THE terrible tragedy that had filled so many hearts with
consternation, the untimely and mysterious death of Mark Abrams, had
long since been numbered with the events of the past. In the Hebrew
burial ground, in a suburb of the Queen City, his mortal remains
were at rest. Months ago, the grass had sprung, and the flowers of
affection blossomed above his pulseless bosom. Upon the seventh day
of every week since that dreadful January, the unhappy father and
mother had turned their faces devoutly toward the city of their
fathers, and offered their fervent prayers. Yet no abatement of
sorrow had time brought to the mother's wounded, bleeding heart.
Wearily, and often despairingly, she longed for that untried,
unknown life beyond, where she dimly hoped for a reunion with her
lost son.
Sarah Mordecai, young, thoughtless, volatile, in the death of her
lover was disappointed, but not heartbroken. Recovering from the
shock of her sorrow with the buoyancy and elasticity of youth, her
repinings scarcely reached beyond the period that brought blossoms
to the resting-place of the dead. Let no one censure this young
heart that, by reason of its nature, could not sit enshrouded in
gloom and sorrow, nor shudder at the thought that when the summer
came, with warmth and brightness, she was as light of heart as the
birds that carolled in the garden around her spacious home.
Not such the mourning of her disappointed mother. From day to day,
since the failure of her cherished hope, regret and disappointment
had rankled in her bosom with consuming force. She despised the fate
that foiled her plans and purposes, and left the object of her
hatred still uncrushed. Leah, with her beauty and unaffected grace,
was again to be triumphed over. Again she might not be so
successful. Rebecca was cold, cruel, and false-Leah fearful,
dispirited, and miserable. Alas! poor Leah Mordecai. EMILE LE
GRANDE'S DIARY.
"August 15.-So sure as my name is Emile, I believe I shall succeed
in my endeavor to marry the Jewess. She is beautiful! She receives
my attentions more kindly now than she ever did before, and she
confesses that she loves me truly. That's 'half the battle.' She
seems very unhappy at times, yet only once did she ever hint to me
that her life was aught but a summer's day for brightness. I once
thought she loved Mark Abrams, and I hated him for it; but that's of
no use now. 'Dead men tell no tales.'
"August 20.-Whew! how mother did rave to-day when I intimated that I
might possibly marry Leah Mordecai! She asked indignantly what I
'designed to do with Belle Upton, a girl of eminent respectability
and an equal of the Le Grande family?' I mildly suggested that I
could not love such a 'scrap of a woman as Belle Upton was; and if
she was in love with me, it was without a cause.' I have paid her
some attention, but only to please mother and Helen. She's too
effeminate, if she is so very aristocratic-not half so handsome as
'ma belle Juive.' Oh! those dreamy eyes! They haunt me day and
night. I believe I am sick with love!"
"August 30.-This has been a memorable month to me. Last night, in the
starlight, as I walked home with Leah from the Battery, she promised
to marry me; yes, actually to marry me! Said she was unhappy at
home-I wonder why-and would marry me in self-defence, if from no
other cause. A tear stood in her dark eyes as she said, with stern,
hoarse voice, 'If you love me, Emile, truly love me, and will be
faithful to me, I will forsake all others and marry you.' Then she
made me swear it--swear it there, in the face of the blue heavens and
the glittering stars. I tremble when I think of my parents'
displeasure, but then I love the girl, and shall fulfil my vow, even
unto death. In a month I shall be twenty-five years old, and before
another birth-day rolls around, after this one, I shall be a married
man-married to the girl I love, Leah Mordecai, the Jewess. I wonder
what the world will say. But I don't care; love knows no barriers.
When my plans are a little more defined, I shall mention the matter
seriously to my father. Mother will not hear to it, I know. And
then; if he is willing, all well; if he is not willing, all well
still. I shall marry her."