"LEAH, dear, what troubles you this morning? Your melancholy look
distresses me. Is it any sorrow that you dare not unfold to your
loving
"LIZZIE?"
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.