A Fair Jewess

by B. L. Farjeon

"There was Mr. Whimpole's visit to us before I commenced business; there were those stupid boys who distressed you so with their revilings, which I managed to turn against themselves. It was this pipe of yours, my life, that gave me the inspiration how to disarm them. It sharpens my faculties, it brings out my best points; it is really to me a friend and counselor. And now I have smoked enough, and it is time to go to bed. I will join you presently."

In solitude the one troubled memory of the past forced itself painfully upon him. Did he deserve what had been said in his honor on this night? He valued men's good opinion, and of all the men he knew he valued most the good opinion of the curé. What would this
single-minded, conscientious priest think of him if he were acquainted with the sin of which he had been guilty, the sin of bringing up an alien child in a religion in which she had not been born? He would look upon him with horror.

And it was a bitter punishment that he was compelled to keep this secret locked up in his own breast, that he dared not reveal it to a single human creature, that he dared not say openly, "I have sinned, I have sinned. Have mercy upon me!"

To his own beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, he had behaved treacherously; even in her he dared not confide. It was not with Rachel as it was with him; there was no difference in the love she bore her children; they were both equally precious to her.

To fall upon his knees before her and make confession would be like striking a dagger into her heart; it almost drove him mad to think of the shock such a revelation would be to her. No, he must guard his secret and his sin jealously to the last hour of his life. So far as human discovery went he believed that he was safe; the betrayal, if it ever came, lay with himself. True, he had in his possession testimony which might damn him were it to fall into other hands--the little iron safe which Mr. Moss had received from Dr. Spenlove, and at the mother's request had conveyed to him.

In his reflections upon the matter lately the question had intruded itself, "What did this little box contain?" It was impossible for him to say, but he felt instinctively that it contained evidence which would bring his sin home to him. He allowed his thoughts now to dwell upon the mother. From the day on which he received the five hundred pounds from Mr. Gordon's lawyer he had heard nothing from them, nothing from Mr. Moss or from anybody, relating to the matter. Between himself and Mr. Moss there had been a regular, though not very frequent, correspondence, but his friend had never written one word concerning it, and Aaron, of course, had not referred to it. Thus far, therefore, it was buried in a deep grave.

But would this grave never be opened? If other hands were not responsible for the act would it not be his duty to open the grave? The mother had stipulated that, in the event of her husband's death, she should be free to seek her child, should be free to claim the box. Upon this contingency seemed to hang his fate; but there were arguments in his favor.

Mr. Gordon might live, and the mother could do nothing. Arguing that the man died, it was more than probable that his wife had borne other children who had a claim upon her love which she acknowledged. To seek then her child of shame would be the means of bringing disgrace upon these children of her marriage. Would she deliberately do this? He answered the question immediately, No. In the consideration of these phases of the matter he bore in mind that, although the false news of the child's death must of necessity have been communicated to Mr. Gordon by his lawyers, it was likely that it had been kept from the knowledge of the mother. Aaron had been made to understand that Mr. Gordon was a man of inflexible resolution, and that he had pledged himself never, under any circumstances, to make mention of the child to the woman he had married. Even setting this aside, even going to the length of arguing that, hearing of the child's death, Mr. Gordon departed from the strict letter of the resolution, and said to his wife, "Your child is dead," was it not likely that she would reply, "I do not believe it; you tell me so only to deceive me"? In that case, her husband dead and herself childless, would she not search the world over for her offspring?

Setting all this aside, however, the onus still devolved upon him to open the grave. One of the stipulations attached to his receipt of the box was that when Ruth was twenty-one years of age it should be handed over to her. Would he dare to violate this condition? Would he so far tamper with his conscience as to neglect an obligation which might be deemed sacred? The question tortured him; he could not answer it.

He heard Rachel moving in the room above, and with a troubled heart he went up to her.