THE SPIRIT OF THE DEAD PAST.
Aaron observed him anxiously. The disclosure that had already been
made had so unnerved him that he was apprehensive of further trouble.
"Ah, here it is," said the lawyer, opening the letter for which he had
been looking. "I was afraid I had left it behind me. Excuse me a
moment; I wish to refresh my memory."
He ran his eye over the letter, and nodded as he went through its
points of importance.
"Does it concern the unhappy affair we have discussed"? inquired
Aaron, unable to restrain his impatience.
"No," replied the lawyer; "I take it that is settled, and I trust, for
the sake of both the families, that it will not be reopened."
"I trust not."
"This is quite a different matter, and I hardly know how to excuse
myself for troubling you with it. It is a sudden thought, for I came
here with no such intention. You must thank your own reputation for
it, Mr. Cohen; it is well known that you have never neglected an
opportunity to do an act of kindness, and though what I am about to
speak of has come to me in the way of business, the story contains
elements so romantic and peculiar that it has strangely attracted me.
The reference in the letter which induces me to think that you may be
able to help me is that you are a gentleman of influence in your
community, and have a wide acquaintance with your co-religionists.
Perhaps I had better read the words. My correspondent says: 'I know
that there are peculiar difficulties in the search I intend to make
upon my return home, but before my arrival you may be able to discover
something which will be of assistance to me. Probably if you consulted
some kind-hearted and influential member of the Jewish race you may,
through him, obtain a clew; or, failing this, you might employ a
Jewish agent to make inquiries.' It is a lady who writes to me, and
her letter comes from Australia. May I continue? Thank you. Let me
tell you the story; it will interest you, and I will be as brief as
possible. The letter is too long to read throughout." He handed it to
Aaron. "It occupies, you see, fourteen closely written pages, and it
is somewhat in the nature of a confession. If you wish I will have a
copy of it made, and will send it on to you to-morrow."
Aaron, turning over the pages, came to the superscription: "I remain,
yours truly, Mary Gordon."
Truly this was a day of startling surprises to him. He recollected the
name as that of the gentleman for whom, twenty years ago, Mr. Moss had
undertaken the commission which had lifted him from beggary by placing
in his hands a large sum of money, to which in strict justice he was
not entitled, but which, from fear that the deception he had practiced
might otherwise be discovered, he had been compelled to accept. He
had, as an atonement, expended in secret charities a hundred times the
sum, but this did not absolve him from the responsibility. The spirit
of the dead past rose before him, and he was overwhelmed with the
dread possibilities it brought with it.
"I fear," said the lawyer, "that I have been inconsiderate in
introducing the matter at the present moment. I will postpone it to a
future occasion."
"Pray continue," said Aaron, whose burning desire now was to know the
worst. "I have had an exciting day, but I will pay due attention to
what you wish to impart to me."
"I appreciate your kindness. If you cannot yourself assist me you may
recommend me to an agent whom I will employ. I see that you referred
in the letter to the name of my correspondent, Mrs. Gordon; the
inquiry is of a delicate nature, and it may be her wish that her name
is not too freely mentioned--at all events for the present. Her story
is not an uncommon one, but it takes an extraordinary and unusual
turn. She is now, according to her own account, a lady of considerable
means; her husband has lately died and she has come into a fortune.
Some twenty odd years ago she was a young woman, and had two lovers,
one of whom wooed her with dishonorable intentions, and by him she was
betrayed. This occurred during the absence in Australia of the
gentleman who had proposed to her, and whom she had accepted. He was a
resident in Australia, and it was his intention to make his home
there. While he was on his way to England, with the intention of
making her his wife and returning with her to the colony, she
discovered that she was about to become a mother. In despair she fled
from London, where he expected to find her, and sought to hide her
shame among strangers. The place she selected was Portsmouth, and
there she went through a series of harrowing trials, and was reduced
to extreme poverty. In her letter to me she makes no effort to
disguise the misery into which she was plunged, and she is frank and
outspoken in order that I may properly understand how it was that she
was forced to abandon the child that was born in Portsmouth under the
most distressing circumstances. For it appears that when the suitor
who wooed her honorably arrived in London and learned the story of her
betrayal he was still desirous to make her his wife. He traced her to
Portsmouth, and found her there with her babe, who was then but a few
days old. This would have induced most men to forego their honorable
intentions, but Mr. Gordon, whose name she now bears, was an exception
to the rule, and, through a poor gentleman who acted as a go-between,
he made a singular proposition to her. It was to the effect that she
should consent to give up her child entirely, and during his lifetime
to make no effort to recover it. He undertook to find a respectable
and comfortable home for the babe, and to make a liberal provision for
it. This is the bare outline of this proposition, and I need not go
farther into it. So desperate was her position that she and her child
at the time were literally starving; she had not a friend except Mr.
Gordon, who was stern in his resolve not to befriend her unless she
accepted the conditions he dictated; the gentleman who acted as a
go-between was poor and could not help her.
"In these circumstances she made the sacrifice he demanded, and parted
with her child, who from that day to this she has never seen. Mr.
Gordon honorably fulfilled the terms of the agreement; a home was
found for the child, and he married the lady and took her to
Australia, where she has resided for the last twenty years. It was
part of the agreement that she should not be informed of the name of
the people who adopted the child, and should not, directly or
indirectly, make the least endeavor to obtain any information
concerning it while her husband was alive. If he died before her she
was free to act as she pleased in the matter. This has occurred, and
the widow, who has had no children by her marriage, is bent upon
recovering her child, who, I may mention, is a girl. The task is beset
with difficulties, and may prove hopeless. Shortly stated, Mr. Cohen,
this is the case as it at present stands."
"Is there a special reason," inquired Aaron, "for your applying to me
for assistance?"
"Not exactly special; it is in a sense accidental, inspired by my
visit this evening on the other matter we have spoken of. There are
certain particulars in relation to Mrs. Gordon's search for her
daughter which I have omitted. The arrangements for the future
provision of the babe were carried out, I understand, by a firm of
lawyers whose names Mrs. Gordon has been unable to ascertain, but she
is acquainted with the name of the gentleman who in Portsmouth
conveyed Mr. Gordon's proposition to her. This gentleman is Dr.
Spenlove, who, leaving Portsmouth several years ago, has attained an
eminent position in London. You may probably know him."
"He was at my house to-day."
"Then you are on terms of intimacy with him?"
"No. We met to-day for the first time."
"In her letter Mrs. Gordon refers me to Dr. Spenlove, and I have seen
him on the subject. But it appears he is bound to secrecy, and he
declines, very properly perhaps, to enter into any communication with
me on the matter."
"Still you have not explained why you apply to me.
"The explanation is simple. It has somehow come to Mrs. Gordon's
knowledge that, after enlisting the services of Dr. Spenlove, her
husband employed another agent, who was commissioned to find a home
for her child, and that this agent was of the Jewish persuasion. The
natural conclusion is that this agent was a resident of Portsmouth,
who may or may not have been bound to secrecy in the same manner as
Dr. Spenlove. You have friends of your own persuasion everywhere and
are probably acquainted with many Portsmouth Jews, through whom this
poor lady may gain intelligence of the fate of her child. If you
assist me you will earn a mother's gratitude."
"I will consider it," said Aaron, and his voice was troubled; "that is
all I can promise at present."
Mr. Dillworthy gave him a kind look and said: "It is not an opportune
time to seek your aid in a cause in which you are not personally
interested, when another subject, the welfare of a dear daughter, must
naturally engross your attention. Pray forgive me, Mr. Cohen."
Aaron bent his head, and as the lawyer closed the door behind him sank
into his chair with a heavy sigh.