IN their quiet little sea-girt home, where the skies were bright and
blue, and the breezes balmy and soft, Emile Le Grande and his young
wife had dwelt in peace and happiness for nearly five years. Not a
line had ever come, amid all Leah's hopeless longing and vain
expectation, to assure her of her father's forgiveness and continued
love. So, weary from this continued disappointment, she had settled
down into the confident assurance, that his blessing now would never
come, and she must find happiness alone in her husband's love. Long,
long ago, Emile's parents had written, expressing kindest wishes for
their welfare, and tendering to Leah a daughter's welcome. Mrs. Le
Grande, although disappointed and chagrined that Belle Upton was not
the choice of her son's love, soon quieted down, and accepted the
alternative with astonishing and commendable resignation. So,
despite Leah's bitter disappointment, she was happy; for, aside from
Emile's love, she soon drew hope and happiness from the life of the
dark-eyed little daughter that had come to bless her home. Emile had
yielded to Leah's wishes, and, following the custom of her people,
she had called her little daughter, Sarah, in memory of her mother,
whose death she had so long and deeply mourned.
The event of this little grandchild's birth had never reached Mr.
Mordecai's ears, for he had regarded Leah as dead, ever since that
dreadful morning when he discovered that she had clandestinely
married a "Christian dog." He desired to know naught of her welfare;
he avoided knowing anything.
In the interior of the State, about two hundred miles distant from
the Queen City, was a cosy, sequestered little settlement, called
Inglewood. To this little shelter of peace and security, many
refugees had found their way, and taken temporary homes. Many Hebrew
families from the Queen City had fled thither, and among them those
of Rabbi Abrams and Mr. Mordecai.
It was some weeks after Mr. Mordecai's removal to Inglewood, when
one day Rebecca requested her husband to accompany her to the house
of the rabbi. Mr. Mordecai gladly assented. They found the rabbi, as
usual, engrossed with his books in the temporary library that was a
necessary feature of his home. Mrs. Abrams still bore on her pale,
calm face the marks of sorrow that had rested there since the
terrible and mysterious death of her son. Without delay, and by dint
of that skilful management which was characteristic of Rebecca, she
approached the dreadful subject of Mark's death. Then, after a
pause, looking straight at the rabbi, she said suddenly, with
terrible emphasis, "I know the guilty man-the one who did the
dreadful deed." The rabbi, his wife, and Mr. Mordecai looked aghast.
"What do you mean," at length spoke out the rabbi, in fearful
bewilderment.
"I mean that I know who assassinated Mark," she replied, with
flashing eye and ringing voice.
"Know who killed my son!" he ejaculated hoarsely, "for Heaven's
sake, who was it?"
"You know the dark villain, Rebecca, who did that bloody deed! By
Israel, who was it?" said her husband, almost in the same breath.
"It was Emile-Le-Grande!" she replied slowly. "He and none other."
"That's a dreadful accusation," said the rabbi; "by what authority
do you make such a statement?"
"By the authority of his own words," she replied triumphantly.
"Here, you can read the confession for yourself." She drew forth the
little journal and pointed to the records.
"There, read first: 'If I thought Mark Abrams loved her, I would
kill him."
"Great God!" gasped the rabbi, looking again at the record as though
he thought his eyes had deceived him.
"Here again, see here," said Rebecca, pointing to one other record:
"'Dead men tell no tales.' Was that not some deed of his foul doing
that he did not wish discovered?" she continued, as she turned
onward through the book.
"He shall die!" exclaimed Mr. Mordecai, quivering with rage and
astonishment, while the stricken father turned and walked sadly
across the floor, exclaiming, "Ah me! ah me! Alas! my poor boy?"
while the mother's wounded heart bled afresh.
"See here again," said Rebecca, pointing with her finger to another
record that bore upon the mystery.
"Enough! enough!" exclaimed the father, averting his head and waving
her to silence with his hand. "I have seen enough; the mystery is
plain, the truth at last revealed. O God, the dreadful truth!"
Mr. Mordecai stamped his foot, clenched his hands, and muttering
half audibly, "This villain has ruined you, has broken my heart, and
destroyed the hopes of my child; and he shall die!"
"But, poor Leah, my husband," said Rebecca, half timidly, and with a
semblance of deep feeling.
"Leah!" he angrily repeated, "dare you even, now, speak that name to
me? Would to God she were dead! Never insult me again with the
utterance of that name?"
"Forgive me, dear husband; in the excitement of this sad discovery I
forgot your commands. I'll obey you in future." And turning again to
the subject, in order to appease her husband's displeasure, she
added, "By what means can you hope to reach Emile now, dear husband?
You know he's far away, and the guns of a blockading fleet
intervene."
"Though the guns of a dozen fleets intervened, I should bring him to
justice," he replied sharply.
"Think what my dear Sarah has suffered-is suffering still, from the
work of his bloody hand, dear husband," said Rebecca, affecting to
weep, as she covered her face with her hand.
Well-nigh aroused to frenzy, Mr. Mordecai said fiercely, "Promise
me, Rabbi Abrams, promise me, Rebecca, that you will lend me your
aid in bringing this fugitive to justice; and I swear by Jerusalem,
he shall be punished. I have gold, and that will insure me success.
Yes, I have gold he coveted, but-aha! that he has never received.
Pledge me, promise me, both of you, that good allies you will be!"
And they pledged him.
"But, tell me, Rebecca," said the rabbi, suddenly stopping in his
agitated walk. "How did you come into possession of that book?"
"Indeed, Rabbi Abrams, that is a mystery. In packing and unpacking,
preparatory to leaving the Queen City, I accidentally found this
Journal in an old portmanteau that my husband sent up from his bank
one day, among a lot of rubbish. It had lain there a long time, I
judge. Can you clear up the mystery, my husband?" she said, turning
to Mr. Mordecai.
"Let me see it," he replied; and taking the Journal from her hands,
he held it in his grasp as though it were a deadly thing, while he
eyed it strangely from side to side.
"I think, I think," he said slowly, as though abstracted and
confused; "I think this is the book Mingo gave me the morning
after--" Then he was silent. "Well, he found it in the lodge, I
guess," he continued. "I remember his giving me a small book that
morning, and I laid it away somewhere, to look at when my mind was
less agitated. I had forgotten it."
"A kind fate has preserved it, husband, so that we might be
avenged," said Rebecca.
"Keep it securely then, as it will be needed in the future. You are
a wise, good woman, a wise little wife," added the husband, with all
trace of displeasure toward her banished from his face.
Her mission accomplished, Rebecca, leaving the distressed family to
find solace for their sorrow as best they could, returned home to
gloat on the perfection of a scheme that would bring sorrow and
desolation to the happy Cuban home.