Читать книгу Leah Mordecai - Belle K. Abbott - Страница 9

These lines Lizzie Heartwell slipped into the leaves of a book that lay upon Leah's desk, while she was absent at a music recitation.

By and by the bell sounded for the half hour's release from study. Then Leah stepped across the room, and gently taking Lizzie by the arm, said, "Come, let's walk."

Lizzie put her arm around her friend, and the two girls walked out into the court-yard, that formed a play-ground for the younger scholars and a pleasant promenade for the older ones, and then turned aside upon the brick walk that connected the kitchen and servants' hall with the main building.

This brick walk, covered overhead by the piazza floor of the second story of the wing of the building, was securely protected in all kinds of weather. As Leah and Lizzie turned upon this promenade, Bertha Levy came skipping up to them with a merry bound, saying:

"Come girls, let's have a game of graces. Helen is willing. Here she is. What do you say?"

"Excuse me this morning, Bertha," Leah replied. "I do not feel well; my head aches, and perhaps I can walk it away!"

"Oh! yes, certainly; but you are as solemn as an owl, of late, Leah; what is the matter with you? Do you contemplate taking the veil? If so, is it the white or the black veil?"

"Our people never take the veil, Bertha. Do you forget?" replied

Leah reproachfully.

"Forgive me, dear, I meant no harm. But I am in a hurry. Dame Truxton will have that old bell sounded directly, and my game of graces not even begun. I wish the old thing was still in its native ore, and not always ready to call us into trouble;" and so saying, Bertha skipped away, calling, "Here, Mag Lawton, Mary Pinckney, come and play graces."

For a moment Lizzie and Leah stood watching the group as it formed, and admiring the graceful movements of the hoops as they flew from the fairylike wands of the girls. "That game is well called," said Lizzie, as Leah caught her arm again and said:

"Come, let's walk on." Then, after a pause, she continued, "I found your note, Lizzie, and I am sorry that I have such a telltale face; but I am unhappy, Lizzie; yes, I am miserable, and I cannot conceal it. I would not obtrude my sorrow upon others, but it is my face and not my tongue that betrays me."

"Do not think, Leah, I beg you, that I would seek to pry into the secret of your heart," responded Lizzie; "but I thought if you were in trouble, maybe I might in some way comfort you."

"I thank you, dear, dear Lizzie, for your sympathy"—and a tear fell from the lustrous lashes of the Jewess; "I thank you again and again," she continued, "but nothing you can do can alleviate my sorrow."

"Well, you can trust me for sympathy and love always, whether that will comfort you or not, Leah; be your trouble what it may."

"Mine is no sudden grief, Lizzie; it is a long, sad story, one that I have never felt at liberty to inflict upon any one's hearing, and yet, I have always found you so tender and so true, that when any additional sorrow comes to me my heart strangely turns to you for sympathy. I know not why. Can you tell me?"

"We always turn to those who love us, I think, in hours of darkness."

"Yes, Lizzie, but there is a peculiar yearning, in my heart for you, at times. I imagine it's akin to the feeling I should have for my mother, were she living. With this feeling at my heart, I long to look upon my mother's miniature which I once had, but which is now in my step-mother's possession, and to gaze upon the face that speaks such love to me, though her voice has so long been silent."

Lizzie, touched at Leah's pathetic words, turned and looked at her friend with a tender glance, and said, "Trust me, Leah, for that sympathy which you from some cause need, and unburden your aching heart to me, if you choose."

"But, there! the bell is ringing and we must go," said Leah abruptly. "Let's meet after school in the upper corridor, that overlooks the sea. I have something further to say to you."

"If you wish, dear Leah; and it's but a short two hours till dismission. Let's go."

Cloaked and hooded, the school-girls were all ready for departure after the three long, welcome strokes of the great clock; when Leah said, "It's growing chilly, Lizzie. Wrap your shawl closely around you, for it's cold out on the corridor. Come, let's go out at the rear door before it is locked."

Ascending a spiral staircase, the two girls reached the upper corridor that ran across the south side of the end wing of the building.

"Suppose Madam Truxton should come upon us, Lizzie, what would she think?" said Leah, as the two girls crouched down closer together at the end of the corridor.

"Nothing wrong, I guess, as we have our books; and perhaps we had better look over our French a minute. What do you say?"

"So we had, as it comes first in the morning," and bending their heads together the girls were silent for a time, pretending to study. At length Lizzie closed the book, and Leah began her story. LEAH'S STORY.

