The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph was a young man were eventful years for Aaron Cohen and his family. He returned to England the possessor of a moderate fortune, but he had no idea of retiring from the active duties of life. To such a man idleness would have been little less than a living death, and taking up his residence in London, he embarked very soon in enterprises of magnitude. The knowledge he had gained during his partnership in France was of immense value to him, and in conjunction with other men of technical resource he contracted for public works in various parts of the country. His fortune grew, and he gradually became wealthy. He moved from one house to another, and each move was a step up the ladder. A house in Prince's Gate came into the market, and Aaron purchased it, and furnished it with taste and elegance. There he entertained liberally, but not lavishly, for his judgment led him always to the happy mean, and the house became the resort of men and women of intellect and culture. Mr. Moss, who was wedded to Portsmouth, and continued to flourish there, paid periodical visits to London, and was always welcome in the home. He was as musically inclined as ever, and opportunities were afforded him of hearing the finest singers and players at Prince's Gate. On two or three occasions Aaron readily consented to give an introduction through a concert held in his house to a young aspirant in whom Mr. Moss took an interest, and to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were always open. The only conversation between Mr. Moss and Aaron in relation to their intimacy in Gosport occurred some three years after the latter had taken up his residence in London. Aaron had just completed a successful contract, and business had called Mr. Moss to the metropolis.
"I heard to-day," said Mr. Moss, "that you had cleared six or seven thousand pounds by the contract."
"The balance on the right side," replied Aaron, "is a little over seven thousand."
"I congratulate you. The gentleman I spoke with said that if he had had the contract he would have made a profit of three times as much."
"It is likely."
"Then why didn't you do it, Cohen?"
Aaron smiled and shook his head.
"Let us speak of another subject."
"But I want to get at the bottom of this. I should like you to know what the gentleman said about it. His view is that you are ruining the labor market."
"In what way?"
"By high wages and short hours."
"That is a new view."
"You do pay high wages, Cohen, according to what everybody says."
"Oh! it's everybody now as well as your gentleman friend. I pay good wages, and I don't consider them high."
"And the hours are not as long as they might be."
"They are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are satisfied I give offense to no man."
"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offense to the capitalist."
"I regret to hear it."
"The idea is that you are ruining the capitalist."
"Oh! I am ruining the capitalist now. But if that is the case he is no longer a capitalist."
"You know what I mean. I don't pretend to understand these things as you do, because I have not studied political economy."
"I have, and believe me it is a horse that has been ridden too hard. Mischief will come of it. Apply your common sense. In what way would your friend have made twenty-one thousand pounds out of the contract instead of seven thousand?"
"By getting his labor cheaper and by making his own men work longer hours."
"Exactly. And the difference of fourteen thousand pounds would have gone into his pocket instead of the pockets of his workmen?"
"Yes, of course."
"Ask yourself if that is fair. The wages I pay my men are sufficient to enable them to maintain a home decently, to bring up their families decently, and perhaps, if they are wise and thrifty--only, mind you, if they are wise and thrifty--to make a small provision for old age, when they are no longer able to work. Their hours are long enough to give them just a little leisure, which they can employ partly in reasonable amusement and partly in intellectual improvement. I have gone thoroughly into these matters, and know what I am talkingabout. Men who do their work honestly--and I employ and will keep no others--have a right to fair wages and a little leisure, and I decline to grind my men down after the fashion of the extreme political economist. The contract I have just completed was tendered for in an open market. My tender was the lowest and was accepted. I make a considerable sum of money out of it, and each of my men contributes a mickle toward it. They believe I have treated them fairly, and I am certain they have treated me fairly. Upon those lines I intend to make my way. Your sweater is a political economist. I am not a sweater. It is the course I pursued in France, and by it I laid the foundation of what may prove to be a great fortune. I am tendering now for other contracts, and I shall obtain my share, and shall pursue precisely the same course. Mr. Moss, you and I are Jews. At a great disadvantage because of the nature of your business, which I myself once intended to follow, you have made yourself respected in the town in which you reside. I, on my part, wish to make myself respected here. Surely there is no race in the world to which it is greater honor, and should be a greater pride, to belong than the Jewish race; and by my conduct through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that honor or lower that pride. It may or may not be for that reason that I decline to follow the political economist to the depths into which he has fallen."
Mr. Moss' eyes gleamed; Aaron had touched a sympathetic chord; the men shook hands and smiled cordially at each other.
"When you were in Gosport," said Mr. Moss, "I ought to have asked you to go into partnership with me."
"If you had made me the offer," responded Aaron, "I'm afraid I should have accepted it."
"Lucky for you that I missed my opportunity. It is a fortunate thing that you went to France when you did."
"Very fortunate. It opened up a new career for me; it restored my dear wife to health; my son was born there."
"About the poor child I brought to you in Gosport, Cohen; we have never spoken of it."
"That is true."
"Did the lawyers ever write to you again?"
"Never."
"And I have heard nothing. The iron box I gave you--you have it still, I suppose?"
"I have it still."
"I have often wondered what it contains, and whether the mother will ever call for it."
