment. From the way in which he spoke I am disposed to think that he may turn over a new leaf, and that an honorable future may lie before him and Ruth. Give her my love, and say that circumstances render it impossible for me to see her for a few days, and that when we meet I shall have something of great importance to disclose to her. Be patient with me, Mr. Moss. My words point to a mystery which will soon be unraveled. What you are about to do for me can scarcely be finished before the end of the week, but I cannot rest until it is completed. My own affairs will entirely occupy me, and I must run down to Bournemouth to see Rachel."
"I will not waste a moment," said Mr. Moss. "How about the money necessary for the settlement and the payment of Mr. Storndale's debts?"
"It will be placed in your hands to-morrow. Do not return hereto-night. Come and breakfast with me at nine in the morning."
Aaron sat up till long past midnight, making calculations and arranging his affairs. He was quite resolved to retire from everything in the shape of public life, and altogether from business; and to effect this there was much to do. He had uncompleted contracts in hand which he would transfer to employers of whose methods he approved, and he had just obtained another which a dozen contractors would be eager to take off his hands. He thought of Mr. Poynter, and shook his head. To such a man he could not trust any of his responsibilities. Then he devoted himself to an examination of his private financial position.
After providing for Ruth he calculated that he could realize a sum of about ninety thousand pounds, in addition to which there were his house and furniture, which would realize another ten thousand.One-third of this should be given to his son Joseph and Rose,one-third should be divided among the Jewish charities, and one-third should be invested for himself and Rachel. This would produce an income amply sufficient for the maintenance of a comfortable home either in London or the country.
"Rachel will be content," he thought, "and the years that are left to us shall be passed in peace, away from the turmoil and fever of life. If she will but forgive me--if she will but forgive!"
All depended upon that.
He held offices of honor in the synagogue, which he would immediately resign. There and then he wrote his letters of resignation. He drew forth the address upon modern Judaism he had undertaken to deliver, hoping thereby to counteract the loose views of religious obligation which threatened to sap the foundations of the old faith. He read the powerful arguments he had written to this end, and sighed as he read.
"Not for me the task," he murmured. "Not for me. I am not worthy. It is for me to learn, not to teach."
He tore the manuscript and burned it. He had forfeited the right to show his brethren the path of duty.
At length he came to the end of his labors. Before he retired to rest he prayed long and fervently, and offered up supplications for forgiveness.
At nine o'clock in the morning Mr. Moss presented himself, and reported what he had done.
"Everything is in such straight order," he said, "that the whole business can be finished to-morrow."
"It will be a great weight off my mind," said Aaron, "when all the papers are signed. I have letters from Rachel and Rose." He passed the young girl's letter to Mr. Moss. "She says there is no change in Rachel, but that she thinks the air and change of scene are doing her good. If you write to Rose do not hint of any impending trouble, and do not mention Ruth's name, lest Rachel should suspect that something was wrong. I ought to tell you, Mr. Moss, that I have resolved to retire into private life; I shall be much happier, and I am sure Rachel will be. It is a sudden resolution, and I dare say my friends will be surprised, but I am fixed; nothing can make me change my mind."
"And your contracts, Cohen?" asked Mr. Moss, who was sufficiently familiar with Aaron's character to know that remonstrance at present would be thrown away.
"I shall transfer them. My earnest wish is that I shall be forgotten, and allowed to live in peace. I am growing old; let my place, which I unworthily hold, be occupied by a better man."
"That is hardly likely to come to pass," said Mr. Moss gravely. "You are not old; you are in the prime of life, with very many years of usefulness before you. But I will not argue with you; when you have recovered from your depression, when Rachel is well again, you will think better of it. We need you; no other man can fill your place. You deliver your address on Sunday, do you not?"
"No."
"But, Cohen, it is expected; it is looked forward to, and the best results are anticipated from it. You will not go from your word?"
"I must. The address is destroyed. I must bear whatever is said of me; I accept it as part of my punishment."
"Of your punishment! I do not understand you."
"You will by and by. Mr. Moss, the man who presumes to set down the laws of right and wrong should be above reproach. Can a thief preach honesty? Can a liar lift his voice in praise of truth?"
"These are strange utterances, Cohen, from your lips."
"There is a sad foundation for them. To know yourself--that is the height of human wisdom; and I have learned too late. Pray do not continue the subject; you stand in the dark, I in the light."
