Читать книгу A Daughter Of Israel - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Had the haughty families, Montagu and Capulet, been next door neighbours—to use our homely idiom—the disasters of the unhappy lovers would probably have been still more intensified in those good old days when gentlemen carried rapiers and were hypersensitive of their name and honour. But in the broad light of the nineteenth century, the exigencies of Society demand a different method of maintaining a respectable family feud, and the belligerents may live side by side without danger of mortal combat and the slitting of wizends. Certain it is that the Abrahams and Meyers hated one another with the same rancour as their more patrician prototypes, though they dwelt side by side, and pursued the same occupation of general dealers and pawnbrokers. The houses, low-browed and half-timbered, with beetling gables, had originally been one shop, standing in Horton-street, and were, perhaps, the only relics of the Middle Ages at present remaining in Westport. The shops were dark and stuffy, by reason of the kind of trade carried on there, and in the back part of the premises, the portion devoted to pawnbroking, there were sundry little boxes where the more timid might retire to bargain with Rebecca Abraham for a loan on any valuable they might be fortunate enough to possess, to say nothing of the advantage of a side door leading into a lane, thus ensuring privacy and protection against the nagging of slanderous tongues. Another lane ran by the side of Meyer's establishment, and their private boxes were situated in exactly the same place, with a few holes bored in the wainscot for ventilation, so that anyone of a curious turn doing business in one place could hear what was being transacted in the other. On the broad, shallow landing, four bedrooms led out on either side, except one, where a partition had been erected when the houses had been made into two; and here was a door, connecting the two establishments, but which now had been carefully barred for years.

Between the long, narrow counters Miriam led the way, followed by the stranger, Hazael coming close behind, and Abishai lingering after him, banging his crutch with an angry jerk upon the floor, and scowling hideously. The guide led the way to a little room behind, where an elderly woman was seated, with a pile of silver lying on the table before her. These she was polishing in a loving, tender fashion with a chamois leather. Her hair was quite white, and there were lines upon her face graven by years of care and trouble. Her eyes were still full and flashing, her nose such as you see only in one race.

"Mother," said Miriam, "I have brought you a friend."

Rebecca Abraham looked up swiftly, then down again, saying nothing in reply.

She had a bracelet in her hand, rubbing the tarnished surface with her long, polished fingers. Abishai tapped with his crutch again, and gazed at his mother in fond expectation, waiting for her to speak.

"A friend in the land of the Gentile is like the mirage of the desert, bringing hope only to increase despair. We have no friends: for is not our hand against every man's, and every man's against us!"

She pushed back the white masses of hair from her forehead. There was a foreign accent in the words, as one who speaks a tongue not her own. Then, as if the matter were dismissed, she ran her long lithe fingers round the ornament again, till it shone like a white gleam in the gloom. The stranger stood looking on totally unmoved. It was all one to him whether he was sleeping under the shade of a sail by the quay or resting in one of the carven chairs with their tarnished crimson furniture.

"You are wrong, mother," Miriam spoke again.

Then, without waiting for any reply, she told the story of the battle by the docks. Rebecca listened to the tale, though her hands were never idle. When it was finished, she swept the heap of silver aside, and taking a fair, white cloth, placed it upon the table and set out food.

"You are hungry?" she asked. "Then sit down and eat."

Nothing loth, for hunger conquers all feelings of diffidence, Speedwell took his seat, and turned with a wolfish look to the cold meats before him.

He had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon, but from stern experience he knew the effects of ravenous feeding. So, in a meditative way, he ate slowly and deliberately, and presently his eyes began to wander round the place in easy contemplation. Miriam, without seeming to notice his gratitude, waited upon him, cutting up his meat, for his injured hand lay upon the table helpless. Then, with a contented sigh, he lay back, and, from force of habit and an aptitude for finding comfort in strange places, he fell asleep.