"If she does it shall be handed to her in the same condition as you handed it to me. But she does not know in whose possession it is?"
"No, she does not know, and she can only obtain the information from Mr. Gordon's lawyers. My lips are sealed."
Aaron considered a moment. This opening up of the dreaded subject made him feel as if a sword were hanging over his head, but his sense of justice impelled him to say, "It may happen that the mother will wish to have the box restored to her, and that the lawyers may refuse to give her the information that it is in my possession. She may seek elsewhere for a clew, and may be directed to you."
"I shall not enlighten her," said Mr. Moss.
"My desire is that you do enlighten her. It is her property, and I have no right to retain it."
"Very well, Cohen, if you wish it; but nothing is more unlikely than your ever being troubled with her, or ever seeing her. She has forgotten all about it long ago."
"You are mistaken. A mother never forgets."
"And now, Cohen, I have a message for you from Mrs. Moss. She is burning to see you and cannot come to London. We are about to have an addition to our family; that will be the sixteenth. Upon my word, I don't know when we are going to stop. Is it too much to ask you to pay us a visit?"
"Not at all; it will give me great pleasure. When?"
"It will give Mrs. Moss greater pleasure, Cohen," said Mr. Moss, rubbing his hands joyously. "I am going back the day after to-morrow. Will that time suit you?"
"Yes, I will accompany you."
The visit was paid, and lasted three days. Before he returned to London Aaron went to Gosport. Nothing was changed in the ancient town. The house he had occupied had been rebuilt; the streets were the same, the names over the shops were unaltered. He saw Mr. Whimpole in his shop attending to a customer, and saw other men and women whom he recognized, but to whom he did not speak. He made his way to the churchyard where his child was buried, and he stood and prayed over the grave.
"Forgive me, O Lord of Hosts," he said audibly, "that I should have laid my child to rest in a Christian churchyard. It was to save my beloved. Forgive me! Have mercy upon me!"
In the autumn of the year 1891 a number of influential persons wended their way to Aaron Cohen's house to take part in a function of a peculiarly interesting nature. They comprised representatives of literature and the arts, of politics, science, and commerce, and among them were delegates of the press who were deputed to report the proceedings for their several journals.
That the pen is mightier than the sword was, at an earlier period in the world's history, open to dispute, but the contention exists no longer, and although the day is far distant when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, the press is now the pre-eminent dictator of peace and war, and can effectually hasten or retard the conflict of nations. It is an open question whether its invasion of the arena of private life is a beneficial feature in the power it wields, but it is useless to resist its march in this direction, and earnest as may be a man's desire to hide his light under a bushel, he does not live to see it gratified.
When a movement was set afoot to make some sort of semi-private,semi-public recognition of the remarkable position attained by the hero of this story he did not receive it with any kind of pleasure, and he made an effort to avoid it. That his effort was not successful was not so much due to the perseverance of the leaders of the movement as to a few simple words uttered by his wife.
"It will give me pleasure," she said.
He did not argue with her; he yielded immediately, and allowed himself to be carried with the stream. Never in the course of their happy married life had he failed to comply with her lightest wish; never had there been the least conflict between them; to each of them the word of the other was law, and it was love's cheerful duty to obey.
Remarkable, indeed, was the position he had won. From the day of his return to England there had been no break in his prosperity; every enterprise he undertook flourished, and the old saying was applied to him, "Everything he touches turns to gold." His reputation, however, was not based on the fact that he was a lucky but that he was a just and charitable man. No appeal for any good purpose was made to him in vain; his purse was ever open, and he was ever ready to respond. Among his co-religionists he was a power, and his advice was asked and taken by high and low alike. His character was so well-known that the poorest Jew, in an hour of difficulty, did not hesitate to go to him for counsel, and only those held back whose conduct would not stand the searching light he threw upon all worldly matters. He did not confine his labors and charities to the Jewish community; his name was to be found among the administrators of all their benevolent funds, and it was also to be found on the lists of numberless Christian charities.
In so generous a spirit did he meet the appeals that were made to him, and so devoid of narrowness were his benefactions, that he grew into the esteem of all classes of society as a large-hearted, honorable, and benevolent gentleman. Of course he was sometimes beguiled into bestowing money upon unworthy objects or persons, but when this came to his knowledge it did not affect him. "It is but human nature," he would say. "Where lives the man who does not make mistakes?"
In the wide scope of his charities he had curious experiences, and one of these got to be known and quoted.
A gentleman visited him and asked for a contribution to anold-established society known all the world over. Aaron inquired the name and objects of the society.
"You have doubtless heard of it," replied the gentleman. "It is for the promotion of Christianity among the Jews."
Aaron smiled as he said, "But, my dear sir, I am myself a Jew."
"I am aware of it," said the gentleman, "and the reason I make the appeal is that you have been quoted to me as a man who has no narrow prejudices, and who in no sense of the word could be called dogmatic or prejudiced."
"It is, then, a compliment you are paying me by asking me to contribute to a fund which is antagonistic to my race."
"In your view antagonistic," observed the gentleman.
"I see. Meaning that my view is not necessarily the right view."