"Well, well," said Mr. Moss, with a sigh, "we will speak of this another time. Have you seen the papers this morning?"
"I have not opened them."
"They are full of your praises for putting an end to the strike; they say it is due alone to your character and powerful influence."
"I take no credit to myself. What I did was done with a conscientious motive."
"Good," said Mr. Moss with hearty emphasis. "That is the keynote of your life. Then what have you to reproach yourself with?"
"Let every man search his own heart," replied Aaron, and his voice was very mournful. "He will find the answer there. And now we will waste no more time in idle conversation. We must go to the lawyers and the bank. Have you a list of Mr. Storndale's debts? Ah! thank you." He looked at the total, and drew a check for the amount. "The payment of these claims will keep you busy during the day. I will give instructions to the lawyers to prepare the deed of settlement, andto-morrow it can be signed. You will be a trustee; I will call upon a gentleman who will be the other. I shall spend to-night at Bournemouth, and will come back by an early train in the morning."
"Will you not see Ruth before you leave?" asked Mr. Moss.
"No, not till everything is finished. How is she?"
"Well and happy, and overjoyed that you are not angry with her. Between ourselves, Cohen, it is not what she expected."
"She has all the more reason for contentment. I wish her to be happy."
They had a busy time with lawyers, bank managers, and creditors, and Aaron just managed to catch the two-twenty train for Bournemouth. He passed a quiet evening with Rachel and Rose, and answered the questions put by his wife concerning Ruth in a manner to satisfy her. With Rose he had a private conversation upon the subject, and cautioned her to preserve silence as to the letter she had received. On the following morning he took an early train for London, and arriving before noon, found everything prepared for a final settlement of his plans for Ruth's worldly future. When the deeds were signed, and the consols bought and deposited in the Bank of England, Aaron breathed more freely. He had made some small atonement to Ruth for the deception of which he had been guilty.
"We have had no honeymoon trip," said the Honorable Percy Storndale to him, "and I am thinking of taking Ruth to the Continent to-morrow, but she will be unhappy if she does not see you before we go."
"I will come with you now," said Aaron.
They met and parted without any warm demonstration of affection. Such a demonstration from Ruth toward one whom she believed to be her father, but for whom she had never entertained a strong love, would have been a new feature in her character, and grateful as she was for his generosity, she was held back by the feeling that she had given him a poor return for his lifelong kindness toward her and by her fear that he was quietly angry with her; while Aaron was held back by the consciousness of his wrongdoing. And so the young couple went forth to commence their new life, and the secret of Ruth's birth was still unrevealed. Aaron had not yet mustered courage to make confession, but he knew that the hour was fast approaching when he would stand in the full light of the sin he had committed through love.
Two weeks had passed away. Joseph had come and gone. In the company of Rose and his parents he had spent three sad and happy days in Bournemouth--happy because he was in the society of those he loved, sad because he was so soon to part from them. Rachel's health was not improved, the physician said, and those to whom she was so dear were continually warned that she was not to be agitated by news of a distressing nature. The shrewd doctor impressed this upon them the more strongly for the reason that he perceived that a cloud was hanging over their spirits which they were concealing from the sightless lady.
"You cannot be too careful," he said. "A sudden shock might produce serious effects."
They were, therefore, compelled to preserve secrecy, and to invent excuses for Ruth's absence from the family circle. Joseph and Rose had both been informed of Ruth's marriage, and were thus partners with Aaron in the affectionate conspiracy. Aaron had gone no farther with them than this. The vital secret was still in his sole possession.
The carrying out of his intention to retire into private life, and to entirely give up the important business transactions in which he had been engaged for many years, necessitated his being in London the greater part of these two weeks; he would have liked to keep his proceedings from public knowledge, but in this he was not successful. One cause of the publicity which was given to his actions lay in the disposal of a portion of his fortune in charity; his benefactions were heralded far and wide, and he was made the subject of numberless laudatory articles in the newspapers. Another cause was his transference of large contracts, and especially of the last one for which he had successfully competed, to other firms. In the transference of these contracts he had laid down stipulations with respect to wages and hours of labor which, while they did not meet with the full approval of employers, earned for him renewed commendation from the working classes. Mr. Poynter had tried to obtain some of these contracts, but Aaron found him so shifty in his methods that he declined to have anything to do with him. For which defeat Mr. Poynter vowed revenge, and looked about for the means of compassing it.
