Chapter 15

She looked so pretty and happy and careless that for some time he did not like to break the spell of her restful beauty. Nor did he until his pipe was quite finished, and he had looked carefully over the notes in his "day-book." Then he said in slow, even tones, "My child, listen to me. This summer my young kinsman Judah Belasco will come here. He comes to marry you. You will be a happy wife, my dear. He has moneys, and he has the power to make moneys; and he is a good young man. I have been cautious concerning that, my dear."

There was a long pause. He did not hurry her, but sat patiently waiting, with his eyes fixed upon the book in his hand.

"I do not want to marry, grandfather. I am so young. I do not know Judah Belasco."

"You shall have time, my dear. It is part of the agreement that he shall now live in New York. He is a rich young man, my dear. He is of the _sephardim_, as you are too, my dear. You must marry in your own caste; for we are of unmixed blood, faithful children of the tribe of Judah. All of our brethren here are _Ashkenasem_: therefore, I have had no rest until I got a husband fit for you, my dear. This was my duty, though I brought him from the end of the earth. It has cost me moneys, but I gave cheerfully. The thing is finished now, when you are ready. But you shall not be hurried, my dear."

"Father, I have been a good daughter. Do not make me leave you."

"You have been good, and you will be good always. What is the command?"

"Honor thy father and thy mother."

"And the promise?"

"Then long shall be thy days on the earth."

"And the vow you made, Miriam?"

"That I would never disobey or deceive you."

"Who have you vowed to?"

"The God of Israel."

"Will you lie unto Him?"

"I would give my life first."

"Now is the time to fulfil your vow. Put from your heart or fancy any other young man. Have you not thought of our neighbour, Bram Van Heemskirk?"

"He is good; he is handsome. I fear he loves me."

"You know not anything. If you choose a husband, or even a shoe, by their appearance, both may pinch you, my dear. Judah is of good stock. Of a good tree you may expect good fruit."

"Bram Van Heemskirk is also the son of a good father. Many times you have said it."

"Yes, I have said it. But Bram is not of our people. And if our law forbid us to sow different seeds at the same time in the same ground, or to graft one kind of fruit-tree on the stock of another, shall we dare to mingle ourselves with people alien in race and faith, and speech and customs? My dear, will you take your own way, or will you obey the word of the Lord?"

"My way cannot stand before His way."

"It is a hard thing for you, my dear. Your way is sweet to you. Offer it as a sacrifice; bind the sacrifice, even with cords, to the altar, if it be necessary. I mean, say to Bram Van Heemskirk words that you cannot unsay. Then there will be only one sorrow. It is hope and fear, and fear and hope, that make the heart sick. Be kind, and slay hope at once, my dear."

"If Judah had been my own choice, father"--

"_Choice?_ My dear, when did you get wisdom? Do not parents choose for their children their food, dress, friends, and teachers? What folly to do these things, and then leave them in the most serious question of life to their own wisdom, or want of wisdom! Choice! Remember Van Heemskirk's daughter, and the sin and suffering her own choice caused."

"I think it was not her fault if two men quarrelled and fought about her."

"She was not wholly innocent. Miriam, make me not to remember the past. My eyes are old now; they should not weep any more. I have drunk my cup of sorrow to the lees. O Miriam, Miriam, do not fill it again!"

"God forbid! My father, I will keep the promise that I made you. I will do all that you wish."

Cohen bowed his head solemnly, and remained for some minutes afterward motionless. His eyes were closed, his face was as still as a painted face. Whether he was praying or remembering, Miriam knew not. But solitude is the first cry of the wounded heart, and she went away into it. She was like a child that had been smitten, and whom there was none to comfort. But she never thought of disputing her grandfather's word, or of opposing his will. Often before he had been obliged to give her some bitter cup, or some disappointment; but her good had always been the end in view. She had perfect faith in his love and wisdom. But she suffered very much; though she bore it with that uncomplaining patience which is so characteristic of the child heart--a patience pathetic in its resignation, and sublime in its obedience.

