THE JEW'S HOUSE.
Bl JTEBGT7S HtTME.
CHAPTER V.— THE WHITEWASHING OF BEN-EZRA. Cedar Farm, as Verily's property was called, took its name from an ancient Lebanon tree -which grew near the gate openifig on to the high Toad. With its horizontal branches and layers of dense foliage, together with its nature of remaining green, all the year round, it looked alien and strange amongst the deciduous English, trees with their tangled boughs. It gave somewhat of a Scriptural character to the farm which was quit© in keeping with the James-version-of-the-Bible speech used by its owner. The farm consisted of 100 acres, stretching from the- road to Bruntlea far across a flat, alluvial country, rich in its promise of heavy crops, ytetrily certainly had no reason to complain of his harvests, which were always excellent, and due as much to his agricultural knowledge as to the fecund properties of the land. He was quite a-well-to-do farmer- of the old style when the * Napoleonic wars forced England to grow her own corn. The homestead .was a long, low, twostorey, weather-board building painted white, and had quite a ' colonial look in j this country of stone bouses. But the red-tiled - roof . distinguished it very pointedly from the galvanised tin coverings of New Zealand dwellings. It could not be called picturesque, or even pretty, as ifc was not of a graceful shape, and no ivy covered its painted walls; but it looked comfortable and prosperous. The stables on the right and. the cowbyres on the left turned their backs on the house in the shape of tad brick walls, which ran down tr the road. Between them stretched a low, white-nainted fence, with a gate midway, and this shut in a flower garden, now somewhat bare on the bloomless month of November. There was no porch to the door, or overhanging eaves to the square staring windows, modestly curtained half way up. A yellow sanded path ran from the gate to the step from wHich the threshold of the doorway was Teached. And near the gate the ancient cedar kept jealous guard. At the back of the dwelling house were many outbuildings, and on the hitlier sides of the red brick walls stretched the cattleyards, wherein cows lowed and horses neighed amidst a noisy assemblage of hens, geese, turkeys, and guinea-fowls. Looking from the doorway — as Wain did before he stepped within — the strangeT could see the white belt of the passing road, and beyond flat m&es and miles of waste lands spreading widely towaids an horizon silhouetted with the shapes of houses separately, or gathered together round square-towered churches. There was nothing' particularly romantic about the view, or about the farmhouse, or the farm. It .was simply a plain English property, owned- by^a- prosaic, husbandman, who preferred utility to beauty. But it was when Wain entered the lowceilinged sitting room, ii» which the family lived everlastingly, to the exclusion cf using a chilly*parlour kept for rare high days and holidays, that the one charm of the place came upon Wain's receptive mind. This was the intense atmosphere of quiet which pervaded a somewhat ugly Victorian room. Not silence, for the beasts and fowls could be heard very distinctly, and also there was plenty of talk in the slow, quaint, Quaker fashion — but a sense of absolute rest and peacefulness, almost uncanny in -its insistence. Waan, as a psychist, knew what this meant. "You" have never had any rows in this house," he ventured to say. "Nay, friend Batrington, we are peaceful folk," replied his grave host. "I quite believe it. I can feel the absence of evil influences." "There can be nome, ' answered Verily Tebukingly, "in any house where the Woid of the Lord is read a.nd expounded nightly. Art thou a heathen?" Warn laughed. "Not exactly, though my beliefs may not run on all fours with yours, Mr Verily." "Use no vain titles tc me, friend Barrington. I am called Phineas Verily after the- flesh, so speak with all simplicity. Come, seat thyself in this armchair near the fire, for the weather is damp, though seasonable." Wain did as he was asked, and looked round the Toom, while Judith laid the full white cloth fear an unfashionable 5 o'clock tea, and Mrs Verily repaired to the kitchen cupboards. The apartment, lighted by two square, small-paned windows, curtained half way up, was crowded with a mahogany horsehair suite, whirl) showed signs of age and wear, though as polished and brushed as the busy hands of Mrs Verily could make chairs and table and sideboard. Steel engravings and samplers in frames adorned the red-flock wallpaper, and the floor was hidden by a faded and worn Turkey carpet. The chimney projected from the wa.ll opposite to the entrance door, which gave admittance from a narrow passage, called a hall. and in the recesses on either side v, ere a china cupboard — whence Judith took the cups and saucers for the meal — and a painted deal bookcase filled with extremely eolid literature — Harvey's "Meditations Among the Tombs," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," and "Blair's Grave " were amongst the titles Wain iend. Also he espied the "Life of George Fox," which naturally he expected to find in a Quaker household. But that Wain knew fiom the looks of the inhabitants — unwoincl looks they were — tint Verily was prosperous, he never would have guessed it from the unpretentious and almost poverty - struck aspect of his dwelling. But poor and quaintly ugly as the room \va-. the while doves of peace brooded over it, and almost consecrated it as a holy shrine. Wain had been in churches with a much less reposeful atmospheve. While he sat in the horsehair arm-