At the end of the fortnight Aaron was in London, his labors ended, and at this time his fortune amounted to something over thirty thousand pounds, a larger sum than he anticipated would be left to him.
It must be mentioned that Ruth and her husband had just returned to London, as he was informed by letter, in consequence of Ruth's indisposition. It was she who wrote to him, and she was so earnest in the expression of her wish that he would come and see her that he had sent her a telegram saying that he would call at eight or nine o'clock, by which time he expected to be free.
At six o'clock on this evening he and Mr. Moss were together in Aaron's house, by appointment. Aaron had resolved to reveal his secret to his faithful friend, and he had set apart this evening as a fitting time for the disclosure. On the following day Rachel and Rose were to return to London, as Rachel did not wish to remain any longer in Bournemouth, and Mr. Moss was to return to Portsmouth.
Mr. Moss' face was flushed with excitement as he entered the room with an evening paper in his hand.
"Have you heard the rumor, Cohen?" he asked excitedly.
"What rumor?" inquired Aaron, rising to meet his friend.
"About your bank, the Equitable Alliance?"
"No, I have heard nothing. I have not been out of the house since the morning."
"It came on me like a thunderclap, but it cannot be true."
"What cannot be true, Mr. Moss?" Aaron spoke quite calmly.
"Well, there's nothing definite, but you know there has been something like a panic in the City."
"I know, but it cannot affect me. I have no investments now, with the solitary exception of my bank shares. All my affairs are settled, and the money in the bank until I decide how to invest it."
Mr. Moss groaned. "I wish you had it safely invested in consols. Is all your money there?"
"Every shilling. The only investments I have not realized are the shares I hold in the bank."
"That makes it all the worse. The shareholders are liable to the depositors."
"Yes."
The flush had died out of Mr. Moss' face, which was now white with apprehension. "They're calling it out in the streets--but here's the paper."
He pointed to a paragraph, which stated that one of the largest banks in the City had closed its doors half an hour before its time, and that the panic had in consequence reached an alarming height.
"There is no name mentioned, Mr. Moss."
"No, Cohen, no; but I passed through the City on my way here, and the name of the bank was on everyone's lips. If the bank stops paymentto-morrow how will you stand?"
"If it stops payment for sufficient cause," said Aaron in a steady voice, "I shall be a ruined man!"
"Good Heavens! and you can speak of it so calmly!"
"Why not? To work myself into a frenzy will not help me. There are worse misfortunes."
"I cannot imagine them, Cohen. Ruined? Absolutely ruined?"
"Absolutely ruined," said Aaron, with a smile.
"And it was only yesterday that you were----"
He could not continue, and Aaron took up his words.
"It is only yesterday that I was on top of the tree. A dangerous height, Mr. Moss, but I must bear the fall. If, when they climb the ladder of fortune, men would but be careful to make the lower rungs secure! But prosperity makes them reckless. Do not look so mournful. Happiness is as easily found in poverty as in riches."
"It may be, after all, a false alarm," groaned Mr. Moss.
"Let us hope so. We will wait till to-morrow."
"Will you not go into the City now to ascertain whether it is true or false?"
"No; it will only trouble me, and it will not affect the result. I will wait till to-morrow."
So marked was the contrast between his cheerful and Mr. Moss' despondent mood that it really seemed as if it were his friend's fortune that was imperiled instead of his own. He was standing by the door, and hearing a knock, he opened it.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said a servant, "but this gentleman is below, and wants to see Mr. Moss."
Aaron took the card without looking at it, and handed it to Mr. Moss, who exclaimed:
"Dr. Spenlove!"
"Show him up," said Aaron to the servant.
"Had I not better see him alone?" asked Mr. Moss.
"If you have no objection," replied Aaron, "receive him here in my presence."
They both seemed to scent a coming danger, but Aaron appeared to hail it gladly, while Mr. Moss would rather have avoided it.
"A thousand apologies," said Dr. Spenlove to Aaron upon his entrance, "for intruding upon you, but hearing that Mr. Moss was here I took the liberty of following him. My errand is an urgent one."
"I am happy to see you, Dr. Spenlove," Aaron responded; "if your business with Mr. Moss is not quite private you can speak freely before me."
"I think," said Dr. Spenlove, half hesitating, "that it is quite private."