And it was during this hour of trial to Miriam that Joris was talking to Lysbet of her. It did him good to put his fears into words, for Lysbet's assurances were comfortable; and as it had been a day full of feeling, he was weary and went earlier to his room than usual. On the contrary, Lysbet was very wakeful. She carried her sewing to the candle, and sat down for an hour's work. The house was oppressively still; and she could not help remembering the days when it had been so different,--when Anna and Cornelia had been marriageable women, and Joanna and Katherine growing girls. All of them had now gone away from her. Only Bram was left, and she thought of him with great anxiety. Such a marriage as his father had hinted at filled her with alarm. She could neither conquer her prejudices nor put away her fears; and she tormented herself with imagining, in the event of such a misfortune, all the disagreeable and disapproving things the members of the Middle Kirk would have to say.

In the midst of her reflections, Bram returned. She had not expected him so early, but the sound of his feet was pleasant. He came in slowly; and, after some pottering, irritating delays, he pushed his father's chair back from the light, and with a heavy sigh sat down in it.

"Why sigh you so heavy, Bram? Every sigh still lower sinks the heart."

"A light heart I shall never have again, mother."

"You talk some foolishness. A young man like you! A quarrel with your sweetheart, is it? Well, it will be over as quick as a rainy day. Then the sunshine again."

"For me there is no hope like that. So quiet and shy was my love."

"Oh, indeed! Of all the coquettes, the quiet, shy ones are the worst."

"No coquette is Miriam Cohen. My love life is at the end, mother."

"When began it, Bram?"

"It was at the time of the duel. I loved her from the first moment. O mother, mother!"

"Does she not love you, Bram?"

"I think so: many sweet hours we have had together. My heart was full of hope."

"Her faith, Bram, should have kept you prudent."

"'In what church do you pray?' Love asks not such a question, and as for her race, I thought a daughter of Israel is the beloved of all the daughters of God. A blessing to my house she will bring."

"That is not what the world says, Bram. No, my son. It is thus, and like it: that God is angry with His people, and for that He has scattered them through all the nations of the earth."

"Such folly is that! To colonize, to 'take possession' of the whole earth, is what the men of Israel have always intended. Long before the Christ was born in Bethlehem, the Jews were scattered throughout every known country. I will say that to the dominie. It is the truth, and he cannot deny it."

"But surely God is angry with them."

"I see it not. If once He was angry, long ago He has forgiven His people. 'To the third and fourth generation' only is His anger. His own limit that is. Who have such blessings? The gold and the wine and the fruit of all lands are theirs. Their increase comes when all others' fail. God is not angry with them. The light of His smile is on the face of Miriam. He teaches her father how to traffic and to prosper. Do not the Holy Scriptures say that the blessing, not the anger, of the Lord maketh rich?"

"Well, then, my son, all this is little to the purpose, if she will not have thee for her husband. But be not easy to lose thy heart. Try once more."

"Useless it would be. Miriam is not one of those who say 'no' and then 'yes.'"

"Nearly two years you have known her. That was long to keep you in hope and doubt. I think she is a coquette."

"You know her not, mother. Very few words of love have I dared to say. We have been friends. I was happy to stand in the store and talk to Cohen, and watch her. A glance from her eyes, a pleasant word, was enough. I feared to lose all by asking too much."

"Then, why did you ask her to-night? It would have been better had your father spoken first to Mr. Cohen."

"I did not ask Miriam to-night. She spared me all she could. She was in the store as I passed, and I went in. This is what she said to me, 'Bram, dear Bram, I fear that you begin to love me, because I think of you very often. And my grandfather has just told me that I am promised to Judah Belasco, of London. In the summer he will come here, and I shall marry him.' I wish, mother, you could have seen her leaning against the black _kas_; for between it and her black dress, her face was white as death, and beautiful and pitiful as an angel's."

"What said you then?"

"Oh, I scarce know! But I told her how dearly I loved her, and I asked her to be my wife."

"And she said what to thee?"

"'My father I must obey. Though he told me to slay myself, I must obey him. By the God of Israel, I have promised it often.'"