chair, comfortable though hideous, Verily extracted from him a full account of the accident and how he had been enabled to save the giri'6 life. The journalist made light of it, being a modest man, j but Verily rebuked him foi taking so airy a view of what he had done. I " Had; not God been with thee, friend Barrington, thou wouldst not have saved the child's life. Nothing God doth is little, therefore be not contemptuous of the courage with which He inspired thee." And Wain acknowledged the justice of the speech. Nevertheless, Verily's constantly-ex-pressed thanks were somewhat embarrassing to a modest man, so to escape them i Wair rose to examine a photograioh, i silver-framed, on the mantelpiece. And strange that expensive frame looked in the homely apartment. The portrait was of the bead and shoulders of a cleanshaven, handsome young man, with a sensitive mouth and deep-set eyes. "Lancelot Ashton ! " said Wain, who never forgot a face. " Dost thou know him? " asked Verily, surprised by the recognition. •"I met him three or four years ago. He was working to gain admittance to the Bar I fancy." . " Lancelot has been admitted to the BaT, but as yet has had ill-success. He is clever, nevertheless, and I trust the Lord will afford him his chance of success. Poor lad," Verily sighed', " his life has bean a hard one since the death of his grandfather 15 years ago. He was then 10 years of age and brought up to j lie upon couches of ivory and to array himself in purple and fine linen. But alas ! " — the farmer shook his head, and looked into the fire — " alas ! friend Barrington, these 15 years he hath been on© who hath fallen out with fortune." "Ben-Ezra ruined his grandfather, I heaT." " Friend Barrington," was the grave reply, " there are two sides to every tale." " I have only heaixl the worst side of that concerning the Jew," said Wain lightly. " Thou wilt hear nought but good of him in, this house, frieod Bairington. As to the Hebrew's dealings with General Ashton, I oaxtnofc spe-alc, as J tax--© only heard the common talk — which is, mostly, common lies. Ben-Ezra hath never given me to understand how he dealt with the man." " But Ben-Ezra holds possession of Tanbuck Hall, which should by rights belong to young Ashton," remonstrated Wain, sitting down again. "So friend Lancelot 6aith. Yet who can tel-l? General Ashton — I give him his vain title from hearing him so spoken of — was a wild and pagan man." "All the" same, rumour says that he vca kind to Ben-Ezra." ' ' Thou speakest "the truth, friend Barrington," replied the farmer. " I doubt not but what the Hebrew would readily admit th? debt." " He repaid it ill." " That," said Verily, with emphasis, "we cannot say for certain, since the Jew is on>3 who keepeth his own counsel. General Ashton gambled and drank away his property, and wasted his substance in riotous living. Ben-Ezra " — it was noticeable that Verily did not accord the title of friend to the imprisoned man — " BenEzra gave him money, as I know, and lent him muoh. He but took his own when th© aged man died and Ben-Ezra entered into possession of the hall. To the day of his death General Asfoton spoke well of the man. Thinkest thou,. friend Barrington, that if the Hebrew had been usurious the old man of Belial who died< wotild have spoken good?" " No. All the same. Ben-Ezra might have helped young Ashton." " The boy would not accept the heep. though it was offered and in my presence," said the Quaker gravely. "He hatsth this Jew greatly, and the sorrowthat hath befallen the man will bs pleasing to his bitter hsart. Mas, that men should so follow evil ! " * ■ "It may be evil." muttersd Wain with , a shrug, "but it is very human." I " And so is wicked, since vr£ are barn I in fin. But I judge no ma.n, and Ben- ! Ezra can doubtless justify himself." j Wain looked squarely intc th.j sedate I countenance of the old Quaker. " Why I do you defend Ben-Ezra whan everyone eka abu.-es him? " be asked pointedly. " I judge but as I know ; I do but as I have bec-n done by. Fifte&n years and , more ago I lost all my money in the 1 failure of a bank. In my 'extremity ; which the Lard did send to try my fiitti Ben-Ezra came forward and advanced me the money which saved me. Els 2 had I iK'jn turned out to beg in mine old age. Since then I have i>ro.