A FATHER.
While the scenes related in the fifty-fifth chapter were taking place at
the house in Red Lion Street, Mr. de Medina was pacing in an agitated
manner his private apartment at his own residence.
Esther had rightly divined his thoughts and intentions: he had indeed
been debating in his own mind, for some time past, whether his duty, as
a father and as a man, did not command him to forgive a daughter whom
the hand of the Lord had so severely stricken.
The Jew thought of his wife long dead, and murmured to himself—"Were she
alive still, she would be kneeling at my feet, imploring me to pardon
the erring Tamar! And does she not now look down upon me from those
empyrean heights where her sainted spirit is numbered with the blest?
Nay, more; do I not see her image now kneeling before me? Oh! can this
be imagination? Yes—it is,—it is,—and yet how like the reality!"
Mr. de Medina was so painfully excited that his fancy for a moment
conjured up the semblance of his deceased wife, as she had appeared in
the pride of her loveliness, long years before.
But when the evanescent illusion had passed away, he again paced the
room, a prey to the most painful indecision and doubt.
He longed to recall Tamar to his favour; and yet he feared to compromise
his character for firmness and decision;—so strange and yet so sure it
is, that, even in those moments when our best feelings are agitating
within us to the purest and holiest ends, a miserable sentiment of
worldly vanity intervenes, and if it do not altogether mar good deeds,
at least impairs the merit of their excellence, by engendering
hesitation, wavering, and delay.
Mr. de Medina's conflicting—battling meditations were suddenly
interrupted by a loud knock at the street-door; and a servant shortly
after announced to his master that the Earl of Ellingham was waiting in
the drawing-room.
The Jew remained in his chamber a few minutes to compose his
countenance, and collect his scattered ideas, ere he descended to meet
the nobleman.
When he entered the drawing-room, he immediately saw by Arthur's face
that it was no visit of mere ceremonious courtesy which was now paid to
that house.
"My dear Earl," said Mr. de Medina, "you have been lost to the world for
some weeks; and I must confess that when I received the letter which you
did me the honour to address to me nearly a month ago, I entertained
fears lest business of an unpleasant nature called you thus abruptly
away from England."
"That letter, my dear sir," answered the Earl, "was not precisely such
an one as I should have written to you had I been free from restraint."
The nobleman then related, in as few words as possible, the outrage that
had been perpetrated upon him—the imprisonment he had endured for four
mortal weeks—and the manner in which he had escaped.
Mr. de Medina expressed his indignation and surprise at the treatment
which the young nobleman had undergone, and inquired if the motive could
be accounted for.
"I am totally at a loss to conjecture who were my enemies, and the cause
of their abominable proceedings," answered the Earl. "But let us waive
that subject for the present, my dear sir," he continued; "as it is my
duty to engage your attention with other and more important matters."
Mr. de Medina pointed to a seat near the fire, and then drew a chair for
himself to within a short distance of that taken by the Earl.
"I am about to mention a name to you, my dear Mr. de Medina," continued
the nobleman, "which may perhaps—nay, will certainly sound unpleasantly
upon your ears; but you know me too well to imagine for an instant that
I should thoughtlessly or wantonly give you pain. I allude to Thomas
Rainford."
The Jew started, and his countenance fell.
"This Thomas Rainford, Mr. de Medina," resumed Arthur, "has wronged
you—wronged you deeply; and not for a moment do I attempt to defend his
conduct."
"But how know you, my lord, that the wretched man, who is now no more,
and against whose memory common humanity orders me not to nourish
animosity——"
"Mr. de Medina," interrupted the Earl in a low and solemn tone, as he
bent towards the Jew, "Thomas Rainford lives!"
"Lives!" ejaculated Mr. de Medina, in a voice loud with excitement and
surprise.
"Hush! speak low—in a whisper—the walls have ears!" said Arthur
impatiently. "In the name of heaven! compose yourself—calm your mind,
Mr. de Medina—for I have much to communicate to you—and that much of the
first importance."
"Proceed, my lord," said the Jew coldly: "I am all attention."
"It is, then, true that Rainford lives——"
"And yet scarce an hour has passed since men were crying the account of
his execution for sale in the street—beneath this very window," observed
Mr. de Medina, in an incredulous tone.
