THERE IS A PROVIDENCE THAT SHAPES OUR ENDS.
Two weeks had passed away. Joseph had come and gone. In the company of
Esther and his parents he had spent three sad and happy days in
Bournemouth, happy because he was in the society of those he loved,
sad because he was so soon to part from them. Rachel's health was
improved, and it touched Aaron deeply to observe how she clung to her
son and Esther, as though she were seeking in them a recompense for
what she was losing in Ruth. He exerted himself to be bright and
cheerful, and flattered himself that he was succeeding; but, indeed,
during these days he was not the only one who was playing a part.
Rachel was also exerting herself to hide the cloud which was hanging
over her spirits because of the prolonged absence of Ruth, as to whom
both she and Aaron seemed now to have entered into a loving conspiracy
of silence.
With Joseph Aaron was compelled to be more open, and to the young man
and his affianced he imparted the news of Ruth's secret marriage.
"I have not yet broken it to your dear mother," said Aaron, "in
consequence of the state of her health. But she is growing stronger
every day, and when you are gone I will break it to her gently." He
turned to Esther, and said, "You stand now in Ruth's place, and in you
I also have gained a daughter. Do not let this news distress you. Be
true to each other, be steadfast to the old faith, and all will be
well. And be careful to say nothing to the dear mother. Leave that
task to me."
The carrying out of his intention to retire into private life, and to
entirely give up the important business transactions in which he had
been engaged for so many years, rendered it necessary that he should
be in London the greater part of these two weeks; and Mr. Moss, who
was endeavouring to get his own affairs in order, was his constant
companion during this time. The private distribution of so large a sum
of money as Aaron had set apart for charity was no easy matter, and
the officers of the institutions which were the richer for his
benevolence used much persuasion to induce him to make his
benefactions public; but on this point he was resolved. The other
important matter which occupied him was the transference of his
existing contracts. His great rival, Mr. Poynter, was especially
anxious to obtain a share of this business, and with that object in
view he called upon Aaron. But the two men could not agree; it was not
a question of terms, but a question as to certain stipulations with
respect to wages and hours of labour which Aaron insisted upon.
"Surely," protested Mr. Poynter, "you do not arrogate the right to
dictate to other employers what they shall pay their workmen?"
"Not at all," Aaron replied, "where I am not concerned. But these
contracts are mine; numbers of the workmen have been in my employ for
years, and I must protect them."
"Protect them!" exclaimed Mr. Poynter, angrily. "Against me!"
"Against all," said Aaron, firmly, "who would pay workmen less than a
fair living wage, and would put too severe a strain upon bone and
muscle."
"Bone and muscle!" cried Mr. Poynter. "Bone and fiddlesticks! You are
talking common cant, Mr. Cohen."
The interview grew stormy, and did not last much longer. When Mr.
Poynter departed it was with a burning anger against Aaron, and with a
burning desire for revenge. From that moment he looked about for the
means of compassing this revenge. "If I could only bring him down!" he
thought, "if I could only bring him down!"
At the end of the fortnight Aaron was in London, his labours over, and
at this time his own fortune amounted to something over forty-five
thousand pounds, a larger sum than he had anticipated would be left to
him.
It must be mentioned that Ruth and her husband had just returned to
London, as he was informed by letter, their honeymoon trip having come
suddenly to an end in consequence of Ruth's indisposition It was she
who wrote to him, and she was so earnest in the expression of her wish
that he would come and see her, that he had sent her a telegram saying
that he would call at eight or nine o'clock, by which time he expected
to be free. He would have called earlier, but he had an appointment
with Mr. Moss at six, his intention being to make to his old friend a
full disclosure of his secret respecting Ruth. On the following day
Rachel and Esther were coming back to London, as Rachel did not wish
to remain longer in Bournemouth.
Aaron was waiting now in his study for Mr. Moss. The cares and sorrows
of the past few months had left their mark upon him. The grey hairs
had multiplied fast, the lines in his face had deepened, and in the
kind eyes and benevolent countenance there was a touch of childlike
pathos, as though the strong man had suddenly grown weak, and was
mutely appealing for mercy.
Mr. Moss's face was flushed with excitement as he entered the room
with an evening paper in his hand.
"Have you heard the rumour, Cohen?" he asked, excitedly.
"What rumour?" inquired Aaron, rising to meet his friend.
