“‘Father,’ I answered, very calmly, ’I am sorry to rebel against your authority, but I tell you now, once for all, I will not marry Bernard Peixada.’ ’Judith,’ rejoined my father, imitating my manner, ’I am sorry to contradict you, but I tell you now, once for all, you will.’
“‘Never,’ said I.
“‘On the eighth of August,’ said my father.
“‘Time will show,’ said I.
“‘Time will show,’ said he, ’in less than fifteen minutes. Judith, listen.’
“It was an old story that my father now proceeded to tell me—old, and yet as new as it is terrible to the girl who has to listen to it. It does not break the heart in two, like the old, old story of Heine’s song: it inflames the heart with a dull, sullen anguish that is the worst pain a woman can be called upon to endure. My father told me how for two years past his pecuniary affairs had been going to the dogs; how he had been getting poor and poorer; how he had become Bernard Peixada’s debtor for sums of money that he could never hope to pay; how Bernard Peixada owned not only the wares in our shop, but the very chairs we sat on, the very beds we slept in, the very plates off which we ate; how, indeed, it was Bernard Peixada who paid for the daily bread that kept our bodies and souls together. My father explained all this to me, concluding thus: ’I was in despair, Judith. I thought I should go crazy. I saw nothing but disgrace and the poor-house before your mother and you and me. I could not sleep at night. I could not work during the day. I could do nothing but think, think, think of the desperate pass to which my affairs had come. It was an agony, Judith. It would soon have killed me, or driven me mad. Then, all at once, the darkness of my—sky is lightened by this good man, whom I have already to thank for so much. He calls upon me. He says he will show me a way out of my difficulties.
“I ask what it is. He answers, why not unite our families, accept him as my son-in-law? and adds that between son-in-law and father-in-law there can be no question of indebtedness. In other words, he told me that he loved you, Judith; that he wished to marry you; and that, once married to you, he would consider my debts to him discharged. Try, Judith, to realize his generosity. I—I owe him thousands. But for him we should have starved. But for him, we should starve to-morrow. Ordinary gratitude alone would have been enough to compel me to say yes to his proposition. But by saying yes, did I not also accomplish our own salvation? Now that you have heard the whole story, Judith, now, like a good girl, promise to make no opposition.’
“‘So that,’ I retorted, indignantly, ’I am to be your ransom—I am to be sacrificed as a hostage. The pawnbroker consents to receive me as an equivalent for the money you owe him. A woman to be literally bought and sold. Oh, father, no, no! There must be some other way. Let me go to work. Have I not already earned money by giving lessons? I will teach from morning to night each day; and every penny that I gain, I will give to you to pay Bernard Peixada with. I will be so industrious! I would rather slave the flesh from my bones—any thing, rather than marry him.’
“‘The most you could earn,’ my father answered, ’would be no more than a drop in the bucket, Judith.’
“‘Well, then,’ I went on, ’there is Mr. Nathan. He has money. Borrow from him. He will not refuse. I know that he would gladly give much money to save me from a marriage with Bernard Peixada. I will ask him.’