THE bombardment of the Queen City continued. With unprecedented
stubbornness did she resist the enemy's fierce demands, and stand
firm amid the death-dealing blows of shot and shell. Many of the
inhabitants had fled from their homes at the first boom of the
shelling guns, but many, too, had remained; and among the latter
number was Mr. Mordecai's family. But now the moment had arrived
when farther exposure to danger seemed to the banker a reckless
disregard of life. So they were going-going, as many others had
gone, leaving behind the palatial home, with its comforts and
luxuries, for the privations, hardships, discomforts, of a refugee
life. Articles of value were being removed to places of greater
security, some to be sold, others given to remaining friends, who
could not get away, and some left uncared for. It was the day before
the proposed departure. The house wore the aspect of a dismantled
castle. In the room formerly the library, but now well filled with
trunks, boxes, bundles, and so on, Rebecca and her faithful
attendant were busy with the packing, unpacking, and repacking of
their household goods. "Here, Barbara," said Rebecca, turning to the
woman nearest her, as she pushed aside an old worn portmanteau, "you
can take this. It's an old valise that my husband sent up from the
bank the other day, among his rubbish from there. Here, give me the
papers out of it, and I'll lookover them, while I sit here to rest a
moment. Here, pour them into my apron." Obeying this command,
Barbara emptied the contents into the large apron that the mistress
upheld to receive them, and she sat down to the examination. One by
one the papers fell from her fingers to the floor as valueless
trash, and she pushed them with her foot toward the open fire-place.
Suddenly she descried upon the floor a dark brown paper, loosely
folded, that had fallen from her lap unobserved. picking it up, she
drew from it a small book, bound in Russia leather, the size of a
man's hand. Upon the outer cover, in dim, well-worn, and
mold-covered letters was the word "Journal." "What can this be?" she
murmured curiously, holding it tightly in her hand. Slowly
unfastening the slender clasp, she read with astonishment the words
written upon the first page: "Emile Le Grande's Diary."
Amazed at what her eyes beheld, Rebecca hastily secreted the book in
her dress pocket and retired from the room. Once securely out of
sight, she eagerly began her scrutiny of the ill-fated little book
that had fallen so mysteriously into her possession. Record after
record was read with greedy eye. Soon her eye rested upon the name,
"Leah Mordecai." No vulture ever devoured its unfortunate prey with
more rapacity that did this wicked woman the contents that followed,
day after day. Her eye gleamed with delight, and her jewelled hands
trembled for joy, as she turned leaf after leaf of the unfortunate
book. At length she stopped suddenly, and exclaimed half-wildly,
"Aha! I know it now! At last the truth has come to light, the
terrible mystery is revealed," as she read the unfortunate yet idle
record of young Le Grande's, made on the night of Bertha Levy's tea-
party, the foolish record: "If I knew that she loved Mark Abrams, I
would kill him."
"You are mistaken, my bird," Rebecca continued to soliloquize; "he
did not love Leah Mordecai as fondly as you supposed, but you dared
to kill him from jealous hatred when you well knew you were
destroying the hopes and future of my child. Well, I'll see to it
that revenge comes. My young eagle, you are not so far away, but
justice can find you. Though the water of a dozen oceans rolled
between us, I think my revenge could reach you. Rest on in your
fancied security while you may, young villain; the storm is
gathering for your destruction. Rest on. Rebecca Mordecai will
never, never forget you. I will keep this secret to myself till my
plans are matured; then I will act. Now, we must fly, and then-well,
never mind what then, so I keep this treasure safe in my grasp." So
saying, she stowed the journal away in her bosom, and with a cruel
laugh, busied herself again with her preparations for departure. The
removal was made. The mansion of the banker was vacated, and the
Queen City left to the mercy of the spoiler. In all these days of
agitation and confusion, the little journal lay safe in the bosom of
its possessor. She intended to have the way clear, before unfolding
her secret and her purpose. And so it was.