THE HONORABLE PERCY STORNDALE MAKES AN APPEAL.
It was not the only cloud that threatened Aaron's fortunes and
happiness. Others were ready to burst, and in the gathering storm he
saw, not too clearly, perhaps, the peril in which he stood. His fair
reputation was in danger, the honorable edifice he had built for
himself was tottering, the wealth he had amassed was jeopardized by
circumstances over which he had no control. In the course of a few
days all these things were to happen, and although on the day
following that on which so great an honor had been paid to him he did
not realize that ruin stared him in the face, he was sufficiently
conscious that more than one sword was hanging over his head. But mere
worldly misfortune was a trifle in comparison with the stings of his
conscience and with a sting as bitter which he learned from the lips
of Dr. Roberts. The physician had not been quite ingenuous in his
report of Rachel's condition; his ripe experience scented a crisis
which might or might not occur. It did not depend upon him, but upon
the patient, and a few hours would decide the extent of the danger. It
was this that caused him to call early at the house to see Rachel, and
after he had been with her for a quarter of an hour he had a private
conversation with Aaron.
"There is no absolute danger," he said, "but I shall be better
satisfied if you will send her at once to the seaside. She will be
better out of London. I saw on the table a number of letters--begging
letters, I was informed--which Miss Rose had been reading to her. She
must be free from the emotions created by these appeals and from
anything of an agitating nature. Perfect repose and rest--that is what
she requires, with brighter sunshine and balmier air. I should
recommend Bournemouth, and if you wish I'll run down and see her
there. Meanwhile I will give you the name of a physician who will
understand her case as well as I do. Let Miss Rose go with her; your
wife is fond of her, and she is a cheerful companion, though she seems
to be rather depressed this morning. I have been lecturing the young
lady, and she tells me she has had a bad night. It will do them both
good."
"I cannot accompany her to-day," said Aaron, "I have so many important
matters to attend to. We will go down to-morrow."
"Send her to-day," urged the physician, "and you can follow on
to-morrow, or later. It is good weather for traveling; in a few hours
it may change. To-day, by all means. We doctors are autocrats, you
know, and will not listen to argument. To-day."
Had the business he had to attend to been of less importance Aaron
would have put it aside, and traveled with his wife to the seaside,
but it was business which imperatively demanded his present attention,
and he had no alternative but to send her with Rose and the
ever-faithful Prissy, in whom he had every confidence. He accompanied
them as far as the railway station, and held Rachel's hand in his as
they drove to Waterloo. It was not only that they were still lovers,
but that he felt the need of the moral support which he derived from
the tender handclasp.
"Do not be anxious about me, dear," said Rachel, "and do not come down
till Friday. Then you can stop till Monday morning, and perhaps Joseph
will be home by then, and he can come with you. He will not be able to
keep away from Rose, and he has but a short time to remain in England.
There is really nothing the matter with me except a little weakness
which I shall soon overcome. If Ruth is happy in Portsmouth let her
remain there if she wishes. We are growing old, love, you and I, and
we must not tie our children too closely to our sides. They will fly
away as the young birds do, and make nests of their own. May their
homes be as happy as ours has been--may their lives be as happy as you
have made mine."
In such-like tender converse the minutes flew by, and as the train
steamed out of the station Rachel's face, with a bright smile upon it,
was turned toward her husband.
On the road home Aaron telegraphed to Ruth in Portsmouth, addressing
his telegram to Mr. Moss' house; he desired her to return to London
to-day or to-morrow. He felt that he must speak to her with as little
delay as possible respecting the disclosure which Mr. Dillworthy had
made to him; it would be playing the coward's part indeed if he did
not immediately ascertain the nature of her feelings for the Honorable
Percy Storndale. Thus far the first step of his duty; what steps were
to follow he had not yet determined upon.
Arriving at his house, he found Mr. Moss waiting to see him. Rose had
left a letter for her father acquainting him with their departure for
the seaside, and giving him their address in Bournemouth, which she
was enabled to do, because Aaron had made arrangements by telegraph
for their reception in a Jewish house there. After a few words of
explanation of the cause of Rachel and Rose leaving so suddenly, Aaron
informed his friend that he had telegraphed to Ruth to come home at
once.
Mr. Moss started.
"You sent the telegram to my house?" he said.
