Earl Hubert's Daughter Part 22

"Licorice, dost thou think the child has ever guessed--"

"Hush, husband, lest she should chance to awake. Guessed! No, and she never shall."

Belasez's ears, it is unnecessary to say, were strained to catch every sound. What was she not to guess?

"Art thou sure that Genta knows nothing?"

Genta was the daughter of Abraham's brother Moss.

"Nothing that would do much harm," said Licorice, but in rather a doubtful tone. "Beside, Genta can hold her peace."

"Ay, if she choose. But suppose she did not? She knows, does she not, about--Anegay?"

"Hus.h.!.+ Well, yes--something. But not what would do most mischief."

"What, about her marriage with--"

"Man I do, for pity's sake, give over, or thou wilt blurt all out! Do only think, if the child were to hear! Trust me, she would go back to that wasp's nest to-morrow. No, no! Just listen to me, son of Ursel.

Get her safely married before she knows anything. Leo may be relied upon to keep her in safe seclusion: and when she has a husband and half-a-dozen children to tie her down, heart and soul, to us, she will give over pining after the Gentiles."

Belasez was conscious of a rising repugnance, which she had never felt before, to this marriage about to be forced upon her. Not personally to Leo, of whom she knew nothing; but to this tie contemplated for her, which was to be an impa.s.sable barrier between her and all her Christian friends.

"Well!" sighed Abraham. He evidently did not like it. "I suppose, then, I must let the Cohen [Note 1] know about it."

"If it be not already too late," responded Licorice, dubiously. "If only this second visit had not happened! There was less harm done the first time, and I do not quite understand it. Some stronger feeling has taken possession of her now. Either her faith is shaken--"

"May the All-Merciful defend us from such horror!"

"Well, it is either that, or there is love in her heart--a deeper love than for the Gentile woman, and the girls of whom she talks. She likes them, I do not doubt; but she would never break her heart after them.

There is somebody else, old man, of whom we have not heard; and I counsel thee to try and find out him or her. I am sadly afraid it is _him_."

"But, Licorice, she has not seen any one. The Lady pa.s.sed her word that not a soul should come near her."

"Pis.h.!.+ Did the s.h.i.+ksah keep it? Even if she meant to do--and who can trust a Gentile?--was she there, day and night? Did Emendant not tell thee that he saw her at the Coronation?"

"Well, yes, he did," admitted Abraham, with evident reluctance.

"And had she Belasez there, tied to her ap.r.o.n-string, with a bandage over her eyes? Son of Ursel, wilt thou never open thine? Who knows how many young gallants may have chattered to her then? 'When the cat is away--' thou knowest. Not that the s.h.i.+ksah was much of a cat when she was there, I'll be bound. Dost thou not care if the child be stolen from us? And when they have stolen her heart and her soul, they may as well take her body. It won't make much difference then."

"Licorice--"

Belasez listened more intently than ever. There was a world of tender regret in Abraham's voice, and she knew that it was not for Licorice.

"Licorice,"--he said, and stopped.

"Go on," responded her mother sharply, "unless thou wert after some foolery, as is most likely."

"Licorice, hast thou forgotten that Sabbath even, when thou broughtest home--"

"I wish thou wouldst keep thy tongue off names. I have as good a memory as thou, though it is not lined like thine with a.s.ses' skin."

"And dost thou remember what thou toldest me that she said to thy reproaches?"

"Well, what then?"

"'What then?' O Licorice!"

"I do wish thou wouldst speak sense!--what art thou driving at?"

"Thou art hard to please, wife. If I speak plainly thou wilt not hear me out, and if I only hint thou chidest me for want of plainness. Well!

if thou canst not see 'what then,' never mind. I thought those sorrowful words of my poor child might have touched thy heart. I can a.s.sure thee, they did mine, when I heard of them. They have never been out of mine ears since."

