"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!"