"Was that all, Bram?"

"I asked her again and again. I said, 'Only in this one thing, Miriam, and all our lives after it we will give to him.' But she answered, 'Obedience is better than sacrifice, Bram. That is what our law teaches. Though I could give my father the wealth and the power of King Solomon, it would be worth less than my obedience.' And for all my pleading, at the last it was the same, 'I cannot do wrong; for many right deeds will not undo one wrong one.' So she gave me her hands, and I kissed them,--my first and last kiss,--and I bade her farewell; for my hope is over--I know that."

"She is a good girl. I wish that you had won her, Bram." And Lysbet put down her work and went to her son's side; and with a great sob Bram laid his head against her breast.

"As one whom his mother comforteth!" Oh, tender and wonderful consolation! It is the mother that turns the bitter waters of life into wine. Bram talked his sorrow over to his mother's love and pity and sympathy; and when she parted with him, long after the midnight, she said cheerfully, "Thou hast a brave soul, _mijn zoon, mijn Bram_; and this trouble is not all for thy loss and grief. A sweet memory will this beautiful Miriam be as long as thou livest; and to have loved well a good woman will make thee always a better man for it."

XII.

"_The town's a golden, but a fatal, circle, Upon whose magic skirts a thousand devils, In crystal forms, sit tempting Innocence, And beckoning Virtue from its centre._"

The trusting, generous letter which Joris had written to his son-in-law arrived a few days before Hyde's departure for London. With every decent show of pleasure and gratitude, he said, "It is an unexpected piece of good fortune, Katherine, and the interest of five thousand pounds will keep Hyde Manor up in a fine style. As for the principal, we will leave it at Secor's until it can be invested in land. What say you?"

Katherine was quite satisfied; for, though naturally careful of all put under her own hands, she was at heart very far from being either selfish or mercenary. In fact, the silver cup was at that hour of more real interest to her. It would be a part of her old home in her new home. It was connected with her life memories, and it made a portion of her future hopes and dreams. There was also something more tangible about it than about the bit of paper certifying to five thousand pounds in her name at Secor's Bank.

But Hyde knew well the importance of Katherine's fortune. It enabled him to face his relatives and friends on a very much better footing than he had anticipated. He was quite aware, too, that the simple fact was all that society needed. He expected to hear in a few days that the five thousand pounds had become fifty thousand pounds; for he knew that rumour, when on the boast, would magnify any kind of gossip, favourable or unfavourable. So he was no longer averse to meeting his former companions: even to them, a rich wife would excuse matrimony. And, besides, Hyde was one of those men who regard money in the bank as a kind of good conscience: he really felt morally five thousand pounds the better. Full of hope and happiness, he would have gone at a pace to suit his mood; but English roads at that date were left very much to nature and to weather, and the Norfolk clay in springtime was so deep and heavy that it was not until the third day after leaving that he was able to report for duty.

His first social visit was paid to his maternal grandmother, the dowager Lady Capel. She was not a nice old woman; in fact, she was a very spiteful, ill-hearted, ill-tempered old woman, and Hyde had always had a certain fear of her. When he landed in London with his wife, Lady Capel had fortunately been at Bath; and he had then escaped the duty of presenting Katherine to her. But she was now at her mansion in Berkeley Square, and her claims upon his attention could not be postponed; and, as she had neither eyes nor ears in the evenings for any thing but loo or whist, Hyde knew that a conciliatory visit would have to be made in the early part of the day.

He found her in the most careless dishabille, wigless and unpainted, and rolled up comfortably in an old wadded morning-gown that had seen years of snuffy service. But she had out-lived her vanity. Hyde had chosen the very hour in which she had nothing whatever to amuse her, and he was a very welcome interruption. And, upon the whole, she liked her grandson. She had paid his gambling-debts twice, she had taken the greatest interest in his various duels, and sided passionately with him in one abortive love-affair.

"Dick is no milksop," she would say approvingly, when told of any of his escapades; "faith, he has my spirit exactly! I have a great deal more temper than any one would believe me capable of"--which was not the truth, for there were few people who really knew her ladyship who ever felt inclined to doubt her capabilities in that direction.