"Certainly. I am sorry to break her visit, which she must have
enjoyed, but there is a necessity for it. As my oldest friend you
should not be kept in ignorance of this necessity, and will agree that
it is not to be spoken of outside ourselves without my consent."
Thereupon he related the part of his interview with Mr. Dillworthy
that affected Ruth and the son of Lord Storndale.
"There is another matter," he said, "of great importance which was
mentioned during the interview, and which we may speak of presently.
You now know my reason for sending to Ruth to come home. I must learn
the truth from her own lips."
"Strangely enough," said Mr. Moss rather nervously, "I have come to
say something about Ruth myself."
"Surely not in connection with this matter?" exclaimed Aaron.
"You must be the judge of that, Cohen. Did you notice whether Rose was
looking well?"
"She looked tired. Dr. Roberts said she had passed a bad night, and
that the change would do her good."
"A bad night! No wonder, poor child. I scarcely slept an hour with
what is on my mind. You will be surprised at what I have to tell you.
But first--Rose said nothing about Ruth?"
"Nothing whatever."
"You must not blame her; she acted by my directions, and her lips are
sealed."
"Why should I blame her? She is a dear, good child; I have implicit
faith and confidence in her. You alarm me, Mr. Moss. Speak plainly, I
beg of you."
"Yes, I will do so; but I would have liked to break it gradually.
Cohen, Ruth is not in Portsmouth."
"Not in Portsmouth! Where, then?"
"If what she writes and my eyes are to be believed she is in London,
and has been here all the week. She remained with us two days, and
then left, saying she was going to pay a visit to some other friends.
We naturally thought, though we expected her to make a longer stay,
that you were aware of it, and that the plan of her visit had been
altered with your concurrence. Last night as I passed through Regent
Street I saw a lady in a hansom in the company of a gentleman, and I
could have sworn it was Ruth; but the cab was driving at a quick pace,
and I thought I must have been mistaken. I came on here to Rose, and
the poor child was in deep distress. She had received, a letter from
Ruth, which she gave me to read. I do not offer any excuse for taking
the letter from her; she is but a child, and is quite unfit for a
responsibility which, without her consent, was imposed upon her. Here
is the letter. It explains itself."
Aaron read it in silence, and with conflicting feelings.
His first thought was that Ruth had taken her fate into her own hands.
He had done his duty jealously by her in the past whatever might be
his duty in the present. If, as was his fervent hope, no dishonor to
her was involved in her flight--for it was no less than flight and
desertion of the home in which she had been reared--if there had been
a secret marriage, new contingencies of the future loomed dimly before
him, contingencies in which the stern task it was his duty to perform
was not so terrible in its import.
The past could never be condoned, but in his consideration of the
future one figure towered above all others, the figure of his wife. If
for her the suffering could be made less--if the fact of Ruth taking
her course without his prompting, even in defiance of the lessons he
had endeavored to inculcate, would mitigate the severity of her blow,
was it not something to be grateful for?
If, he argued mentally, she and the son of Lord Storndale were married
they had little to hope for from the Storndale family.
Their dependence, then, rested upon him, and he resolved that he would
not fail the rash couple. His hope of an honorable, though secret,
marriage was based upon his knowledge of Ruth's character. She was not
given to exaggerated sentiment, he had never known her go into
heroics, she possessed certain sterling qualities of strength and
determination. Granted that she was led away by the glamour of wedding
the son of a peer, he was convinced she would not so far forget
herself as to bring shame upon herself and her connections. She was a
Christian born, and she had the right to marry a Christian; by her own
unprompted act she had cut the Gordian knot. That the Honorable Percy
Storndale had a double motive in pursuing her was likely enough, love,
Aaron hoped, being one, the fact of her reputed father being a wealthy
man the other. Well, he would fulfill the young man's expectations;
there was nothing in the shape of worldly atonement which he was not
ready and anxious to make.
In the midst of his musings a servant presented himself with a
telegram and a card. The card bore the name of The Hon. Percy
Storndale, the telegram was from Mrs. Moss, in Portsmouth.
"Wait outside," Aaron said to the servant, who left the room.
The telegram was to the effect that Ruth was not in Portsmouth, and
that Mrs. Moss, in her absence, had taken the liberty of reading the
message, under the idea that it might contain something which required
an immediate answer. "Is Ruth coming to us again?" Mrs. Moss asked.
Aaron passed the telegram and the card to Mr. Moss.