The gentleman nodded courteously. He was not a collector for the society, nor a paid officer, but a gentleman of means who, in a smaller way than Aaron, was also noted for his benevolence.
"I cannot but consider the matter seriously," said Aaron thoughtfully, "for there can be no doubt of your sincerity. Still it occurs to me that if we were both equally sincere in our advocacy of objects of a similar nature it would be as well that we should pause and ask ourselves this question: Instead of endeavoring to convert Jews or Christians to a faith in which they were not born, would it not be better to employ ourselves in making those who call themselves Christians true Christians, and those who call themselves Jews true Jews?"
"There is force in your argument," said the gentleman, "but it is no answer to my appeal for a contribution to the objects of my society."
"Can you furnish me with particulars," Aaron then said, "of the working of the society?"
"I have brought the papers with me, anticipating your request."
Aaron looked over the printed books and papers handed to him, and made certain calculations upon paper.
"I perceive," he said, "that you take credit to yourselves for making a certain number of conversions during the past five years, and that you have spent a great deal of money in these conversions. The number of conversions is very small, the amount of money expended very large. I have worked out the sum, and I see that each conversion has cost you nearly eleven thousand pounds. You find these wavering Jews very expensive?"
"Very expensive," assented the gentleman, with a half-humorous sigh.
"Well, my dear sir," said Aaron, "I will make a proposition to you. You are zealous in the furtherance of an object which you believe to be worthy, and I am zealous in the furtherance of an object which I believe to be worthy. I will write a check in contribution to your object on the understanding that you write a check for half the amount in contribution to mine. Do not be afraid; it is not for the promotion of Judaism among the Christians."
The gentleman, who was fairly liberal-minded, laughed good-humoredly at the proposition as he said:
"I consent, but you are richer than I, and I must stipulate that your check is not for a large amount."
"It shall not be large," said Aaron, and he filled in a check for twenty pounds.
The gentleman, somewhat relieved, wrote his check for ten pounds, and they exchanged documents.
"My contribution," observed Aaron, "represents the five hundred and fiftieth part of one transitory and probably worldly and insincere conversion, your contribution represents the fiftieth part of a perpetual endowment of one sick bed in a hospital. You will pardon me for saying that I think I have the best of the transaction."
A word as to Aaron Cohen's material position. The world gave him credit for being exceedingly wealthy, but he was not really so. He had money, and to spare, and his private establishment was conducted on a liberal scale. Roughly speaking, had he retired in 1891 he might have done so on an income of some five thousand pounds, whereas popular rumor would have credited him with ten times as much. The reason for this was that a considerable portion of the profits of his enterprise was regularly given anonymously to every public movement for the good of the people and for the relief of the suffering. Great curiosity had been evinced for a long time past as to who was the anonymous donor of large sums of money in response to these appeals. A colliery disaster, a flood, an earthquake in a distant country, a case of public destitution--to one and all of these came a large contribution from a person who adopted the most careful means to preserve his anonymity, and who signed himself "Mercy."
These charitable donations were Aaron's constant appeal to the Divine Throne for mercy and forgiveness for the one sin of his life, and thus did he effectually guard against becoming a millionaire.
The esteem in which he was held was to be demonstrated by two presentations, one a portrait of himself, by a renowned English painter, the other a picture also, the subject being withheld from his knowledge. This second painting was no other than the picture of Rachel sitting beneath the cherry tree, which had created excitement in the Paris Salon more than a dozen years ago. It had been purchased by a collector, who had lately died. After his death his collection was brought to the hammer, and this particular picture purchased by a London dealer, who exhibited it in his shop.
It was originally intended that a presentation of silver should be made with Aaron's portrait, but a friend of his happened to see the picture in London, and was struck by the marvelous resemblance of the principal figure to Rachel. He made some inquiries privately of Aaron respecting his sojourn in the south of France, and learned that there was a certain cherry tree in his garden there beneath which Rachel was in the habit of sitting in fine weather, that he had a friend, the curé of the village, and that one summer a French painter visited the village and made a great many sketches of Rachel and the cherry tree.
Aaron's friend obtained from the London dealer some information of the history of the picture, and of the year it was exhibited, and putting this and that together he came to the correct conclusion that Rachel had unconsciously sat for the painter. It was an interesting discovery, and the idea of a silver presentation was put aside, and the picture substituted in its place.
Mr. Moss, of course, came from Portsmouth to attend the function.
It is sad to relate that of late years the same good fortune had not attended him as had attended his friend Aaron. It was his own fault; he had embarked in speculations outside the scope of his legitimate business, and when these speculations came to grief he found himself by no means so well off as he was at the commencement of this history. It made no difference in Aaron's friendship for him; it may be said, indeed, to have strengthened it. In a period of difficulty Aaron came forward voluntarily, and afforded practical assistance to his old friend. Another strengthening tie was also to be added to this friendship. On a visit to Portsmouth Aaron's son Joseph fell in love with one of Mr. Moss' daughters, Rose, a sweet girl, of whom Rachel was very fond. Joseph was too young yet to marry, but with the consent of his parents an engagement was entered into between the young people, and there was joy in Mr. Moss' estimable family.
