Читать книгу Leah Mordecai - Belle K. Abbott - Страница 4

Table of Contents

IN Mrs. Levy's attractive drawing-room, Bertha's guests were assembled for the tea-party.

Lizzie Heartwell, the first to arrive, was ushered into the brightly lighted room, to find Mrs. Levy the only occupant.

"I welcome you gladly, Miss Heartwell," said Mrs. Levy, rising and taking Lizzie by the hand. "I have long desired your acquaintance, knowing my daughter's friendship for you. Pray be seated."

"I thank you, Mrs. Levy," replied Lizzie, "I indeed esteem it an honor to meet the mother of such a friend as Bertha."

"My daughter will be present by and by. I regret that necessity compels her non-appearance as yet. Sit nearer the fire."

Lizzie drew closer to the glowing grate, and they continued a pleasant conversation till Bertha appeared.

"What a handsome woman!" thought Lizzie, as she occasionally surveyed Mrs. Levy from head to foot during the tte- -tte.

And she was a handsome womam, dressed quietly but richly in black satin, her head adorned only by the clustering curls she had worn from her girlhood. There was little change even in their arrangement, and only an occasional thread of silver here and there bespoke the touch of time. Her eyes were still beautiful, but their lustre had been dimmed by the tears of her widowhood.

Bertha bore the same cast of beauty that distinguished her mother, yet time's developing, modelling work for her was not yet completed. When the guests were duly assembled, Bertha approached her mother, who was still entertaining Lizzie, appearing quite fascinated with her daughter's friend, and said, "Mother, won't you release your prisoner now? Helen Le Grande wishes her to join the group over there by the window, in a game of euchre."

"Certainly, my dear. I trust Miss Heartwell will pardon me if I have detained her too long."

"Come, Lizzie, come along," said Bertha; and then added, in an undertone, "you know what I promised to show you, Lizzie. Come with me; let them make up the game without you."

"Oh! yes, that album; show it to me," said Lizzie, following Bertha to a well-filled tagre, from which she took a handsomely bound album, saying, "This is from Asher. Isn't it lovely?"

"Indeed it is," replied Lizzie.

"Mamma says I do not know who sent it to me, as there is no name anywhere. She does not wish me to think it's from Asher, but I know it is. It's just like him to do such nice things," and, bending her head closer to Lizzie, Bertha continued, "you see, Lizzie, I am awfully disappointed because mamma would not allow me to invite him here to-night. I am just as vexed as I well can be."

"Won't some of these other gentlemen answer in his stead?" asked

Lizzie, smiling.

"Bosh! no; all of these, and forty more, are not equal to Asher Bernhardt, in my estimation. I love Asher, I tell you, and I mean to marry him, one of these days; do you hear me?"

"Marry! how you talk! A girl of your age presuming to say that you will marry such and such a one," said Lizzie, laughing.

"Indeed! I consider myself woman enough to decide whom I like, better than any one else, whether you call that old enough to marry, or not. But let me tell you what mamma said to-day, when she caught me kissing the album. 'Bertha Levy'—and oh! she looked so straight and solemn at me that I almost trembled—'Bertha Levy, are you going to make yourself ridiculous about that strolling player, Asher Bernhardt? Tell me.' 'You know he plays the flute superbly, and that's what I like.' Then I said meekly:

"'I know that he loves me.'

"'You know nothing of that sort, and you are a very silly girl. This is the way you regard my teachings, is it, fancying strolling players at private theatricals? What! could you promise yourself to marry such a man—a man whose chief recomendation is, that he can play the flute?'

"'Happiness,' I whispered.

"'Wretchedness, you mean! Well, I forbid you ever thinking of him again. I shall never, never, consent to such a thing, never while I am your mother. Remember my words now!'

"Oh! Lizzie, wasn't that awful, mamma is so hard on him! I—"

"Bertha, Bertha!" called a voice from the opposite side of the room, which Bertha at once recognized as her mother's and immediately turned toward Mrs. Levy, leaving Lizzie standing alone.

"For shame, my daughter!" said Mrs. Levy, in a low tone to Bertha, "to keep Miss Heartwell standing talking all the evening about your supposed present from Asher Bernhardt! I shall not allow you company again until you improve in politeness, and I will destroy that cherished book. Do you hear me? Go at once and see that Miss Heartwell is seated."

Bertha bowed her head, in token of obedience, and as she turned back to join Lizzie, Leah Mordecai was approaching the piano, accompanied by Emile Le Grande.

Leah Mordecai was a superb singer, yet it was only at the request of friends that her soul flowed forth in song. On this evening her music was delicious, and Emile Le Grande, always fond of the divine art, was bewitched with the beauty of her voice. When her singing ceased, the sadness still rested upon her face, and in Emile's heart there was a new-born sensation—that of pleasure mingled with fear.

The evening hours wore on. The hours that bore away the Jewish

Sabbath were rolling in the Christian day of rest, and Lizzie

Heartwell, in obedience to her uncle's request not to "tarry at her

pleasure too late," was the first to separate from the happy band.

An hour later, as the Citadel clock sounded the hour of midnight,

Judge Le Grande's carriage rolled rapidly toward the mansion of

Benjamin Mordecai, bearing home his beautiful daughter, escorted by

Emile Le Grande.

This night, as Lizzie Heartwell was slowly disrobing for the remaining hours of slumber after her return home, she glanced into the small mirror before her, and thought audibly—"Emile Le Grande seemed quite charmed to-night with Leah; he hung around her like a shadow, and part of the evening he seemed moody and almost miserable. How strange if he should fall in love with her! She's a grand girl. I don't think she could fancy Emile Le Grande. I wonder why Leah called herself 'the despised' yesterday. Well, we shall see."

Mrs. Levy's guests had departed, one by one, till the mother and daughter were left alone in the deserted room.

"Mamma," Bertha said at length, shrugging her dainty figure, and gazing thoughtfully into the fire, "I do believe that Emile Le Grande is in love with Leah Mordecai, and she with him."

"Be ashamed, Bertha, to think of such a thing! I believe you are insane on the subject of love. Have you forgotten that she is a Mordecai."

"Oh! Love's love, mamma, Mordecai or not Mordecai! I think Emile Le

Grande a fine fellow."

"Would you be impudent, Bertha?" said her mother, eyeing her sharply.

"Oh! not for the world, mamma. Do forgive me, if you think so, and let us retire, for I have an awful task of study awaiting me to-morrow."