Mrs. Gonzola gave a terrible cry.
“What do you mean—tell me! Why must you marry him? Why?”
“Because! because!—he says he’ll kill me if I don’t.”
Then Mrs. Gonzola warned her of the anger of Father Cabello, who would never marry her to an atheist, a heretic—warned her of her grandfather’s curses (and the old Jew could curse); she heard him again, as he stood over her on the day of her marriage, pouring out his anger. His curses had come true in her wretched life, and this disobedient child—she was suffering as he had suffered that day—but now the old man was her only hope; Julie worshipped him. She threatened her with his anger, the wrath of the great Jewish God who does not forgive, who would bring down punishment upon her and her children’s children.
The girl lay flat on the ground, quivering with horror, fear—then she became quite cold and stiff, and fell into a cataleptic trance, which lasted an hour. Mrs. Gonzola undressed her, put her into bed, and lay beside her, holding her close. The girl gradually grew warm, and smiled at her mother. The spasm of obstinacy over, she was again the submissive child. She would sacrifice herself and Martin, it was her duty; she became calm, almost cheerful, as was usual after those spells.
She wanted her mother to dress her as she did when she was a child. Mrs. Gonzola was happy; her life was bound up in this girl.
“You look so beautiful, Julie; go and show grandfather.”
Mrs. Gonzola stood at the bottom of the stairs till Julie went in where Joseph Abravanel sat reading, unconscious of the tragedy which had been enacted below. He blessed her, called her a good child, the hope of his life. Then she and her mother dined in the big room with its dark Spanish tapestry and gold plate; it was a festive occasion. Mrs. Gonzola praised Floyd and his devotion to the memory of his father.
“You always liked him best as a child, didn’t you, Julie?”
“No, Mother—I—I liked them both—” Then the fear came again of Martin!