A Fair Jewess

"I am tired, dear. Will you lead me to our room?"

He took her in his arms and carried her up, as he would have carried a child, and this new office of love, and indeed everything he did for her, drew them spiritually closer to each other.

When she was in bed she asked him to tell her about the fire, and if he would be a great loser by it. He softened the loss, said that he was well insured, that they had a good friend in Mr. Moss, and that it would not be long before he was on his feet again. Content and happiness were expressed on her face as she listened.

"It will be a comfort to you to know," he said, "that no one will lose anything by me; every demand will be met; every penny will be paid. In my mansion" – his study of the law and his devotion to his faith led him occasionally into a biblical phrase-"are three stars: First, the Eternal God; next, you, my beloved; next, our good name."

"That is safe in your keeping, dear," she said.

"And will ever be, so far as human endeavor can aid me. You will be glad to hear, too, that the townspeople sympathize with us in our trouble."

"I am very glad; it could hardly have been otherwise. Who that lives to know you does not learn to honor you?" She held his hand in a tender clasp and kissed it repeatedly. "I will tell you something. I am beginning already to acquire a new sense. When you look at me I feel it-you are looking at me now. When your eyes are not on my face I know it. I shall learn a good deal very soon, very soon! I do not intend to be a burden to you." This was said with tender gayety.

"You can never be that." He touched her eyes. "Henceforth I am your eyes. It is a poor return, for you, Rachel, are my very life."

"Dear husband! Dear love! Kiss me. I want to fall asleep with those words in my ears. You will not stop up long?"

"I will go down and put out the lights, and see that all is safe. Then I will come up at once. Sleep, my life, sleep!"

He passed his fingers caressingly across her forehead, and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

He stole softly from the room in his stocking feet, and went down and made the house safe; then he returned to the bedroom.

The smile had left Rachel's lips; her face was paler, and there was a worn look on it. A terrible fear entered his heart. "O God, if she should die! O God, if I should lose her!" He took his silk taleth from its bag, and wrapping it around him put on his hat, and stood and prayed, with his face to the east.

"How precious is thy mercy, O God! The children of men take refuge under the shadow of thy wing. They are satisfied with the richness of thy house, and thou causeth them to drink of the stream of thy delight. For with thee is the fountain of life, by thy light only do we see light. Oh, continue thy mercy unto them who know thee and thy righteousness to the upright of heart!"

One line in the prayer he repeated again and again: "For with thee is the fountain of life, and by thy light only do we see light." And so he prayed till midnight, and the one supplication into which all else was merged was sent forth with touching pathos from his very heart of hearts: "O Lord of the Universe, Giver of all good, humbly I beseech thee to spare my beloved! Take her not from me! Let her live, let her live to bless my days! Let not darkness overwhelm me! It is thy hand that directs the fountain of life."

And Rachel slept on, and dreamed of the child whose face she was never to see upon earth.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN THE NEW HOUSE

Three weeks of great anxiety followed. Despite the courage with which Rachel had borne the sudden visitation of blindness her physical strength did not hold out, and, by the doctor's orders, she kept her bed. During these weeks Aaron had enough to do to put his affairs in order, and he had the additional trouble that matters turned out worse than he had anticipated. For security's sake, and to set the borrowers at ease, he transferred all the pledges that had been saved to another pawnbroker; those that were destroyed he considered himself bound in honor and common honesty to make good; he made no demur to the claims that were brought against them, but settled them promptly, and settled also all his trade debts. What with all this harassing business and his domestic sorrows he was occupied day and night, but he was careful that Rachel should not suspect how things were with him. The doctor came daily, and Rachel's time was very near. At every visit Aaron watched his face for hopeful news of Rachel's condition, but the doctor volunteered no information, and only gave instructions to do this or that. This reticence was torture to Aaron, and one day he begged the doctor to conceal nothing from him.

"There is nothing to conceal," said the doctor. "Her state is critical, but what else could be expected? Consider what she has passed through."

"I think of nothing else, of nothing else," said Aaron, his fingers working convulsively, for a question was trembling on his lips which he felt he must ask, but to which he could scarcely give utterance. "Doctor, will she live?"