So she heard the rattle of Hyde's sword, and the clatter of his feet on the polished stairs, with a good deal of satisfaction. "I have him here, and I shall do my best to keep him here," she thought. "Why should a proper young fellow like Dick bury himself alive in the fens for a Dutchwoman? In short, she has had enough, and too much, of him. His grandmother has a prior claim, I hope, and then Arabella Suffolk will help me. I foresee mischief and amusement.--Well, Dick, you rascal, so you have had to leave America! I expected it. Oh, sir, I have heard all about you from Adelaide! You are not to be trusted, either among men or women. And pray where is the wife you made such a fracas about? Is she in London with you?"

"No, madam: she preferred to remain at Hyde, and I have no happiness beyond her desire."

"Here's flame! Here's constancy! And you have been married a whole year! I am struck with admiration."

"A whole year--a year of divine happiness, I assure you."

"Lord, sir! You will be the laughing-stock of the town if you talk in such fashion. They will have you in the play-houses. Pray let us forget our domestic joys a little. I hear, however, that your divinity is rich."

"She is not poor; though if"--

"Though if she had been a beggar-girl you would have married her, rags and all. Swear to that, Dick, especially when she brings you fifty thousand pounds. I'm very much obliged to her; you can hardly, for shame, put your fingers in my poor purse now, sir. And you can make a good figure in the world; and as your cousin Arabella Suffolk is staying with me, you will be the properest gallant for her when Sir Thomas is at the House."

"I am at yours and cousin Arabella's service, grandmother."

"Exactly so, Captain; only no more quarrelling and fighting. Learn your catechism, or Dr. Watts, or somebody. Remember that we have now a bishop in the family. And I am getting old, and want to be at peace with the whole world, if you will let me."

Hyde laughed merrily. "Why, grandmother, such advice from you! I don't trust it. There never was a more perfect hater than yourself."

"I know, Dick. I used to say, 'Lord, this person is so bad, and that person is so bad, I hate them!' But at last I found out that every one was bad: so I hate nobody. One cannot take a sword and run the whole town through. I have seen some very religious people lately; and you will find me very serious, and much improved. Come and go as you please, Dick: Arabella and you can be perfectly happy, I dare say, without minding me."

"What is the town doing now?"

"Oh, balls and dances and weddings and other follies! Thank the moon, men and women never get weary of these things!"

"Then you have not ceased to enjoy them, I hope."

"I still take my share. Old fools will hobble after young ones. I ride a little, and visit a little, and have small societies quite to my taste. And I have my four kings and aces; that is saying everything. I want you to go to all the diversions, Dick; and pray tell me what they say of me behind my back. I like to know how much I annoy people."

"I shall not listen to anything unflattering, I assure you."

"La, Dick, you can't fight a rout of women and men about your grandmother! I don't want you to fight, not even if they talk about Arabella and you. It is none of their business; and as for Sir Thomas Suffolk, he hears nothing outside the House, and he thinks every Whig in England is watching him--a pompous old fool!"

"Oh, indeed! I had an idea that he was a very merry fellow."

"Merry, forsooth! He was never known to laugh. There is a report that he once condescended to smile, but it was at chess. As for fighting, he wouldn't fight a dog that bit him. He is too patriotic to deprive his country of his own abilities. No, Dick; I really do not see any quarrel ahead, unless you make it."

"I shall think of my Kate when I am passionate, and so keep the peace."

"'I shall think of my Kate.' Grant me patience with all young husbands. They ought to remain in seclusion until the wedding-fever is over. By the Lord Harry! If Jack Capel had spoken of me in such fashion, I would have given him the best of reasons for running some pretty fellow through the heart. Hush! Here comes Arabella, and I am anxious you should make a figure in her eyes."

Arabella came in very quietly, but she seemed to take possession of the room as she entered it. She had a bright, piquant face, a tall, graceful form, and that air of high fashion which is perhaps quite as captivating.