"There never was such a man as Aaron Cohen," said Mr. Moss to his wife and children. "He is a credit and an honor to the Jewish race."
In which opinion there was not a Jew in England who did not agree with him.
It was a consequence of this family arrangement that Rose was often invited to spend a few weeks with the Cohens in London, and she was in their house on the day of the presentations. Her lover was absent, and had been out of England for some months. He held a position of responsibility with a large contractor, and had been sent to Austria upon business of an important nature. He was expected home at the end of the week, but was only to remain in England two days, his passage to Australia being already taken, to look after a railway contract which had been secured by his employer, Mr. Monmouth. He was expected to be away eight or nine months, and upon his return home the marriage was to take place. Neither was their other child, Ruth, a witness of the presentations. She had invited herself to Portsmouth, to spend a week or two with Mrs. Moss. Rachel missed her, Aaron did not. Although he could not fix the exact day of her birth, he knew that she would soon be twenty-one years of age, when the duty would devolve upon him of delivering to her the iron box of which he had been made the custodian, and he was in an agony as to how he should act. Every day that passed deepened his trouble, and it was perhaps to this that his growing impression may be ascribed that shadows were gathering over his house which might wreck the happiness of his beloved wife.
Again and again had he debated the matter with himself without being able to arrive at any comforting conclusion. Rachel doted on her children. She could not see what Aaron could see--that there was something weighing also upon Ruth's mind which she was concealing from them, and that the confidence was wanting which should exist between a child and her parents. However, on this day he could not give himself up to these disturbing reflections; he had consented to accept an honor of which he deemed himself unworthy, and it was incumbent upon him that he should not betray himself.
There was still a little time left to him to decide upon his course of action. He was beginning to tamper with himself. The man of upright mind was at this period laying himself open to dangerous casuistical temptations. Even from such pure, unselfish love as he entertained for the wife who was deserving of love in its sweetest and purest aspects may spring an upas tree to poison the atmosphere we breathe.
Among the company was an old friend of ours, Dr. Spenlove, who had attained an eminent position in London. The hundred pounds which Mr. Gordon had left for his acceptance had proved the turning point in his career, and he was at the top of the tree in his profession. A man as kind-hearted as he was of necessity mixed up with many benevolent and public movements. Aaron, whom till this day he had never met, had subscribed to some of the charities in which he was interested, and he gladly availed himself of the opportunity of becoming acquainted with him. When the company were assembled in the reception room of Aaron's house Dr. Spenlove happened to be standing next to Mr. Moss, whom he had not seen since he left Portsmouth. Except for the mark ofyears, which did not tell heavily upon him, Mr. Moss was the same jovial-featured, bright-eyed man as ever; Dr. Spenlove had altered; the fashion of his hair was different, the thoughtful lines in his face had deepened, he had grown stouter. So that when the two looked at each other the first sign of recognition came from Dr. Spenlove.
"If I am not mistaken," he said, "we have met before."
Mr. Moss, looking at him, was puzzled for a moment. "In Portsmouth," added Dr. Spenlove, jogging his memory.
"Dr. Spenlove?"
"The same."
They shook hands. "It is strange," said Mr. Moss, "that after the lapse of years we should meet in this house."
"Why is our meeting in this house strange?" inquired Dr. Spenlove.
The question recalled Mr. Moss to himself. The one incident which formed a link between them was that connected with a poor woman and her babe whom they rescued from impending death on a snowy night twenty years ago. But he had not made Dr. Spenlove acquainted with the name of the man to whom he had intrusted the child, and upon this point his lips were sealed.
"I mean," he said, "that the circumstances of our meeting here and in Portsmouth are different."
"Widely different," observed Dr. Spenlove. "I have never forgotten that sad night, have never forgotten your kindness."
"Not worth mentioning."
"But worth bearing in remembrance, as all acts of kindness are. I have heard nothing more of the matter from that time to this. What became of the child, Mr. Moss?"
"She died very shortly afterward. A happy release."
"Death is a happy release to many. It, was hardly to be expected that the child would live long after the exposure on such a night. She was almost buried in the snow. And the mother, Mr. Moss?"
"I have heard nothing of her whatever."
"Nor have I."
The conversation ceased here. The proceedings had commenced, and a gentleman was speaking. He was a man of discretion, which all orators are not. He touched lightly and pertinently upon the reputation which Mr. Aaron Cohen had earned by his unremitting acts of benevolence and by the worthiness of his career. Such a man deserved the good fortune which had attended him, and such a man's career could not fail to be an incentive to worthy endeavor. Rachel, seated by her husband, and turning her sightless eyes upon the audience, who were only spiritually visible to her, listened to the speaker in gratitude and delight. It was not that she had waited for this moment to learn that she was wedded to an upright and noble man, but it was an unspeakable happiness to her to hear from the lips of others that he was appreciated as he deserved, that he was understood as she understood him.
