MR. MORDECAI had scarcely passed a square from his home, when
suddenly he retraced his steps, and stood again before the lodge.
"Mingo," he said sharply, "tell your mistress to send me that cursed
letter. Be quick."
With a dash the nimble slave obeyed the command, and in a moment
stood before his master, the letter in his hand, bowing and smiling
with his usual politeness.
Taking the letter, Mr. Mordecai crushed it in his hand, then placed
it in his breast pocket, as he again started forward toward his
banking-house. If he passed man, woman, child, friend, acquaintance,
or kinsman in that morning's walk, he knew it not; for the tumult of
passion that stirred his soul obliterated for the time every
recollection but that of the terrible sorrow that had befallen him.
In due time he reached the dingy brown banking-house, and stood
irresolutely for a moment upon the well-worn stone steps. He placed
the ponderous key within the lock, but the hand seemed powerless to
turn its massive bolt; and for a moment he stood with thoughtful,
determined eye resting upon the pavement. A moment more, and then he
quickly withdrew the key, dropped it into his pocket, and briskly
retraced his steps for square after square, and then abruptly turned
into the well-known street where stood the office of the
distinguished Le Grande.
It happened that Mr. Mordecai approached the office from one
direction, as Judge Le Grande himself approached it from another,
riding in the light single phaeton in which he usually drove to and
from his office.
"Good-morning, Mr. Mordecai. How goes it with you, my friend, this
fine morning?" said the judge pleasantly, as he alighted and threw
the lines to Cato, the driver.--"Tell your mistress she need not send
for me till five o'clock. I shall be very busy to-day." Then turning
to the banker he looked for a reply.
"It's no good-morning to me," replied the banker fiercely. "The
night has brought devilish work to my home."
"What do you mean, my friend?" was the judge's quiet reply. "What
has the night done?"
"Played the devil! Don't you try to trifle with my sorrow. That son
of yours has already wrought me injury enough. Don't you attempt to
mock me. I warn you, Le Grande, I warn you!"
Astonished by these mysterious words of the Hebrew, Judge Le Grande
gravely assured Mr. Mordecai that he knew nothing of the trouble
that had befallen him, and repeatedly asked, "What has my son done?"
"Done? Alas! he has done that which would to God I could undo!" was
the reply, uttered angrily and savagely. "But as I cannot undo it, I
shall curse it-curse it from the depths of my soul! He has married
my daughter? Stolen her-taken her away in secret from my house, and
they have wisely fled from my presence!"
"Married your daughter!" ejaculated the judge, the truth faintly
dawning on him. "Surely that's a mistake."
"Indeed it is a wild mistake; I would to God it were otherwise."
"By what authority do you make this assertion?" continued Judge Le
Grande, evidently aroused by the dawning truth.
"By the confession of my daughter, left in her room, and written a
short time before her flight."
"Where is that confession? Let me see it."
"Here," replied the banker, drawing the crumpled missive from his
pocket. "There, read the mischief for yourself."
With trembling hand Judge Le Grande smoothed out the crushed paper,
and eagerly, fearfully, scanned the contents that were to crush his
hopes, as they had crushed those of the banker. Silently, carefully,
he read it, read it till the story was told, and then, brushing away
a tear from his eye he said, with emotion:
"Mordecai, forgive her! Forgive her, as I shall forgive him; and now
that it is done, let us make the best of it."
"Forgive!" hissed the banker; "forgive such an act of disobedience
as that? Such disgrace to my name and people? Never, while there is
a drop of Hebrew blood in Benjamin Mordecai's veins, will I forgive
it!"
"It's no more a disgrace to your name and people than it is to mine;
but I consider that people are fools, who make disgrace of family
troubles, by obstinately parading them before the world."
"Then I shall delight in being a fool, if so you deem it," replied
Mr. Mordecai, with kindling emotion.
"Alas! I had great plans for Emile," said Judge Le Grande sadly, as
he turned away from Mr. Mordecai; "and his mother too; she had
fondly hoped he would marry Belle Upton. Now, all is disappointment.
I do not know how she will bear it. As for myself, I shall make the
best of it. I hope they may be happy.-I say, Mordecai," looking
steadily at the banker, "they have my forgiveness and my blessing
too. You may do as you please."
"Well, I curse them," the banker answered bitterly; "and I swear
they shall never see my face again, living or dying. Not one dollar
from my purse shall they ever receive, even though want and beggary
come upon them. Think not I can ever change, Judge Le Grande. As my
people and my people's God, the Eternal Father, are unchangeable, so
is my purpose concerning these disobedient children. Good morning."
Mr. Mordecai then turned slowly from the office, and as the judge
beheld the receding form, and remembered the fierce flash of his
dark eye, he unhesitatingly exclaimed, "Poor old man! I pity you.
And," he added after a moment's pause, "Heaven pity us both!"
As a bird floats safely upon the bosom of the blue sky and finds at
last her leafy home, so the little vessel that bore the fugitive
lovers, found safe and speedy anchorage in the quiet harbor of the
sea-girt isle that was to be their future home. The young, ardent
husband, and the fair, gentle wife, gazed with delight upon the
cloudless skies and bright waters, and thought hopefully of the
future. Only one shadow darkened their horizon. It was a fearful
thought, to Leah, that her father's anathema might ever rest upon
her. But the future was veiled, and the voice of Hope whispered,
"his blessing may come by and by. Wait."