XLVII. — THE EMIGRANTS
Late the same night the Regent received at the Palace a telegram about Rebekah: She had travelled alone to Southampton, where a landau at the station had awaited her, in which she had driven to a country-house near the Itchen named “Silverfern”, two miles from Bitterne Manor, in which lived an elderly gentleman, Mr. Abrahams, ark-opener and scroll-bearer in the Synagogue, with his wife and two sons. The passage of these, and of Rebekah, was booked by the Calabria, Jewish emigrant-ship, to sail in four days.
Hogarth no sooner heard these tidings than he tumbled into crime: resolved to kidnap Rebekah; to break his own law for his own behoof: one of the basest acts of a King.
He had four days: and by the end of the second four men lay in wait round “Silverfern”, one a sea-fort sub-lieutenant, one a detective, and two others very rough customers: a cottage having been hired by them for the reception of Rebekah in a dell a mile higher up the Itchen.
But something infects the world; and gravity badgers the bullet's trajectory; and a magnetic “H” disturbs the needle; and “impossible” roots turn up in the equation; and the finger of God is in every pie.
Hence, though the four ravishers lay in wait, and actually effected a seizure, the Regent did not get his girl.
None of the four had ever seen her: but as there was no young lady except her at “Silverfern”, that seemed of no importance, so she had been only described to them as dark and pretty.
But on the night after Rebekah's arrival, there came to “Silverfern” a new inmate: Margaret Hogarth.
Her passage, too, was booked to Palestine.
For Frankl had said: “In expelling the Jews, he shall expel his own sister. Oh, that's sweet, after all!”