“Lady Montella does expect me to conform to the Jewish law,” Patricia continued seriously. “She is always impressing upon me that I have become a Jewess, and until now I have constantly reminded myself of the fact. Situated as he is, Lionel must have a Jewish wife. That is why I am so greatly troubled. I can no longer pretend to be what I am not.”
“But you must!” exclaimed the Princess forcibly. “Since you have married a Jew, you must abide by the consequence. I believe I know your people better than you know them yourself. It will never do for them to find out that you have relapsed—that there is a heretic within the fold. You must exercise tact and discretion: learn to be a diplomatist.”
“Learn to be a hypocrite, you mean. It will be a hard lesson! I am afraid I shall never master it. After all, what does it matter to the Montellas what I privately believe so long as I respect their Judaism? Will it not be better to make a clean breast of it, and tell them at once?”
“Tell them if you like, but do not say that I failed to warn you. I am older than you, Patricia, and have seen more of the world. Religion was never meant to disturb domestic happiness, and break up a home. Openly declare your faith, and you can no longer remain in Palestine. You yourself said that Lionel must have a Jewish wife.”
The coachman was growing impatient, and seeing that he wished to return, they bade good-bye to the Shepherds’ Field. The homeward drive was made almost in silence, for Patricia was too much disturbed to speak. She knew that her friend’s view was a correct one, and that to confess her newly-recovered faith would cause an open breach. And to leave Palestine would mean separation from the two dear ones to whom she was bound by the most sacred ties. The thought was too terrible to be borne.
“I must keep silence!” she said to herself. “I must!” But she knew that at any time her secret might escape, and she would be lost.
She went back with the Princess to supper, in accordance with the arrangement they had made before they started on their expedition; but she was poor company that night. The conversation of the guests in the hospice rolled past her like a distant echo; and even the epigrams of the Bishop (who was noted for his wit) failed to dispel her troubled thoughts. She was glad when Lionel came for her and took her home—although “home” at present was Dr. Engelmacher’s house. She nestled her head against his shoulder in the little arabiyeh, and closed her eyes in dreamy satisfaction. His very presence imbued her with a sense of protection, and drove away the worry—at least temporarily—from her mind.
“Don’t let me be away from you for a whole day again, darling,” she said, in what he always called the “baby” voice. “Olive is the dearest woman I know, but I want you. I seem to have been parted from you for ages—positively ages!” And then she laughed in order to drive away a tear.
CHAPTER IX
MEMORABLE MOMENTS
Montella and the Rabbi Ben Yetzel had quarrelled, in spite of Dr. Engelmacher’s warning. It was a great pity, because Ben Yetzel was a dangerous man to offend; but his decision on certain matters had been so arbitrary that Montella could not help protesting, and the discussion had led to hot words on either side. Engelmacher, knowing that to overthrow the Rabbinical authority altogether was bad policy on Lionel’s part, endeavoured to make peace between them, but in vain. The young Governor of Haifa declared that he would sell his conscience in bondage to no man, were he priest or peasant; and determined to use his own judgment in matters pertaining to the people. So the incensed Chief Rabbi literally shook off the dust of Engelmacher’s courtyard from his feet, and departed in great wrath, calling down in the choicest Hebrew the vengeance of Heaven on all concerned.