"I have a distinct reason," continued Aaron as though Dr. Spenlove had not spoken, "for making the suggestion, but men sometimes receive an inspiration for which there is no visible warranty. If it is of an incident in the past you wish to speak, when you and Mr. Moss were acquainted in Portsmouth----"
"How singular that you should have guessed it!" exclaimed Dr. Spenlove. "It is such an incident that brings me here."
"The time was winter," pursued Aaron, "the season an inclement one. I remember it well. For some days the snow had been falling----"
"Yes, yes. It was a terrible season for the poor."
"For one especially, a lady driven into misfortune and who had no friend but a stern and honorable gentleman who would only lift her from the depths into which she had fallen on the condition that she submitted to a cruel sacrifice. His demand was that she should give her infant into the care of strangers, and that only in the event of his death should she be free to seek to know its fate. Is that the incident, Dr. Spenlove?"
"It is. I see you know all, and with Mr. Moss' consent I will speak openly."
Mr. Moss looked at Aaron, who nodded, and Dr. Spenlove continued.
"There is no need to recall all the particulars of that bitter night when you so kindly assisted me in the search for the unfortunate?"
"None at all," said Mr. Moss; "they are very vivid in my memory."
"And in mine. Your kindness has not been forgotten either by me or by the lady whose life, and whose child's life, were saved by you. He shakes his head in deprecation, Mr. Cohen, but what I say is true. Had he not, out of the kindness of his heart, accompanied me these two hapless human beings would have perished in the snow. I had a motive to serve; he had none. On the night we parted in Portsmouth, Mr. Moss, you were on the point of seeking a home for the poor babe, forwhom"--he turned to Aaron--"a liberal provision was made."
"I am acquainted with every detail of the strange story," said Aaron. "I was residing in Gosport at the time."
Dr. Spenlove gave him a startled look.
"It was in Gosport he hoped to find this home, with a friend of whom he spoke in the warmest terms. The commission intrusted to me by Mr. Gordon--I perceive you are familiar with the name--ended on that night, and what remained to be done was in the hands of Mr. Moss and Mr. Gordon's lawyers. The following morning I came to London, where I have resided ever since. From that day until two or three weeks ago Mr. Moss and I have not met. It was here in your house, Mr. Cohen, that, seeing him for the first time after so long an interval, I made inquiries concerning the infant intrusted to him. He informed me that she died very shortly, as I understand, after she entered her new home. I was not surprised to hear it; the exposure on that bitter night was sufficiently severe to kill a child much older. In order that my visit to Mr. Moss to-night may be properly understood I will briefly relate in a few words the subsequent history of the mother. She married Mr. Gordon and accompanied him to Australia, where she has resided for twenty years. She has had no children by him, and is now a widow, and very wealthy. Unknown to Mr. Gordon she, in her last interview with me, intrusted to me a small iron box--it was one I gave her, and I can identify it--in which she deposited some article of the nature of which I am ignorant. She entreated me to take steps that this box should be delivered to the people who received her child into their home, and to obtain from them a promise that if the child lived till she was twenty-one years of age it was to be handed over to her, or in the event of her child dying, or of herself claiming the box at any future time, to be handed over to her. I informed Mr. Moss of the mother's desire, and he promised that it should be attended to. I have looked through some old papers, and I find that, had the child lived, she would be twenty-one in the course of a couple of months. But the child is dead, and the mother has appealed to me to assist her to obtain the box which she delivered into my charge."
"The mother has appealed to you!" exclaimed Aaron. "In person?"
"In person," replied Dr. Spenlove. "She has returned to England, and is at this moment awaiting me in my carriage below. It is not the only appeal she has made to me. She is overwhelmed at the news of her child's death, and I have the sincerest pity for her. She desires to know where her child is buried. Mr. Gordon's lawyers, it appears, were so bound to secrecy by their client that they do not feel warranted in giving her any information or assistance. She has communicated with another firm of lawyers in London, who are unable to assist her. As a last resource she has come to me to entreat my aid, which, in the circumstances, I cannot refuse to give her. My errand is now fully explained. Mr. Moss, will you see the poor lady, and give her the information she has a right to demand?"
"I will reply for my friend," said Aaron. "Dr. Spenlove, I was the person to whose care the child was intrusted. The box is in this house, and it is for me to satisfy her. Will you step down and ask her to come up, or shall I send a servant to her?"
"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.