“Poor he is, child, and so are most of us. But how can you help him?”
“Can I not work for him as I did for my aunt?”
“Yes; if you can get employment, which will not be very easy. You are known in Liverpool, and you are not in London; and the few trades in which we poor Jews can work are overstocked. Take old Esther’s advice—return as you came; your father will never know you have been here, and you may be sure I will not betray you. Go back to your happy home and kind friends, it cannot be your duty to give up happiness for misery; and as he forsook you, your conscience can be quite at rest in your leaving him. Do not hesitate, my good child, go at once; he has no claim upon you.”
There are some who doubt the necessity of daily prayer; that we need not pray against temptation, there being so few times in which any great temptation is likely to assail us. Great temptations to sin perhaps we seldom have, but small—oh, of what hour can we be secure? Little did poor Sarah imagine when she entered that lowly roof, the almost overpowering temptation which was to assail her. The home of peace, cleanliness, and comfort which she had deserted; the beloved friends of her youth; the happy hours that were gone; all rose so vividly before her, conjuring her to return to them, not to devote herself to misery—which, after all, was but a doubtful duty—that her first impulse was indeed to fly from a scene where everything around her confirmed old Esther’s ominous words. But Sarah was no weak, wavering child of impulse; her principles were steady, her faith was fixed, and the inward petition arose, with a fervour and faith which gave it power to penetrate the skies—
“Save me from myself, O God? Do not forsake me now. Teach me my duty, the one straight path, and whatever may befall, let me abide by it.”
The brief orison was heard, for the God of Israel has love and mercy for the lowest of his creatures, and strength was given.
“No, Esther, no,” she answered mildly, yet firmly; “I will not turn aside, whatever may await me. God sees my heart, knows that I am here to do my duty, even if I be mistaken in the means. He will strengthen me for its performance. Do not try to frighten me away,” she added, trying to smile. “I dare say all you tell me may be very true, and it will be difficult to bear, but a good heart and a firm faith may make it lighter, you know. I want a friend sadly, and I feel as if you would be a kind one; your experience may smooth my way.”
“Blessings on your sweet face for such words, my darling!” murmured the old woman; “it is long since old Esther has heard anything but abuse and unkindness. I wish I could do for you all my heart tells me, but, deary me, that is a vain wish; for I would take away all sorrow from you, and how can a poor creature like me do that?”
Esther would have run on much more in the same strain, and Sarah felt much too grateful for the kind feeling, however rudely expressed, to check her, had not the old woman suddenly recollected the poor traveller might like some tea, which she hastened to prepare. It was, indeed, a different meal, both in quality and comfort, to that which, even in her uncle’s poorest days, she had been accustomed to; but Sarah was too much engrossed in anxiety for her father to heed it, and only made the effort to partake of it, in gratitude to her companion. She had time to conclude her meal and hear much concerning her father, before he appeared. Esther said he had been ill, but never seriously so; that he could often have procured employment in various humble ways; but for some of them he was too proud, and in others behaved so as to disgust those who would have befriended him, and that now he literally had not a friend in the world, either amongst his superiors or his equals. It was a sad, sad tale, and Sarah’s feelings, as she listened, may easily be imagined. But how could he live? Old Esther really did not know. She lodged in the same house with him, but she knew little of his private concerns; she only knew he was a wretched temper, which, of course, daily grew worse and worse. He went to the synagogue regularly, that he did, but it did not seem to benefit him much. How could it, when his actions denied his prayers?
It was late before Levison returned. He was still a good looking man, but miserably attired, and pale from recent illness. He greeted his daughter with affection, for in the lowest and most debased amongst Israel that redeeming virtue is seldom found wanting; and Sarah felt, as she looked on him, all the daughter glowing in her heart: that she could love, work for, do anything for him. Little sleep had she that night; not because her bed was hard, its covering coarse and unseemly, but from the many thoughts pressing on her mind. Her path was all dark; nothing but the unexpected warmth of her father’s welcome and old Esther’s kindness to make it light. She could but trust and pray not only for strength to meet her trials, but that she might so be blessed as to erase from her heart the pang which lingered in it still.