The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 310, 30 March 1878, Page 4

The Novelist.

SOLOMON ISAACS A CHRISTMAS STORY. By B. L. Far jeon.

Chapter XV.— Rachel will not give way. When, after the expression of their differing views on education, Leon left his father’s house, he made his way at once to Spitalfields, for the purpose of seeing Rachel. He was indignant and hurt at his father’s conduct, and was eagerly anxious to remove from Rachel’s mind any idea that he was a party to the treacherous offer Solomon Isaacs had made to the girl. The perusal of her letter had set his generous young soul on fire ; as he walked rapidly towards Moses Levy’s apartments, he dwelt fondly on the image of the girl he truly loved, and every reminiscence associated with her was charged with new tenderness. In the midst of the surging life, through which he moved, with its throbbing ambitions, its wild hopes and desires, its sadness, its exultation, its crooked scheming and plotting, its mean pride and small aspiration, he was a living embodiment of the sentiment in the light of which all the worth of the world fades into insignificance. It is a gladdening thought that the crowded streets are sometimes sweetened thus by honest feeling. When a fresh young face flashes brightly passed me—as Leon’s face might have done on this occasion—it is like a cool refreshing wind sweeping through the streets on a hot feverish day. What shall I sigh for ? What shall I hunger for ? Much money—the finest houses—richly embroidered clothes ? These are not the treasures t at will sweeten my days. The true wealth of life and of humanity lies in love, and in kind thought that shows itself in action. Let me receive these, and give me these to bestow, and add to them the blessing of faith in God, and I am richer than a myriad Aladdin’s caves could make me. As Leon sped onwards his steps grew more animated. He was approaching the familiar byways of his childhood, and his heart beat the quicker. Soon he was in Spitalfields. He could scarcely sufficiently control his impatience to exchange fair words and looks with old friends who ran from their houses to greet him. “There’s Leon Isaacs!” they cried. “How well he looks !” He got away from them as quickly as he could, and ran into the dear old house, and up the dear old stairs which led to Moses Levy’s rooms. “ He’s just come from abroad,” the neighbors said to one another, “ and the first thing he does is to go and see Rachel Levy.” He did not lose in their estimation, for it was no secret by this time that old Solomon Isaacs did not look with favorable eyes upon the engagement. Leon paused in the passage for a moment or two, and listened ; he heard Rachel moving about the room. Then he knocked, and almost before her gentle voice reached his ears bidding him enter, lie opened the door. With an eager exclamation he ran towards her, and she, for a moment betrayed by love and joy, flew into his arms. But when he kissed her she quickly released herself, and stood apart from him. She had uttered no word ; only a little cry of heart-gladness had escaped her ; and now, recalled to herself, she pressed one hand to her heart, and raised the other with an imploring motion. He understood her, and came no nearer to her. He could find no words to speak ; nor could she for a little while. But woman’s wit, at such a critical time, is keener than a man’s—a kind provision of Nature, as she is compelled to be more often on the defensive. So Rachel, weak as she was, showed a greater strength than Leon, and was the first to speak. The words she uttered were very simple, and she spoke them timidly and hesitatingly. She said she was sorry her father was not at home to see Leon. “ But I did not come to see your father,” said Leon ; I came to see you. I arrived from the country late last night, and I thought I should have seen you at my father’s house to welcome me home.” “You received my letter, Leon ?” “Yes ; and I have brought you the answer.” Involuntarily she held out her hand for it. He seized her hand, and did not relinquish it, although she struggled—just a little. “You can understand the answer I have brought you, Rachel. lam here myself.” Not all her woman’s wit and cunning could keep the happy light from her face at this proof of her lover’s truth and faithfulness: He saw the gladuess of her heart, in her eyes, and he would have taken her in his arms. She yielded for a moment, then heroically repulsed him. “ No, Leon,” she said, it cannot be. It must not be. Father and I have talked it over, and we have decided upon what is right.” “ Are you and your father to be the only judges?” he asked impetuously. “Am Ito have no voice in it ?” “Do not speak loudly, Leon ; people will hear, and think we are quarrelling. And I—l am not strong ! No—do not touch me ! I can see my duty clearer if you keep away from me.” “ Your duty is to come to me, Rachel, as my wife, and I claim you.” She was on the point of yielding again as he called her his wife, but by a great effort she restrained herself. “ No,” she said firmly, “ I can see that your father is right. You must not marry a poor girl like me. Do you think,” she added, with spirit, “ that I am going to have it flung in my teeth that I hold you to your promise now you are rich, and in the face of your father’s refusal ?’’

