“This was not my seeking,” he said respectfully; “I sought but the happiness of that poor child: I would save him from the doom of suffering chosen by the elders of his race. Leave him with me, and I pledge my sacred word his life shall be a happy one.”
“I thank thee for thy offer, soldier,” replied Josephine, mildly, “but my brother has chosen his own fate; I have used neither entreaties nor commands.”
The boy, who had betrayed no fear even when the deadly weapons were at his throat, now took the hand of Fadrique, and by a few expressive signs craved pardon for the insult he had been led to commit, and firmly and expressively refused his every offer.
“Thou hast yet to learn the deep love borne to our faith by her persecuted children, my good friend,” said Josephine, perceiving the man’s surprise was mingled with some softer feeling; “that even the youngest Jewish child will prefer slavery, exile, or death, to forswearing his father’s God. May the God of Israel bless thee for the kindness thou hast shown this poor afflicted boy, but seek him not again.”
She drew him closer to her, and they disappeared together. A tear rose to the Spaniard’s eye, but he hastily brushed it away, and then telling his rosary, as if it were sin thus to care for an unbeliever, rejoined his comrades.
The family of Imri Benalmar was the last to quit the vale. Each was mounted on a mule, and there were two led or sumpter mules, on which was strapped as much clothing as they could conveniently stow away, and provisions which they hoped would last them till they reached the vessel, knowing well they could procure no more. Some few valuables Imri contrived to secrete, but his fortune, principally consisting in land and its produce, was of necessity irretrievably ruined.
Josef Asher accompanied them; he had been active in consoling, encouraging, and assisting his weaker brethren. Not a family departed without receiving some token of his sympathy and love; and young and old crowded round him, ere they went, imploring his blessings and his prayers.
It was, however, observed that of his own departure, his own plans, Asher never spoke. That he would accompany his children, all believed, and so did Josephine herself; but all were mistaken.
On the evening of their first day’s journey, as they halted for rest and refreshment, some unusual emotion was observable in the mien and features of the old man. He asked them to join him in prayer, and as he concluded, he spread his hands upon their heads, and blessed each by name, emphatically, unfalteringly, as in his days of youth.
“And now,” he said, as they arose, “farewell, my beloved children. The God of Israel go with ye, and lead ye, even as our ancestors of old, with the daily cloud and nightly pillar. I go no further with ye.”