“I have heard thee out, and thou talkest but foolishness! I doubt thy truth. And even were I well assured of that, dost thou think there are not ties binding me here dearer than thou canst even conceive, with all thy professions of love? Go, thou hast madly deceived thyself; mayest thou have a speedy awakening, Orien Fez, for I will not listen again to such words as thou hast uttered to-night.”
They had reached her home, and Myrrah had disappeared within the heavy doors, which opened as by magic at her approach, ere her last words were fully uttered.
Stung with madness at this peremptory dismissal of his suit, and the scornful tone the Jewess had used to him who had so humbled himself before her, Orien turned in a rage away from the house, and slowly retraced his steps. There was something frightful in the calmness of his mien, and in the glittering of his bright eyes; he knew then that the daughter of that most despised of all people, would never give him a hearing again; that she despised his offer, even his, the proud and wealthy and powerful Orien. Ha! she should at least be brought to her senses—he would assure her whose were the words she had so lightly set at naught. So, to his rest he went, to dream of the sweet voice which haunted him incessantly, to think upon her marvelous beauty, which to his eye never seemed even so perfect, as when she turned toward him, and so proudly and indignantly repelled the pleadings of his love.
To the embraces of affection which more than satisfied her brave heart, Myrrah went from the presence of Orien Fez. But she did not make known to the beloved ones awaiting her there, the persecuting attentions of the Moor; she was confident in her own power to repel his advances, and dreaded awaking anxious thoughts for her in her old father. And Othniel, she knew his fiery spirit, how his indignation would kindle into a rash flame against the man who, belonging to the host of oppressors, should dare sue for the love of his beloved; therefore she spoke not to him of the Moor.
A happy group was that gathered under old Raguel’s roof. The father, who cherished with unmeasured affection the only child which the dreadful pestilence had spared to him; Othniel, the traveler, the betrothed of the maiden, who was to the old man’s heart already a cherished son. He had come back from a long wandering in the East, to claim of the father his child, for early in their youth the two had vowed to love one another; and as time passed on, it saw them cherishing no regret for their childish vows. As he approached the years of manhood, a desire to see the wonders of the East had seized upon Othniel, and for a few years he had traveled through all the Holy Land, in Egypt, and over the deserts, until at last wearied and longing for the embrace and the presence of those left behind, he had hastened to the dearly remembered old town on the shore of the blue sea. Since his return, his home had been made with Raguel and Myrrah; and the day was speedily approaching when the children of the old man’s heart were to be made one. But the sunshine of that home had been wanting without the cheerful voice, the songs, the smiles of Myrrah—her presence was the crowning joy that gave to all the others worth.
And, lo! that hope of the old man’s heart, that blessing of young Othniel sleeps this night in a prison, and armed men are keeping guard about her cell! Look, now within the maiden’s home.
The gray-haired father, whose face bears heavy marks of age and sickness, lies smitten with sore anguish upon his couch; his heavy moans are sad to hear, for no light sorrow had brought tears to his eyes, or wrung from him words of complaint. Pacing to and fro through the beautiful chamber is the despairing lover of the maiden. He, too, has wept, but his tears are wiped away now, and anger and hopeless grief are written on his countenance. It would seem that Othniel’s rich and striking apparel had been assumed in mockery of his own agony—but it was not so. Hope and joy were never before so bright in his heart, as on that morning, when he donned the embroidered robes, and arrayed himself for the bridal. Yes, for the bridal! Myrrah and Othniel were on that day to have been made one.
See, now, as he moves so madly through the room, his garments have become entangled in the chords of Myrrah’s harp; hear the soft, sighing sound that escapes from the instrument, as in a moment, calmed and subdued, the youth bends down to disengage his robe; that breath of music causes the father’s tears to flow afresh, and Othniel, again unmanned, flings himself upon the door, and gives way to the uncontrollable grief.
In another chamber is prepared the wedding-feast; a rich banquet, “fit for the gods,” served up in costliest style, awaiting the bidden guests, and the happy bride and bridegroom.
Above, in her own apartment, where Myrrah arrayed herself on that morn so full of hope, is a profusion of the choice and rich appareling with which the daughters of wealth are wont to array themselves. Jewels, and beautiful array, the proudest might covet, left in wild confusion, show that the mistress of all that splendor had gone forth in haste, alas! not to the altar, as she had dreamed! for the bridal train had proceeded but a little way toward the synagogue, where the priest awaited them, when Myrrah was suddenly arrested in the name of the public authorities, on charge of having proved traitor to a solemn oath which she had taken, and the dismayed party, instead of proceeding to the place of worship, was hurried, with little ceremony, before the cadi.