It was natural, said the speaker, that the gentleman in whose honor they had that day assembled should be held in the highest esteem by his co-religionists, but it was a glory that in a Christian country a Jew should have won from all classes of a mixed community a name which would be enrolled upon those pages of our social history which most fitly represent the march of true civilization and humanity. They were not there to glorify money; they were not there to glorify worldly prosperity; they were there to pay tribute to one whose example Christians might follow, a man without stain, without reproach. The influence of such a man in removing--no, not in removing, but obliterating, the prejudices of caste was lasting and all-powerful. He regarded it as a privilege that he had been deputed to express the general sentiment with respect to Mr. Aaron Cohen. This sentiment, he begged to add, was not confined to Mr. Cohen, but included his wife, whose charities and benevolence were perhaps even more widely known and recognized than those of the partner of her joys and sorrows.
In the presence of this estimable couple it was difficult to speak as freely as he would wish, but he was sure they would understand that in wishing them long life and happiness he was wishing them much more than he dared to express in their hearing, and that there was but one feeling entertained toward them, a feeling not of mere respect and esteem, but of affection and love. In the name of the subscribers he offered for their acceptance two paintings, one a portrait of Mr. Cohen by an artist of renown, for which he had been good enough to sit; the other a painting which probably they would look upon now for the first time. The latter picture was an accidental discovery, but Mr. Cohen would tell them whether they were right in seizing the opportunity to obtain it, and whether they were right in their belief that his esteemed wife had unconsciously inspired the artist, who had availed himself of a happy chance to immortalize himself.
The pictures were then unveiled amid general acclamation, and if ever Rachel wished for the blessing of sight to be restored to her it was at that moment; but it was only for a moment. The dependence she placed upon her husband, the trust she had in him, the pleasure she derived from his eloquent and sympathetic descriptions of what was hidden from her, were of such a nature that she sometimes said inly, "I am thankful I can see only through the eyes of my dear husband."
The portrait of himself, from his frequent sittings, was familiar to Aaron Cohen, but the picture of his beloved sitting beneath the cherry tree was a delightful surprise to him. It was an exquisitely painted scene, and Rachel's portrait was as faithful as if she had given months of her time toward its successful accomplishment.
Aaron's response was happy up to a certain point. Except to pay a deserved compliment to the artist and to express his gratitude to the subscribers he said little about the portrait of himself. The presentation of the second picture supplied the theme for the principal part of his speech. He said there was no doubt that it was a portrait of his dear wife, and he recalled the time they had passed in the south of France, and described all the circumstances of the happy chance that had led to the painting of the picture. He was grateful for that chance because of the pleasure it would afford his beloved wife, who until to-day had been as ignorant as himself that such a painting was in existence.
"I went to the south of France," he said, "in the hope that my wife, who was in a delicate state of health, would be benefited by a short stay there. My hope was more than realized; she grew strong there; my son, whose absence from England deprives him of the pleasure of being present on this interesting occasion, was born there, and there the foundation of my prosperity was laid. It might be inferred from this that I believe all the events of a man's life are ruled by chance, but such is not my belief. There is an all-seeing Providence who shows us the right path. He speaks through our reason and our consciences, and except for the accident of birth, which lays a heavy burden upon many unfortunate beings, and which should render them not fully responsible for the evil they do, we ourselves are responsible for the consequences of our actions. We must accept the responsibility and the consequences."
He paused a few moments before he continued.
"When men of fair intelligence err they err consciously; it is useless for them to say that they erred in ignorance of the consequences. They must know if they write with black ink that their writing must be black."
He paused again.
"But it may be that a man commits a conscious error through his affections, and if that error inflicts injury upon no living being--if it even confer a benefit upon one or more--there may be some palliation of his error. In stating that you set for me a standard too high I am stating my firm belief. No man is stainless, no man is without reproach; the doctrine of infallibility applied to human affairs is monstrous and wicked; it is an arrogation of divine power. I am, as all men are, open to error; in my life, as in the lives of all men, there have been mistakes, but I may still take the credit to myself that if I have committed a conscious error it has harmed no living soul, and that it has sprung from those affections which sweeten and bless our lives. A reference has been made to my being a Jew. I glory that I am one. The traditions and history of the race to which I am proud to belong have been of invaluable service to me, and to the circumstance of my being a Jew I owe the incidents of this day, which will ever be a proud memory to me and to my family. In the name of my dear wife and my own I thank you cordially, sincerely, and gratefully for the honor you have paid to us--an honor not beyond my wife's merits, but far beyond my own."
Other speeches followed, and when the proceedings were at an end Dr. Spenlove asked Mr. Moss to introduce him to Mr. Cohen.
"Cohen," said Mr. Moss, "Dr. Spenlove wishes to know you."
Aaron started.
He never forgot a name or a face, and he recollected the mention of Dr. Spenlove's name when Mr. Moss came to him in Gosport with the child.
"Without exactly knowing it, perhaps," said Dr. Spenlove, "you have been most kind in movements in which I have taken an interest. I am glad of the opportunity of making your acquaintance."
Nothing more; no reference to the private matter.
Aaron breathed more freely.
He responded to Dr. Spenlove's advances, and the gentlemen parted friends.
Rose Moss was in the room during the proceedings, and her fair young face beamed with pride; it was her lover's father who was thus honored, and she felt that she had, through Aaron Cohen's son, a share in that honor.