"Keep in the house," he said, "while I have an interview with this
gentleman. Wait in the library, and tell the servant to show Mr.
Storndale into this room."
In a few moments the young man was ushered in, and Aaron motioned him
to a seat.
It is a human failing to run into extremes. No man is quite so good or
bad as he is represented to be by his admirers and detractors. In his
anxiety to prejudice Aaron against Lord Storndale's son Mr. Dillworthy
had done the young man an injustice. A scapegrace he was, without
doubt, but he had been reared into his vices and extravagancies--it
may be said with truth carefully reared--and he was certainly no worse
than hundreds of other men who are brought up with no definite aim in
life, and educated without any sensible and serious effort being made
to impress them with life's responsibilities. He had, indeed, the
advantage of many, for although he considered it perfectly excusable
to get into debt with tradesmen, and to borrow from money lenders
without any expectation of being able to pay either one or the other,
he would not have descended so low as to pick a pocket or cheat at
cards. More of the pigeon than the gull, he looked always to his
family to get him out of his scrapes; he believed it to be their duty;
and it was upon him, not upon them, that injustice was inflicted when
he was thrown entirely upon his own resources, and when he was given
to understand that for the future he would have to settle his own
liabilities.
He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and passably good-looking; beyond
this there was nothing remarkable in his appearance; but there was
that air of good humor and careless ease about him which generally
wins favor with women who do not look beneath the surface.
Just now he was manifestly ill at ease, for he had never before been
engaged upon a mission so awkward and embarrassing.
That he was impressed by Aaron's dignified manner was evident; he had
expected to meet a man of a different stamp.
Each waited for the other to speak, and Aaron was not the first to
break the silence.
"I have taken the liberty of visiting you upon a rather delicate
matter," said the young gentleman, "and it is more difficult than I
anticipated."
"Yes?" said Aaron, and said no more.
The monosyllable was uttered in the form of a half question, and did
not lessen the difficulties in the young man's way.
"Yes," he replied, and was at a loss how to continue; but again Aaron
did not assist him.
"Upon my honor," he said at length, "I would not undertake to say
whether I would rather be in this room than out of it, or out of it
than in it."
He gave a weak laugh here, with a half idea that he had said something
rather clever, but still he met with no encouragement from Aaron.
"It is so difficult, you see," he added. "I do not suppose you know
me."
"No," said Aaron. "I do not know you."
"I thought it possible that your daughter, Miss Cohen, you know, might
have mentioned me to you."
"She has never done so."
"It was my fault entirely. I said, on no account; and naturally she
gave in."
"Did she wish to mention you to me?"
"Oh, yes, but I insisted. I don't exactly know why, but I did, and she
gave in. I dare say I was a blockhead, but I hope you will find
excuses for me."
"At present I can find none. We shall understand each other if you
come to the point."
"I will try to do so, but it is not easy, I assure you, Mr. Cohen,
after the way I have behaved. Upon second thoughts I do not see, upon
my honor, I do not see how you can be expected to find excuses for me.
But it does happen sometimes that a fellow meets another fellow who
helps a lame dog over the stile. I am the lame dog, you know."
"It may assist you," said Aaron, "If I ask you one question, and if
you frankly answer it. Are you a married man?"
"Upon my soul, sir," exclaimed the Honorable Percy Storndale, "I
cannot be sufficiently thankful to you. Yes, sir, I am a married man."
"Long married?"
"Four days, Mr. Cohen."
"Can you show me proof of it?"
"I thank you again, sir. But it wasn't my idea; it was my wife's.
'Take the marriage certificate with you,' she said. She has wonderful
ideas."
"Let me see the certificate."
The young man instantly produced it, and Aaron, with a deep-drawn
breath of relief, saw recorded there the marriage of Miss Ruth Cohen
and the Honorable Percy Storndale.
"You married my--my daughter, I see," said Aaron, "in a registrar's
office."
"I don't know how to apologize to you, sir," said the young man, as
relieved by Aaron's calm attitude as Aaron was himself at this proof
of an honorable union. "I can't conceive anything meaner, but what
could I do? Ruth--Miss Cohen, you know--being a Jewess, could not well
have been married in a church, and I, being a Christian, could not
well have been married in a synagogue. It was a very delicate point; I
am not acquainted with the law on the subject, but no fellow can deny
that it was a delicate point. Then there was another difficulty.