"It is as true that he is now alive as that he underwent the ordeal of
the terrible rope, even as the pamphlet-venders proclaimed beneath your
window," continued the Earl. "In a word, he has been resuscitated by the
wondrous agency of galvanism."
"Good God! my lord—is this possible?" cried Mr. de Medina: "or do my
ears deceive me?"
"Again I implore you to master your feelings," said the Earl; "for I
have another circumstance, almost equally strange, to reveal to you.
Thomas Rainford is nearly related to me——"
"To you—to your lordship!" exclaimed Mr. de Medina.
"Yes: the same father was the author of our being—though different
mothers bore us. He is my half-brother—and all the proofs thereof are in
my possession. Nay, more—and _this_ I reveal to you to prove the
confidence I place in _you_—he is my elder brother, legitimately born,
and is the rightful Earl of Ellingham!"
Mr. de Medina gazed on the young nobleman in speechless
astonishment,—with an amazement, indeed, so profound, that it seemed as
if he were suddenly paralysed by the announcement which had just met his
ears.
The Earl then rapidly sketched the outline of Rainford's birth; and,
without in any way alluding to Lady Hatfield, stated that accident had
brought them together, and had led to the revelation of all those
wondrous circumstances. Arthur did not however forget to mention the
generous conduct of Rainford in refusing to avail himself of papers
which would have placed a coronet on his brow and vast estates at his
disposal, and also in consigning those papers to the possession of
Arthur himself.
Mr. de Medina was perfectly astounded at all he heard; and he listened
in silent wonderment—no longer interrupting the narrator with comment or
question.
The Earl proceeded to inform him how the whole scheme for the
resuscitation of the doomed man had been arranged between himself and
Dr. Lascelles, and how it had perfectly succeeded.
"Indeed," added Arthur, "I left my half-brother just awakened from a
profound sleep, and, though much enfeebled, still beyond the reach of
danger. But spare me the necessity of describing to you the first
moments of horror—boundless, appalling horror—which he experienced,
when, slowly opening his eyes, he awoke to the recollection of all he
had this morning gone through, and to the wildest doubts as to where he
was and what had actually become of him! Oh! Mr. de Medina, it was a
scene which the memories of those who beheld it, never—never could fail
to retain—even though madness were to destroy the discriminating powers
of the intellect! But all that is passed—gone by; and my brother
lives—conscious, too, of resuscitated existence!"
"My dear Earl," said Mr. de Medina, at length breaking the long silence
which had been maintained on his part, "I have read and heard many
wildly wonderful narratives in my time,—truths also far stranger than
fictions,—genuine occurrences which outvie all the marvels of romance.
But never—never, do I firmly believe, has mortal tongue related, nor
mortal ear listened to, a history more amazing—more solemnly
interesting, than this. Should these facts ever transpire to the world,
and be seized upon by the novelist as the basis of a tale, those who may
read, having been previously unacquainted with those facts, would
exclaim, '_'Tis impossible!_' Oh! what a work might be written, under
the title of THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON! But pardon me for wasting your
valuable time with these comments:—I say, pardon me—because I perceive
that you have more yet to relate."
"I have indeed," said the Earl, trembling for the success of the mission
which had taken him to Mr. de Medina's house; "and I am now compelled to
touch upon a subject which cannot be otherwise than painful to you——"
"I understand you, my lord," interrupted the Jew: "proceed—for I know
that you would not refer to that topic without a well-intentioned
motive."
"Such is indeed the case," said the Earl. "But not to use more words
than are necessary—as time is precious—I shall at once inform you that I
am acquainted with the sad episode in my half-brother's life, which
relates to—to—your elder daughter."
"Go on, my lord," said the Jew, mastering his emotions.
