CHAPTER XXV.

AFTER MANY YEARS.

A man upon whose face all that is noble and steadfast seems to have set its seal, to give the world assurance that here was one who, had his lot been so cast, would have ruled over men with justice, truth, and honour. He is of a goodly height, and his features are large and clearly defined. A sensitive, resolute mouth; calm, well-proportioned lips, which close without restraint and are eloquent even when the tongue is silent; a nose gently arched, with curved indented nostrils; a massive forehead, almost oval at the top, and with projecting lower arches, the eyebrows near to the large brown eyes; the chin and cheeks clothed in a handsome beard, in which grey hairs are making themselves manifest. Powerful, benignant, and self-possessed as is his appearance, there is an underlying sadness in his eyes which could be variously construed--as born of a large experience of human ways and of the errors into which mortals are liable to fall, or, maybe, of an ever-abiding remembrance of one moment in his own life when he also was tempted and fell. But no such thought as the latter ever entered the minds of those who knew him personally and those who judged him by the repute he bore, which could only have been earned by a man who walked unflinchingly and unerringly in the straight path and was just and merciful to all who came in contact with him. There were instances when mercy so predominated that persons who had wronged him were allowed to go free, and when a helping hand was held out to men who had sinned against him. This is Aaron Cohen, now close upon his fiftieth year.

A woman whose tranquil eyes never see the light of day, but in which, nevertheless, there is no sign of repining or regret. Purity and sweetness dwell in her face, and as she stands motionless in a listening attitude, her white hand resting on the table, no more exquisite representation of peace and universal love and sympathy could be found in living form or marble statue. She is fair almost to whiteness, and although her figure is slight and there is no colour in her cheeks, she is in good health, only that sometimes during the day she closes her eyes and sleeps in her armchair for a few minutes. In those intervals of unconsciousness, and when she seeks her couch, she sees fairer pictures, perhaps, than if the wonders of the visible world were an open book to her. Her dreams are inspired by a soul of goodness, and her husband's heart, as he gazes upon her in her unconscious hours, is always stirred to prayer and thankfulness that she is by his side to bless his days. Not only in the house is her influence felt. She is indefatigable in her efforts to seek out deserving cases of distress and relieve them; and she does not confine her charity to those of her faith. In this regard Jew and Christian are alike to her, and not a week passes that she does not plant in some poor home a seed which grows into a flower to gladden and cheer the hearts of the unfortunate and suffering. Grateful eyes follow her movements, and a blessing is shed upon her as she departs. A ministering angel is she, whose words are balm, whose presence brings sweet life into dark spaces. So might an invisible herald of the Lord walk the earth, healing the sick, lifting up the fallen, laying his hand upon the wounded breast, and whispering to all, "Be comforted. God has heard your prayers, and has sent me to relieve you." This is Rachel Cohen, Aaron's wife, in her forty-fourth year.

A younger woman, in her springtime, with life's fairest pages spread before her. Darker than Rachel is she, with darker hair and eyes and complexion, slim, graceful, and beautiful. It is impossible that she should not have felt the influence of the home in which she has been reared, and that she should not be the better for it, for it is a home in which the domestic affections unceasingly display themselves in their tenderest aspect, in which the purest and most ennobling lessons of life are inculcated by precept and practice; but a profound student of human nature, whose keen insight would enable him to plumb the depths of passion, to detect what lay beneath the surface, to trace the probable course of the psychological inheritance which all parents transmit to their children, would have come to the conclusion that in this fair young creature were instincts and promptings which were likely one day to give forth a discordant note in this abode of peace and love, and to break into rebellion. There is no outward indication of such possible rebellion. To the friends and acquaintances of the household she is a lovely and gracious Jewish maiden, who shall in time become a mother in Judah. This is Ruth Cohen, in the eyes of all the world the daughter of Aaron and Rachel.

A young man, Ruth's junior by a year, with his father's strength of character and his mother's sweetness of disposition. He is as yet too young for the full development of this rare combination of qualities, the outcome of which is to be made manifest in the future, but he is not too young to win love and respect. His love for his parents is ardent, his faith in them indestructible. To him his mother is a saint, his father a man without blemish. Were he asked, to express his most earnest wishes, he would have answered, "When I am my father's age may I be honoured as he is: when I marry may my wife be as my mother is." This is Joseph Cohen, the one other child of Aaron and Rachel.

A tall, ungainly woman of thirty, working like a willing slave from morning to night, taking pride and pleasure in the home, and metaphorically prostrating herself before every one who lives beneath its roof. Esteemed and valued by her master and mistress, for whom she is ready to sacrifice herself and to undergo any privation; especially watchful of her mistress, and tender towards her; jealous of the good name of those whom she serves with devotion. Of Aaron Cohen she stands somewhat in awe, he is so far above her in wisdom. She does not trouble herself about religious matters; questions of theology come not within her domain, her waking hours being entirely filled and occupied with the performance of her domestic duties. She listens devoutly to the chanting of Hebrew prayers, not one word of which does she understand, and is none the worse for them. Her master and mistress are the representatives of a race for which through them she entertains the profoundest respect; it is more than likely, if the choice had been hers and if she had deemed herself worthy of the distinction, that she would have elected to be born in the Jewish faith. She carries her allegiance even to the extent of fasting with the household on the Day of Atonement, and of not allowing bread to pass her lips during the Passover week. This is Prissy, the ever true, the ever faithful.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FOUNDATION OF AARON'S FORTUNE.

Eventful indeed to Aaron Cohen had been the twenty years since he left Gosport. In the South of France, where they remained for a much longer time than he intended, Rachel was restored to health, and Aaron had the joy of seeing her move happily about the house and garden, and of hearing her sing to her babe the songs and lullabies which, from a mother's lips, are so fraught with melodious and tender meaning. It almost seemed as if she had inward cause for thankfulness that blindness had fallen upon her, for Aaron had never known her to be so blithe and light-hearted as during those weeks of returning health. Prissy was invaluable to them, and proved to be a veritable treasure. The short time it took her to learn her duties, the swiftness and neatness with which they were performed, the delight she took in the babe, who soon replaced Victoria Regina in her affections, and the care and skill with which she guided her mistress's movements, amazed Aaron. He had divined from the first that she was a shrewd, clever girl, and he had the satisfaction of discovering that she was much cleverer than he would have ventured to give her credit for. She was tidier in her dress, too, and never presented herself unless she was clean and neat. She became, in a sense, her mistress's teacher, and Rachel was so apt a pupil that Aaron's apprehensions that she would meet with an accident if she moved too freely about were soon dispelled.

"Is it not wonderful, love?" she said. "I think I must have eyes at the tips of my fingers. But it is Prissy I have to thank for it."

She repaid the girl, be sure. Gradually Prissy's mode of expressing herself underwent improvement; she did not use so many negatives, she dropped fewer h's, she learned to distinguish between g's and k's; and Aaron himself laid the first stone in her education by teaching her the a b c. One thing Prissy would not learn; she obstinately refused to have anything to do with the French language. English was good enough for her, she declared, and to the English tongue she nailed her colours.

Fond as she was of babies, she would not countenance French babies, and said it was a shame to dress them so. "I'm a troo bloo, sir," she said to Aaron; "please don't force me." And with a hearty laugh he desisted.

He himself spoke French fluently, and to this may be ascribed the first change in his fortunes. Easy in his mind respecting Rachel, easy respecting money, he found himself at leisure to look about him and observe. He made friends, and among them a poor French engineer of great skill. In conversation one day this engineer mentioned that tenders were invited for the construction of a local bridge. It was not a very important matter; the lake it was to span was of no great dimensions, and the bridge required was by no means formidable.

"There are only two contractors who will tender for it," said the engineer, "and they play into each other's hands. They will settle privately the amount of their separate tenders, and the lowest will obtain the contract. They will divide the profits between them. If I had a little money to commence with I would tender for the work, and my tender would be at least ten thousand francs below theirs. Then it would be I who would construct the bridge, and public money would be saved."

"What would be your profit?" asked Aaron.

"Twenty thousand francs," was the reply; "perhaps more."

"And the amount of your tender?"

"Eighty thousand francs. I have the plans and specifications, and every detail of expense for material and labour in my house. Will you come and look over them?"

