“‘I do not say nay to that; I believe you,’ said Miriam, ‘nevertheless, I have that in my vest which, if it was known to my father or brother, would cause them to dash me to the earth, and to curse me in the name of the great Jehovah;’ and she pulled out of her vest a small copy of the New Testament. ‘This is the book of your creed; I have searched and compared it with our own; I have found the authorities; I have read the words of the Jews who have narrated the history and the deeds of Jesus of Nazareth, and—I am a Christian.’
“It may appear strange, but I assure you, sir, you cannot imagine the pain I felt when Miriam thus acknowledged herself a convert to our faith: to say to her that I was sorry for it would have argued little for my Christian belief; but when I reflected upon the pain and disgrace it would bring upon her family, and that I should be the cause, I was dreadfully shocked. I could only reply, ‘Miriam, I wish that we had never met!’
“‘I know what your feelings are but too well,’ replied she; ‘but we have met, and what is done cannot be undone. I, too, when I think of my relations, am torn with anxiety and distress; but what is now my duty? If I am, and I declare, not only by the great Jehovah, but by the crucified Messiah, that I am a sincere believer in your creed, must I shrink—must I conceal it on account of my father and my brother? Does not He say, “Leave all and follow me!” Must I not add my feeble voice in acknowledgement of the truth, if I am to consider myself a Christian? Must not my avowal be public? Yes, it must be, and it shall be! Can you blame me?’
“‘Oh, no! I dare not blame you,’ replied I; ‘I only regret that religious differences should so mar the little happiness permitted to us in this world, and that neither Jew nor Christian will admit what our Saviour has distinctly declared—that there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek, or Gentile. I see much misery in this, and I cannot help regretting deeply that I shall be considered as the cause of it, and be upbraided with ingratitude.’
“‘You did your duty,’ replied Miriam. ‘I have been converted by your having so done. Now I have my duty to do. I am aware of the pain it will occasion my father, my relations, and the whole of our tribe; but if they suffer, shall I not suffer more? Thrust out from my father’s door; loaded with curses and execration; not one Jew permitted to offer me an asylum, not even to give me a morsel of bread, or a drop of water; a wanderer and an outcast! Such must be my fate.’
“‘Not so, Miriam; if your tribe desert you—’
“‘Stop one moment,’ interrupted Miriam; ‘do you recollect the conversation you had with me before we entered into the subject of our relative creeds? Do you remember what you then said; and was it true, or was it merely as an excuse?’
“‘It was as true, Miriam, as I stand here. I have loved you long and devotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, on account of the misery your marriage with a Christian would have occasioned your relations; but if you persist in avowing your new faith, the misery will be equally incurred; and, therefore, I am doubly bound, not only by my love, but because I have, by converting you, put you in such a dreadful position, to offer you not only an asylum, but, if you will accept them, my heart and hand.’
“Miriam folded her arms across her breast, and knelt down, with her eyes fixed upon the floor. ‘I can only answer in the words of Ruth,’ replied she, in a low voice and with trembling lips. I hardly need observe, that after this interview the affair was decided,—the great difficulty was to get her out of the house; for you must have been inside of one of the houses of a Jew of rank to be aware of their arrangements. It was impossible that Miriam could be absent an hour without being missed; and to go out by herself without being seen was equally difficult. Her cousin is married to a Jew, who keeps the masquerade paraphernalia and costumes in Tavistock Street, and she sometimes accompanies her father and brother there, and, as usual, goes up to her cousin in the women’s apartment, while her male relations remain below. We therefore hit upon this plan: That on the first masquerade-night at Vauxhall she should persuade her father and brother to go with her to her cousin’s; that I should be close by in a coach, and, after she had gone in, I was to drive up as the other customers do, and obtain two dominoes, and then wait while she escaped from the women’s apartment, and came down-stairs to the street door, where I was to put her in the coach, and drive off to Vauxhall. You may inquire why we went to Vauxhall. Because as but few minutes would elapse before she would be missed, it would have been almost impossible to have removed her without being discovered, for I was well known to the people. You recollect that Manasseh, who was in the shop, informed them that my domino was slashed with white in my sleeves; he knew me when I obtained the dominoes. Had I not been aware of the violence of the brother, I should have cared little had he followed me to my house, or any other place he might have traced me to; but his temper is such that his sister would certainly have been sacrificed to his rage and fury, as you may imagine from what you have seen and heard. I considered, therefore, that if we once became mixed with the crowd of masks and dominoes at Vauxhall, I should elude them, and all trace of us be lost. I believe, now, that I have made you acquainted with every circumstance, and trust that you will still afford me your valuable assistance.”
“Most certainly,” replied our hero; “I am in duty bound. I cannot help thinking that they have recognised me as the party conducting her out of the dark walk. Did you meet them afterwards?”