A WEEK passed. No word concerning the projected journey had been
spoken by her father, and the young girl was beginning to hope that
it might have been only the burden of an idle conversation, not a
project really determined upon by either parent. But early one
morning, as Mr. Mordecai caught the sound of music floating out from
the drawing-room-such tender music-he laid aside the paper he was
reading, and slipped softly toward the room whence came the sounds.
This sudden and unusual manifestation of musical skill, this morning
outburst of melody, astonished the father, and his approach to the
drawing-room was as much from surprise as for the pleasure of a
nearer enjoyment of his daughter's skilful performance. Unconscious
of any approaching footstep, Leah sat, pale and statuesque, at the
elegant instrument, and drew forth, at intervals, strains of
witching melody. The absorbed expression of her emotionless face
told plainly that music was the one channel through which the
pent-up feelings of her heart found an outlet. How often is this
divine art the unsyllabled expression of a miserable, or an
overjoyed heart.
"My daughter," at length said Mr. Mordecai tenderly, after standing
for some moments unobserved behind Leah.
"Is it you, father?" she replied, turning suddenly around, "I did
not hear you come in."
"No, my love, I came softly that I might not disturb you; came to
thank you for the sweet music that in this early morning sounds-so
heavenly, I will say. Play me something else, as sweet and tender as
the sonata you have just finished, and then come here and sit beside
me; I have something to tell you."
"With all my heart, father," Leah replied, rising and turning
through a mass of music. "Shall it be a song, father?"
"By all means, my dear."
And drawing forth the well-worn pages of Beethoven's "Adelaide," the
young girl reseated herself, and sang.
The tender words of her father, as well as the ominous ones, "I have
something to tell you," startled Leah, and caused the chords of love
and fear to vibrate wildly within her bosom. Yet she concealed her
deeper feelings, and sang-beautifully, bravely, sweetly-the tender,
ravishing love-ditty which she knew was her father's favorite. The
melody died away, the chords relaxed and hushed their sweetness, and
Leah turned toward her father, awaiting the words of commendation
that he always awarded to her performances. But he was silent.
Seated upon a divan near by, Mr. Mordecai presented a striking
appearance, which Leah at once observed. He was attired in his
crimson morning-gown, adorned with golden bordering, and wore a
becoming scarlet cap carelessly adjusted upon his head; a golden
tassel hung from the cap beside the thoughtful face, and the
half-snowy beard which spread like a silken fringe upon his bosom.
His head was half-averted, and the sharp black eyes seemed to rest
immovably upon some central figure on the luxurious tapestry. He was
so absorbed that he heeded not the cessation of the music, nor was
he aroused from his abstraction till Leah seated herself beside him
and said:
"Now, father, I am ready to hear you."
"Forgive me, daughter, if I seem unmindful of your charming song;
but thoughts for your welfare filled my reverie."
"What thoughts, father?" Leah asked fearfully.
"Well, listen to me. I have planned for you, my daughter, a most
delightful and profitable journey. Assured that you possess musical
talent of the highest order, I desire that talent to be most highly
cultivated. The culture you need cannot be obtained in this country;
so I have written to my cousin, Baron von Rosenberg, to have you
become a member of his distinguished family for a time. Under his
care and direction, your studies can be pursued to the greatest
advantage. What do you think of the arrangement?"
As Mr. Mordecai was unfolding what he supposed would be a pleasant
surprise to his daughter, he marked the serious, even pained
expression of her face, and wondered at it.
Leah was silent. Then, with an air of surprise and disappointment,
her father repeated the inquiry. "What do you think of my plan? You
cannot possibly dislike it, my daughter!"
"Saxony is a great way off from you, dear father-I believe the baron
lives in Saxony. I do not think I could be happy so far away from
you, the only living human being who loves me truly in this cold
world." The last words were spoken bitterly.
"Your words astonish me, my child; they savor of ingratitude, and
are strange words for your lips. What can you mean?"
Leah trembled that so much had escaped her hitherto silent lips,
betraying even faintly the true feeling of her heart; and repressing
the words that would have followed had her father not offered his
rebuke, she replied quickly:
"Forgive me, dear father, if I seem ungrateful; perhaps I do not
appreciate the love I enjoy; but I do not wish to go so far away
from you. And you will not send me, will you?"
"Never trouble about me, my daughter; go and stay a year, if no
longer; that's a short period of time, when it is past. Go for the
improvement you will get. Go and become distinguished, my child;"
and the ambitious parent's eye kindled with a new light at the
thought.
Leah made no reply, and the father, releasing the delicate hand he
had so tenderly held, said again and again, "Never mind me, child,
never mind me; a year's a short time. Go and become distinguished."
The banker went to his counting-house that day, elated with the
project for his daughter's pleasure and improvement, little dreaming
where, or for what purpose, this plan was conceived; and Leah spent
its lonely hours in sorrow and in tears.