“But are you not sorry about your father and sisters?”
“It was a hard trial,” she answered, with radiant calmness in her eyes, “but God has taken the sorrow out of it now.”
“And shall I not see you again, now your faith is mine? I saw you often when there was a gulf between us!”
“It is better you should forget me. But that shall be as God wills; I leave it to him, and will make no arrangements.”
“Thank you for that, anyhow; remember all I told you, dear Maheleth; so far, at least, you can make me happy.”
“I will remember it always, and bless you for it, but I do not promise to act up to it.”
“Never mind, you cannot help God protecting you, no matter through what instrument.”
And with these words he left her.
For some weeks they did not meet, but Henry was busy at correspondence with his English agents and bankers. In the meanwhile, regular remittances arrived at Herr Löwenberg's house, which he at first refused to accept, not knowing whether they came from his daughter whom he had thrown off, or his friend whom he had insulted, and not wishing to be beholden to either for his daily pittance. But starvation was the alternative, and, had not Rachel kindly shared her meals with his children, and sent him little inexpensive dishes now and then, hunger would have made him yield long ago. As it was, he missed his daily sustenance sorely, and at last, under protest, and promising himself prompt repayment of these loans as soon as he should be well again, he began to use the money sent to him. Many a time Holcombe came to the door to inquire after him from the good-natured Rachel; and every day, in the dusk of the evening, came his daughter, almost always bearing a basket that held some little delicacy.
One night it happened that Henry and Maheleth met at the door. She was the first to speak.