-iv2r«d with the help of the Lord, but Bc*n-Ezra v, as His jiiswumont." j "At a good percentage, I'M be bound," ! said Wain j " The man did rot demand any int tc-'-^t for his coin, friend Bairington. ! H« paid all thins?s and supplied me with the wherewithal to carry on my bu>ine«s a- a farmer. When the capital was re;>r hI by mo I forced him unwilli'i^lv io ajcept 3 per cent. — more h» refus-ed to take " ! " Wliv did be behave s-o well to you I and so br.dly to other people?" i " That irs a question for Ben-Ezrn to ■ answer. But the fa-cth a.re a? I state ; thorn, frierd Barringtcn. And to olhp»*s. j as I know, the Jew hath behaved well, 1 only to rec-'ive ingratitude."' | " Why, I heard on all ha.ri.j-: that lie ; had remorselesplv sold iip this pv.-s-n &nd that," exclaimed Wain impatiently. • Verily sighed. " Art thou also aironest the prophets?'* said ho quietly. " Remember thou tliat Ben-Ezra is a Jew, ; ;nd to the Jews, by lh-3 Levitical la«r, , vengeance upon an enemy i-> permitted. , P»t?"-Ez:a did bat take n.n eys 'or mi oyo I and a tooth for n tooth. I 1 o]'l not with him there, but th? Jew hath not seen tli2 light, and &o will be beaten with few firipss.'*
"What do you mean exactly?" " Those unfortunates whom Ben-Ezra sold up and rendered homeless were either the old inhabitants of Bruntlea village, or their sons and daughters. These, 30 years ago, maltreated the Hebrew vilely, as I know. I rescued the man three times myself from being thrown into the horse-pond on the village green, and; General Ashion saved him also from many blows. As these people treated the Jew, so did the Jew treat them." " Not the eons and daughters of the original offenders." "The sins of the fathers shall le visited on the children," said Verily sententi- j ously ; "we have Scriptural authority for that. Ben-Ezra did good to those who did him good, and evil to all who behaved with evil." "That is not right. We should love our enemies." '"So saith the Christians, but how many of them obey the new and merciful law of the Fatherly Dispensation?" answered the Quaker. '"In the history of mine own people thou wilt read that those who followed tha venerable George Fox were treated as malefactors and worse. Canst thou, then, blame this Jew, who obeys the code of Moses? Ben-Ezra is wrong, as thou and I, having the fuller Light, can say ; but the Great Laiv-giver would find no sin in the man for obeying the commandments of Sinai." "Humph! If you look at it in that way I recognise that Ben-Ezra is not so black a devil as he has been painted." "Putting out of the question thy reference to the Evil One, I agree, ' so id the Quaker, twiddling his broad thumbs pensively,. "Ben-Ezra hath donei right as a Jew, ignorant of the Sermon on the Mount. Yet he hath also obeyed that Sermon, unknowingly, better than many who hear it weekly. To me, as to many ot heirs, this Hebrew hath acted the part of a brother, and those who cry out against him are but the enemies he hath crushed." •'Until your daughter spoke," said Wain quietly, "I never heard a single person speak well of Ben-Ezra. He must have many enemies." "Thou speakest truly, friend Barrington. XhOSe agclin^t whose cruelty Bsa-Ezra Hath retaliated cry out against him, not remembering their own sins. But many others whom he hath not injured — aye, and many whom he hath benefited — have joined in the cry to hound him down. If thou givest a dog a bad name, hanging is the outcome." "Do you think that the Jew will be hanged?" "If he is vuilty. What thi-sk-it thou, as an eye-witness?" Wain looked into the lire. I don't ksow what to think," he muttered, wrinkling hie brow. "'He seemed to be too clever a man to have let himself be taken red-handed, if he were really guilty. And he had time to throw away the revolver and shut the window before Dawkins and I came up." "The window was broken," said Verily suddenly. Wain* looked up in surprise- He had not noticed this him&elf, because all the time Quill and Dawkins taking down Ben-Ezra's story the window had remained open ; nor had he heard afterwards of the breakage. "What's that?" "The girl, Eliza James, was permitted to leave Tanbuck Hall this morning," said the Quaker calmly, "and came to see Ruth, who procured her the situation. She told us all that had happejied, and how the window had been broken by that furious man, Sir Giles." "How did she know that Sir Giles broke> it?" "She was awake, as was Mrs Jorvin, the housekeeper, for both women knew that Sir Giles — to give him his vain title, which benefits him nothing now — and BenEzra were enemies, and feared lest anything should happen. They came to the head of the stairs and heard Sir Giles depart, raging furiously. When BenEzra came out of the drawing room to go to his study at the bick of the house they retired, but afterwards came out again." " Mi's Jorvin came further thn.n the head of the stairs : she was listening at the door."' "Thou dost speak truly," Verily assented. "It is as thou pay.est. from the report of Eliza Jame-«. But Mra Jorvin fled when her master ovne out to the hsad cf the stairs, and there Miza James rejoined her. They heard the smashing of gla.ss, but feared to trive the alaim." " Did they know Sir Giles had leturned?" " Nay. Until they heard of his death they knew not that he ha/1 conio back. The firet revolver shot fitartlt-J them, and whan it soun f l&d they were soi > ah aid. as befit* womenkind. Why elo-t thou start?" "I .