Aaron examined them, and submitting them to the test of inquiry as to the cost of labour and material, found them to be correct. A simple-minded man might have been taken in by a schemer who had prepared complicated figures for the purpose of trading with another person's money, and standing the chance of winning if the venture resulted in a profit, and of losing nothing if it resulted in a loss; but Aaron was not simple-minded, the poor engineer was not a schemer, and the figures were honestly set down.

"It would not need a great amount of money," said the engineer. "If a certain sum were deposited in the bank, a further sum could be raised by depositing the contract as security; and, moreover, as the work proceeds, specified payments will be made by the local authorities."

"How much would be required to commence operations, and to make everything safe?"

"Ten thousand francs."

Roughly, that was four hundred pounds. The five hundred pounds he had received from the lawyers was as yet untouched, for they lived very economically and were in a part of the world where thrift was part of the people's education. Aaron believed the project to be safe.

"If I advanced it," he asked, "what proposition do you make?"

"We would make it a partnership affair," replied the poor engineer, eagerly.

Upon that understanding the bridge was tendered for, and the tender accepted. In four months the work was executed and passed by the inspectors; the contractors received the balance due to them, and a division of the profits was made. After paying all his expenses Aaron was the richer by three hundred pounds. He gave fifty pounds to the poor, which raised him in the estimation of the people among whom he was temporarily sojourning. He had not been idle during the four months occupied by the building of the bridge; under the guidance of his partner he had superintended the workmen and undertaken the correspondence and management of the accounts; and new as these duties were to him he had shown great intelligence and aptitude.

"We met on a fortunate day," said the engineer.

At about this time a new engineering project presented itself. It was on a larger scale than the first, and the two men, emboldened by success, tendered for it. Again did fortune favour them; everybody, with the exception of rival contractors, was on their side. In the carrying out of their first contract there had not been a hitch; they had paid their workmen better wages, they had behaved honestly and liberally all round, and they had already achieved a reputation for liberal dealing with the working man. Moreover, people were talking of Rachel's kindness and of Aaron's benevolence. Hats were lifted to them, women and children left flowers at their door; rich was the harvest they gathered for their charity.

When it was known that they had obtained another contract, the best workmen came to them for employment, and they learned what all employers of labour may learn, that it is wise policy to pay generously for bone and muscle. The hateful political economy of Ricardo, which trades upon the necessities of the poor, and would grind labour down to starvation pittance, could never find lodgment in the mind of such a man as Aaron Cohen. The new venture was entirely successful, and being of greater magnitude than the first, the profits were larger. Aaron was the possessor of two thousand pounds. He gave two hundred pounds to the poor. He did more than this. The doctor who had attended Rachel in Gosport had declined to accept a fee, and Aaron now wrote him a grateful letter, enclosing in it a draft for five hundred pounds, which he asked the doctor to distribute among the local charities. This five hundred pounds he regarded as a return of the sum he had received from the London lawyers. That the receipt of this money afforded gratification to the doctor was evidenced by his reply. "Every one here," he said, "has kind words for you and your estimable wife, and the general feeling is that if you had continued to reside in Gosport it would have been a source of pleasure to all of us. When I speak of your good fortune all the townsfolk say, 'We are glad to hear it.'" Thus did good spring out of evil.

Aaron felt that his foot was on the ladder. He entered into a regular partnership with his friend the engineer, and they executed many public works and never had a failure. The justness of their trading, their consideration for the toilers who were helping to build up a fortune for them, the honest wages they paid, earned for them an exceptional reputation for rectitude and fair dealing. In these matters and in this direction Aaron was the guiding spirit. He left to his partner the technical working out of their operations, and took upon himself the control of wages and finance. Occasionally there were arguments between him and his partner, the latter hinting perhaps that there was a cheaper market, and that money could be saved by employing middlemen who offered to supply labour and material at prices that were not equitable from the point of view of the toilers and producers. Aaron would not entertain propositions of this kind. "We are doing well," he said, "we are making money, we are harvesting. Be satisfied." His partner gave way. Aaron's character was too strong for resistance. "Clean and comfortable homes," said Aaron, "a good education for their children, a modest enjoyment of the world's pleasures--these are the labourers' due." Hearing of this some large employers called him quixotic, and said he was ruining trade; but he pursued the just and even tenor of his way, satisfied that he was a saviour and not a spoiler. Upon the conclusion of each transaction, when the accounts were balanced, he devoted a portion of his profits to benevolent purposes, and he became renowned as a public benefactor. The thanks that were showered upon him did not please him, but tended rather to humiliate and humble him; he would not listen to expressions of gratitude; and it will be presently seen that when he returned to England he took steps to avoid the publicity which was distasteful to him.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE FEAST OF PASSOVER.

A point of friendly contention between Aaron Cohen and the engineer was the observance of the Sabbath day. From sunset on Friday till sunset on Saturday Aaron would do no work and attend to no business. He paid the workmen their wages on Friday, and made up the accounts on that day. They hailed the new arrangement with satisfaction, but the engineer was rather fretful over this departure from the usual custom.

"What is your objection?" asked Aaron.

"It must confuse affairs," replied the engineer.

"Are not the accounts faithfully kept," said Aaron, "and does not the work go on regularly?"

"Oh, I am not complaining," said the engineer, "only----"

"Only what?" said Aaron, with a smile.

The engineer could not explain; he was a skilful engineer, but a weak controversialist. The only answer he could make was,--

"You are living in a Christian land, among Christians."

"I am none the less a Jew. All over the world we live in Christian lands, among Christians; we are a nation without a country. You observe your Sunday Sabbath as a day of rest."

"Certainly I do."

"Allow me, also, to observe my Sabbath on the day appointed by my faith."

"What difference can it make to you," persisted the engineer, "Saturday or Sunday?"

"If that is your view," said Aaron, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "let us both keep our Sabbath on the Saturday."

Aaron conducted the argument with such perfect good temper that the engineer could not help laughing at the rebuff, and the subject was allowed to drop. Nor was it revived on the subsequent occasions of the Jewish holydays, which were zealously observed by Aaron and his wife. They were both orthodox Jews, and nothing could tempt them to neglect their religious obligations; neither of them had ever tasted shell-fish or touched fire on the Sabbath. The festival of the New Year in the autumn, with its penitential Day of Atonement and its joyful Feast of Tabernacles, the Feast of Lights (Chanukah) in the winter, the Festivals of Purim and Passover in the spring, the Feast of Pentecost in the early summer--not one of these days of memorial was disregarded. The m'zuzah was fastened on the doorposts, and regularly every morning did Aaron put on his garment of fringes and phylacteries and say his morning prayers. Thus was he ever in communion with his Maker.