She was "delighted to meet cousin Dick. Oh, indeed, you have been the town talk!" she said, with an air of attention very flattering. "Such a passionate encounter was never heard of. The clubs were engaged with it for a week. I was told that Lord Paget and Sir Henry Dutton came near fighting it over themselves. Was it really about a bow of orange ribbon? And did you wear it over your heart? And did the Scotchman cut it off with his sword? And did you run him through the next moment? There were the most extraordinary accounts of the affair, and of the little girl with the unpronounceable Dutch name who"--

"Who is now my wife, Lady Suffolk."

"Certainly, we heard of that also. How romantic! The secret marriage, the midnight elopement, and the man-of-war waiting down the river with a broadside ready for any boat that attempted to stop you."

"Oh, my lady, that is the completest nonsense!"

"Say 'cousin Arabella,' if you please. Has not grandmother told you that I, not the Dutch girl, ought to have been your wife? It was all arranged years ago, sir. You have disappointed grandmother; as for me, I have consoled myself with Sir Thomas."

"Yes, indeed," said Lady Capel; "though Dick was entirely out of the secret of the match, my son Will and I had agreed upon it. I don't know what Will thinks of a younger son like Dick choosing for himself."

Then Arabella made Hyde a pretty, mocking courtesy, and he could not help looking with some interest at the woman who might have been his wife. The best of men, and the best of husbands, are liable to speculate a little under such circumstances, and in fancy to put themselves into a position they have probably no wish in reality to fill. She noticed his air of consideration; and, with a toss of her handsome head, she spread out all her finery. "You see," she said, "I am dressed so as to make a tearing show." She wore a white poudesoy gown, embroidered with gold, and the prettiest high-heeled satin slippers, and a head-dress of wonderful workmanship. "For I have been at a concert of music, cousin Dick, and heard two overtures of Mr. Handel's and a sonata by Corella, done by the very best hands."

"And, pray, whom did you see there, my dear? and what were they talking about?"

"Of all people, grandmother, I saw Lady Susan Rye and the rest of her sort; and they talked of nothing else but the coming mask at Ranelagh's. Cousin, I bespeak you for my service. I am going as a gypsy, for it will give me the opportunity of telling the truth. In my own character, I rarely do it: nothing is so impolite. But I have a prodigious regard for truth; and at a mask I give myself the pleasure of saying all the disagreeable things that I owe to my acquaintances."

Katherine was almost ignored; and Hyde did not feel any desire to bring even her name into such a mocking, jeering, perfectly heartless conversation. He was content to laugh, and let the hour go past in such flim-flams of criticism and persiflage. He remembered when he had been one of the units in such a life, and he wondered if it were possible that he could ever drift back into it. For even as he sat there, with the memory of his wife and child in his heart, he felt the light charm of Lady Arabella's claim upon him, and all the fascination of that gay, thoughtless animal life which appeals so strongly to the selfish instincts and appetites of youth.

He had a plate of roast hare and a goblet of wine, and the ladies had chocolate and rout cakes; and he ate and drank, and laughed, and enjoyed their bright, ill-natured pleasantry, as men enjoy such piquant morsels. Thus a couple of hours passed; and then it became evident, from the pawing and snorting outside, that Mephisto's patience was quite exhausted. Hyde went to the window, and looked into the square. His orderly was vainly endeavoring to soothe the restless animal; and he said, "Mephisto will take no excuse, cousin, and I find myself obliged to leave you." But he went away in an excitement of hope and gay anticipations; and, with a sharp rebuke to the unruly animal, he vaulted into the saddle with soldierly grace and rapidity. A momentary glance upward showed him Lady Capel and Lady Suffolk at the window, watching him; the withered old woman in her soiled wrappings, the youthful beauty in all the bravery of her white and gold poudesoy. In spite of Mephisto's opposition, he made them a salute; and then, in a clamour of clattering hoofs, he dashed through the square.

"That is the man you ought to have married Arabella," said Lady Capel, as she watched the young face at her side, which had suddenly become pensive and dreamy: "you would have been a couple for the world to look at."