“This is the happy result of a mixed marriage!” she exclaimed, with angry sarcasm. “Did I not tell you that the pride of the Montellas would depart? Little Julian is practically the last descendant of the house—for we do not know whether Ferdinand is alive or dead—and that he should grow up a Christian would be a disgrace I should never survive. Your poor father trusted to me to do all in my power to keep up the honour of the family; to keep it—as it has ever been till now—purely Jewish. Do you think that if Patricia takes the boy she will not educate him in her faith? Of course she will; she cannot do otherwise, whatever promises she may make.”
“But he is so young,” urged Montella, with reproach. “You forget that he is only a baby. Why not let Patricia have the comfort of him until he is old enough to be taught? It will be several years before he is able to understand anything of religious matters. Heaven knows I should miss the little chap if he left me too, but I think it cruel to part mother and child.”
“It is cruel only to be kind,” she rejoined vigorously. “Julian must be nurtured in Judaism, must breathe the atmosphere from babyhood if he is to grow up a true Jew. The earliest years of a child’s life are the most important, for it is then he imbibes the ideas which cling to him till he becomes a man. Soon he will be old enough to notice the Sabbath candles, and we shall be able to teach him the beginnings of our faith. But remove him from all Jewish influence, let Patricia teach him the Christian Catechism, and whatever else he may be, he will never grow up a Jew. No, there is no alternative in the matter; no compromise is possible. Julian must stay with us to be properly trained for the responsibilities he will have to fulfil. Patricia ought never to have married you if she did not mean to remain a Jewess. If she suffers, she has no one to blame but herself. With us religions are not lightly received to be afterwards cast away.”
By which it will be seen that Lady Montella was obdurate, and did not mean to be gainsayed. If Patricia intended to take her baby away, it would have to be by violence, and she was of much too gentle a nature to think of forcible measures. Moreover, she knew that Lady Montella was right, and that if she had the training of the child she could not help bringing him up as a Christian—thereby breaking the promise she had made before his birth. She knew also that, tended by his grandmother and the faithful Anne, he would be in safe hands; but this did not compensate her for the grief of the parting. The wrench was terrible, and on the morning of her departure she felt that she must set all at defiance and take him bodily away. The child seemed to understand what was happening, and clung to her with the tenacity of fear; and thus, clasped in each other’s arms, they awaited the dread signal which should warn them that the hour was come.
Lady Montella, away from her religious principles, was as warm-hearted as it was possible for woman to be, and could not witness the separation unmoved. She knew that both husband and wife were suffering keenly, and that Patricia’s heart was bleeding for her child. But the sternness of her decision was not relaxed, and the carriage drove up relentlessly to take the young mother away. Not caring to see the final farewell, she joined Mrs. Engelmacher in the room above; and a few minutes later she knew by the sound of wheels that all was over, and Patricia had gone.
The Princess was already at the little station when the unhappy pair arrived. She had never seen either of them look so ill, but was too wise to express her concern. Instead, she tried to make light of the whole matter, and drew their attention to the peculiar mixture of nationalities and personalities which composed the motley crowd on the platform. And there was the luggage to be seen to, and the red tape of Oriental officialism to be overcome, as well as the numerous necessities for the journey to the West. When all was accomplished, however, there still remained a little time before the train was due to start; and to the Montellas these few minutes were the hardest of all.
Lionel stood with his arm around his wife, and gazed piteously at the Princess.
“You will take care of my darling, won’t you, Olive?” he said, with a pathetic air of appeal. “In letting her go, I am parting with half of my life, and I know she feels it as much as I do, and perhaps more, because she is leaving the one little ray of sunshine she might have retained. But don’t let her fret, will you? Fretting doesn’t do a bit of good, and it will make her ill. Perhaps I shall be able to come over to Felsen-Schvoenig for a holiday next winter, or—or— Oh, we must look forward to meeting again soon, however it’s managed or whatever we do. So you’ll cheer her up, won’t you? Don’t let her get depressed. And I’ll write every mail, and—and—”
But his flow of language gave way; he could not bring himself to say another word.
“Oh, I’ll cheer her up,” the Princess returned confidently. “You may rely on me. You both look as mournful as if you were parting for ever; but that’s quite absurd. After I’ve seen my poor old Karl, I shall go to England and get my sister to work round that wooden-headed Moore. I fancy from what Mamie writes that the Expulsion Act is not working so well as he anticipated. Anyway, coming straight from the Holy Land, I shall be able to give them both a piece of my mind. Oh, there’s no knowing what may happen in another year. You must both keep up your spirits and hope for the best. It’s a long lane that has no turning, and I guess yours will turn pretty soon.”