When the gratifying but fatiguing labors of the day were at an end, and Aaron, Rachel, and Rose were alone, Rachel said:
"I am sorry, dear Rose, that Joseph was not here to hear what was said about his father."
"It would not have made him love and honor him more," said Rose.
Rachel pressed her hand and kissed her; she had grown to love this sweet and simple girl, who seemed to have but one thought in life, her lover. Then the sightless woman asked them to describe the picture to her, and she listened in an ecstasy of happiness to their words.
"Is it not wonderful?" she said to Aaron. "A famous picture, they said, and I the principal figure. What can the painter have seen in me?"
"What all men see, my life," replied Aaron, "but what no one knows as I know."
"It has been a happy day," sighed Rachel; she sat between them, each holding a hand. "You did not hear from our dear Ruth this morning?"
"No, dear mother." For thus was Rose already permitted to address Rachel.
"She will be home in two days, and our dear lad as well. I wish he were back from Australia, even before he has started, and so do you, my dear. But time soon passes. Just now it seems but yesterday that we were in France."
The day waned. Rachel and Rose were together; Aaron was in his study, writing letters. A servant entered.
"A gentleman to see you, sir."
Aaron looked at the card, which bore the name of Mr. Richard Dillworthy.
"I am busy," said Aaron. "Does he wish to see me particularly? Ask him if he can call again."
"He said his business was pressing, sir."
"Show him in."
The servant ushered the visitor into the room--a slightly built, middle-aged man, with iron-gray hair and whiskers. Aaron motioned him to a chair, and he placed a card on the table bearing the name and address of a firm of lawyers.
"I am Mr. Dillworthy, of Dillworthy, Maryx & Co.," he said.
"Yes."
"I have come to speak to you upon a family matter----"
"A family matter!" exclaimed Aaron, interrupting him.
"On behalf of a client. I shall take it as a favor if you will regard this interview as private."
"Certainly."
"It refers principally to your daughter, Miss Ruth Cohen."
For the second time on this eventful day Aaron felt as if his sin were about to be brought home to him, as if the temple which, by long years of honorable and upright conduct, he had built for himself were about to crumble to dust.
In that temple was enshrined not only his good name, but what was of far greater value to him, his wife's happiness and peace of mind. It was too late now to go to her frankly and say: "Ruth is not our child." Out of Rachel's innate goodness and sweetness sprang the deep love she bore for the young girl; the suggestion of love may come from without, but the spirit of love is the offspring of one's own heart, and it is made enduring and ennobling by one's own higher qualities; and in a like manner it is one's lower passions which debase and degrade it.
In whatever fashion Rachel would receive her husband's confession he knew full well that it would inflict upon her the most exquisite suffering; the cherished ideal of her life would be shattered, and she would sit forever afterward in sackcloth and ashes. He had sown a harvest of woe, and his constant fervent prayer was that he might not be compelled to reap it with his own hands.
Agitated as he was, he did not betray himself by word or sign, but by a courteous movement of his hand invited his visitor to proceed.
"It is a family matter," said Mr. Dillworthy, "of a peculiarly delicate nature, and my client thought it could best be arranged in a private personal interview."
"Being of such a nature," observed Aaron, "would it not have been better that it should be arranged privately between the parties interested instead of through an intermediary?"
"Possibly, possibly, but my client holds strong views, and feels he could scarcely trust himself."
"Favor me with the name of your client."
"Lord Storndale."
"Lord Storndale? I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance."
"But you are familiar with his name?"
"Not at all. It is the first time I have heard it."
"You surprise me. Lord Storndale is a peer."
"I know very few peers, and have had no occasion to study the peerage."
"But, pardon me, Storndale is the name; it may have escaped you."
"I repeat, the name is strange to me."
"I do not presume to doubt you, but it introduces a new element into the matter. Your daughter, then, has never mentioned the Honorable Percy Storndale to you?"
"Never; and I am at a loss to understand the association of their names."
The lawyer paused. In this unexpected turn of affairs a deviation suggested itself to his legal mind which would be likely to assist him.
"Mr. Cohen, you have the reputation of being an earnest and sincere Jew."
"I follow the precepts and the obligations of my faith," said Aaron, with a searching glance at his visitor.
"In this backsliding and time-serving age orthodoxy--especially, I should say, in the Jewish religion--has a hard time of it. The customs and duties of an enlightened civilization must clash severely with the precepts and obligations you speak of. It is because of the difficulty--perhaps the impossibility--of following the hard and fast laws of the Pentateuch that divisions have taken place, as with all religions, and that you have among you men who call themselves Reformed Jews."
"Surely it is not part of your mission to discuss this matter with me," said Aaron, who had no desire to enter into such questions with a stranger.
"No, it is not, and I do not pretend to understand it; but in a general way the subject is interesting to me. If you will permit me, I should like to ask you one question."
Aaron signified assent.
"What is your opinion of mixed marriages?"
Aaron did not answer immediately; he had a suspicion that there was something behind, but the subject was one regarding which both he and Rachel held a strong view, and he felt he would be guilty of an unworthy evasion if he refused to reply.