He experienced at first great difficulty in conforming to Jewish precepts. There was no synagogue in the village, and no killer of meat, according to the formula prescribed by the Mosaic law. For several days his family lived upon fish and vegetables and eggs; then he succeeded in arranging with a Jewish butcher in a town some fifty miles distant for a regular supply of meat and poultry. The only co-religionist with whom he came into close personal association was a man of the name of Levi, who had no such scruples as he in regard to food. This man was married, and had three sons, the eldest of whom was approaching his thirteenth year, the age at which all Jewish lads should be confirmed. In conversation with M. Levi Aaron learned that he had no intention of carrying out the ceremony of confirmation. Yearning to bring the stray sheep back into the fold, Aaron invited M. Levi and his family to celebrate the Passover with him, and there upon the table the Levis saw the white napkins with the special Passover cakes between the folds, the shankbone of a shoulder of lamb, the roasted egg, the lettuce, the chevril and parsley, the cup of salt and water, the savoury balls of almond, apple, and spice, and the raisin wine--all of which are symbols of the Passover, the most joyous of the Jewish festivals. In this year the first night of the holydays fell upon the Sabbath, and the apartment presented a beautiful appearance, with the lighted candles, the bright glass, and the spotless purity of the linen. The house had been cleaned from top to bottom, all leaven had been removed, and every utensil and article that was used for the cooking and partaking of food was new. M. Levi's eyes glistened as he entered the apartment and looked around; his wife's also, for she had been brought up in an orthodox Jewish home. Old memories were revived, and as they sat down at the table it was to them as if they had suddenly gone back to the days of their youth. Love and self-reproach shone in their faces as they gazed upon their children, to whom this picture of home happiness was a delightful revelation. "Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God!" said Aaron, in the ancient tongue, after the filling of the first glasses of wine. "King of the universe, who createst the fruit of the vine. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the universe, who hath chosen us from among all people, and exalted us above all languages, and sanctified us with His commandments; and with love hast Thou given us, O Lord, our God, Sabbaths for rest, and solemn days for joy, festivals and seasons of gladness, this day of rest, and this day of the feast of unleavened cakes, the season of our freedom; a holy convocation in love, a memorial of the departure from Egypt. For Thou hast chosen us and sanctified us above all people; and Thy holy Sabbaths and festivals hast Thou caused us to inherit with love and favour, joy and gladness. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who sanctifiest the Sabbath, and Israel, and the seasons." After this prayer the first glass of wine was drank, and the children smacked their lips. Rachel's blindness did not prevent her from superintending the kitchen, and under her direction everything was prepared for the table almost as skilfully and tastefully as if her own hands had done the work. Her raisin wine was perfect, and Aaron smacked his lips as well as the children: the finest vintage of champagne would not have been so palatable to him. Rachel's face was turned towards him as he raised the glass to his lips; she was anxious for his approval of the wine, which he had always praised extravagantly, and when she heard him smack his lips she was satisfied. Aaron proceeded with the ceremonies and prayers; he had purchased books of the "Hagadah," the Hebrew on the right-hand, and a translation in French on the left-hand pages, so that his guests, young and old, could understand what was being said and done. In silence they laved their hands, chevril was dipped into salt water and distributed around, and the middle cake in the napkins broken. Then Aaron held aloft the dish containing the roasted egg and the shankbone, and intoned, "This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all that are hungry enter and eat; let all that are in want come hither and observe the Passover." The prayers were not uttered in a sing-song drawl; there was a joyous note in the chanting, which proclaimed that the hearts of the worshippers were glad. They heard from Aaron's lips what was said by the wise son, the wicked son, and the simple son; how a handful of the children of Israel went into Egypt, and how they increased and multiplied till they became a mighty nation; how they were oppressed by the Egyptians, and forced to build stone cities for Pharaoh, Pithom, and Raamses; how they prayed unto the Eternal, and He remembered His covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and punished the oppressors with the ten plagues; how, under Divine protection, Israel went forth from Egypt, and walked through the Red Sea. "The sea beheld, and fled; Jordan was driven backward. The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambkins. What ailed thee, O sea, that thou fledst--thou, Jordan, that thou wast driven backward--ye mountains, that ye skipped like rams--ye hills, like lambkins? Tremble, O earth! in the presence of the God of Jacob, who turned the rock into a pool of water, the flinty rock into a fountain of water." The first portion of the service ended, the books were laid aside, and the table spread for supper. While the preparations for the meal were being made by Prissy, who wore a new frock for the holydays and was as clean as a new pin, an animated conversation went on. Aaron was in the merriest of moods, and his witty sayings and jokes kept the company in a ripple of laughter. It is a special feature in the home worship of the Jew that it promotes good fellowship, breeds good feeling, and draws closer the domestic ties which so strongly distinguish the race. Innocent jest is encouraged, it is really as if it were a duty that every one shall be in a holiday humour. The subjects of conversation are of a cheerful nature, scandal is avoided, the tenderer feelings are brought into play. Scrupulous attention is paid to cleanliness, young and old attire themselves in their best. When we appear before the Sovereign we make ourselves resplendent; so does the Jew when he appears before the King of heaven and earth. On such occasions slovenliness would be a crime. It is not only the outer man that is attended to; the choicest special Jewish dishes are prepared; there is no stint, plenty abounds, and friends are gladly welcomed, and invited to partake; everything is done that can contribute to harmony and content. Young people bill and coo, and their elders look on with approving eyes. These are the golden hours of love's young dream.

"It does my heart good," said Madame Levi, laughing heartily at one of Aaron's jokes, "to be among our own people again."

"Come often, come often," said Aaron Cohen. "You and yours will always be welcome."

The meal consisted of coffee, Passover cakes, fresh butter, and fried and stewed fish. Nothing could be more tempting to the eye than the large dish of stewed fish, with its thick yellow sauce of egg and lemon, and nothing more tempting to the palate, unless it were the fried fish, with its skin nicely browned, and cooked in such a way as to bring out the full sweetness of the flesh.

"We have the advantage of the Gentile," chuckled Aaron, who always took fried fish for his first course, and stewed for his second. "We know how to fry fish. It is strange that in all these thousands of years he has not discovered the simple secret."

"I have not tasted such stewed fish for I don't know how many years," observed Madame Levi, who had just been assisted to a second helping.

"Mrs. Cohen fries fish beautifully," said Aaron, "but her stewed fish is a marvel."

"That is the way my husband always speaks of me," said Rachel, with an affectionate smile. "He does not believe I have a fault."

"A woman who cooks fish as she does," said Aaron, oracularly, "cannot have a fault; she is a perfect woman. She is a glory and an honour to her sex. Again I assert, her stewed fish is a marvel."

"He forgets," said Rachel sweetly, to her guests, "that I have to trust others."

"My dear," persisted Aaron, "you stand by and direct. A victorious general does not rush into the battle; he stands aside, and gives his orders. With my own eyes I saw you squeeze the lemons; with my own eyes I saw you mix the batter; each slice of fish passed through your hands before it was put into the pan and saucepan. You know, Madame Levi, how important it is that the fish should be properly dried before it goes through the ordeal of fire."

"You bring it to my mind," said Madame Levi, speaking in a pensive tone; "my mother could fry and stew fish beautifully."

"But not like Rachel," rejoined Aaron. "I will give way on every other point, but not on this. If I were a plaice or a halibut I should be proud to be treated so; it would be a worthy ending of me, and I should bless the hand that cut me up. I should feel that I had not lived in vain. There is a spiritual touch," he continued, waiting until the laughter had subsided, "in these things. Half a lemon more or less makes all the difference in stewed fish; an egg more or less, the consistency of the batter, and the quality of the oil, make all the difference when you are frying. In England the poor and middle-class Christians are shocking cooks; the moment they touch it half the goodness of the food is gone. It is a melancholy fact, and it is the cause of innumerable domestic grievances. It drives away cheerfulness, it breeds sulks and bad temper, and yet the women will not learn--no, they will not learn. When you see a well-ordered household and a peaceful home, the children happy and contented, the husband and wife affectionate to each other, you know at once that the mistress is a good cook. You laugh; but it is really a very serious matter. It goes straight to the root of things."

Grace was said after supper, and the reading of the Passover prayers continued. Aaron had a fine baritone voice, and he did full justice to the ancient psalmody, which has been transmitted through long ages, from generation to generation. "Were our mouths filled with sacred song as the sea is with water, our tongue shouting loudly as its roaring billows, and our lips extended with praise like the widely spread firmament, and our eyes sparkling like the sun and the moon, and our hands extended like the eagle's wings in the skies, and our feet swift as the hind's, we should yet be deficient to render sufficient thanks unto Thee, O Lord our God, and the God of our fathers, or to bless Thy name for even one of the innumerable benefits which Thou hast conferred upon us and our ancestors." Then followed "It was at midnight." "When the blaspheming Sennacherib purposed to assail Thine habitation, Thou didst frustrate him through the dread carcases of his host in the night. Bel and its image were hurled down in the darkness of the night. To Daniel, the much beloved man, was the mysterious vision revealed in the night.... Thou wilt tread the wine-press for them who anxiously ask, Watchman, what of the night? Let the Eternal, the Watchman of Israel, cry out and say, The morning hath come as well as the night." Nearly at the end of the service there was a merry chant, "Oh, may He who is most mighty soon rebuild His house; speedily, speedily, soon, in our days." And the prayers ended with the curious poem, "One only kid, one only kid," supposed to be a parable illustrating the written and unwritten history of the Jewish race.