The doctor bit his lip as he gazed upon Aaron's misery. "We will do our best; but remember, we are all in God's hands." And with these words, and a look of compassion, he departed.

Aaron stood motionless a while. We are all in God's hands! How often has that been said, and how terrible is its import! Human science and skill have done all it is in their power to do-the rest is with God. Aaron reasoned the true meaning away.

"We are all in God's hands," he murmured, "old and young, rich and poor, the strong and the feeble alike. It is so with one and all. I thank God he did not tell me to prepare for the worst!"

He drew comfort not from what was said, but from what was not said. He continued to commune with himself.

"How can she be otherwise than weak? And doctors sometimes think it their duty not to look on the brightest side. My Rachel will be spared to me. God will not take her away."

He went up to her; a nurse he had engaged was in the room; she could come for only a week, her services at the end of that time being required elsewhere. She put her fingers to her lips as he entered.

"Is she asleep?" he asked in a whisper.

She nodded in reply, but when he approached the bed Rachel held out her hand to him.

"Nurse thought you were asleep, dear," he said, bending down to her.

"I may have been," she answered. "I fall off into a doze a dozen times an hour, it seems, but I always know when you are near me." She put her hand to her head.

"Are you in pain, my life?"

"Oh, no. I am rather weak, but I shall get strong soon. Whenever I doze I see our dear one. Aaron, dear love, do not be anxious for me; I shall soon hold our darling in my arms."

The nurse gave him a warning look not to encourage her to talk, and understanding the silent monition, he kissed Rachel tenderly and went down to muse and pray.

The settlement of all his debts had left him almost a beggar. He owed not a shilling, except to the doctor, who had said nothing about his account; the week's money for the nurse was carefully put away; he could not have afforded to engage her for a longer term, for all the money he had left in the world amounted to barely two pounds. What was he to do when that was spent? Commence business again upon borrowed capital? But who would lend it to him? It was no small sum that would be required, and all his friends, with the exception of Mr. Moss, were poor. Mr. Moss was comparatively a new friend, and he could not expect him to render such substantial assistance. It would be unreasonable to ask for so large a loan, say, as fifty pounds, for that was the least that he could begin again with; besides, he would be sure to be met with a refusal. But what was he to do?

He thrust these worldly contemplations aside, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dwell upon them with a heavier sorrow at his door. He trusted in God-yes; but he knew that a man must work for his livelihood. Well, he would work; he was willing and ready for any honest occupation; but he must wait-for what? He stepped into the passage, and softly ascending the stairs, listened at Rachel's door. As he stood there the nurse came out.

"Go for the doctor," she whispered.

He flew. There was no thought in his mind now of his worldly troubles; he thought only of his beloved wife and unborn child. The doctor was not in, but was expected in a quarter of an hour, and would be sure to come round at once. Leaving an urgent entreaty not to delay a moment, Aaron hastened back to his house, and on the road found himself intercepted by Prissy, who had grown taller but no stouter since the night upon which she introduced herself to him. By reason of her increased height she looked thinner and scraggier than ever; as usual Victoria Regina, who had grown plumper and rounder, was in the girl's arms.

"Mr. Cohen, Mr. Cohen!" cried Prissy.

"I can't stop now," he replied, passing her quickly.

But Prissy's long legs were as active as his, and though Victoria Regina was a heavy weight to carry, she kept pace with him.

"D'yer know wot everybody's saying about yer, Mr. Cohen?"

"Never mind, never mind, my good girl; I have no time to listen."

"They're saying, everybody is," continued Prissy, "that yer as good as ruined, and that you 'aven't got a shilling left to pay yer way with."

"What does it matter what people say, Prissy? Never listen to tittle-tattle."

"'Ow's it to be 'elped, Mr. Cohen, when they ding it in yer ears? Mr. Whimpole, he ses he sor wot was coming all along, and when I ups and gives 'im a bit o' my mind he slaps my face, he does, and pushes me into the gutter. I don't mind that, but no one's going to speak agin yer when I'm by. It aint likely after all yer've done for me."

"You are a good girl, but take no notice of what Mr. Whimpole says. There are many here who still have a good word for me."