"I shudder, Lizzie, when I think of unfolding the sad story of my life to you; and yet, I am impelled to do so by this hunger for sympathy that is so constantly gnawing at my heart. As I have told you before, my heart strangely turns to you in sorrow. In the three years that I have known you, and we have seen each other daily, I have never known you guilty of a single act or word that was unworthy—"

"Oh! Leah—"

"Do not interrupt me, Lizzie. You must hear my story now, though it shall be briefly told; and I have one request to make, my dear. It is, that you have charity for my faults, and pity for me in my many temptations." She continued:

"As you have known before, my mother died when I was a very little child, scarcely three years old. I remember her but very indistinctly. The woman who is now my father's wife, was his housekeeper in my mother's life-time. She, of course, came from the common walks of life, her father being a very poor butcher. How she ever became my father's wife, I do not know; but my old nurse used to intimate to me that it was by no honorable means. Be that as it may, he married her when I was four years of age; and from that date my miserable story begins. The first incident of my life after this second marriage which I remember most vividly was this. A year after my father's marriage to Rebecca, business of importance called him to England, and a long-cherished desire to see his aged parents took him to Bohemia, where they lived, after the business in Liverpool was transacted. How I fared while he was gone, I dimly remember; but well enough, I suppose, as I was still partially under the care and control of my faithful nurse, a colored woman of kind and tender heart.

"Poor, dear old woman, she is dead long ago!

"This visit of my father to his parents proved to be the last, as they died a year or two afterward. Among my father's relatives in the old country, was a cousin who lived in wealth and luxury somewhere in Saxony. This cousin had been as a brother to him in his young days, and on my father's return from Bohemia, he passed through Saxony and paid this cousin a visit; He still speaks occasionally of that delightful event. I must not forget to tell you that this cousin was a baron—Baron von Rosenberg. He was not born to the title; it was conferred on him for some heroic act, the circumstance of which I do not now remember, during an insurrection.

"At parting with my father at the close of his visit, the Baron made him many costly gifts; among others, one of an elegant pipe of rare and exquisite workmanship. How distinctly I recall it now! It was in the shape of an elk's head, with spreading, delicately wrought antlers. The eyes were formed of some kind of precious stones, and on the face of the elk were the Baron's initials inlaid in gold.

"The stem, I remember well, was of ebony, richly ornamented with gold. I suppose it was a magnificent thing of its kind, and prized beyond measure by my father. He used it only on rare occasions, and for the gratification of our guests. But at length an event occurred that called forth the treasured pipe from its casket, never to be returned. It was on the occasion of the third anniversary of my father's marriage to Rebecca Hartz—an occasion that richly deserved sackcloth and ashes instead of feasting and merriment. But the day was one of grand demonstration, and many guests and friends were in attendance. All the articles of value and luxury belonging to the family were brought into requisition, and among the number, the treasured but ill-fated pipe. The guests ate, drank, and were merry, I suppose, till all were sated, and at a late and lonely hour they left my father's house deserted, with disorder reigning supreme in every apartment.

"'Forget not my elk's head, Rebecca,' was my father's last admonition, as he retired to his bed-chamber, after the revel was over.

"But Rebecca did not heed his command, and being fatigued herself, hurriedly retired, saying, 'I'll wait till morning.'

"Morning came, and unfortunately for me, I was the first to awaken. Hastily dressing, I thought I would explore the scene of the late festivity; and so I descended the stairs and entered the silent, deserted drawing-room. In a few moments, Rebecca herself entered the drawing-room, but partially dressed and wrapped in a crimson shawl. She had come to remove the pipe.

"'Why are you up so early, Leah?' she said confusedly, seeing that I was also in the room. And then, as she passed hurriedly around the table where the pipe lay, the treacherous fringe of her shawl caught in the delicate antlers of the elk's head and dragged it from its place upon the table. It fell to the floor with a crash, and we both looked down in dismay on the wreck at her feet. A footstep sounded in the hall at that moment, and fearing it was my father, Rebecca said boldly, and with gleaming eye:

"'What did you do that for, you wretched child?'

"'Do what?' I whispered, overawed.

"'Deny it, if you dare, and I'll break every bone in your body, you lynx! What will your father say?' she continued. 'Pick up every piece, and go and show it to him. Say you broke it, and ask his forgiveness! Do you hear me?'

"I hesitated and trembled.

"'Dare you disobey me?' she angrily exclaimed, with menacing gesture.

"'I am afraid of my father,' I whispered again, scarcely knowing whether I really did the mischief or not.