“ And do you think,” he retorted, “ that I am going to have it flung in my teeth that,

because my father happens to have filled his pockets with money, I am false to my promise and my word ?” “ The world will not blame you, Leon ; such things are not uncommon.” “ Hang the world ! It did not teach me to love you, and it shall not teach me to be false to you. You have given me back my promise ” “ Yes,” she said sadly, “ I have given you back your promise.” “ But I don’t give you back yours. That’s a thing you have forgotten. Rachel, you do not love me as I believed you did.” “You must not say that, Leon. You must not make things harder for me than they are. If you knew how I have suffered, you would pity me.” “ I do pity you, and I ask you to be just to me. You must marry me, Rachel —you must!” “ I cannot, Leon, without your father’s consent.” “ Must my father’s money part us, Rachel ?” “ Yes, Leon. It is not' the first time that money lias parted two faithful hearts.” She could not help speaking the words, for she knew that he was true to her. The knowledge took away from her much of the bitterness with which her life had been filled lately. “If it part us,” said Leon, “it will be your fault, not mine. You have behaved nobly to me, and you will make it appear that I have behaved basely to you. You will let it be said that the moment my father became rich, I turned my back on the girl who accepted me as her lover when I was poor.” These arguments, and many others as cunning, he used in his endeavor to convince Rachel that she was wrong in her resolve ; but the pride of the girl had been deeply wounded, and he could not prevail upon her to go back from her word. At length he said, “ Listen to me, Rachel. I refuse to release you from your engagement. You are pledged to me. You understand that ?” “ Yes,” she replied, “ I understand it. But you are not pledged to me.” “ I am, and you cannot prevent it. You, and no other woman, shall be my wife.” “ And you, and no other man, shall be my husbandadding, with womanly inconsistency, “ but all is over between us.” “ That is not so. Give my love to your father, Rachel. You will not kiss me, I suppose ?” “ No, Leon.” “ I love you all the more for it. You will shake hands, “ I suppose ?” “ Oh, yes.” “ You see,” he said, as he held her hand in his, “ you cannot prevent me from kissing your hand. Good-bye, for a little while.” And when he left her, with looks of love ; she could not help giving him a tender smile. Chapter XVl.— Solomon Isaacs Plots and Schemes Without Success. In an interview with his father Leon stated clearly his intentions with respect to Rachel, and not all Solomon Isaacs’ fuming and stamping about induced him to swerve. For his mother’s sake, he consented to live at home, although his inclination was to take lodgings in Spitalfields, quite close to Moses Levy’s rooms. Then Solomon Isaacs began to scheme. He invited to his house a class of persons who had risen from nothing, and who were unable to push themselves into more elegant society. Strangely enough, these persons, in their hearts, bore no great good-will to each other, partly for the reason that they were all acquainted with antecedents which they were foolishly desirous should be buried in oblivion. But company was necessary to their existence ; therefore they visited each other in their carriages, and gave parties, and played cards, and wrangled as in the olden days, and endeavored to outshine each other in their diamonds. Occasionally some struggling worker in the arts, to whom perhaps they had lent small sums of money, found himself in their midst If he had a sly laugh at his entertainers it waj not from ill-nature, but because his sense o humor was excited : he more often laughed* with than at them, and despite the touches of vulgarity which appeared on the surface of their nature, their haspitality was so generous and liberal that he found it impossible not to like them. They gave him the choicest cigars, the finest wines, and dishes of rare cookery not to be obtained in any but Jewish homes ; they entertained him with stories spiced with wit ; they feited and flattered him ; and he would have been a churl indeed, had he gone away with ill-natured thoughts of his hosts. To those of the well-to-do who had daughters to marry, Solomon