"Plenty, sir, and that's wot makes Mr. Whimpole mad; he can't make 'em think as he wants 'em to. You look ill, Mr. Cohen. I 'ope missis is no wus, I do."

"She is still weak and ill, Prissy; but she will get well soon-eh, Prissy? – she will get well soon?"

He cast a swift, anxious look upon her; even from the lips of this poor girl he sought the comfort of a consoling word.

"Yes, sir, she's sure to. Don't you worry yerself, Mr. Cohen. Gawd won't let nothink wrong 'appen to 'er. Wot did she say 'erself to me more nor once? 'Be a good gal,' she ses, 'and tell the truth, and be as kind as yer can to everybody, and Gawd 'll look after yer.' And aint she good, sir? and does she ever say anythink but the truth? and aint she as kind as kind can be to everybody about 'er? Why, it's in everybody's mouth, 'xcept Mr. Whimpole's. She's sure to get well, Mr. Cohen, and then yer'll let me see 'er, sir, won't yer?"

"Yes, Prissy, yes," said Aaron, laying his hand for a moment on Prissy's tangled hair; he had reached the door of his house, and was unlocking the door. "She will get well, please God, and you shall see her. Thank you, thank you, my good girl, and now run away."

"I'm off, Mr. Cohen," said Prissy; "this is going to bring yer luck, it is," and slipping a large paper parcel into his hand, she scuttled away.

He did not know what it was he held until he reached his room, and then he examined it. When he removed the paper he saw a horseshoe and two penny pieces, which had been rubbed bright with sand, so that they shone like gold. Something shone in Aaron's eyes as he gazed at the humble offering; he smiled wistfully, and muttering, "It is an omen of good fortune; God bless you, little Prissy!" put the shoe and the pennies carefully aside. Then he stepped softly upstairs, and softly tapped at the bedroom door.

"How is she, nurse?"

"Bearing up wonderfully, sir."

"Thank God! The doctor will be here presently. I will wait for him at the street door."

He had not long to wait; in a very short time he saw the welcome form turning the corner, and the doctor, with a friendly, smiling nod, passed into the house.

Aaron paced to and fro in the room below, and waited for the word that was to bring joy or sorrow to his soul. He had put his slippers on, in order that his footsteps should not be heard. In such times of tribulation his thoughts were invariably directed to the divine footstool; as with all devout Jews prayer was part of his life, and never, since the day of his birth, had he prayed so earnestly and fervently as now. Every few moments he paused in the supplications he was sending forth, and stepped softly into the passage, and listened. He heard no sound, not a sob, not a cry; then he returned to his room, and resumed his prayers. His heart was with Rachel, and he knew that she was thinking of him. In the light of the perfect love that existed between them, in the anxious expectancy of these lagging minutes, what mattered poverty or riches, what mattered mere worldly misfortune? A stout spirit, a strong shoulder to the wheel, and all would be well; thus much could a man do with a cheerful heart. But here and now he was helpless, impotent; here and now was impending a graver issue which he was powerless to influence. A life-the life of his beloved-was hanging in the balance; and all that he could do was to wait and hope and pray.

Hush! What was that? An infant's wail-the cry of a newborn child! With his heart in his ears he stood in the passage, then sank upon the stairs, with his face in his hands. His child lived-but Rachel! how was it with her?

The bedroom door opened and closed, and the doctor came down. The passage was dark, for it was now evening, and Aaron could not see the doctor's face. Taking Aaron's arm, which shook in his grasp like a leaf in a strong wind, the doctor led Aaron into the sitting room and lit the gas.

"Doctor!" implored Aaron, with clasped hands.

"You have a little girl."

"And Rachel-my wife!"

"Be comforted. She is in no immediate danger. She is a brave and noble woman. I will return in a couple of hours. The nurse will tell you when you can go up and see her."

Aaron laid his head upon the table and wept.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DOCTOR SPEAKS PLAINLY TO AARON COHEN

"Aaron!"

"My beloved!"

"Is our darling beautiful?"

"Very beautiful-like you."

"You spoil me, dear; you think too much of me."

"It is not possible, Rachel. Loving you as I do, with my whole heart, there is still some wisdom in my love. Rachel, without you my life would not be perfect; without you I should be a broken man."