"But not until this morning—till within an hour ago," continued the
Earl, "was I aware that you possessed _two_ daughters. The moment that
Rainford was pronounced to be out of danger, I despatched a faithful
messenger to break the tidings to her who loves him, and whom he loves
so well; but while this messenger was absent, I had occasion to leave,
for a short time, the house where Thomas Rainford now lies; and accident
led me to encounter Miss Esther. Pardon me, when I state that a variety
of circumstances, which I will some day explain, had for several weeks
past induced me to believe that she—whom I now know to be an angel of
purity and goodness—was the being so dear to my brother; and, anxious to
relieve her mind, as I thought, from the agony of grief into which the
supposed fate of Rainford must have plunged her,—anxious also that her
presence should greet _his_ eyes upon awaking from the deep sleep that
followed the galvanic resuscitation,—I led her—dragged her, with me to
the house I ere now spoke of—saying heaven only knows what incoherent
things to her as we sped along, and to which, I remember now, she
listened and replied with an amazement since explained. But, in the
meantime, Jacob Smith—the messenger whom I had sent to your elder
daughter—had arrived with _her_; and thus—you perceive how innocently on
my part,—the sisters were brought together by the bed-side of my
brother!"
"Esther and Tamar together!" ejaculated Mr. de Medina, starting from his
seat, in mingled anger and surprise: then, suddenly changing to an
aspect of profound sorrow, he murmured, "Oh! Esther! thine oath—thine
oath!"
"She did not violate it, Mr. de Medina," said the Earl emphatically. "As
well might it be asserted that, had you sworn never to enter my house,
and were you carried thither by force, your vow would be
wilfully—wickedly broken. No:—Miss de Medina knew not whither she was
going—knew not whom she was to see—knew not that her sister would be
there! If any one has erred in all this, 'tis I; and yet I, Mr. de
Medina," added the Earl proudly, "am incapable of doing a bad deed.
There lives not the man who, with truth, could impute to me aught that I
should be ashamed to have published before all the world. And it is not
to boast of untarnished rectitude—of a bright fame—of an unsullied
reputation, that I now speak;—but it is to convince you—you, Mr. de
Medina, a man of the world—yourself upright beyond all doubt—honourable
beyond all possibility of impeachment,—it is to convince you, that if I
have incurred your displeasure, I did not the act wantonly—and that I
deserve forgiveness."
"Excellent young man!" exclaimed the Jew, grasping the Earl's hand, and
wringing it with even paternal warmth: "who shall dare to impute
sinister motives to one like you? No,—Oh! no:—were all the scions of the
aristocracy as noble-hearted as yourself—endowed with such feelings as
you possess, they would be a blessing instead of a curse and a shame to
this country. I was unjust," added Mr. de Medina, more slowly,—"unjust
towards my beloved and amiable Esther—and unjust also in respect to you.
But, oh! my lord," continued the Jew, while tears rolled down his
cheeks, "it is hard—it is hard to have the honour of one's name
tarnished by a disobedient daughter:—and such is the lost—the unhappy
Tamar!"
"The best of us in this world are but poor, erring, sinful mortals in
the eyes of Him who is all-perfect but who is likewise all-merciful,"
said the Earl in a solemn and impressive tone. "Alas! but a few minutes
have passed since I proclaimed my rectitude, vain boaster that I was—and
lauded your integrity, miserable flatterer that I was! But I then spoke
as men speak—as we mortals are accustomed to estimate our characters for
honour and probity. Nevertheless, in the sight of heaven, we are
sinners—wretched sinners; and our only hopes are in God's illimitable
mercy! Then, Mr. de Medina,—as you hope for salvation in another
world,—as you expect forgiveness at the hands of the Almighty for those
failings wherewith the very best of us are characterised,—I implore—I
beseech you, to pardon your daughter Tamar!"
Glorious—almost god-like, was the enthusiasm with which the fine young
nobleman urged his strong appeal—the stronger for all the sincerity of
the argument which prefaced it.
Mr. de Medina gazed upon him with mingled wonder and admiration: but
when the Earl had done speaking, the Jew turned aside and paced the room
in a manner betraying the most painful agitation.
"Think not," resumed Arthur, also rising from his seat, "that I am one
of those wretched hypocrites, who, in their sickly cant, make use of the
holiest names and the most sacred arguments to win a cause in which they
are interested only through selfish and worldly motives. No!—I should
scorn to reduce myself to such a level—I should hate myself were I
capable of such contemptible duplicity. It is not he who prays longest
and loudest, that is the most sincere. But I appeal to you by all things
sacred—I, the Christian, appeal to you, the Jew—by those doctrines which
form the basis of the creed in which we both put faith,—doctrines which
teach us the goodness of the Almighty, as manifested towards the
Israelites,—by all HE did for your forefathers—thereby do I appeal to
you to receive an erring daughter back to your arms, and assure her of
your pardon!"