Isaacs whispered slyly that his son was free to choose, and was looking out for a wife. Then commenced a hunt matrimonial, Leon being the stag. Pie had a hard time of it, and was often put out of patience—although he could not help feelingamused at the game that was being played. He was not sufficient of a hero to fling his father’s money from him, and refuse to use it ; but he was hero enough to be faithful in his heart to Rachel. Difficult as was the task that Solomon Isaacs set himself to accomplish, he did not despair of success. He trusted to time to assist him, and to the effect of the increased wealth he was endeavoring with all his cunning to accumulate. “You will ’ave it all, Leon,” he said, “every penny, if you don’t go agin me !” He was deeply involved in Stock Exchange speculation, buffing and bearing, lying and scheming, now losing, now winning, now suffering agonies, now swelling with pride and satisfaction. His grand home was not a happy one, and he sought for distraction in the whirl of that great gambling mart, where every mean trick the human mind can invent is pressed into the service of the race for wealth. More than once he was on the verge of ruin ; but luck never entirely deserted him, and by many a bold manoeuvre he recovered, and found himself richer than the clay before. In a certain way he became famous, and one Friday evening his wife rushed into the room with a paper fluttering in her hand. “You’re in the paper !” she screamed. “ You’re in the j>aper !”

He turned as white as any ghost, and sank into a chair. Airs. Isaacs was too excited herself to notice his agitation. In a shrill voice she read a paragraph from a Jewish paper to the effect that our esteemed and talented co-religionist, Air. Solomon Isaacs, has purchased a country seat near a fashionable watering-place, whither, in the summer months he and his family will retire, to enjoy the deserved fruits of his enterprise and good fortune.” Before she had finished reading, he recovered his composure. “ Yery proper, very proper,” he said complacently. “ Esteemed and talented ! Is them the words, Alilly ?” “ Yes.” “ I’ll go into the city, and buy two copies of that paper,” he said. “ It’s a sensible paper. It ought to be encouraged.” The idea flashed into his mind that it would not be a bad thing to cut out the paragraph, and have it framed. “ What do they mean about a country seat,” inquired Airs. Isaacs, “ and a fashionable watering-place ?” “I don’t know,” he replied. They may say anything they like, so long as they don’t say nothing nasty.” “ Alargate’s the place for me,” observed Mrs Isaacs. “ We’ll ’ave a month there,” said Solomon. Isaacs, smiling graciously at her, “ and we’ll do it fashionable,” Alilly, we’ll do it fashionable.” At about that time he had instilled hope into Airs. Isaacs’ breast by the subterfuge that he had “ made it up” with his old friend Moses Levy. “You ’ave made me so ’appy,” said the worthy woman, with a beaming face. “ Alay I go and see ’im and Rachel ?” “ Not yet —not yet,” said Solomon Isaacs. “Wait a bit ; everything ’ll come right.” “ But tlie’ll come to see us, then,” argued Mrs Isaacs. “Presently—presently,” was his reply. “You leave me to manage, Alilly.” His duplicity met with its reward. On the Tuesday following, his wife, with tears in her eyes,' mentioned that their old friend had passed the house with his old-clo’ bag on his shoulders. “ His voice went right through me,” she said pathetically. “ I felt as if I would like to throw my arms round ’is neck. I ran into the street, and cried, ‘ Air. Levy ! Air. Levy !’ When he ’eered my voice, I thought he would ’ave dropped, he shook so. He ain’t looking at all well, Ikey ; I think he must have been laid up. ‘ Air. Levy !’ I cried ; ‘ won’t you come in !’ ‘ Does your ’usband want me ?’ he asked, all of a tremble ; ‘ did he send you out for me ?’ ‘No, Mr. Levy,’ I said ; ‘lkey ain’t at ’ome. Come in, and see the ’ouse, and have a glass of wine.’ He looked at me so strange that I didn’t know what to make of ’im. ‘ No,’ he said, ‘ I won’t come in upon your invitation, I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Isaacs.’ And he was going away, actually going away without another word, when I puts my hand on ’is arm, and said, ‘Don’t be unfriendly, Mr. Levy. It ain’t because we’ve got rich that you should treat us as enemies.’ Upon that he said, ‘God knows I don’t want to do that, Airs. Isaacs ; it’s none of my doings.’ ‘ ’Ow’s Rachel ?’ I asked. His face got as white as a sheet, and he put my ’and away from ’is arm. ‘ It won’t do you nor me any good to talk any longer,’ he said ; ‘ I wish you good-morning, Airs. Isaacs.’ Then he walked away, so low and shaky that he ’adu’t spirit enough to cry, ‘ Old clo’ !’ and I stood like a fool looking after ’im. You might have knocked mo down with a feather, I was that took aback.” Solomon Isaacs glared at his wife with fury in his countenance. “What made you speak to ’im ?” he screamed. “You don’t know what you’ve done ! If you go agin me, all the fat’ll be in the fire ! Mind what I say, If you speak to AIo Levy agin without my leave, I’ll—l’ll run away—l’ll sell up everything, and run away !” “ I won't—l won’t !” sobbed Airs. Isaacs. “ But what’s the matter with ’im ? What’s he been a-doing of ? You said you ’ad made it up with ’im “ And I told you at the same time not to interfere,” said Solomon Isaacs ; “ if you want to live peaceable, you do as I tell you.” He put a stop to further conversation in his usual way—by bouncing out of the room and the house, and slamming every door after him. During all this time, the warfare between himself and his son on the one vital point at issue showed no signs of abatement. Unpleasant scenes, of course, were inevitable. Such as on a night when the three were sitting in the stage-box of the Vaudeville Theatre, laughing at a comedy. In the midst of their enjoyment, Leon caught sight of old Aloses Levy and Rachel, who were sitting in the front row of the pit. It was evident to him that they knew he and his parents were in the private box ; there was a sad consciousness on Rachel’s face, and she, who used to enjoy a good play so thoroughly, had not a smile now on her lips. Leon’s mother, on the contrary, beguiled out of her unhappiness by the cunning of the play, laughed so loudly that she attracted attention. “ This is the way,” thought Leon, gazing on Rachel’s wistful face, “ that I am made to pour poison into her cup.” His heart went out to the girl, and, without a word to his parents, he left the box and made his way to the pit, where, being unable to reach the spot where Rachel and her father sat, he waited at the back until the play was over. Then he lingered until Rachel came up to him. She did not start or change color. “ Here’s Leon,” she said to her father. Aloses Levy shook hands gravely with the young man, and did not demur to Leon’s walking by the side of Rachel along the Strand. It was a clear night, and there was time for them to walk to Spitalfields. Rachel shook hands also with Leon, but did not accept the offer of his arm. Aloses Levy approved of his daughter’s decision with regard to Leon, knowing well it brought her unhappiness. She had hidden nothing from the old man, and had spoken of Leon's conduct in terms of affec-

tionate admiration ; but both father and daughter were agreed that the engagement, so far as Rachel was concerned, must be considered at an end until Solomon Isaacs openly consented to the union. Once again on this night, as Leon walked by her side, did he endeavor to shake her resolution. He met with no success ; Rachel was firm. The following day was a busy one in Solomon Isaacs’ house. He gave a grand party in the evening, at which it was his intention to play a trump card. A young lady was coming to captivate Leon, and Solomon Isaacs was full of hope that his son would be caught by her attractions. In the morning he dilated upon the splendor of the forthcoming entertainment, and, rubbing his hands gleefully, told Leon that he would be the prince of the party. To his consternation Leon commenced to open the old wound. “ Do you know where I went last night, when I left the box, father ?” “ No, Leon.” “ I went to the pit, where Rachel and Moses Levy were, and waited for them.” “ Well ? ’ said Solomon* Isaacs uneasily. “ I walked home with them.” “ It was a—a insult to your father, Leon,” said Solomon Isaacs meekly. He was frightened of his son, and knew that he would place himself at a disadvantage by passionate remonstrance. “ It was a mark of respect to them,” said Leon, “ a mark of respect