"About your bank, the Colonial Alliance?"
"No, I have heard nothing. I have not been out of the house since the
morning."
"It came on me like a thunderclap, but it cannot be true."
"What cannot be true, Mr. Moss?" Aaron spoke quite calmly.
"Well, there's nothing definite, but you know there has been something
like a panic in the City."
"I am aware of it, but it cannot affect me. I have no investments now,
with the solitary exception of my bank shares. All my affairs are
settled, and what is left of my fortune is in the bank until I decide
how to invest it."
Mr. Moss groaned "I wish you had it safely tied up in consols. Is all
your money there?"
"Every shilling. The only investments I have not realised are the
shares I hold in the bank."
"That makes it all the worse. The shareholders are liable to the
depositors?"
"Certainly--to the extent of the unpaid portion of their shares.
Perhaps beyond that--I am not quite sure."
The flush had died out of Mr. Moss's face, which was now white with
apprehension. "They're calling it out in the streets; but here's the
paper."
He pointed to a paragraph, which stated that one of the largest banks
in the City had closed its doors half an hour before its time, and
that the panic had in consequence reached an alarming height.
"There is no name mentioned, Mr. Moss."
"No, Cohen, no; but I passed through the City on my way here, and the
name of the bank was on every one's lips. If your bank stops payment
tomorrow how will you stand?"
"If it stops payment for sufficient cause," said Aaron, in a steady
voice, "I shall be a ruined man."
"Good heavens! And you can speak of it so calmly!"
"Why not? To work myself into a frenzy will not help me. There are
worse misfortunes."
"I cannot imagine them, Cohen. Ruined? Absolutely ruined?"
"Absolutely ruined," answered Aaron, with a smile.
"And it is only yesterday that you were----" He could not continue,
and Aaron took up his words.
"It is only yesterday that I was on the top of the tree. A dangerous
height, Mr. Moss, but I must bear the fall. If, when they climb the
ladder of fortune, men would but be careful to make the lower rungs
secure! But prosperity makes them reckless. Do not look so mournful.
Happiness is as easily found in poverty as in riches."
"It may be, after all, a false alarm," groaned Mr. Moss.
"Let us hope so; though there is no smoke without a fire. We will wait
till to-morrow."
"Will you not come with me to the City now to ascertain whether it is
true or false?"
"No. It will only trouble me, and it will not affect the result. I
will wait till to-morrow."
So marked was the contrast between his cheerful and Mr. Moss's
despondent mood that it really seemed as if it were his friend's
fortune that was imperilled instead of his own. He was standing by the
door, and hearing a knock he opened it.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the servant, "but this gentleman is
below, and wants to see Mr. Moss."
Aaron took the card without looking at it, and handed it to Mr. Moss,
who exclaimed,--
"Dr. Spenlove! What can he want here?"
"Show the gentleman up," said Aaron to the servant, after a moment's
consideration.
"Had I not better see him alone?" asked Mr. Moss.
"If you have no objection," replied Aaron, "I should prefer that you
receive him here in my presence."
They both seemed to scent a coming danger, but Aaron appeared to hail
it gladly, while Mr. Moss would rather have avoided it.
"A thousand apologies," said Dr. Spenlove to Aaron upon his entrance,
"for intruding upon you; but hearing that Mr. Moss had come to your
house I took the liberty of following him. My errand is an urgent
one."
"I am happy to see you, Dr. Spenlove," Aaron responded; "if your
business with Mr. Moss is not quite private you can speak freely
before me."
"I think," said Dr. Spenlove, half hesitating, "that it is quite
private."
"I have a distinct reason," continued Aaron, as though Dr. Spenlove
had not spoken, "for making the suggestion; it is more than likely
that I have a distinct connection with your business, and this must be
my excuse for wishing to be present. If it is of an incident in the
past you wish to speak, when you and Mr. Moss were acquainted in
Portsmouth----"
"How singular that you should have guessed it!" exclaimed Dr.
Spenlove. "It is such an incident that brings me here."
"The time was winter," pursued Aaron, "the season an inclement one. I
remember it well. For some days the snow had been falling----"
"Yes, yes. It was a terrible season for the poor."