It seemed plain to Belasez that her mother was being rebuked for want of motherly tenderness, and, as she doubted not, towards Anegay. This mysterious person, then, must have been a sister of whom she had never heard,--probably much older than herself.

"What a lot of soft down must have been used up to make thine heart!"

was the cynical reply of Licorice.

"I cannot help it, Licorice. I have her eyes ever before me--hers, and his. It is of no use scolding me--I cannot help it. And if it be as thou thinkest, I cannot break the child's heart. I shall not speak to Hamon, nor the Cohen."

"Faint-hearted Gentile!" blazed forth Licorice.

"Get it over, wife," said Abraham, quietly. "I will try to find out if thou hast guessed rightly; though it were rather work for thee than me, if--well, I will do my best. But suppose I should find that she has given her maiden heart to some Gentile,--what am I to do then?"

"Do! What did Phinehas the son of Eleazar the priest unto Zimri and Cozbi? Hath not the Blessed One commanded, saying, 'Thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his son'? What meanest thou? Do! Couldst thou do too much, even if they were offered upon the altar before the G.o.d of Sabaoth?"

"Where is it?" responded Abraham, desolately. "But, Licorice,--_our_ daughter?"

"What dost thou mean?" said Licorice, fiercely. "Perhaps we might shed tears first. But they must not pollute the sacrifice. Do not the holy Rabbins say that a tear dropped upon a devoted lamb washeth out all the merit of the offering?"

"I believe they do," said Abraham; "though it is not in the Thorah. But I did not mean exactly that. Dost thou not understand me?"

"I understand that thou art no true son of Abraham!" burst out his wife.

"I say she is, and she shall be!"

"Who ever heard of such reckoning in the days of the fathers?" answered Abraham. "Licorice, I am doubtful if we have done well in keeping back the truth so much. Doth not the Holy One love and require truth in all His people? Yet it was thy doing, not mine."

"Oh yes, thou wouldst have told her at once!" sneered Licorice. "She would stay with us meekly then, would she not? Go to sleep, for mercy's sake, I entreat thee, and hold thy tongue, before any worse mischief be done. My doing! yes, it is well it was. Had I listened to thee, that girl would have been wors.h.i.+pping idols at this moment."

"'Blessed is the man that trusteth in Adonai,'" softly said Abraham.

"He could have helped it, I suppose."

"Ay, and happy is that woman that hath a wise man to her husband!"

responded Licorice, irreverently. "Go to sleep, for the sake of Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite, or I shall get up and chop thy head off, for thou art not a whit better than Sisera!"

Perhaps Abraham thought it the wisest plan to obey his incensed spouse, for no word of response reached Belasez.

That damsel lay awake for a considerable time. She soon made up her mind to get as much as she could out of her cousin Genta. It was evident that a catechising ordeal awaited her, to the end of discovering a supposed Christian lover; but feeling her conscience quite clear on that count, Belasez was only disturbed at the possible revelation of her change of faith. She could, however, honestly satisfy Abraham that she had not received baptism. But two points puzzled and deeply interested her. How much had she better say about Bruno?--and, what was this mysterious point which they were afraid she might guess--which seemed to have some unaccountable reference to herself? If Anegay were her sister, as she could no longer doubt, why should her conduct in some way reflect upon Belasez? Suppose Anegay had married a Christian--as she thought most likely from the allusions, and which she knew would be in her parents' eyes disgrace of the deepest dye--or even if Anegay had herself become a Christian, which was a shade worse still,--yet what had that to do with Belasez, and why should it make her so anxious to go back to the Christians?

Then, as to Bruno,--Belasez was conscious in her heart that she loved him very dearly, though her affection was utterly unmingled with any thoughts of matrimony. She would have thought old Hamon as eligible for a husband, when he patted her on the head with a patriarchal benediction. It was altogether a friendly and daughterly cla.s.s of feeling with which she regarded Father Bruno. But would Abraham enter into that? Was it wise to tell him?