So conducive of cheerfulness and amiability had been the dedication of the Passover that smiles were on every lip and good feeling in every eye; amiability and good nature shone on their countenances. An hour was devoted to a chat upon general subjects, and after accepting an invitation to come again upon the following night, the Levis took their departure. On their way home they spoke freely of the hospitality and geniality of their host, of the sweet disposition of Rachel, with whom they had all fallen in love, of the order and cleanliness of the house, of the salutary effects of an evening so spent. Never had they been so deeply impressed with the beauty of the religion into which they had been born, the obligations of which they had thrust aside and neglected, principally, as M. Levi would have advanced, on the score of convenience. Had Aaron Cohen argued with M. Levi upon this neglect it is likely he would have contributed to the defeat of the object he had in view; but he was far too astute to argue with a man who, being in the wrong, would have obstinately defended himself when thus attacked. He knew the value of the lesson the Levis had received, and he was content to wait for the result. He would have been greatly gratified had he heard the whispered words addressed to her husband by Madame Levi.

"Cannot we do the same? Cannot we live as they do?"

M. Levi, deep in thought, did not answer the question, but it was nevertheless treasured in his memory. Treasured also in his memory were some words that passed between his eldest son and his wife.

"Mother, I am a Jew?"

"Yes, my dear."

"I am glad."

"Why, my child?"

"Because M. Cohen is a Jew. I want to be like him."

M. Levi looked at his son, a handsome lad, whose face was flushed with the pleasures of the most memorable evening in his young life. To deprive him of his confirmation would be robbing him of God's heritage. The father was at heart a Jew, but, like many of his brethren residing in Christian communities, had found it easier to neglect his religion than to conform to its precepts. Putting it another way, he thought it would be to his worldly disadvantage. He had made his will, and therein was written his desire to be "buried among his people"--that controlling wish which, in their last moments, animates so many Jews who through all their days have lived as Christians. "Let me be buried among my people," they groan; "let me be buried among my people!" That is their expiation, that is their charm for salvation, for though all their years have been passed in attending to their worldly pleasures and temporal interests, they believe in a future life. These men have been guided by no motives of sincerity, by no conscientious inquiry as to how far the tenets of an ancient creed--the principal parts of which were formulated while the race was in tribulation--are necessary and obligatory in the present age; they are palterers and cowards, and grossly deceive themselves if they believe that burial in Jewish ground will atone for their backsliding. M. Levi was not a coward, and now that his error was brought home to him he was strongly moved to take up the broken threads of a faith which, in its purity, offers so much of Divine consolation. He himself broached the subject to Aaron, and his resolve was strengthened by the subsequent conversations between them.

"That man is to be honoured, not despised," said Aaron, "who changes his opinions through conviction. He may be mistaken, but he is sincere, and sincerity is the test of faith. You believe in God, you acknowledge His works, you live in the hope of redemption. In religion you must be something or nothing. You deny that you are a Christian. What, then, are you? A Jew. What race can boast of a heritage so glorious? We have yet to work out our future. Take your place in the ranks--ranks more illustrious than that which any general has ever led to victory--be once more a soldier of God."

These words fired M. Levi. The following Saturday his place of business was closed; from a box in which it may be said they were hidden, he took out his garment of fringes, his prayer-books, his phylacteries, and worshipped as of yore. Two vacancies occurring in his business, he filled them up with Jews; Aaron also induced a few Jews to settle there, and in a short time they could reckon upon ten adults, the established number necessary for public worship. In the rear of his house Aaron built a large room, which was used as a synagogue, and there M. Levi's eldest son was confirmed. In the autumn, when the Feast of Tabernacles was celebrated, the little band of Jews found a booth erected in Aaron's garden; there was a roof of vines through which they saw the light of heaven. It was beautified with flowers, and numbers of persons came to see this pretty remembrance of a time when the Children of Israel dwelt in tents in the wilderness. The prayers in the synagogue over, the worshippers assembled in the booth, and ate and drank with Aaron and his family. Aaron had provided palms, citrons, myrtle, and willows for his co-religionists, and in an address he gave in the course of the service he told them how the citron was a symbol of innocent childhood, the myrtle a symbol of youth and of the purity that dwells on the brow of the bride and bridegroom, the firm and stately palm a symbol of upright manhood, and the drooping willow a symbol of old age. His discourses had always in them something new and attractive which had a special bearing upon the ancient faith in which he took so much pride.

"We have you to thank for our happiness," said Madame Levi to him.

"It is a good work done, my love," said Aaron to his wife, rubbing his hands with satisfaction; "a good work done."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

RACHEL'S LIFE IN THE NEW LAND.

Meanwhile Rachel throve. She walked with an elastic spring in her feet, as though in response to nature's greeting, and joy and happiness accompanied her everywhere. She was profoundly and devoutly grateful for her husband's better fortune, and daily rendered up thanks for it to the Giver of all good. She took pleasure in everything; blind as she was, she enjoyed nature's gifts to the full. In winter it was extraordinary to hear her describe the aspect of woods and fields in their white feathery mantle; with deep-drawn breath she inhaled the fresh cold air, and a glory rested on her face as she trod the snow-clad paths. When she visited the poor on those cold days Prissy accompanied her, carrying a well-filled basket on her arm. Her sympathy with the sick and suffering was Divine, and in the bleakest hours, when the sky was overcast and the light was hidden from shivering mortals, she was the herald of sunshine. A priest met her on one of these journeys, and gave her good-day.

"Good-day, father," she said.

"You know me!" he exclaimed, surprised; for though his priestly calling was apparent from his attire, Rachel could not see it.

"I heard your voice a fortnight ago," she replied, "in the cottage I am going to now, and I never forget a voice. After you were gone the poor woman told me you were her priest. I heard so much of you that was beautiful."

She put forth her hand; he hesitated a moment, then took it and pressed it.

"How sad, how sad, my daughter, that you are a Jewess!"

"I am happily a Jewess, father."

"Let me come and talk to you."

"Yes, father, come and talk to me of your poor, to whom you are so good. You do so much; I, being blind, can do so little. If you will allow me----" She offered him some gold pieces, and he accepted them.

"The Holy Mother have you in her keeping," he said; and went his way.

Dogs and horses were her friends, and were instinctively conscious of her presence. She scattered food for the birds, and they soon grew to know her; some would even pick crumbs from her hand. "I do not think," she said, "they would trust me so if I were not blind. They know I cannot see, and cannot harm them." Aaron thought differently; not a creature that drew breath could fail to trust and love this sweet woman whom God had spared to him.

Whom God had spared to him! When the thought thus expressed itself, he raised his eyes to Heaven in supplication.

She was the first to taste the sweet breath of spring. "Spring is coming," she said; "the birds are trilling the joyful news. How busy they are over their nests, the little chatterers, telling one another the news as they work! In a little while we shall see the flowers." She invariably spoke of things as if she could see them, as doubtless she did with spiritual sight, investing them with a beauty which was not of this world. It was her delight in summer to sit beneath the branches of a favourite cherry tree, and to follow with her ears the gambols of her children. For she had two now. A year after they left Gosport another child was born to them, Joseph, to whom Aaron clave with intense and passionate love. It was not that he was cold to Ruth, that he was not unremitting in showing her affection, but in his love for his son there was a finer quality, of which no one but himself was conscious. He had prayed for another child, and his prayer was answered. In the first flush of his happiness he was tempted to regard this gift of God as a token that his sin was forgiven, but he soon thrust this reflection aside, refusing to accept his own interpretation of his sin as an atonement for its committal. It was presumptuous in man to set lines and boundaries to the judgment of the Eternal. It was to Rachel that this blessing was vouchsafed, for a time might come when she would find in it a consolation for a revelation that would embitter the sweet waters of life. Both the children were pretty and engaging, and had winning and endearing ways, which, in the mother's sightless eyes, were magnified a thousandfold. In the following year a picture by a famous painter was exhibited in the Paris salon; it was entitled "A Jewish Mother," and represented a woman sitting beneath a cherry tree in flower, with two young children gambolling on the turf at her feet. In the background were two men, the curÉ of the village and a Jew, the latter being the woman's husband, and looking like a modern Moses. The faces of the men--one full-fleshed, with massive features and a grand beard, the other spare and lean, with thin, clear-cut features and a close-shaven face--formed a fine contrast. But although the points of this contrast were brought out in masterly fashion, and although the rustic scene was full of beauty, the supreme attraction of the picture lay in the woman. In her sightless eyes dwelt the spirit of peace and purity, and there was an angelic sweetness and resignation in her face as, with head slightly inclined, she listened to the prattle of her children. You could almost hear a sigh of happiness issue from her lips. The woman's face photographed itself upon the minds of all who beheld it, and it is not too much to say that it carried with it an influence for good. Years afterwards, when their visit to the salon was forgotten, it made itself visible to their mind's eye, and always with beneficial suggestion. So it is also with a pure poem or story; the impression it leaves is an incentive to kindly act and tolerant judgment; it softens, it ameliorates, it brings into play the higher attributes of human nature, and in its practical results a benefit is conferred equally upon the sufferer by the wayside and the Samaritan who pours oil upon his wounds. The critics were unanimous in their praises of the picture. "Who is the woman?" they asked, and no one could answer the question except the painter, and he held his tongue.