«ee a chance for Ber.-Ezia to p r o%'e his innocence." said Wain, much edited and rising in Irs excitement. "IT thewomsn r,aw him len\e ih° di awing loom arj go to his <-tudv at ths ba-ck of the hou'.^ — and that I-- hi- own s-toiy to Inspector Quill lomeiuber — he nuut bo innocent." "Nay! nay! fiiend B.iriMigton, for the we Tien did not <-cc Kirn re'.nrp." "Then he is innocent. ;u:d " " Wait, fri-erd Kann,'ton. Thou nrt too impetuous. Mis Joivin fled up the-.stai-ri wl>-Ti h* mr t -toi cam-- 1 out. and Eliza James joined hei 1 on the larding. Rut after.taid*. when thjy hend the cra^h of g-la"*", they iietl to their rcoms ni.d ths-ie heard — if the wo mm James i^ to be believed — the thie^ shots fiied. There was quite 10 minutes when they were a'v:nt f-om tin; '-Uui head foi BenEt,» to rc-tuin to the drawing roam." " Thon you be'iev? him to be guilty? " X«n . for the man hath been good unto me." was the reply; "but it might be that Sir Gii&s furiously broke the win- i I dow, and Ben-Ezra returning took him
for a burglar, whereupon he fired to protect bis goods." " Ben-Ezra said nothing in his story about the broken glass, and declares that he did not shoot the man," said Wain quickly. " Had he pitched your yarn-, Mr Verily, it would have Bounded better. I am more convinced than ever of the man's innocence. Ben-Ezra is too clever a man to have lost a chance of exonerating himself, Mr Verily." " Call me Phineas, for that is my name," said the Quaker, phlegmatically, and in no wise moved by his visitor's excitement; "but it is idle to judge before the truth becomes apparent. Let us wait until the inquest taketJi place tomorrow." " I believe Ben-Ezra to be innocent," persisted Harrington Wain. " Then thou dost faithfully follow thy Master in judging leniently. Gome, the viands are on the table. Let us render thanks unto God for His mercies." During the entire conversation, although Mrs Verily and her daughter had flitted in and out of the room, preparing the meaJ, they made no comment, not even when Wain grew excited. Yet BenEzra was a valued friend to the hocsehold, which would not have been in existence but for the kind-hearted Jew. Nevertheless, Verily took His place at the head of a well-spread table, and asked) a long blessing perfectly calmly, as though his benefactor — as Ben-Ezra assuredly was — had no sword of Damocles swinging over his head. Mrs Verily was likewise unmoved, and Judith's lovely face did not betray her inward feelings. It was all very strange to a,v emotional man such as Wain was to behold this marvellous composure. The meal was abundant and well cooked, and was eaten for the most part in silence: Wain was too much taken up with his new feelings regarding the persecuted Jew to chatter much, and the Quakers devoted themselves to eating deliberately. Wain, for all his agitation, made an excellent meal, much to the satisfaction of the farmer, and' partook of eggs, bread and butter, honey, and fra grant tea with a keen appetite. Yet "all through tha peaceful meal he had a feeling that Fate required him to aid the Jew. But how? Wain could' see no light. "Thou wilt come again?" said Verily, when his visitor prepared to depart. " Thaiiik you. I will bs delighted." " And if thou wilt come in two days thou wilt meet Lancelot. I should like thee to speak to him thy mind about the Hebrew, since he, being in the law, may aid the right " — from which speech it may be assumed that Verily was not so heartiess as his composure made him appear to be. Judith took leave of Wain at the gate, while her parents waved farewell on the doorstep. She had thus time to whisper, bstwoen loudly-expressed thanks that he had saved her life : " Get Lancelot to save Mt Ben-Ezra's life. He hates him so much that he must help him," and leaving Wain to puzzle ov«.r the contradiction she left him hastily so tiiao t>~ could make no comment. (To be continued.)
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Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 75
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3,403THE JEW'S HOUSE. Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 75
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