and love. You can guess what subject we talked upon. But Rachel wouldn’t give in.” “ She knows ’er dooty better than you do.” “ She excels me in this, as in everything else. Yet I also am resolved, and have come to a decision. This is November—it is eleven months since we were engaged, and I hoped to be happily married befoi-e this time. Once more I ask you to allow me to go to Rachel and tell her you consent to our marriage.” “ No, Leon, no,” replied Solomon Isaacs. “ You don’t know what’s good for yourself. Yoai must look ’igh—you must marry a rich girl. Now there’s Becky Aloss. She’s got twenty thousand pound, and three times that when ’er mother dies. And ’er mother’s old, Lean, old ! and ketches ’er breath so as you think she’s never goin’ to git it back again ! She can’t last long. Becky Moss is a fine girl, a fine girl ! —something to show for your money, Leon !” “Yes, there’s plenty of her, but she’s not made for me.” And Leon mentally set the two girls before him, Rachel Levy and Becky Moss, and the substantial figure of Becky faded away, while Rachel’s sweet sad face remained present to his mind’s eye. Solomon Isaacs saw no such vision. “ Not made for you ! I tell you she is. Arks ’er, and see if I ain’t right. What more do you want, Leon ? Becky’s got twenty thousand pound, and ’ll ’ave sixty more—d’ye’ear ? And she’s quite a lady. She knows how to behave in the best society, Leon. You should see ’er walk along the room when she’s at a party—with ’er ’ead up ’igh, as if she was used to it all ’er life ! You should see ’ow she dresses—in the height of fashion, Leon, with puffs and bows behind bigger than I ever see, and with a train six yards long if it’s a inch ! And she’s eddicated, my boy, eddicated—talks langauges, and plays the pianey as loud as the best of ’em ! I ’eered her the other night at a party. She looked tip-top—a girl to be proud of. She ’ad on a silk dress as’d stand alone ! She’ad twice as much ’air on ’er ’ead as any of the other girls, and there was diamonds'in it, Leon, real stones, not paste ! She must ’ave ’ad five hundred pound worth of jewellery on ’er. I reckoned it all up, and it’d fetch that at the coffee-shop in Duke’s Place. You’re never agoing to throw away a chance like that, Leon?” “ No,” replied Leon, “ I’ll not throw it away. It’s too heavy. But I’ll not marry Miss Rebecca, if that’s what you n ean.” At this Solomon Isaacs lost his presence of mind. “ If you say that agin, I’ll cut you out of my will ! Alind— I mean what I say. You sha’n’t ’ave a shilling of my money.” “ Saddled with your conditions,” said Leon, with spirit, “ I would sooner be without it. Good-bye, sir. “ When I feel that I’m not ashamed of my father, I will come and see you again. Not till then.” When Solomon Isaacs recovered his temper he was not greatly alarmed by his son’s words. It was not the first quarrel they had had upon the theme, nor the first time Leon had threatened to leave the house for good. That he had not done so was an assurance that a calmer mood would lead to a wiser decision. Therefore when Solomon Isaacs’ guests were assembled in the evening he was not doubtful that Leon would make his appearance. He was proud o& his boy, who looked every inch the gentleman, and whose education and manners enabled him to hold his own in good society. “And Leon knows on which side his bread is buttered,” thought Solomon Isaacs. “ But he was doomed to disappointment. Leon did not appear. Becky Aloss and her mother were there, and made anxious inquiries after the young fellow. “ He’ll be ’ere after supper,” said Solomon Isaacs. “Keep a few darnces for ’im, Miss Aloss.” “Becky was resplendent, having made up her mind that Leon was the man for her. Dress, feathers, and diamonds were there, and a goodlooking girl in the bargain. It was the best chance that had fallen in the young lady’s way, and she had come to the party prepared for victory. The appearance of the supper-table elicited expressions of unanimous approbation. There were salmon and other fish and meats in wonderful profusion ; wet and dry-almond puddings and cocoanut tarts ; amazing jellies, and raised pies, and hothouse fruits ; and everything that was out of season. Solomon Isaacs related choice stories concerning the feast, as to how much the wine cost him a dozen, and how much he had paid for that fruit in the market. One of the guests, carried away by