"'And well you may be," she continued fearlessly, seeing that she was gaining the mastery over me; 'but the sooner you seek his forgiveness, the sooner you will obtain it. Go at once, I tell you.'

"Oh! pity me, Lizzie! pity me, for from that fatal moment, I have been the slave, the serf, of a stronger will—a will that has withered and crushed out, by slow degrees, the last trace of moral courage that might have beautified and strengthened my character; crushed it out, and left me a cowardly, miserable, helpless girl! But to return.

"Involuntarily I stooped down, and began to pick up the pieces of the fragile horns, and the eyes of the elk's head, that lay scattered around upon the soft carpet, really wondering if, indeed, I did break it.

"'Now you have gathered up the pieces, go at once to your father; and mind you tell him you broke it. Do you hear me?'

"I glided out of the room, away from the presence of the woman who had so cruelly imposed upon my helplessness. Trembling with fear, and a sense of my supposed guilt, I approached my father, who was by this time comfortably seated in the family sitting-room, reading the morning paper.

"I crept to him and held out the fragments.

"'The d—l to pay! Who broke this?' he almost shouted in anger.

"'I did,' I murmured; and the rest of my story unspoken, my father struck me a blow for the first and last time in his life. It sent me reeling against a table; the sharp corner struck my forehead and cut a terrible gash. Here, I will show it to you. It is plainly visible, and always will be."

Leah lifted the glossy dark hair from her smooth pale forehead, and displayed the long, hard scar, that was so carefully concealed by the ebon folds. "I always wear my hair combed to hide it."

"Oh! Leah, Leah," sighed Lizzie, "how dreadful!"

"At sight of the blood that flowed freely from the wound, my father caught me in his arms, and kissing my blood-stained face, exclaimed again and again:

"'Fool, wretch, devil, that I am! Not for all the world would I have shed a drop of this precious blood. I beg your forgiveness, my darling—a thousand times, my child!' My cries, though suppressed, brought my mother to the room. With a well-assumed air of innocence and tenderness, she sought to wipe away the blood from my face, and bind up the gash upon my forehead. I all the while abstractedly wondering if I really did break the pipe; such was my weakness, such the power that was over and around my young life, and is yet, even to this very hour.

"My father gathered up the scattered fragments of the broken treasure and cast them into the fire; and from that day to this, he has never alluded in any manner to that occurrence. Always kind and tender to me, he seems to be ever endeavoring to atone for some wrong, and his long-continued silence assures me how vividly and regretfully he remembers his violence toward me."

"Shocking!" ejaculated Lizzie with emotion.

"Yes, it is shocking, dear Lizzie; for the horrible truth is ever before me, and this hated scar is the seal of the first lie of my tender young life. I never comb my hair away from my face, so morbidly am I impressed with the fear that those who see it will read the cause of its existence. Oh! Lizzie, that falsehood, and that cruel deception imposed upon a helpless child, were terrible indeed, too terrible to be borne.

"But I must proceed. I have dwelt thus minutely upon this first unhappy incident of my childhood, because it is a sort of guide-post to a long and dreary waste of years. It forms the headstone of my departed freedom, for, as I have said, in that evil moment when I yielded to her wicked, imperious will, I lost all moral power, and to this day, am worse than her vassal. Try as I may, I cannot shake off the habit; it has become second nature, and her influence now is so withering that I dare not make resistance; and yet, I despise myself for my weakness. Pity me, Lizzie, do not blame me! There's a moral want about me somewhere, Heaven knows, that no human agency can supply.

"My mother's assumed fondness for me led my father to believe that she loved me truly, and was tender and kind as she should be. He never dreamed of her deception. And to this day, he knows nothing of it, for I have never told him any of my trials and sorrows, since the day he struck me that undeserved blow. I love my father tenderly, and yet I cannot, dare not, unfold to his blinded vision the facts that have so long been concealed from him. No, Lizzie, I would rather suffer on as I must do, than darken his life by such a discovery.

"Thus you see something of how the years passed on. I, a helpless, ill-used orphan, growing older and and stronger day by day, and yet morally weaker and weaker, with no will or power of resistance, till I wonder sometimes that I am not an imbecile indeed.

"I thank the great God for my school-days. They have been days of pleasure and benefit to me. They have taken me from that home where I withered as the dew withers before the glaring sun, and cast me among pleasant friends, who seem to love me, and at least are true and kind. True and kind! Dear Lizzie, you cannot comprehend the significance of that expression. To my starved, wretched heart, these words are the fulness of all speech. I comprehend their meaning, and regard them as I do the burning stars afar, shining dimly upon a darkened world.