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she said, clasping his hand tight. "It is out of my power to repay you for all your goodness to me."

"You repay me every moment of your life. Not for a throne would I exchange my place by your side; not for a palace would I exchange my humble home with you to hallow it." Their lips met, and there was silence in the room a while.

"Dear husband, you are not disappointed that our child is a girl?"

"I am rejoiced that we have with us a daughter in Israel. What greater happiness could I desire? When you are strong, when I hear your footsteps about the house again, all will be well."

A holy joy dwelt in her face. "My darling, my darling!" she murmured as she held the sleeping babe to her breast. "I had a fear, but it is gone-a fear that our precious one would be born blind, as I am. Thank God, I did not bring that misfortune upon her. What happiness entered my heart when the doctor told me that her eyes were bright and beautiful. If only the gracious Lord will not take her-if only he will spare her to live to an honored old age!"

"He will, he will, my beloved! We must not talk any more. Sleep and grow strong."

He sat by her bedside in silence, gazing upon her face, which was as the face of an angel, and then he stole softly downstairs. He had much to occupy his thoughts; Rachel's danger happily passed, as he hoped, he could turn his attention to his worldly affairs, which indeed, being at a desperate pass, would have forced themselves to the front under any circumstances. By the doctor's orders he had been compelled to make certain purchases which had not only emptied his purse, but had driven him to the necessity of parting with the few articles of jewelry which he and Rachel possessed. These proceeds gone he was an absolute beggar.

Never in his life had he been placed in so serious a position. Difficulties had been encountered and confronted with courage and success, times of embarrassment had been tided over, losses had been made good, and he had fought his way cheerfully; but now his heart sank within him at the prospect that was opening out. Rachel needed not only care and unremitting attention, but delicacies in the shape of food to keep up her strength. Nourishing soups, a glass of port wine, a chicken-these were no trifles to a man in Aaron's position; and unable to afford the regular services of a servant, he had to look after these matters himself, to perform domestic work, to cook, and to keep the whole house in order. The nurse's attention was devoted solely to the sick room, and he could not therefore look to assistance from her; Prissy made her appearance daily, but Aaron dismissed her quickly, feeling the injustice of accepting services for which he could not pay. It was no easy matter to get rid of Prissy, who was not only willing but anxious to remain, and she feebly protested against being turned away so unceremoniously; her protests would have been more vigorous had she not entertained a certain awe of Aaron's strength of character, before which she, as it were, was compelled to prostrate herself. Thus Aaron, from force of circumstance and from his inherent sense of justice, was thrown entirely upon his own resources.

Counting the money in his purse, he calculated that it was sufficient to last for nine or ten days. In four days the nurse would take her departure, and then he and Rachel and their babe would be left alone in the house. At the expiration of less than a week after that he must be prepared to face the most serious difficulties. He had friends in London, to whom he had already written, and had received replies of regret that they were unable to assist him. Mr. Moss had been so good a friend that he hardly dared appeal again to him, and he resolved to leave it to the last moment. With a troubled heart, and hardly having the strength to hope against hope, he went about the house and attended to his duties. The four days passed, the nurse, having taken her leave of Rachel, came down to Aaron to receive her wages and bid him good-by. He paid her with a sad smile, and thanked her for her services. The "good-day" exchanged, she lingered a moment. With quick apprehension he divined why she delayed.

"You have something to say to me, nurse, about my wife."

"Yes, Mr. Cohen, I have," she replied, "and I am glad you have mentioned it, as I did not know how to bring it out." She paused again.

"Well, nurse?"

"I think you ought to know, Mr. Cohen, that your wife is not so well as you suppose."

"Nurse!"

"She keeps it from you, sir, and has begged me not to alarm you, but it is my duty. No, sir, she is far from well, and is not getting on as she ought. She grows weaker and weaker-and baby, too, is not thriving. It is that which keeps Mrs. Cohen back."

"What can be done, nurse?" asked Aaron, the agony of his feelings depicted on his countenance.

"It isn't for me to say, Mr. Cohen. If I were you I would ask the doctor to tell me plainly."

"I will, I will. Nurse, does she suffer?"

