Celia dried her eyes and smiled at him through her tears, reminding the young clergyman of a burst of sunshine after a shower of rain.
“It—was—dreadfully weak of me!” she murmured in a small voice. “But I couldn’t help it. Mr. Salmon did say such cruel things; and although I know it’s foolish, they—they rankle. He made me feel as if I were about to commit a crime.”
Ralph Wilton looked at her with deep sympathy in his eyes.
“The crown of thorns does indeed press hard upon your brow,” he said compassionately. “You are being deprived of your fortune and your lover at one blow. But do not lose heart, Miss Franks; I feel sure there is much sunshine in store for you yet. Who can tell? Your self-sacrifice may lead to happiness you know not of. Only trust and believe, and all will yet be well.”
“Oh, I am not at all unhappy,” she responded hastily, not wishing him to be falsely impressed. “There is really no self-sacrifice in what I am doing.” She did not add that the breaking of her engagement came as an unexpected and not unwelcome release. Nevertheless, she felt it to be such, although it was some little time before she could altogether realize that she was indeed free.
The news of her conversion and its pecuniary consequence spread with astonishing rapidity, even leaking into the Jewish and society papers. Jewish people criticized her action as disgraceful, non-Jews as quixotic; and both unanimously agreed that by foregoing a public confession of faith—meaning the ceremony of baptism—she might have retained her fortune. But public opinion caused Celia no concern, for she knew that no other course than the one she had taken would have been possible to her for any length of time. If she had acted foolishly according to the world’s standard, she had at least done what she had felt to be her duty in the sight of God.
If she left Woodruffe the poorer in one way for her visit there, she was richer in another; and never, during the whole course of her life, did she ever wish her action undone.
CHAPTER IX
AN OUTCAST IN ISRAEL
“An outcast in Israel!” The words recurred to Celia with persistent frequency during the next few weeks; for she went back to Durlston to find herself ostracized by the little Jewish colony in whom she had taken interest for so long a time.
Almost the first day after her return she went among them, as was her custom when at home, taking with her toys for the children, articles of adornment for the women, tobacco pouches for the men—all little evidences of her thought for them whilst away. Never dreaming that her conversion would make the slightest difference to them, the reception they gave her stung her to the quick. The kindly greetings with which she was wont to accost them died on her lips as she detected the look of scorn on their faces. Mothers drew their little ones away from her, as though her very touch meant contamination. Her gifts they regarded as so many briberies to retain their good will, and therefore refused them with disdain.