"Yes; again I say, I thank the great God for these school-days, that led me to know you, Lizzie—you, to whom my heart has learned to turn as a wounded, helpless bird would turn to its mother's sheltering wing for safety and protection."

Touched by Leah's story, and her protestations of love, Lizzie bowed her head in her hands, and a few tears fell through the slender fingers. Observing these tears, Leah bent forward and kissed them away, saying, "These are the first tears I ever saw fall for me." Then she continued:

"It is not necessary to dwell on the innumerable instances of cruelty and wrong that have marked my life, from the period just mentioned, on to the present. It is enough to say that many events in my home-life have left their searing impress on my heart and brain; and many, I thank God, have faded from my memory. But when I was fifteen, about the time you and I entered this seminary, an event took place, that has deeply wounded my heart, and will leave it sore forever. It was this:

"Very early on the morning of my fifteenth birthday, my father came to my chamber and congratulated me with many kisses, giving me his blessing. Then he said:

"'My daughter, I have here the miniature of your mother, taken before your birth. I had it set in diamonds then, for you, my child, little dreaming she would so soon be taken from us both. I have kept it securely locked away, waiting till you were old enough properly to appreciate its value. Now to-day, on your fifteenth birth-day, I have called forth the treasure, and give it to you forever. Take it; keep it carefully, my child, for the sake of the living as well as the dead.' My father laid the miniature in my hand, and turned away with ill-disguised emotion. Softly, and with trembling hand, I opened the casket that contained the treasure, and for the first time since her death, my eyes rested upon the dimly remembered features of my angel mother.

"O Lizzie Heartwell! At the first glimpse of that sweet, but half-forgotten face, I fell, like a helpless thing that I was, to the floor, prostrate with emotion. How long I remained thus overcome by sorrow and weeping, I know not. I knew nothing till the old familiar voice, harsh, cold, and cruel, fell upon my ear as the door opened.

"'Leah Mordecai, why are you lying there crying like a booby? What's the matter with you?' said my mother.

"Involuntarily I hushed my sobs, dried my tears, and arose to my feet.

"'What have you there, baby?' she continued.

"Without a word I handed her the casket, and as she regarded the sweet, mild face with cruel scorn, she said:

"'What's this you are blubbering over? Didn't you ever see a painted-faced doll before? Who gave you this?'

"'My father,' I replied fearfully; 'and it's the picture of my mother, my own dear mother that's dead.'

"My reply seemed to enrage her, and she said, 'The diamonds are beautiful, but I can't say as much for the face. I suppose you consider that you have no mother now; from all this whimpering. See here, Leah,' she added as a sudden thought seemed to strike her, 'You are too young to keep such a costly gift as this. I'll take it, and keep it myself till you have sense enough to know what diamonds are.'

"'Give it back to me,' I said excitedly, daring to hold out my trembling hand.

"'Indeed I shall not,' she angrily replied, pushing back the importunate hand.

"'Your father is a fool, to have given a child like you such a valuable thing as this. I'll see if he gives my Sarah this many diamonds when she is but a child of fifteen. And now, mind you, Leah Mordecai,' she continued, with a triumphant smile upon her wicked face, 'if you dare tell your father I took this from you, you'll repent it sorely. Mark my warning; say nothing about it unless asked, and then say you gave it to me for safe keeping.' She dropped the casket into her dress pocket, and swept coldly out of the room.

"The door closed behind her, and I was alone in my misery and my wrath. In my bitterness I cursed the woman who thus dared to crush a helpless little worm beneath her wicked foot, and, falling on my face again, I implored the great God to let me die, to take me to that mother whom I so deeply mourned.

"It's growing chilly out here, Lizzie," continued Leah after a pause; "suppose we leave the corridor, and find shelter in the hall of the wing. We can sit in the great window at the end of the hall, overlooking the sea. There we shall be secure from intrusion."

Lizzie bowed assent, and after the two girls were snugly seated in the great window, Leah continued her story:

"She has kept the miniature to this day, and for three long years, no matter how my eyes have longed for a glimpse of that sweet face, I have never dared to ask for it. Many times she has worn it, in great state, in her treacherous bosom, my father always supposing that I loaned it as a special token of affection—such, at least, was the story she told him, and I have never dared contradict her." As Leah finished this incident, her dark eye seem to kindle with a new light and a quiver ran through her frame. She added, with strange emphasis:

"One thing I would say, Lizzie, before passing from this subject, and mark my words; my spirit is not so broken nor my sense of justice so blunted but that one day I shall have that miniature again. I have sworn it, and as I live, I'll keep my vow. But I must hasten on; it is already growing late. I come now to the last and sorest trouble of my life.