The secret was this. The famous painter, passing through the village with the subject of his next great picture in his mind, saw Rachel, and was spellbound by the purity and grace of her face and figure. Travelling under an assumed name, in order that he should not be disturbed by the trumpet blasts of fame--a proof (clear to few men) that there is pleasure in obscurity--he cast aside the subject of the great picture he had intended to paint, and determined to take his inspiration from Rachel. He was assured from what he heard of her that he was in the presence of a good woman, and he was deeply impressed by her gentleness and grace. He did not find it difficult to obtain an introduction to Aaron, who invited him home, where he made himself welcome--no difficult matter, for Aaron was ever ready to appreciate intellect. Many an evening did the painter pass with them, sometimes in company with the curÉ, and many a friendly argument did they have. The priest and the artist were surprised at the wide range of subjects with which Aaron was familiar, and upon which he could converse with fluent ease. Upon great themes he spoke with so much force and clearness that even when they differed from him he generally succeeded in weakening their convictions. It was not his early schooling that made him so comprehensive and clear-sighted; a man's education depends chiefly upon himself--teachers and masters play but a subsidiary part, and all the coaching in the world will not make a weak intellect strong. Superficial knowledge may be gained; but it is as transient as a shadow, and in its effect is valueless in the business of life. Aaron was not a classical scholar; he was something better--a painstaking student, who extracted from his extensive reading the essence of a subject, and took no heed of the husk and shell in which it was embedded. Firm, perhaps to some extent dogmatic, in matters of religion, he was gifted with a large-hearted toleration which led him to look with a kindly eye upon men who did not think as he did; but his final judgment was the judgment of a well-balanced mind.

The artist did not ask Rachel and Aaron to be his models, but he made innumerable sketches of them, and remained in the village long enough to accumulate all the principal points and accessories for his picture. Then he departed and painted his masterpiece elsewhere. Some time afterwards he revisited the village with the intention of making acknowledgment for the inspiration, but Aaron and his family had departed, and the painter's secret was undivulged.

As it was with Rachel in winter and spring, so was it in summer and autumn. The flowers, the butterflies, the fragrant perfume of garden and hedgerow, all appealed powerfully to her, and all were in kinship with her. The village children would follow her in the gloaming, singing their simple songs; brawlers, ashamed, would cease contending when she came in sight; women would stand at their cottage doors and gaze reverently upon her as she passed. Not a harsh thought was harboured against her and hers; her gentle spirit was an incentive to gentleness; she was a living, tender embodiment of peace on earth and goodwill to all. The whisper of the corn in the autumn, when the golden stalks bowed their heads to the passing breeze, conveyed a Divine message to her soul; and, indeed, she said seriously to Aaron that she sometimes fancied she heard voices in the air, and that they brought a sense of ineffable pleasure to her heart.

In the ordinary course of events the partnership came to an end. The engineer was invited to Russia to undertake an important work for the Government, and Aaron would not accompany him.

"In the first place," he said, "I will not expose my wife and children to the rigours of such a climate. In the second place, I will not go because I am a Jew, and because, being one, I should meet with no justice in that land. In the annals of history no greater infamy can be found than the persecution to which my brethren are subjected in that horrible country. In former ages, when the masses lived and died ignorant and unlettered, like the beasts of the field, one can understand how it was that the iron hand ruled and crushed common human rights out of existence; but in these days, when light is spreading all over the world except in such a den of hideous corruption and monstrous tyranny as Russia, it is almost incredible that these cruelties are allowed to be practised."

"How would you put a stop to them?" asked the engineer.

"I will suppose a case," Aaron answered. "You are the ruler of an estate, upon which reside a number of families, who respect the laws you make for them, who pay you tribute, and who lead reputable lives. You know that these families are not all of one opinion upon religious matters. Some pray in churches, some in synagogues, some do not pray at all. You do not show favour to those with whose views you agree, and you do not oppress those from whom you differ. You say to them, 'You are all my subjects; so long as you obey my laws, so long as you conduct yourselves as good citizens, you shall live upon an equality, and shall have my protection. Thought is free. Worship God according to the dictates of your conscience, and be happy. For you the synagogue, for me the church. I am content.' What is the consequence? Between you and your people exists a bond of allegiance and affection. They are true and loyal to you, and you really look upon them as children of one family. In times of national distress, when a cry for help is heard in any part of your estate, the bishop of your Established Church, the Pope's cardinal, and the Chief Rabbi of the Jews meet upon common ground, free one and all to act as priests of humanity, and eager to alleviate the suffering which has arisen among them. In your government councils all creeds are represented, and the voice that is heard in decisions of national importance is truly the national voice. You have your reward. Order is preserved, property is safe, and you are respected everywhere. There are other estates in your neighbourhood which more or less resemble yours, and in which men of all creeds have equal rights. But there is one from which shrieks of agony issue daily and nightly, terrible cries of suffering, imploring appeals for help and mercy. They strike upon your ears; you cannot help hearing them. The brutal ruler of this estate has for his subjects a vast number of families, all of whom have been born on his land, all of whom recognise him as their king, and are ready and anxious to pay him respect, all of whom have a natural claim upon him for protection, all of whom work for him and contribute to the expenses of his household. To those whose religious views agree with his own he shows favour and gives protection; those who are born in a different faith he hates and tortures. From them proceed these shrieks of agony, these cries of suffering, these appeals for help. You see them torn and bleeding, their faces convulsed with anguish, their hearts racked with woe; they have no other home, and there is no escape for them. Every step they take is dogged and watched; whichever way they turn the lash awaits them, and torture chambers to drive them to the last stage of despair. And their shrieks and supplications eternally pierce the air you breathe, while the oppressed ones stretch forth their hands for mercy to the monster who makes their lives a hell upon earth. What do they ask? That they should be allowed to live in peace. But this reasonable and natural request infuriates the tyrant. He flings them to the ground and grinds his iron heel into their bleeding flesh; he spits in their faces, and orders his torturers to draw the cords tighter around them. It is not for a day, it is not for a week, it is not for a year, it is for ever. They die, and leave children behind them, who are treated in the same fashion; and for them, as it was with their fathers, there is no hope. No attempt is made to hide these infamies, these cruelties, which would disgrace the lowest order of beasts; they are perpetrated in the light of day, and the monster who is responsible for them sneers at you, and says, 'If you were in their place, I would treat you the same.' He laughs at your remonstrances, and draws the cords still tighter, and tortures the quivering flesh still more mercilessly, and cries, 'It is my estate, they are my subjects, and I will do as I please with them. Let them abjure their God, and I may show them mercy. Their bodies are mine, they have no souls!' To argue with him is presumption; in his arrogant estimation of himself the 'divinity that doth hedge a king' places him above human conditions--this man, who comes of a family with a social history so degrading that, were it attached to one of low degree, he would not be admitted into decent society. Talk to him of humanity, and he derides and defies you. You burn with indignation; but what action do you take?"

"It is a strong illustration," said the engineer; "but it is not with nations as with families."

