"TO-DAY you leave me, Lizzie," Leah began; "leave poor Leah with no
one--" then she stopped.
"Why do you hesitate? Is there something that troubles you?" Lizzie
asked, observing Leah's hesitation.
"Yes," Leah said faintly, "there is something that troubles
me--something that I fear to tell even you, dear Lizzie."
"Can't you trust me?"
"Not that, Lizzie; but I am ashamed to tell you, and afraid too.
But," she continued, "you know what I suffered about Mark Abrams,
and how his love was taken from me and secured for another.
Well"--she hesitated again. "The secret I am about to disclose now,
does not concern Mark Abrams, or any other Hebrew under the sun."
"Is it some love-affair with a Gentile?"
"Yes," whispered Leah, "and it greatly perplexes me. It is something
that has been forced upon me, and tremblingly I come to you for
advice."
"Whom does it concern?"
"One that tells me he loves me, and swears eternal devotion--one
whose name I hardly dare to mention."
"I hope he is worthy of you, whoever it may be."
"Have you not suspected me, Lizzie? Has not my tell-tale face
betrayed me before? Can't you think who it is to whom I refer?"
"Can it be Emile Le Grande?" said Lizzie, after a moment's
reflection, with a look of astonishment.
"Yes," faltered Leah, "he is the one that tells me he loves me."
"And do you love him, Leah?" said Lizzie, with some hesitation. The
curtain that continued fluttering with renewed force was wafted full
into the face of the young Jewess, and veiled the crimson blushes
that overspread it. As gently as it came, the curtain floated back,
and Lizzie detected the traces of Leah's sudden emotion. Without
waiting for further inquiry, Leah continued:
"I determined I would tell you all, Lizzie, before we parted, and
ask your advice. Yes, I think I do love Emile--love him, because he
says he loves me. Last night he urged me again to become his wife. I
trembled like a frightened bird; I felt that I was listening to
dangerous words, yet I had not courage to break away from him."
"Did he say anything else--I mean about your being a Jewess?"
"Oh, yes; much. He said he cared nothing about that difference, if I
did not; but I told him I did. I assured him that I had been reared
a Hebrew of the straightest sect, and that my father would never
consent to my marrying a Christian. At my remarks he laughed, and
replied that he would take care of the opposition, if I would only
marry him. He urged and pleaded with me to promise him, but I
steadfastly refused. He is very fascinating though, and I think a
dangerous man to come in the way of a poor, irresolute, unhappy girl
like myself."
"Did he say much about the difference in religion, Leah?"
"He said something, not a great deal; said he was not religious
himself; that one faith was about as useful to him as another, as he
did not know positively which was the true one. He said he would as
soon marry a Jewess as a Christian, so he loved her, and the
religion might take care of itself."
"Did you ask if his parents knew of his love for you?"
"Yes. He replied that Helen knew of it, but he had not troubled
himself to tell his parents. I did not like that remark; and I
replied that they would doubtless object to my being a Jewess,
should he tell them. He laughed at the bare suggestion, and I
upbraided him a little for this apparent disregard of his parents."
"You might have referred him to the fifth commandment with
propriety, Leah, I think."
"So I might, but did not think of it. I have told you about all now,
Lizzie, and I want your opinion of such intermarrying. The subject
stirs me deeply, and I have no other friend to whom I would dare
confide it. I trust no one as I do you." Leah looked seriously and
steadily into her friend's face, and Lizzie began:
"What I say now, Leah, is not intended as advice to you in regard to
marrying Emile Le Grande, but only my opinion in general about
marriages where such material differences exist. In the first place,
a man who confesses that he has no religious faith, is to be pitied,
if not despised. And I think an unbelieving Christian far worse than
the most unbelieving Jew. It argues such an utter want of
consistency and fidelity. I should fear to trust a man that could
make such a confession. The Le Grandes are an irreligious family,
and Emile's education has necessarily been neglected in that most
important respect. In consequence of their want of religious
principles, they are notoriously proud, haughty, and vain--silly
even--of their family distinction. I imagine that Mrs. Le Grande
could scarcely receive a deeper wound to her family pride, than from
Emile's marrying a Jewess, no matter how lovely or high-born. All
she knows or remembers of the Mordecais is, that the banker was once
a poor, despised pawnbroker. No years of honest endeavor, or
successful attainment, could wipe this fact from her retentive
memory. It would be a misnomer, Leah, to call such a woman a
Christian. She is an utter stranger to the sweet principles of faith
and love embraced by true Christians, and practised by those who
believe that they have 'passed from death unto life.'
"Then, your people, too, are unrelenting in their views on such
unnatural marriages. Suppose you were to marry this man, in the face
of the unyielding opposition of the parents on both sides--there's
little hope that they could be reconciled. You see at once how you
might be considered an outcast from your people and his too. Your
children would be neither Jew nor Christian; for all the external
rites and ceremonies of the earth cannot transform a Christian into
a Jew, or a Jew into a Christian. Accursed be the nominal Christian
that would allow his children, by ceremony or rite, to be made
nominally Jews. Such a one is worse than an infidel; and has denied
the faith. God made the Hebrews a great and glorious people--his own
chosen children. But between Christians and Hebrew there is a wide,
wide difference; and God made that, too.
"No; Leah, if I were advising a Jewess to marry a Gentile, which I
am not doing, I would say, Select a man deeply rooted in religious
principle, and clinging humbly to his Christian faith. Such a man
would rarely, if ever, deceive or ill-use you."
"I see that you are right, Lizzie," interrupted Leah, apparently
aroused by her companion's words. "I'll heed your teaching, and
never listen to another word of love from the one who might lead me
into temptation, and perhaps into a fatal snare. Alas!" she
continued, with her dark eyes flashing, "but for a terrible lie, a
cruel deception, I should still be the affianced of Mark Abrams, and
happy in the hope of becoming his wife--not an unhappy, disappointed
girl, open to the flattery and fascinations of another man."
"Keep your resolve, Leah, if you can; and may the all-wise Father
give you strength," replied Lizzie.
"God helping me, I will; but you know I am a weak and helpless
creature, and when you are gone, my only bosom-comfort and faithful
friend will have departed. Promise me that you will never cease to
love me, and remember with pity the heart that loves you and will
ever yearn to be with you."
Lizzie made no reply; the swelling heart choked down the utterances
that struggled to escape her lips; and drawing Leah close to her
bosom, she embraced her in a silent, warm, and tender clasp. "Trust
me, even unto death," at length she whispered softly; and the reply
came:
"I will."
At the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, Lizzie said, "There
comes Aunt Rose. You will be at the wharf this evening, Leah, to see
me off, and to bid me God-speed with one of your bright smiles, that
I may hope for a safe arrival at my destined port?"
"Well, we have had our talk without interruption, and so I'll leave
you," said Leah. "Your aunt will certainly want you to herself
awhile. I'll meet you at the wharf in time. Till then, good-by."
As Mrs. Heartwell entered Lizzie's room, Leah passed out; and a
sweeter, sadder face Mrs. Heartwell said she had rarely seen.