Still Mr. de Medina replied not—but continued to pace the room.
"Were your daughter Esther—the amiable, the excellent Esther here,"
continued Lord Ellingham, "she would not perhaps intercede so vainly as
I. During the rapid explanations which were ere now vouchsafed to me by
the repentant Tamar herself,—explanations which have shown me how
ineffably beyond all human praise is the conduct of the younger towards
her elder sister,—I learnt more of the heart of woman than ever I knew
before. My ideas—my sentiments, concerning woman and her mission here,
have always been of the loftiest kind: but now I am led to recognise
something angelic—something heavenly in her disposition. Oh! Mr. de
Medina, had I such a sister as Esther, never—never, would I permit a
tear to dim the brightness of her eye, if it were in my power to wipe it
away!—never—never, would I allow a pang to steal into her gentle breast,
if deed or word of mine could avert it. For I declare your younger
daughter to be a very angel of excellence and moral worth; and your
entire nation should be proud of the name of Esther de Medina!"
"My lord—my dear Earl," faltered the father, approaching the young
nobleman, and taking his hand, "if the Jews should be proud of Esther,
the Christians may with good cause glory in their Arthur of Ellingham!
But if this _must_ be—if Tamar should once more receive from me the name
of DAUGHTER—how——"
"I understand you, my dear friend," interrupted the nobleman: "you would
ask—you would know what course is to be pursued in respect to my
half-brother."
The Jew made a hasty sign for his companion to proceed.
"I must confess that this difficulty struck me forcibly ere I came
hither just now," continued Arthur. "My half-brother is devotedly
attached to your daughter; and Tamar is equally wrapped up in him. To
separate them, in my opinion, would be the height of cruelty: for you to
forgive your daughter and consent to allow her to dwell in concubinage
with Rainford, are things I know to be incompatible. But is there no
course open to them? Listen to the plan which I suggested before I left
those who are no doubt so anxiously waiting my return. It is this:
To-morrow night, if Dr. Lascelles accord his permission, I shall
accompany my half-brother to France, whence he will proceed as soon as
possible to the United States of America. For in the hasty explanations
which ere now took place between us all, I learnt that he had already
expedited thither a considerable sum of money, his intention having been
to proceed with Tamar to the New World when his project was suddenly
marred by his arrest. While he is away, and in safety, I shall exert
myself to obtain his full pardon; for I shall privately represent to the
Minister all the circumstances of this most extraordinary case.
To-morrow night, then, we proceed to Dover, whence we shall embark for
France. 'Tis for you and your daughters to follow us to Paris; and there
the hands of Tamar and Thomas Rainford may be united in the chapel of
the British Embassy. I am well aware that it will be a Protestant
marriage only;—that in your eyes it may be insufficient, so far as it
regards the creed of your daughter;—but it is the least of two evils.
For, believe me, Tamar and my brother are so devoted to each other that
they would never consent to separate:—no—Tamar would not quit him even
to receive her father's pardon! Thus they would continue to live in that
state which is repugnant to the feelings of society—a state unhallowed
by the rites of the Church. But where two hearts are thus closely
connected and are wedded to all intents and purposes, by the mere fact
of their binding affections,—tell me—tell me, does it matter much at
which of God's altars the blessing of heaven shall be invoked? You will
pardon your daughter—you will receive her back into your arms,—you will
give her to one who loves her most tenderly and who has ever treated her
as if she were his wife—and, after the ceremony shall have been
performed, albeit a Protestant one, you may say proudly and unblushingly
to those who learn that you have another daughter, and who inquire
concerning her,—you may say fearlessly, 'She is married!'"
Mr. de Medina walked towards the window for a few moments to conceal his
tears.
But he could not conceal them; and with the holy dew trickling down his
cheeks, he turned again to the nobleman, saying in a tremulous and
broken voice,—"My friend—my dearest friend, I yield!—you have subdued
me! It shall all be as you have designed it!"
The Earl pressed Mr. de Medina's hand with fervent warmth—with the
ardour of gratitude.
"Come with me at once—delay not a moment!" exclaimed Arthur, his own
eyes also dimmed with tears.
And he hurried Mr. de Medina to the hackney-coach, which was waiting at
the door.