CHAPTER XXXVI.

A DUTY PERFORMED.

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 of self-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 here to-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, and to-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.