"She's just the one to suffer, sir, and to say nothing.

It would be a dreadful thing for you, sir, if-" But here the woman stopped suddenly and bit her lip. She had said more than she intended. "Good-day, sir, and I hope we may all be wrong."

He caught her arm. "No, no, nurse. I will ask the doctor to speak plainly to me, but he will not be here till to-morrow, and I cannot go to him and leave my wife and child alone in the house. Finish what you were about to say. 'It would be a dreadful thing if-'"

"Well, sir, it is best to face the truth. If your poor lady was to die."

"Great God! There is danger, then?"

"I am afraid there is, sir. Don't take on so, sir, don't! I am sorry I spoke."

"You have done what is right," Aaron groaned.

"We must all of us be prepared, sir; trouble comes to all of us."

"Alas, it is a human heritage! But you do not know what this means to me-you do not know what it means to me!"

"Perhaps I have made things out worse than they are; I hope so, I am sure. But you ask the doctor, sir, and don't give way. I shall think of your lady a good deal when I am gone."

With that, and with a sympathetic look at him, the woman departed.

At length, at length, the truth had been spoken; at length, at length, he knew the worst. It was as if a sentence of death had been pronounced. His Rachel, his beloved wife, the tenderest, the truest that man had ever been blessed with, was to be taken from him. His child, also, perhaps; but that was a lesser grief, upon which he had no heart to brood. His one overwhelming anxiety was for Rachel, who, as it now seemed to him, was lying at death's door in the room above.

He had some soup ready, and he took a basin up to her.

"Can you drink this, dear?"

"I will try."

He assisted her to rise, and put a pillow at her back. As he fed her he watched her face, and he saw that it had grown wan and thin. It was well for both of them that she could not see him; the sight of his agony would have deepened her sufferings and added to his own. With wonderful control he spoke to her with some semblance of cheerfulness, and his voice and words brought a smile to her lips. So through the day he ministered to her, and every time he left her room his fears grew stronger. He did not expect the doctor till the following day, and was surprised when he made his appearance at nightfall.

"I happened to be passing," he said to Aaron, "and I thought I would drop in to see how you are getting along."

When they came down from the sick-room Aaron observed a graver expression on his face.

"It is unfortunate that you have no nurse, Mr. Cohen," he said; "your wife needs constant care and watchfulness."

"She will have it, doctor. Is she any better, sir? How is she progressing?"

"She is still the same, still the same; no better and no worse."

"It is not in her favor, doctor, that she remains the same?"

"No, I cannot conscientiously say it is. At this stage a little additional strength would be of great assistance to her. Nature's forces require rallying-but we will hope for the best, Mr. Cohen."

"We will, doctor, but will hope avail?"

His sad voice struck significantly upon the doctor's ears. "Perhaps not, but it is a consolation."

"There are human griefs, sir, for which there is no consolation. I cannot wrest my thoughts from the selfish view. There are sorrows that come so close home as to take complete possession of us."

"It is human, Mr. Cohen, it is natural; but we must not shut out resignation, fortitude, submission."

"Doctor, will you speak plainly to me? It will be merciful."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"Tell me exactly how my wife and child are, so that I may be prepared" – his voice faltered-"for the worst."

"You do not know, then?"

"I fear-but I do not know."

"We doctors have frequently hard duties to perform, Mr. Cohen-duties which to others appear cruel. I will speak plainly; it will be best. It is due to your wife's gentle and loving nature that I have not done so before, and I yielded to her imploring solicitations, deeming it likely that you would discover the state of the case from your own powers of observation. Mr. Cohen, I have rarely had so sad and affecting an experience as I find here. It would be wrong for me to say that your wife is not in danger; she has been in danger for some days past, and it is only an inward moral strength that has supported her through the crisis. She has still a vital power which, under certain conditions, will be of immense assistance to her, which will enable her-so far as it is in human power to judge-to pull through. You will gather from my words that her safety, nay, her life, depends not so much upon herself as upon others-upon you to some extent, but to a much greater extent upon her babe. It is her deep love for you both that has sustained her, that still sustains her. Were anything to happen to either of you I should fear the gravest results. It would react upon her, and in her delicate state there would be no hope."