"For many years I have known Mark Abrams, the son of our rabbi. We have been children and friends together, almost from the time my mother died. He was always so gentle and kind to me in his boyhood, that I often wondered what the world would be without Mark Abrams in it. He was always the object of my childish admiration, and, indeed, the only friend I ever had who dared, or cared to show me any kindness. A year ago now; a little more than a year, he whispered to me a tender tale of love, and my poor heart thrilled with ecstasy at his words. Yes, he asked me to become his wife, when my school days should be ended, and I promised him that I would.

"No one knew at that sweet time, of his love for me. I did not dream of it myself, till he told me—surprised me, with the unexpected revelation. I begged that our happiness be kept a secret until my school days were finished. This was my fatal mistake. You know our people have few secret engagements, and if I had only allowed Mark to speak to my father at first, then all would have been well. But the enemy has at last overtaken me, and I fear I am conquered and ruined forever. For some months I have thought that my step-mother suspected my secret, and have imagined that I could detect her intention to break the attachment if she found her suspicion to be correct. Her every action has betrayed this intention. I have at times vaguely hinted my trials and sorrows to Mark, but of the extent of that woman's evil designing, he has had no conception. I was ashamed to acquaint him fully with her true character. Would that I had, dear Lizzie! would that I had, long ago! My fears that Mark was being led into the subtle web of that evil woman's weaving, and would surely be taken from me, were confirmed by his absence from Bertha Levy's tea-party. He promised me to attend, and my step-mother offered some inducement that kept him away. To resist her will, one must have the strength of a Hercules.

"Lizzie! Lizzie! I cannot tell you more; the sequel of my fears is too dreadful to unfold! Even yet, my poor heart struggles to disbelieve it." Leah dropped her head for a moment, while a sigh escaped her tremulous lips, and was silent.

"Go on, dear Leah. Tell me all," said Lizzie.

And Leah continued. "For a long time I have been perplexed to know where my step-mother kept the key to a small cabinet drawer that I believed contained my long-hidden miniature. By diligent search, I found it the day after Bertha's party, and, feeling unusually unhappy, I determined, if possible, to see my mother's face once more. It was Sunday, and that night we were invited to some private theatricals at Mr. Israel Bachman's, whose daughter had just returned from school. You may remember his house on Vine street. I declined to attend. By remaining at home, I thought I could accomplish my purpose of discovering the hidden treasure.

"The cabinet was placed in the large closet attached to the sitting-room. To explore it, I must conceal myself in the closet. After the family departed, leaving me sole occupant of the house, a friend called. When her visit ended, I was interrupted again by the servant, so that it was late before I could begin my secret work. At last all was quiet, and my explorations began. First one key, and then another, was applied to the lock, but without success. I worked away hopefully, knowing the right one would come in turn if I were not interrupted. Drawer after drawer was opened and when the right keys were at last found, not one yielded up the coveted prize. I trembled with fear of disappointment. Only one remained to be opened; what if that were empty, too? Slowly and with trembling hand I applied the key to this last delicate lock. Just then I heard a sound in the hall, and footsteps approaching. What should I do? Without stopping to reflect, I closed the closet-door. As I did so, the sitting-room door was opened, and my step-mother entered, accompanied by Mark Abrams.

"'Be seated,' my mother said blandly; and in my covert I wondered what could be coming. Mark obeyed, and drawing his chair nearer the fire waited till she had laid aside her wrappings and seated herself in front of him. Then she said:

"'It's too bad, Mark, that your love for Leah is so misplaced; but, as I have told you before as mildly as possible, there are reasons why her father would never consent—reasons that are unalterable. Aside from poor Leah's unfortunate deformity, there—'

"'Deformity!' ejaculated Mark, in utter surprise, 'I would like to know how she is deformed? She, the most perfect model that was ever cast in mortal mould.'

"'Still, my friend, I feel that it is but just and proper that I acquaint you with a painful fact; dear Leah is deformed.'

"'And how?' Mark uttered hoarsely.

"'She suffers from a spinal affection, that will in time render her a hideous deformity, and perhaps a helpless, hopeless invalid.'

"'Merciful Heavens!' uttered Mark, with shocked and incredulous expression, as he sat gazing into the fire. At length he said:

"'God knows how sorry I am to hear that, for I love her, love her fondly!'