"I do not approve of them," he said.
"You set me at ease," said the lawyer, "and it will gratify Lord Storndale to hear that you and he are in agreement upon the question. As our interview is private I may speak freely. Unhappily Lord Storndale is a poor peer. Since he came into the title he has had great difficulties to contend with, and as his estates lay chiefly in Ireland, these difficulties have been of late years increased. Happily or unhappily, also, he has a large family, two daughters and six sons. Of these sons the Honorable Percy Storndale is the youngest. I do not know who is the more to be pitied, a poor peer struggling with mortgages, decreased rents, and the expenses of a large family, or a younger son who comes into the world with the expectation that he is to be provided for, and whose father can allow him at the utmost two hundred and fifty or three hundred a year. Father and son have both to keep up appearances, and the son's allowance will scarcely pay his tailor's and his glover's bill. There are a thousand things he wants, and to which he believes himself entitled--flowers, horses, clubs, a stall at the theater, and so on and so on,ad infinitum. The consequence is that the young gentleman gets into debt, which grows and grows. Perhaps he thinks of a means of paying his creditors--he plunges on a horse, he plays for high stakes at his club. You know the result. Into the mire deeper and deeper. A sad picture, Mr. Cohen."
"Very sad," said Aaron, who had listened patiently and knew that the crucial part of the lawyer's mission--that which affected himself and Ruth--had not yet been reached.
"Lord Storndale," continued the lawyer, "is a gentleman of exclusive views, and is perhaps prouder in his poverty than he would be with a rent roll of a hundred thousand a year. His son's extravagances and debts are not hidden from his knowledge--the money lenders take care of that. From time to time, and at a great sacrifice, he extricates the young scapegrace from temporary difficulties, but at length he comes to a full stop. His own means are exhausted, and willing as he may be to keep putting his hand in his pocket, it is useless to do so, because the pocket is empty. But he has some influence in a small way, and he obtains for his son the offer of a post in the colonies, not very grand certainly, but affording an opening which may lead to something better if the young gentleman will only condescend to look at life seriously--which, as a rule, such young fellows decline to do until it is too late. However, a father, whether he be a peer or a common laborer, can do no more than his duty. He informs his son of the appointment he has obtained for him, and the scapegrace--I am speaking quite openly, Mr. Cohen; the Honorable Percy Storndaleisone--declines to accept it. 'Why?' asks the astonished father. 'I cannot live on it,' replies the son. Then the father points out how he can live on it by cutting down some of his extravagances, and that he may find opportunities in the colonies which he can never meet with here. The son remains obdurate. 'There is another reason for your refusal,' says the father. 'There is,' the son admits. 'I prefer to live in London; it is the only city in the world worth living in.' 'And starving in,' suggests the father. The scapegrace shrugs his shoulders, and says something will turn up, and that he will not submit to banishment because he happens to have been born a few years too late--a reflection upon his brother, the eldest son, who in course of time will inherit the family embarrassments and mortgages. The father remonstrates, argues, entreats, but the young man will not give way. Meanwhile the appointment is bestowed upon another and a worthier gentleman, and the chance is lost. I trust I am not wearying you."
"No; I am attending to all you say, and waiting to hear how my daughter's name comes to be mixed up with the family history you are giving me."
"You will understand everything presently. My object is to make the matter perfectly clear, and to have no concealment. For this reason I wish you to be aware of the character of the young gentleman, and I am describing it carefully at the express wish of his father. At the same time I lay no positive charge against him; I am not saying he is a bad man, but an undesirable man. There are thousands of young fellows who are living just such a careless, irresponsible, reckless life, who get into debt, who gamble, and who ultimately find themselves passing through the bankruptcy court. Young men without balance, Mr.Cohen, and who, in consequence, topple over. They sow troublewherever they go, and they are always smiling, self-possessed, and pleasant-mannered. Women especially are caught by these externals, but speaking myself as the father of grown-up daughters, I should be sorry to see one of that class visiting my house as a suitor to one of my girls." Aaron started, but did not speak. "Lord Storndale suspected that there was another reason, which his son had not mentioned, for his refusal of the colonial appointment, and in a short time his suspicions were confirmed. It came to his knowledge that his son was paying attentions to a young lady whom he was in the habit of meeting at garden parties and tennis, and he taxed the young gentleman with it. His son did not deny it; he said that he loved the lady, that her father was very wealthy, and that she was in every way presentable. 'I do not know,' said the young man, 'whether the circumstance of her father being a commoner will prejudice you against him.' Lord Storndale replied that he would have preferred his son had chosen from his own rank, but that marriages between rich commoners and members of the aristocracy were not unusual in these days, and that he would sanction the match if the lady's father was a gentleman. To be honest with you, Mr. Cohen, Lord Storndale has no liking for commoners who have made fortunes in trade or by speculating, but he did not allow these scruples to weigh with him, his hope being that the proposed union would be the means of extricating his son from his difficulties. The young man said that the lady's father was a gentleman widely known for his benevolence and uprightness of character, and that he was held in universal esteem. Up to this point the interview had been of an amiable nature, but then arose an insurmountable difficulty. 'Who is the gentleman?' inquired Lord Storndale. 'Mr. Aaron Cohen,' replied the young man." Observing Aaron's agitation, the lawyer suspended his narration and said: "Pardon me; you were about to speak."