"A good meal," said Abishai, regarding the scraps regretfully; "an enormous meal. Nearly enough to keep us for a day. But Miriam was always wasteful and thoughtless. If it had been me——"

"If it had been you!" Miriam exclaimed, in ineffable disdain: "you would have left him to stave and rot for all you cared. Yes; and he may have saved your life. And our own flesh and blood, too."

In the dim room it was almost too dark to distinguish the slumbering lad's features. Rebecca Abraham drew closer and peered eagerly into his face, like one who has been searching for a thing long and hopes to have found it.

"It was not in the eyes," she said, speaking to herself. "No, I cannot see it. Miriam, my child, how do you know this?"

"He told me he was one of us, mother, though his name is not one of ours. You are not angry that I brought him here?"

"No, I am not angry, my child. We must try to pay our debts, even those of gratitude, though 'tis poorly expressed. The lad is homeless, you say; but we are too poor to have a burden laid upon us."

"You need not fear for that," answered Miriam. "He will not stay here, being one of the wanderers from place to place, living on the bread of charity."

"A thief maybe; perhaps one who knows the inside of a gaol," Abishai observed, his head still propped upon his crutch; "a common, ragged vagabond, who comes here to spy out the house, and rob us in the night."

The shrill voice seemed to rouse the sleeping lad, for he stirred in his chair and opened his eyes. He fixed them upon the hunchback with a glare which caused him to start back affrighted, fearful lest his words had been heard. The outcast smiled bitterly.

"I have been starved and beaten," he said. "I have slept in the open air, when I might have known warmth and comfort; but I am no thief, neither do I know the inside of prison walls. Yes, I heard you; the sleep of one who moves from place to place is light, like that of the curs he herds with. But I am no thief, Abishai Abraham."

"How do I know that?" asked the cripple, glancing suspiciously, yet shrinking back, somewhat abashed. "How can you prove that?"

"When you bought those diamonds last night, in that quiet place down by the docks, how easy it would have been to rob you then. You did not know how close I was to you; it was easily done. You will think better of me when you know me as your father does."

Rebecca dropped the bracelet she was noiselessly polishing, and gazed at the speaker with wild, affrighted eyes.

"You have seen him?" she faltered.

Miriam and Hazael turned to one another almost fearfully. Abishai had folded his hands upon his crutch, his eyes bright and exultant; but in their different emotions they did not heed the strange ague which seemed to have smitten their mother in every limb.

"I have known him some weeks now," the stranger said, lowering his voice to an impressive whisper. "Never mind how. Partly because he was kind to me, I did all I could for you to-day. We parted some time ago."

"This is some strange mistake," Rebecca said, with uneven voice, "because the father of my children is not——"

"At liberty, you would say. Strange you have not heard. Saul Abraham escaped nearly two months ago from Portland."

For some moments there was a painful silence, broken only by the sound of laboured breathing. Rebecca turned away, so that the declining red rays of sunlight falling through the dim panes should not show the white, despairing agony of her face.

"It matters not how we met," Speedwell continued, "but we were useful to one another. Then we parted, little expecting to meet again, till I saw him last night."

"Here in this very place?" Rebecca asked.

"Yes; down by the docks. Abishai there almost touched us as he passed."

"The will of Heaven will be done!" she murmured; "for whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth. I have prayed that after all these years——What is that?"

She pressed her hand to her heart, which was beating wildly. There was a sound of a heavy step in the shop coming towards them. They sat almost afraid to move, till the latch was raised, and the new-comer entered. Fresh from the bright sunshine, he could see nothing but a group of silhouettes, and so their emotion was lost upon him.

The deepening light showed them a man of more than medium height, with a benevolent face, clean-shaven, and fringed with silvery hair. He wore upon his head a broad felt hat, which he had not removed on entering. He had on a long waistcoat reaching almost to his knees, a ruffled shirt-front, and a full-skirted coat of sombre brown. His nether man was clad in homespun breeches, finished off with gray knitted hose and heavy shoes latched with steel buckles. As he stood there, with his large white hands folded behind him, he might have posed for the embodiment of prosperity, in which, indeed, his looks would not have belied him, for Mark Lockwood was reputed to be the wealthiest manufacturer in Westport; a generous friend, a good master, albeit an uncompromising Quaker.