Bridesmaids, bridesmaids' presents, and general expenses, to say
nothing of the publicity, when the parties principally concerned
wanted to get it over quietly and quickly. Ruth said you would never
consent; I said my family would never consent; so what else was there
for it? Pray forgive me if I am expressing myself clumsily."
"Your family did not encourage the match?"
"Dead against it; from the first dead against it. Bullied and
threatened me. 'What!' they cried. 'Marry a Jewess!' 'As good as any
Christian,' I retorted. But did you ever know a Storndale listen to
reason, Mr. Cohen?"
"You are a Storndale," said Aaron quietly.
"Had me there," chuckled the young man. "Gad, sir, you had me there.
Well, sir, that is how it stands, and if you show me the door I'll not
say I don't deserve it."
"I will not show you the door, but it is not correct to say that is
how it stands, as if there were nothing more to explain. Mr.
Storndale, if the lady you have married were a Christian would your
family have objected?" The young man laughed in a weak, awkward way.
"Answer me frankly this and other questions it is my duty to put."
"My family would not have objected," said the Honorable Percy
Storndale, "if there had been settlements. You see, sir, we are not
exactly rolling in money, and I am a younger son. No expectations,
sir. A poor gentleman."
"An imprudent marriage, Mr. Storndale."
"No denying it, sir; and it has only come home to me the last day or
two. Marriage in such circumstances pulls a fellow up, you see; makes
him reflect, you know. My wife's an angel, and that makes it cut
deeper. A married fellow thinks of things. As a bachelor I never
thought of to-morrow. I give you my word on it. To-morrow! Hang
to-morrow! That was the way of it. I've only just woke up to the fact
that there is a to-morrow."
"Was it a love match, Mr. Storndale?"
"On both sides, sir. Without vanity--and I don't deny I've got my
share of that--I may speak for her as well as for myself."
"From the first a love match, Mr. Storndale? Did it never occur to you
that I was a rich man?"
"You drive me hard, sir, but I'm not going to play fast and loose with
you. 'Be prepared, Percy,' Ruth says to me. 'My father is a wise, as
well as a just and kind, man, and I don't know whether he will ever
forgive me; but you will make a sad mistake if you don't speak the
honest truth to him.' The truth it shall be, as I am a gentleman. I
did think of Ruth's father being a rich man, and seeing us through it.
But after a little while I got so over head and heels in love that I
thought only of her. I give you my word, sir, I never had the feelings
for any woman that I have for Ruth, and that, I think, is why I'm
rather scared when I think of to-morrow. If I hadn't been afraid of
losing her I might have come straight to you, but I didn't care to run
the risk. What would you do, sir, for a woman you loved?"
"Everything, anything."
"You would stake everything against nothing, with a certainty of
losing, rather than give her up?"
"I would make any earthly sacrifice for her."
"Well, sir, then you know how I feel. I don't set myself up as a good
man; I've done many foolish things, and I dare say shall do more
foolish things, but not half nor quarter as many with a clever woman
by my side to keep me straight. What some of us want, sir, is ballast;
I never had it till now, and even now perhaps it's of no use to me.
Until a week ago I had to think for one; now I have to think for two.
But thinking won't help me through, I'm afraid."
Never before had the Honorable Percy Storndale expressed himself in so
manly a fashion; it was as though contact with Aaron were bringing out
his best qualities.
"Was it your intention, Mr. Storndale, to come to me so soon after
your marriage?"
"I had no settled intention when to come, sir, but I have been forced
to it sooner than I expected."
"What has forced you to it?"
"Writs. When needs must, you know, sir."
"Are you heavily in debt?"
"To the tune of three thousand, sir."
"When a question of this kind is asked the answer is generally below
the mark."
"True enough, sir, but I am pretty close to it this time. Ruth's an
angel, but she's a sensible woman as well. She made me put everything
down."
"If I settle the claims against you "--the young man looked up with a
flush in his face--"you will get into debt again."
"I'll try not to, sir."
"Honestly, Mr. Storndale."
"Honestly, Mr. Cohen. Ruth will keep me straight."
"Leave me your address. I will come and see you to-night at eight
o'clock. Make out a clear and truthful list of your debts; omit
nothing. Meanwhile----"
He wrote a check and handed it to the young man, who shook hands with
him gratefully, and with a light heart went to gladden his young wife
with the good news.