"It is," said Aaron, with passionate fervour. "There is no distinction in the eyes of God. We are all members of one family, and the world is our heritage. The world is divided into nations, nations into cities, towns, and villages, and these are subdivided into houses, each having its separate rulers; and, though physically and geographically wide apart, all are linked by the one common tie of our common humanity. The same emotions, the same passions, the same aspirations, run through all alike. Does it make an innocent babe a malefactor because he is born in Russia instead of France or England? But it is so considered, and his life is made a misery to him by monsters who, when they give bloody work to their armies to do, blasphemously declare that the Lord of hosts is on their side, and call upon Him to bless their infamous banners."

It was seldom that Aaron expressed himself so passionately, and, as the engineer made no reply, they did not pursue the discussion.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE FAREWELL.

When it became known that Aaron was about to leave the quiet resting-place in which the last few years had been passed, and in which he had enjoyed peace and prosperity, a general feeling of regret was expressed, and efforts were made to induce him to change his resolution. Coming among them a stranger, a foreigner, and an alien in religion, he had won for himself the lasting esteem of all classes of the community. The village was now an important centre, its trade was in a flourishing condition, and its population had largely increased; as a natural consequence, property had risen in value, and the old residents were growing rich. It was ungrudgingly acknowledged that all this was due to Aaron Cohen's enterprise and to the integrity of his character. The well-to-do and the poor alike deplored the impending loss, and united in their appeals to him to remain; but they were unsuccessful. There was in Aaron a latent ambition, of which he himself was scarcely aware, to move in a larger sphere, and to play his part in life among his own people. His intention had been at first to remain in the pretty French village only long enough to benefit Rachel's health, and had it not been for the chance that threw him and the engineer together, and which opened up enterprises which had led to such fortunate results, he would have fulfilled this intention and have selected some populous city in England to pursue his career. One venture had led to another, and the success which had attended them was a sufficient inducement to tarry. But now that the partnership was at an end the incentive was gone, and he was not sorry that he was in a certain sense compelled to return to his native land. One thing in his life in the village had weighed heavily upon him. There was no established synagogue in which he and his family could worship, and, as we have seen, it was in his own home that he carried out all the ceremonials of his religion. Much as Aaron had reason to be grateful for, he yearned to follow the practices of his religion among a larger body of his co-religionists, to have the honour of taking the sacred scroll from the ark, to hear the chazan's voice from the pulpit and the melodious chant of the choir, followed by the deep responses of the congregation. He had an instinctive leaning to movement and colour. He loved the peace of his home; it was his ark of rest; but he loved also the bustle and turmoil of life. He was essentially an administrator, and fitted by nature for the control and direction of large bodies of men. Had he been single he would doubtless have migrated to one of the new colonies which perennially spring up under British rule, and have taken a prominent part in its growth and development. It is greatly due to Jewish spirit and enterprise that these new countries thrive and flourish so rapidly.

There was another consideration. Aaron wished his son Joseph to grow up amid his co-religionists, to mix with them, to become familiar with their ways, so that he might be fixed firmly in the faith of his forefathers. There was no Jewish school in the village in which the lad could be educated. He looked forward to the future. Joseph would become a man, and in this village there were limitations and restrictions which were not favourable to the formation of strong character. Here was a young mind to be trained; the more comprehensive the surroundings the better the chance of worldly advancement. He discussed these matters with Rachel.

"Yes," she said, "let us go. But I shall never forget the happy years we have passed here."

"Nor I," said Aaron. "Honour and good fortune have attended us. May a blessing rest upon the village and all the dwellers therein!"

Then Rachel spoke of her poor and of her regret at leaving them.

"We will bear them in remembrance," said Aaron, "and before we bid them, farewell something can be done to place them in permanent comfort."

Much was done by Rachel and himself. For some time past he had bestowed a great part of his benefactions in such a manner that those whom he befriended were ignorant of the source from which the good flowed. In order that this should be carried out as he wished he had to seek an agent; looking around he made his selection, and asked the curÉ of the village to be his almoner, explaining that he did not wish it to be known that the money came from him. The curÉ, much surprised, accepted the office; Aaron was grievously disturbing his opinion of the heretic. After the meeting with Rachel, which has been described in the previous chapter, he had visited her home with the laudable desire of converting the family to the true faith, and had found himself confronted with peculiar difficulties. He strove to draw them into argument, but in a theological sense they slipped through his fingers. Aaron's course in this respect was premeditated, Rachel's was unconsciously pursued. She listened to all he said, and smilingly acquiesced in his declaration that there was only one road open to heaven's gates.

"It is the road of right-doing, father," she said, "the road of kindness, of doing unto others as you would they should do unto you, of dispensing out of your store, whether it be abundant or not, what you can spare to relieve the unfortunate. You are right, father; there is only one road."

By her sweetness and charity, by her practical sympathy with the suffering, she cut the ground from under his feet. He spoke of the saints, and she said they were good men and women, and were receiving their reward. In a word, she took the strength and subtlety out of him, and he yielded with sighs of regret and admiration. With Aaron he was more trenchant, and quite as unsuccessful. Many of Aaron's humorous observations made the good priest laugh in spite of himself, and the pearls of wisdom which fell from the Jew's lips crumbled his arguments to dust. There was no scoffing or irreverence on Aaron's part; he simply parried the thrusts with a wisdom and humanity deeper and truer than those of which his antagonist could boast.

"My son," said the curÉ, "would you not make me a Jew if it were in your power?"

"No," replied Aaron, "we do not proselytise, and even if we did you are too good a Christian for me to wish to make you a Jew."

This was one of the puzzling remarks which caused the curÉ to ponder, and which dwelt long in his mind; sometimes he thought that Aaron was a man of deep subtlety, sometimes that he was a man of great simplicity, but whether subtle or simple he felt it impossible to withhold a full measure of respect from one whose eternal lot he sighed to think was perdition and everlasting torment. That sincerity was the true test of faith, as Aaron declared, he would not admit; there could be no sincerity in a faith that was false, there could be no sincerity if you did not believe as he believed. Nevertheless, he had an uncomfortable impression that he was being continually worsted in the peaceful war of words in which they invariably engaged when they came together.

As Aaron was not to be turned from his resolution to leave the country, the villagers took steps to show their respect for him. Public meetings were held, which were attended by many persons from surrounding districts, and there was a banquet, of which Aaron did not partake, the food not being cooked according to the Jewish formula. He contented himself with fruit and bread, and made a good and sufficient meal. Speeches were made in his honour, and he was held up as an example to old and young. His response was in admirable taste. He said that the years he had spent among them were the happiest in his life, and that it was with true regret he found himself compelled to leave the village. He spoke of his first coming among them with a beloved wife in a delicate state of health, who had grown well and strong in the beautiful spot. It was not alone the sweet air, he said, which had brought the blessing of health to her; the bond of sympathy which had been established between her and her neighbours had been as a spiritual medicine to her, which had given life a value of which it would otherwise have been deprived. It was not so much the material reward of our labours that conferred happiness upon us as the feeling that we were passing our days among friends who always had a smile and a pleasant greeting for us. Riches were perishable, kindly remembrances immortal. The lessons of life were to be learned from the performance of simple acts of duty; for he regarded it as a duty to so conduct ourselves as to make our presence welcome, and agreeable to those with whom we were in daily association. As to the kind things that had been said of him, he felt that he was scarcely worthy of them. "There is," he said, "a leaven of human selfishness in all that we do; and the little I have, with the blessing of God, been enabled to do has conferred upon me a much greater pleasure than it could possibly have conferred upon others. To you and to my residence among you I owe all my good fortune, to you and to my residence among you I owe my dear wife's restoration to health; and it would be ingratitude indeed did I not endeavour to make some return for the good you have showered upon me. I shall never forget you, nor will my wife forget you; in our native land we shall constantly recall the happy years we spent in this pleasant village, and we shall constantly pray that peace and prosperity may never desert you." The earnestness and feeling with which these sentiments were uttered were unmistakable and convincing, and when Aaron resumed his seat the eyes of all who had assembled to do him honour were turned upon him approvingly and sympathisingly. "Ah," groaned the good curÉ, "were he not a Jew he would be a perfect man!" The flowers which graced the banqueting table were sent by special messenger to Rachel, and the following day she pressed a few and kept them ever afterwards among her precious relics. Aaron did not come home till late in the night, and he found Rachel waiting up for him. He delighted her by describing the incidents and speeches of the memorable evening. Aaron was a great smoker, and while they talked he smoked the silver-mounted pipe for which he had so great an affection.