Aaron by a great effort controlled himself.
"I will wait till you have quite finished, Mr. Dillworthy. Before I commit myself it will be as well that I should be in possession of all the facts."
"Quite so. I have been explicit and circumstantial in order that there shall be no mistake. When I have finished you will have few, if any, questions to ask, because you will know everything it is in my power to tell. Upon hearing your name his lordship remarked that it was a Jewish name. 'Yes,' said the young man, 'he is a Jew.' Lord Storndale was angry and distressed. I admit that it is an unreasonable prejudice, but he has an invincible dislike to Jews, and it shocked him to think that his son contemplated a marriage with a Jewess. I need dwell no longer upon the interview, which now took a stormy turn, and it ended by the son abruptly leaving the room. On no account whatever, Mr. Cohen, will Lord Storndale or any member of the family consent to such an alliance; if it is accomplished the young man will be thrown upon his own resources, and his wife will not be recognized by his kinsfolk. The trouble has already reached a climax. The young gentleman is hot-headed--a Storndale failing--and he declined to listen to remonstrances; the consequence is that he has been forbidden his father's home till he comes to reason. But despite his extravagances and the constant and perplexing involvements issuing therefrom, his father has an affection for him, and is bent upon saving his family from----"
The lawyer pausing here, with an awkward cough, as though he was choking down a word, Aaron quietly added it.
"Disgrace?"
"Well, yes," said Mr. Dillworthy briskly, "we will not mince matters. It is not my word, but Lord Storndale's. He would account such an alliance a disgrace. I will say nothing in his excuse. In all civilized countries we have living evidences of happy unions between members of the aristocracy and wealthy daughters of Israel, and also living evidences of happy mixed marriages between persons neither aristocratic nor wealthy; and these might be brought forward as powerful arguments against the view my client entertains. But they would have no weight with him. We must take into consideration the pride of race."
"Yes," said Aaron, still speaking in a quiet tone, "we must take that into consideration. You have not quite finished, sir."
"Not quite. As a last resource Lord Storndale consulted me, and intrusted me with a painful task. He requested me to call upon you and represent the matter in the plainest terms, which I have endeavored to do, omitting or concealing no single incident of the unhappy affair. I am deputed to ask you to take a course with your daughter similar to that he has taken with his son--that is, to absolutely forbid the union. The young gentleman is in a state of extreme pecuniary embarrassment, and it is possible--I do not state it as a fact, but merely as a presumption--that he reckons upon your aid to settle with his creditors. When he finds that this aid will not be forthcoming, and that he cannot depend upon your making a suitable settlement upon your daughter, he is not unlikely, for prudential reasons, to beat a retreat. A good end will thus be served, and much future misery averted. You will gather from what I have said that I do not believe the Honorable Percy Storndale possesses qualities which would make your daughter happy."
"You are commissioned to take my answer to Lord Storndale."
"I am."
"I may trust you to convey that answer as nearly as possible in my own words?"
"It shall be my endeavor."
"You will tell him, then, that the mission with which he has intrusted you is a surprise to me. Until this day I never heard his name, nor until this day have I heard the name of his son. Never before, to my knowledge, has my daughter concealed anything from me or from her mother, and I need not say that what you have revealed is a grief to me, and will be to her mother if it comes to her ears. That our daughter must have been under the spell of some powerful influence to induce her to keep us in ignorance of what was passing between her and your client's son is in my judgment indisputable, and the inference is that this influence has been exercised by the young man, who must have bound her by a solemn promise to say nothing of the attentions he has paid to her. I have no hesitation in declaring that no honorable man would have acted in a manner so clandestine and secret, and you will inform Lord Storndale that in my opinion his son is not a man of honor. A young girl's trustfulness and innocence should be her safeguard, but here they have been basely used by a man who, according to your own statement, by his external accomplishments has unhappily attracted her. It has not been concealed from us that our daughter has mixed a little in society outside our special family circle, for in her participation of these, as I hoped, harmless pleasures she had generally been accompanied by her mother, who, I grieve to say, is blind.
"This affliction has necessarily prevented her from keeping that watch over her daughter which is a mother's loving duty, and of this affliction your client's son has taken a base advantage. You speak of the pride of race as affecting Lord Storndale. We have also that pride, and if we were so far forgetful of the obligations of our faith as to admit your client's son into our family it is upon him and upon Lord Storndale, not upon us, that honor would have been conferred. Such an alliance will never, with my sanction, be entered into, and I will endeavor to guard my daughter from the peril with which she is threatened."
Mr. Dillworthy, having obtained his point, wisely dropped the subject. He briefly expressed his obligations to Aaron, and rose to take his departure.
Before he reached the door, however, he turned, and in a tone of courteous deference asked if Mr. Cohen could spare him a few moments more.
Aaron assenting, the lawyer resumed his seat, and taking a pocketbook from his pocket, searched in it for a letter.