By this time Rebecca had recovered herself. She came forward with a gesture of humility almost Oriental, and placed a chair for the new-comer. Then raising the skirt of his coat to her lips, she kissed it reverently, and, folding her hands, waited for him to speak.

"I have come, friend Rebecca, because I hear that some of my people have been molesting thee," said Mr. Lockwood. "They are a wild lot, and take great delight in the maltreating of innocent persons. They have been assaulting thy children. I trust no grievous harm has been wrought."

"No harm, I thank you, master," Rebecca answered. "You know how they hate us always, and how much the more now that my children are well nourished while they are starving.''

"The stiff-necked will not hearken to the voice of reason," returned the manufacturer. "Verily, this strife between master and man grieves me sorely. Even my mediations have failed to heal the breech, and yet we must have justice as well as they. But it was an evil day for Westport when the labourer listened to the voice of the charmer. But thou hast not told me, friend, how thy children came off unscathed."

In a few words Rebecca told the simple story. Abishai stood gloomily in the background, but Miriam and Hazael drew their champion forward, where the light might fall upon his face. Mark Lockwood clasped his hands round one knee, and regarded the lad not unkindly for a brief space.

"Thou'rt well-favoured, boy," he said, at length, "and I like the expression of thy face. Tell me thy name, please."

"I am called Speedwell," was the haughty reply. "What is yours?"

"Nay; but I did not mean to wound thy feelings," Mr. Lockwood observed, with a gentle smile, "nor do I seek to pry into thy affairs. But I like spirit in a lad. Art willing to work?"

"I am willing to do anything to get an honest living, sir. The question is, are you willing to give me the chance?"

The merchant rubbed his chin, looking meanwhile into his questioner's face with shrewd, smiling gray eyes. He was too natively independent himself to despise that spirit in others. But the spindles were silent now, the workshops empty. It was no time to seek for work in Westport.

"Thy question is a fair one," he answered, at the same time taking a purse from his pocket, "though it is somewhat difficult to answer. But this unfortunate strife cannot last long, and then I can do something for thee. Art thou willing to tarry here?"

Abishai drew a deep, anxious breath as he awaited the answer to this question. That his mother would do anything Mark Lockwood asked he well knew, but the idea that the stranger might so decide was gall to his miserly soul. Still, the sight of the purse was an evidence of benevolent intention.

"I am willing to stay here," Speedwell answered at length.

"Then that is well. Friend Rebecca, can'st thou find the lad board and lodging till I am in need of his services."

"It is but a small favour you ask," replied the Jewess, fervently. "I have not forgotten. If you desire he may stay, and welcome."

"Nay, I do not mean that thou shalt bear the burden. Here is money sufficient for the lad's present needs, and to purchase him suitable habiliments."

Mark Lockwood laid some gold upon the table. Rebecca, after a mental struggle, put out her hand, gathering up the coins with a low murmur of thanks. She fain would have refused the money, but the instinct of race was too strong within her, and moreover—like Isaac of York's silver—the sovereigns were crisp and clear. The manufacturer, with his hands still clasped behind him, regarded Speedwell kindly, though the benevolence was tempered with some worldly shrewdness. Then, patting his new protege upon the back, he turned and left the room without another word.

"You are fortunate among men," Rebecca said at length. "You have found a master such as few toilers have. Serve him well, and he will serve you well all the days of your life."

"As he treats me so I shall repay him." Speedwell answered, with a quick flush. "He seems to be a good man."

"Ay, that he is," Abishai cried. "Never a better in Westport."

A fire had lighted in the hunchback's eyes like a frosty glitter of winter stars. But there was no ring of sincerity in his voice beyond the warmth fired in him by the sight of the red gold.