enthusiasm at the liberality of the spread, cried to the host, with his mouth full, “ By my life, Mr. Izard, the salmon is grand! Whereupon Solomon Isaacs, in his loud and delicate way, related proudly how the captain of the steamer had brought the salmon ovei from Rotterdam expressly for him, and how Mr. Sloper, the great cook, had offered him five shillings a pound for it. “ I suppose,” said Solomon Isaacs, “he ad a wedding breakfast or a supper to provide. * Rive shillings a pound, Mr. Izard,’ he said. * No, Mr. Shipper,’ said I. ‘ I likes my profit, but, by my life, my company comes first. “Bravo, bravo!” ran round the table, although a few of the more refined shuddered •at the vulgarity. “You were born to be a •gentleman, Mr. Izard.” Upon this point opinions differed after supper, in consequence of the absence of Leon. Mrs. Moss had her adherents, and she declared that never in all her life had such an affront been put upon her—declining, when asked, to specify the nature of the affront. Her indignation resolved itself into an emphatic declaration that Solomon Isaacs was an upstart, and that to sit at his table was “ a lowering of oneself.” Becky Moss also had something to say, and as a girl of spirit she said it in plain terms to Mr. and Mrs. Isaacs. This unpleasant state of affairs was made still more unpleasant by disturbances at the card-tables, those who lost at 100 ranging themselves on the side of Becky Moss and her mother, while those who won were in too good a temper to takes sides with either party. It is a disagreeable thing to record that Solomon Isaacs, himself by no means amiably inclined, met Mrs. Moss’s onslaught of words with vigor, and a battle of words occurred which it would be profitless here to set down. It ended in a hasty departure of all the guests, with scarcely one cordial good-night to the host who had so splendidly feasted them. Only Solomon Isaacs and lus wife were left in the drawing-room. In the turmoil a few chairs had been overturned, and a few packs of cards had been spilled on the floor. Solomon Isaacs stood in the middle of the room, flushed and excited, and Mrs. Isaacs sat in a chair, rocking herself to and fro in deep disfcr6“ The ungrateful beasts !” exclaimed Solomon Isaacs. “ They’re a mean lot ! Hot one of ’em shall ever set foot in the ’ouse agin !” He was checked by the hysterical sobbing of his wife. “Be quiet !” he cried. “Be quiet can ’t you ? What do you mean by piling on the aggrawation ?” But grief and distress had so worked upon Mrs. Isaacs’ feelings that they were beyond her control, and she continued to rock herself ito and fro. “Oh,” she sobbed, “I wish we was poor »<dn !” I wish we was poor agin !” “Solomon Isaacs could scarcely believe his ears, and for a moment astonishment made him dumb. T ... “Oh,” continued Mrs. Isaacs, wringing her hand, “ I wish things was the same as when you used to go out every morning with your bag ! We was ’appy then. Oh, I wish we was poor—l wish we was poor !” “ What ?” screamed Solomon Isaacs. Are you out of your mind ? Do you want to degrade me? Do you want to make me ashamed to look myself in the face ?” He could not stop her, however, and m the end lie stamped upstairs alone to his bedroom, leaving Mrs. Isaacs moaning, and praying with all her heart and soul that her husband might be stripped of his riches, and be compelled to work for his living, as in the olden days. ******* Had Solomon Isaacs known how earnestly his wife prayed for his downfall, there is no telling what he might have done in his antrer. Much has been written and said about the efficacy of prayer, and here was an argument in its fay or ; the charm that was to work Solomon Isaacs’ ruin began on the very day following the grand party. The two descriptions of stock in which he was most deeply interested were Turkish and Peruvian bonds. His greed had led him to those fatal pits, in which so many innocent lives have been made wretched, so many bright hopes engulfed. The present chronicler has no desire to dilate upon the villainy of the respectable men who, to the destruction of the unwary, pull the strings of the greatest Gambling Hell the world lias ever seen. It is in some poor way a satisfaction