"Quickly discerning the effect of her story, my step-mother with well-feigned feeling continued:

"'After Leah's school-term is ended, her father contemplates taking her to Europe for medical advice and skill, and in case of improvement, which is scarcely supposable or to be hoped for, he has long ago promised her hand to the son of a wealthy cousin somewhere in that country—Baron von something—I can't remember hard names.'

"At length Mark looked up again and said:

"'Mrs. Mordecai, do not distress me farther. How can I credit your story? How can I believe that Miss Leah is aught but what she seems—the embodiment of health and beauty? Alas! for my broken, vanished hopes! Alas! for my golden dreams of the future!'

"'Oh! don't take things too much to heart, my boy. Leah does not care for you very much anyway. It will be but a small disappointment to her, if indeed she ever thought seriously of marrying you; and I remember to have heard her say that she never intended to marry—conscious of her affliction, I suppose.'

"Mark winced under these words, and replied, 'She need not have deceived me.'

"'Oh! girls will be girls, you know; and after you get over this trouble, if you still like the name, remember, here is Leah's sister Sarah, as fine a girl as you'll find anywhere, if she is my daughter.'

"'I could love her for her sister's sake, if nothing more,' said Mark with feeling; and then he bowed his head upon the marble mantel and looked steadily into the fire without a word.

"'Then if you desire,' continued my step-mother, with a little assumed hesitation, 'after reflection, you may speak to her father on the subject. Sarah will make a fine wife.'

"Think of me, Lizzie! Think of me, in that miniature dungeon, silently listening to the death sentence of my earthly happiness! Think of my weakness, in mutely listening to the lie that was, perhaps, to wreck my whole life! Think of me, and pity me!" Leah brushed away a tear, the first that had fallen from her stony eyes since the beginning of her story; and then she continued:

"If Mark heeded these last words of my step-mother, he gave no evidence of it, for he continued to stare blindly at the glowing grate, apparently oblivious of every surrounding object. At length he aroused, and said:

"'I must be going. Mrs. Mordecai, I bid you good night.'

"'Stay longer, I pray,' rejoined my step-mother; and he replied:

"'Not to-night; it's late now, and I must be alone. Alone!' he reiterated sorrowfully, and then was gone in a moment. All this time, Lizzie, I had stood shivering in my hiding-place, with my trembling hand almost benumbed by the cold granite knob, by which I held the door. I scarcely dared to breathe, for fear my presence would be revealed. The ordeal was terrible, I assure you! I thanked Heaven when I heard the library door open and close again, this time upon the receding figure of my step-mother, for then I was free again—free to breathe, and to move, and to sigh, if I chose, without betraying my hiding-place, or the cause of my concealment. I need not, could not if I chose, tell you of my feelings on that occasion. I remember them but dimly, even now. But this much I do remember, and so it shall be. I resolved that Mark Abrams should be free, rather than be undeceived by any word of mine. My pride, the little that is left in my soul, and my resentment, the shadow of it that yet lingers about me, struggled for a time in a fierce contest, and as usual, I yielded up my rights, and succumbed again to a cruel fate. My heart has given up its treasure, and he will never know aught of the bitter | sacrifice. I feel that I am ill-fated and despised, Lizzie; and feeling so, I do not desire to overshadow the life of Mark Abrams. I love him too much, too dearly, ever to becloud his future with my miserable life. I would rather live on and suffer in silence, as I have done for years, unloved and unloving to the end."

Here the beautiful girl ceased her story. Both friends for a time were silent. In Lizzie's soft blue eyes the tears glistened, and she looked with surprise into the cold, hard face of Leah, which had lost its gentle expression, and seemed petrified by this recital of her woes. Then she said:

"Would I could help you, Leah, by sharing your sorrow."

"No mortal being can help me, Lizzie. I am ill-starred and ill-fated, I fear."

Filled with sympathy, and with a heavy heart, Lizzie bent her head, and laid it in Leah's lap; and her silent prayer, though unheard by mortal ear, ascended to the throne of the Eternal Father, and was answered in the far-off future.

"It's late, and we must go," said Leah; "already the street lamps are being lighted, and I shall have to render some good excuse for being out so late."

"So we must; it is growing late," Lizzie replied.

"Remember now, I trust you, Lizzie," said Leah.

"Never fear; I shall never betray your confidence."

Then the two girls left the window, walked hastily through the hall and corridor, down the spiral staircase, out into the street, and turned homeward.