There are in the possession of many men dumb memorials of insignificant value which they would not part with for untold gold, and this silver-mounted pipe of Aaron's was one of these. Before Rachel was blind she had been in the habit of filling it for him, and when she was deprived of sight he sorely missed the affectionate service. Tears started to his eyes one night when, with a loving smile, she handed it to him, filled; and now she did it for him regularly. Rachel had indulged in a piece of extravagance. She had a special case made for the pipe, adorned with the letters A. and R. outlined in brilliants, and Aaron handled his treasure almost with the care and affection he bestowed upon his children.

"Your health was proposed," said Aaron, "and the health of our little ones. What was said about you, my life, gave me much more pleasure than what was said about myself. It abashes one to have to sit and listen to extravagant praises far beyond one's merits, but it is the habit of men to run into extravagance."

"They could say nothing, dear husband, that you do not deserve."

"You too!" exclaimed Aaron, gaily. "It is well for me that you were not there, for you might have been called upon to give your testimony."

"I should not have had the courage." She fondly pressed his hand. "I am glad they spoke of me kindly."

"They spoke of you truly, and my heart leaped up within me at what the good curÉ said of you, for it was he who proposed the toast. I appreciated it more from him than I should have done from any one else, and he was quite sincere for the moment in all the sentiments he expressed, whatever he may have thought of himself afterwards for asking his flock to drink the health of a Jewess. Well, well, it takes all sorts to make a world."

"How much we have to be grateful for!" said Rachel, with a happy sigh.

"Indeed, indeed, for boundless gratitude. Think of what we passed through in Gosport"--he paused suddenly; the one experience which weighed upon his conscience brought a dark and troubled shadow into his face.

"Why do you pause, dear? Has not my blindness proved a blessing to us? Do I miss my sight? Nay, I think it has made life sweeter. But for that we should not have come to this place, but for that we should not have had the means to do something towards the relief of a few suffering and deserving people. Nothing but good has sprung from it. Our Lord God be praised."

Aaron recovered himself. "There was Mr. Whimpole's visit to us before I commenced business, there were those stupid boys who distressed you so with their revilings, which I managed to turn against themselves. It was this pipe of yours, my life, that gave me the inspiration how to disarm them. It sharpens my faculties, it brings out my best points; it is really to me a friend and counsellor. And now I have smoked enough, and it is time to go to bed. I will join you presently."

In solitude the one troubled memory of the past forced itself painfully upon him. Did he deserve what had been said in his honour on this night? He valued men's good opinion, and of all the men he knew he valued most the good opinion of the curÉ. What would this single-minded, conscientious priest think of him if he were acquainted with the sin of which he had been guilty, the sin of bringing up an alien child in a religion in which she had not been born? He would look upon him with horror. And it was a bitter punishment that he was compelled to keep this secret locked in his own breast, that he dared not reveal it to a single human creature, that he dared not say openly, "I have sinned, I have sinned. Have mercy upon me!" To his own beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, he had behaved treacherously; even in her he dared not confide. It was not with Rachel as it was with him; there was no difference in the love she bore her children; they were both equally precious to her. To fall upon his knees before her and make confession would be like striking a dagger into her heart; it almost drove him mad to think of the shock such a revelation would be to her. No, he must guard his secret and his sin jealously to the last hour of his life. So far as human discovery went he believed himself to be safe; the betrayal, if it ever came, lay with himself. True, he had in his possession testimony which might damn him were it to fall into other hands, the little iron safe which Mr. Moss had received from Dr. Spenlove, and at the mother's request had conveyed to him. In his reflections upon the matter lately the question had intruded itself, What did this little box contain? It was impossible for him to say, but he felt instinctively that there was evidence in it which would bring his sin home to him. He allowed his thoughts now to dwell upon the mother. From the day on which he received the five hundred pounds from Mr. Gordon's lawyers he had heard nothing from them, nothing from Mr. Moss or from anybody relating to the matter. Between himself and Mr. Moss there had been a regular though not very frequent correspondence, but his friend had never written one word concerning it, and Aaron, of course, had not referred to it. Thus far, therefore, it was buried in a deep grave.

But would this grave never be opened? If other hands were not responsible for the act would it not be his duty to cause the light of truth to shine upon it? The mother had stipulated that, in the event of her husband's death, she should be free to seek her child, should be free to claim the box. Upon this contingency seemed to hang his fate; but there were arguments in his favour. Mr. Gordon might live, and the mother could do nothing. Arguing that the man died, it was more than probable that his wife had borne other children who had a claim upon her love which she acknowledged. To seek then her child of shame would be the means of bringing disgrace upon these children of her marriage. Would she deliberately do this? He answered the question immediately, No. In the consideration of these phases of the matter he bore in mind that, although the false news of the child's death must of necessity have been communicated to Mr. Gordon by his lawyers, it was likely that it had been kept from the knowledge of the mother. Aaron had been made to understand that Mr. Gordon was a man of inflexible resolution, and that he had pledged himself never under any circumstances to make mention of the child to the woman he had married. Even setting this aside, even going to the length of arguing that, hearing of the child's death, Mr. Gordon departed from the strict letter of his resolution, and said to his wife, "Your child is dead," was it not likely that she would reply, "I do not believe it; you tell me so only to deceive me"? In that case, her husband dead and herself childless, would she not search the world over for her offspring?

Setting this all aside, however, the onus still devolved upon him to open the grave. One of the stipulations attached to his receipt of the box was that when Ruth was twenty-one years of age it should be handed over to her. Would he dare to violate this condition? Would he so far tamper with his conscience as to neglect an obligation which might be deemed sacred? The question tortured him; he could not answer it.

He heard Rachel moving in the room above, and with a troubled heart he went up to her. Thus this night, the events of which were intended to shed honour and glory upon him, ended in sadness, and thus was it proved that the burden of a new deceit may be as a feather-weight to the solemn and heavy consequences which follow in its train.

Everything was ready for the departure of the Cohens, which was to take place at the end of the week. Before the day arrived they received other tokens in proof of the appreciation in which they were held. A deputation of working men waited on Aaron, and presented him with an address. The employers of labour themselves--secretly glad, perhaps, that he was going from among them--paid him a special honour. Rachel's heart throbbed with gratitude and with pride in her husband. But her greatest pleasure, in which were mingled touches of deep sorrow, was derived from the affecting testimony of the poor she had befriended. Old men and women witnessed their departure, and bidding farewell to Rachel, prayed God's blessing upon her. Children gave her flowers, and their childish voices were full of affection. The tears ran from her eyes; she could hardly tear herself away. At length it was over; they were gone; but it was long before her sweet face faded from their memory.

CHAPTER XXX.

AT THE GRAVE OF HIS CHILD.

