“Yes—and no,” the Princess replied, sitting down with relief. “To me the chapels are tawdry in the extreme, and the building enclosing the Holy Sepulchre is a miracle of bad taste. But to see the adoration of the pilgrims is wonderful; what a pity that the place has been desecrated by so much bloodshed! I wish you could come with me next time I go.”
“Impossible,” returned her friend, as the vehicle pursued its way. “I should be drawn and quartered by the mob. You forget that I am to all intents and purposes a Jewess.”
“Ridiculous!”
“But I am,” the girl insisted, as though trying to convince herself; “otherwise I could not be Lionel’s wife.”
“And you are happy?”
“As Lionel’s wife, yes. As a Jewess, no. Fortunately, my husband’s love is more than compensation for the difficulty I find in his religion.”
“Then, by your experience, mixed marriages are a success?”
“Yes, where there is such love as ours. Of course I cannot help wishing sometimes that we were one in our faith, especially for the sake of the child.”
“But you are one in your faith!” exclaimed the Princess, with surprise. “Have you not become a Jewess? By your own confession you had no cherished belief to renounce at the time of your apostasy—excuse the word.”
Patricia sighed, but was silent, scarcely liking to give voice to her thoughts. They had just passed through the Jaffa gate on the road to Bethlehem, and the magnificent view attracted their attention. Wild mountains stretched above them, varied by occasional vineyards and olive plantations; and a bend in the road disclosed that which was said to be Rachel’s tomb.