"For one especially, a lady driven into misfortune, and who had no
friend but a stern and honourable gentleman who would only lift her
from the depths into which she had fallen on the condition that she
submitted to a cruel sacrifice. His demand was that she should give
her infant into the care of strangers, and that only in the event of
his death should she be free to seek to know its fate. Is that the
incident, Dr. Spenlove?"
"It is. I see you know all, and with Mr. Moss's consent I will speak
openly." Mr. Moss looked at Aaron, who nodded, and Dr. Spenlove
continued. "There is no need to recall all the particulars of that
bitter night when you so kindly assisted me in the search for the
unhappy mother and her child."
"None at all," said Mr. Moss; "they are very vivid in my memory."
"And in mine. Your kindness has not been forgotten either by me or by
the lady whose life, and whose child's life, were saved by you. He
shakes his head in deprecation, Mr. Cohen, but what I say is true. Had
he not, out of the kindness of his heart, accompanied me, these two
hapless human beings would have perished in the snow. I had a motive
to serve; he had none. On the night we parted in Portsmouth, Mr.
Moss, you were on the point of seeking a home for the poor babe, for
whom"--he turned to Aaron--"a liberal provision was made."
"I am acquainted with every detail of the strange story," said Aaron.
"I was residing in Gosport at the time."
Dr. Spenlove gave him a startled look. "It was in Gosport he hoped to
find this home, with a friend of whom he spoke in the highest terms.
The commission entrusted to me by Mr. Gordon--I perceive you are
familiar with the name--ended on that night, and what remained to be
done was in the hands of Mr. Moss and Mr. Gordon's lawyers. The
following morning I came to London, where I have resided ever since.
From that day until two or three weeks ago Mr. Moss and I have not
met. It was here in your house, Mr. Cohen, that, seeing him for the
first time after so long an interval, I made inquiries concerning the
infant entrusted to him. He informed me that she died very shortly, as
I understood, after she entered her new home. I was not surprised to
hear it; the exposure on that bitter night was sufficiently severe to
kill a child much older. In order that my visit to Mr. Moss to-night
may be properly understood I will relate in a few words the subsequent
history of the mother. She married Mr. Gordon, and accompanied him to
Australia, where she has resided for twenty years. She has had no
children by him, and is now a widow, and very wealthy. Unknown to Mr.
Gordon she, in her last interview with me, entrusted to me a small
iron casket--it was one I gave her, and I can identify it--in which
she deposited some articles, of the nature of which I was ignorant.
She entreated me to take steps that this box should be delivered to
the people who received her child into their home, and to obtain from
them a promise that if the child lived till she was twenty-one years
of age it was to be handed over to her, or, in the event of her child
dying or of herself claiming the box at any future time, to be handed
over to her. I informed Mr. Moss of the mother's desire, and he
promised that it should be attended to. I have looked over some old
papers, and I find that, had the child lived, she would be twenty-one
in the course of a couple of months. But the child is dead, and the
mother has appealed to me to obtain the box which she delivered into
my charge."
"The mother has appealed to you!" exclaimed Aaron. "In person?"
"In person," replied Dr. Spenlove. "She has returned to England, and
is at this moment awaiting me in my carriage below. It is not the only
appeal she has made to me. She is overwhelmed with grief at the news
of her child's death, and I have the sincerest pity for her. She
desires to know where her child is buried. Mr. Gordon's lawyers, it
appears, were so bound to secrecy by their client that they do not
feel warranted in giving her any information or assistance. She has
communicated with another firm of lawyers in London, who are unable to
assist her. As a last resource she has come to me to entreat my aid,
which, in the circumstances, I cannot refuse to give her. My errand is
now fully explained. Mr. Moss, will you see the poor lady, and give
her the information she has a right to demand?"
"I will reply for my friend," said Aaron. "Dr. Spenlove, I was the
person to whose care the child was entrusted. The casket is in this
house, and it is for me to satisfy her. Will you step down and ask her
to come up, or shall I send a servant to her?"
"It will be best for me to go," said Dr. Spenlove. "How strangely
things turn out! It is fortunate that I came here to seek Mr. Moss."
"I must speak to Mrs. Gordon alone, without witnesses," said Aaron.
"You and Mr. Moss will not mind waiting in the adjoining room for a
few minutes? The poet's words are true: 'There is a Providence that
shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we will.' The mother may have cause
to bless this night."
He bent his head humbly and solemnly as Dr. Spenlove and Mr. Moss left
the room together.