The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph was a young man were eventful years for Aaron and his family. He returned to England the possessor of a few thousands of pounds, and was received with open arms by the Jewish community. He found to his surprise that the story of his life in a foreign land was known to his co-religionists, who are ever eager to acknowledge the success of their brethren. With Jews, as with Christians, success is a power, an "open sesame;" they are proud of it as reflecting honour upon the race, and, as is the human fashion, are willing to overlook a retrograde step or two in matters of religious observance on the parts of those who have won their way into the front ranks. It is also human, perhaps, that they are less tolerant to those who have not been so successful. Aaron Cohen, as we know, had no need of such indulgence; by poor and rich, by the heterodox and the orthodox, he was hailed as a worthy upholder of the old faith which has survived the persecutions of thousands of years. Before he went to Gosport he had resided in the East End of London, and he derived pleasure from his visits to the old familiar ground and from the renewal of acquaintance with old friends who had not prospered in life's battle. That he should be asked to assist these was natural, and the practical aid he tendered brought its reward. In a certain sense he became suddenly famous. "That's Aaron Cohen," said the East End Jews, pointing him out as he passed; "he used to live here, and he has made an enormous fortune"--multiplying his riches, of course, a hundredfold. But a man may be famous without being popular; Aaron was both, and he was not allowed to remain in ignorance of the fact. He was offered an honourable office in his synagogue, and he gladly accepted it. He was asked to serve on the board of several of the Jewish charities with which London abounds, and he did not refuse one of these requests. It was his earnest wish to make himself practically useful to the community, and also to do something towards the stemming of the tide of loose religious observance which was steadily rising among his brethren. Upon this subject he had many conversations with the clerical leaders of the chosen people, who saw the inroads that were being made and seemed powerless to provide a remedy. It did not occur to them that by a bold grasp of the nettle danger they might pluck from it the flower safety. Aaron Cohen believed in the thirteen articles of the Creed framed by Maimonides, which are accepted as the fundamental articles of the Jewish faith. He believed in following--so far as was practicable in the present age--the precepts which Moses transmitted to his race, with which all faithful Jews should be familiar. Some, he knew, were obsolete; such as those affecting the Nazarites, of whom not one disciple exists to-day among English-speaking communities: others were impracticable; such, for instance, as those relating to the burnt sacrifices, the redeeming of the male firstling of an ass, and the punishment of criminals by stoning and the sword. But in this code of six hundred and thirteen precepts are to be found many which breathe the pure essence of the faith in which he was born, and these he believed it incumbent upon him to obey. His lectures and addresses to Jewish audiences in the East End of London were listened to with breathless interest; the halls were not large enough to accommodate those who thronged to hear him. He drew from history illustrations of their past grandeur which fired and thrilled them. Sensible of the impression he made upon them, Aaron Cohen had reason to be proud of the part he was playing, but there was more room in his heart for humbleness than pride; the shadow of a committed sin for ever attended him.

Apart from these communal matters he had much to do. In business hours business claimed him, and he answered zealously to the call. 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 his 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 Aaron's 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 occasions, Aaron readily consented to give an introduction, through concerts held in his house, to young aspirants in whom Mr. Moss took an interest; and to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were always open. In relation to their intimacy in Gosport a conversation took place between Mr. Moss and Aaron some three years after the latter was settled 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."

"Very well. What did he say?"

"That you are ruining the labour market."

"Ruin to some men may mean salvation to others. He doubtless gives an explanation. How am I ruining the labour market?"

"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. Yes, I pay good wages, and I don't consider them high."

"And the hours are not as long as they might be."

"Quite true. They might be twelve, fourteen, sixteen, out of the twenty-four. We read of such unfair strains upon human labour. My hours are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are satisfied, I give offence to no man."

"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offence to the capitalist."

"I regret to hear it."

"He says 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 labour cheaper and by making his 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 I know what I am talking about. 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 towards 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. Why? Because you are a fair-dealing man. I, on my part, wish to make myself respected in whatever part of the world I live. To this end the conditions are somewhat harder for us than for our Christian neighbours. They drive as hard bargains as we do, they are equally guilty of malpractices. When one is found out--a terrible crime, as we know--it is not said of him, 'What could you expect? He is a Christian.' It is not so with us. When one of us is proved to be guilty of sharp dealing, it is said, 'What could you expect? He is a Jew.' I will not go into the question whether we have justly earned the reproach; but it certainly lays upon us the obligation of being more careful than perhaps we might otherwise be, of even giving way a little, of being a trifle more liberal. It is a duty we owe to ourselves. Surely there is no race to which it is a greater honour, and should be the greatest pride to belong, than the Jewish race; and by my conduct through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that honour or lower that pride. Moreover, what I can do to weaken a prejudice shall be done to the last hour of my life. 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's eyes gleamed. Aaron had touched a sympathetic cord; 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 the offer," responded Aaron, "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," said Aaron, outwardly calm; but his heart beat more quickly.

"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 keenly sensible of the sword that was 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 clue, and may be directed to you."

"Who will direct her? Nothing is more unlikely."

"It is at least probable," said Aaron.

"Well," Mr. Moss rejoined, "if she does apply to me, I shall not enlighten her. It is none of my business."

"My desire is that you do enlighten her. The box is her property, and I have no right to retain it."

"Very well, Cohen, if you wish it; but it is my opinion that you will never see her again. 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," said Mr. Moss, rubbing his hands joyously at this answer. "She will be delighted, and so will all our friends in Portsmouth. You have no idea how anxious she has been about it. She was afraid you would refuse because----"

He paused rather awkwardly.

"Finish the sentence," urged Aaron, in a kind tone.

"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Moss, with a frank laugh, "she thought you might be too grand now to visit us. I told her she was mistaken. 'Cohen is not the kind of man to forget the past,' I said to her."

"No," said Aaron; "I do not forget the past."

The sad tone in which these words were spoken escaped Mr. Moss. With a beaming face, he continued,--

"'Once a friend,' I said to Mrs. Moss, 'always a friend. It does not matter to him whether a man is up or down in the world, so long as he is honest and straightforward.' Why, if business went wrong, and I was in trouble, I should come straight to you."

Aaron pressed the hand of this warm-hearted friend.

"You would do right. I hope you may never need my services in that way; but if unhappily you should, do not hesitate to come to me."

"I promise you, Cohen, I promise you. Not that there is any likelihood of it. To bring up such a family as ours is no light matter, keeps one's nose to the grindstone, as the saying is; but we're not at all badly off. I return to Portsmouth on Thursday. Will that time suit you for the visit?"

"Yes; I will accompany you."

And away went Mr. Moss, overjoyed, to write to his wife to make all needful preparations. Not being acquainted with the secret which had become the torture of Aaron Cohen's life, he could have had no idea that the ready acceptance of the invitation sprang from a father's burning desire to stand by the grave of his child.

Aaron's visit lasted a week, and he spent one day and night in 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. His wish was to pass in and out of the town without being recognised; but the wish was not gratified. The Portsmouth newspapers circulated in Gosport, and Aaron Cohen's visit "to our esteemed neighbour, Mr. Moss," found its way into the local columns. It may be that Mr. Moss himself was the harbinger of this piece of news and that he was also responsible for certain creditable episodes in Aaron's career which were duly recorded in print; but if the reporters were indebted to him for the particulars he made no mention of the fact. He was certainly proud of the paragraphs, and sent copies of the papers to all his friends. The Gosport folk were therefore prepared for Aaron's visit; old friends came forward to greet him; and the kind physician who had attended to Rachel during her illness pressed him to be his guest, but Aaron excused himself. When he left the doctor his road lay past Mr. Whimpole's shop, at the door of which the proprietor was standing. Their eyes meeting, Aaron courteously inclined his head. The corn-chandler, very red in the face, returned the salute, and, after a momentary hesitation, advanced towards Aaron with outstretched hand. Aaron stopped, and took the hand of his old enemy.

"Mr. Cohen," said Mr. Whimpole, "I hope you do not bear animosity."

"I do not, sir," replied Aaron. "Life is too full of anxieties for needless enmity."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Cohen. I have often reproached myself for misjudging you; but the best of men may be mistaken."

"They may, sir. I trust you have changed your opinion of those whose religious views differ from your own."

"We speak as we find," said Mr. Whimpole; "and you have proved yourself to be a gentleman."

"It is never too late to admit an error," said Aaron; and, bowing again, he passed on, leaving Mr. Whimpole with an uncomfortable impression that he had once more been worsted by the man he despised.

It was night when Aaron stood by the grave of his child. Light clouds floated before the moon, and the shifting shadows played upon the graves of those who lay in peace in that solemn sanctuary. For a long time he stood in silence, musing upon the sin he had committed, the full measure of which had not yet come home to him. He held a high place among men; his name was honoured; he had been spoken of as Aaron Cohen the upright Jew; he had made himself a leader, and had but to speak to be obeyed; he had brought back strayed sheep to the fold. The Chief Rabbi had said to him, "The example of such a man as yourself is invaluable. Inroads are being made in our ancient faith, and you stand like a valiant soldier in the breach. You exercise an influence for incalculable good." And then he had blessed the man who was hugging an awful secret close, and veiling it from the eyes of men. How would it be if his sin were laid bare?

The spirit of his child seemed to rise from the grave.

"Why am I here?" it asked reproachfully. "Why am I cut off from my race?"

He beat his breast; the tears flowed down his beard.

"Forgive me, Lord of hosts," he sobbed, "for laying my child to rest in a Christian churchyard! It was to save my beloved! Pardon my transgression! Have mercy upon me!"