to know that occasionally a cunning one is made to bite the dust. -This happened to Solomon I b Maddened by his private troubles, of which he alone was the creator, Solomon Isaacs, heedless of the warning held out by the sudden fall of Peruvian stock, bought and bought, and pledged his fortune and his credit in a rotten cause. Lower and lower fell the stock, wilder and wilder grew his infatuation, until he awoke one morning to find himself more famous than ever His castle had toppled over. The respectable black rooks of the Stock 'Exchange swooped upon him with a resistless rush, and lie who hoped to make them suffer to his honor and credit, found himself torn and bleeding—a laughing-stock to those whose superior cunning and larger experience enabled them to weather the storm which left him a ruined man and a beggar. Chapter. XVII.— The Cross of Humanity. Mention has been made in these pages of one Barney, who obtained an insufficient living by selling watercresses and periwinkles, and eked it ouAiy attending to the Sabbath fires of the Jewish poor in Spitalfields. Since Rachel Levy met him on the happy night of her engagement with Leon, a yiar has passed, and , Clu’istmas has come round once again to gladden the hearts of the poor with its brief respite from the weary toil of life. “It’s bitter cold, miss,” says Barney to Rachel, as he warms his Augers at the fire he is tending- “ A fire is a real comfort such a .night as this.” nods assent, and presently notices that Barney is lingering in the room, evidently -with something on his mind which he finds a .difficulty iu bringing to his lips.

“ 'l imes are dreadful hard, miss,” lie says. “They seem so, Barney,” says Rachel ; “all the poor round about are complaining.” “ That’s so, miss ; but some are poor and others arc poorer.” “ Is there anything you wish particularly to say to me, Barney ?” “ Thank you, miss. Yes, there is something. Last night when I got home—it was late ; I was trying to sell out my basket ” “ Did you succeed ?” “ No, miss ; things are getting dreadful bad ; people’s got no money to spend on luxuries. When I got home, miss, what do you think I saw on my doorstep ?” “ I can’t guess.” “A woman, miss, with a baby in her arms. How old do you think the baby was, miss ?” “ Tell me, Barney.” “ Not six weeks, I should say. A thin little creature it was, with a face that didn’t seem bigger than a penny-piece. It was pouring torrents hard, and there they was, the pair of ’em, a-laying on my doorstep, soaked through, the pair of ’em.” “ O Barney !” “ It’s gospel truth, miss. I stoops down, and shakes the woman. ‘ Hallo !’ Isays. ‘Hallo !’ Now what do you think the woman says to that !” “ What ?” “ She says, says the woman, ‘Don’t touch' me ! Don’t turn me away ! Dor God’s sake, let me lay here and die !’ ” Rachel starts to her feet with a look of compassion. “ I was thinking, miss,” continues Barney, “that perhaps you’d advance me a shilling to get something nourishing for the poor creature.” “ Where is she, then ?” “In my garret, miss. I carried her upstairs and put her on my bed. She don’t seem able to eat the bread-and-butter I orfer her ; and there she is. You see, miss, I’ve never been able to lay up for a rainy day, and I’m that selfish that every penny I get I spend on myself.” Before he has finished this his longest speech, Rachel has taken from the cupboard a piece of cake and two slices of fried fish, which she wraps in paper. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming to see her to-morrow, miss, if she ain’t better. Then you might tell me what I ought to do.” “ Do you know her, Barney ?” “Never set eyes on her till last night. And can’t get anything out of her. She’s a kind of unconscious.” “ I will come to-morrow, Barney ; I can’t to-night, because my father is not well. Here is something she may be able to eat, and here’s a shilling.” “ Thank you, miss. I may come and fetch you to-morrow, then, if she ain’t better ?” “Yes, Barney.” “Good-night, miss.” “ Good-night.” On the following evening Barney knocked at Rachel Levy’s door. The girl and her father were at home. “You have something fresh to tell me, Barney,’’ said Rachel, gleaning her knowledge from the expression of cariosity on his face. “ Am I to come with you now ?” “ If you please, miss.” Rachel brought out her bonnet and shawl. “ How’s the poor women ?” “As bad as can be. The doctor’s been to see her, and ’ll come again to-night. I have something new to tell you. I asked her this afternoon if she didn’t have any friends. What name do you think comes to her lips in a whisper ?” “ I cannot say.” “ Yours, miss.” “ Mine !” “Yes. ‘ Priends ?’ she whispers ; she ain’t got breath enough to speak loud. ‘ Priends ? There was a Jewess as gave me money and bread last Christmas—Rachel Levy.’ She says your name more than once after that, miss.” “ I remember—l remember,” said Rachel, with a sigh. “Father, I will come back as soon as I can. If I am wanted, I am at Barney’s lodgings.” “ Very well, my dear,” said Moses Levy, and followed Rachel to the door with wistful eyes. He did not like to lose sight of her, and was for ever watching the signs in her face, which told him too frequently that she was thinking of the days that were gone. His only amusement now was a game of patience by himself, and this at the best of times was but a sad enjoyment. The salt had gone out of his life. Game after game of patience he played, with varying success, paying indeed but slight attention to the cards. Vague rumours of Solomon Isaacs’ downfall had reached his ears during the past fortnight, but they were so conflicting that he scarcely knew what to believe. During that time he had not seen Leon, and therefore had no opportunity of arriving at the truth. As he shuffled and laid out the cards, he endeavored to thread his way through a labyrinth of possibilities, and what result the news, if true, would have upon Rachel’s fortunes. She had not speken to him upon the subject, nor he to her ; Solomon Isaacs’ name, by tacit consent, bad not been uttered by one to the other for months. He heard shuffling footsteps on the stairs ; he listened with a strange fluttering at his heart, recognising a familiar sound. It ceased in the passage, and there was a long pause. Moses Levy gazed at the cards spread out on the table, aud made no movement. He trembled so that when a knock came at the door his voice scarcely rose above a whisper. The door was slowly' opened and Solomon Isaacs stood on the threshold. He was dressed iu shabby clothes, he wore a shabby hat, he had his olcl-clo’ bag over his arm. No rings were on his fingers, no massive chain hung across his waiscoat, or diamond pin was in his scarf. His beard was growingragged once more, and his face was as the face of one whose purse was empty. “May I come in, Mo ?” he asked humbly. “ Yes,” replied Moses Levy, white and shaking, “ if you come in peace.”

“That’s what I’ve come for —that’s what 1 arks for ! Mo,” said Solomon Isaacs, holding forth his hand, “ will you shake ’ands with a old friend ?” “Does Leon know you aro here?” asked Moses Levy. “ Yes ; I told ’im I was coming. Won’t you shake ’auds ? Don’t ’it a man when lie’s down !” Moses Levy gave Solomon Isaacs his hand. “ Be seated,” he said. Solomon Isaacs instantly began to gather the cards together. “ A game of crib, Mo ! For the sake of old times ! For Rachel and Leon’s sake.” Tears gathered in Moses Levy’s eyes. “ So be it,” he said ; “ let bygones be bygones for our children’s sake. You are welcome.” Leon, making his first appearance a quarter of an hour afterwards, found the old men playing cribbage. Not with the heartiness of old ; there was still an awkard restraint upon them. Moses Levy welcomed the young man with cordiality. “ It is just a year to night, sir,” said Leon, “that I asked Rachel to be my wife. You gave your consent then. It is necessary for me to ask it again ?” “ What does your father say, Leon ?” They both turned to Solomon Isaacs. “ Leon couldn’t make a better match,” he said, with a little lmskiness in his throat. “Go and bring Rachel home, Leon,” said Moses Levy ; and told the young man where lie would find her. Rachel was kneeling by the bedside of the dying woman, whose last words had just been uttered. Through the garret window the moon’s rays streamed athwart a beam which stretched from floor to ceiling. The shadow of the solemn Symbol fell upon the figures in the room with Divine meaning ; and, bathed in the sacred light of Humanity’s Cross, the Christian died and the Jewess wept. “ Hush !”said Rachel, as Leonscftly entered. THE END.