"In my excitement, Cohen," he commenced, before Aaron could speak, "something slipped my memory when we were talking together. I rapped softly at first, fearing to disturb Rachel, but no one answering, I had to use the knocker. I hope I have not disturbed her."
"She is sleeping peacefully," replied Aaron, "and is taking a turn for the better, I am thankful to say. To-morrow, I trust, all danger will be over. Come in."
He closed the door gently, and they entered the parlour.
"I have come back about this little box," said Mr. Moss, depositing it on the table; "it belongs to the task I undertook. The mother of the babe made it a stipulation3 that whoever had the care of the child should receive the box, and hold it in trust for her until she claimed it."
"But I understood," said Aaron, in apprehension4, "that the mother had no intention of claiming her child."
"In a certain sense that is true. Don't look worried; there is no fear of any trouble in the future; only she made it a condition that the box should go with the child, and that, when the girl was twenty-one years of age, it should be given to her, in case the mother did not make her appearance and claim the property. It stands this way, Cohen. The mother took into consideration the chance that the gentleman she is marrying may die before her, in which event she stipulated5 that she should be free to seek her daughter. That is reasonable, is it not?"
"Quite reasonable."
"And natural?"
"Quite natural. But I should have been informed of it."
"It escaped me, it really escaped me, Cohen; and what difference can it make? It is only a mother's fancy."
"Yes, only a mother's fancy."
"I'll lay a thousand to one you never hear anything more about it. Put the box away, and don't give it another thought."
Aaron lifted it from the table. "It is heavy, Mr. Moss."
"Yes, it is heavy."
"Do you know what it contains?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"It must be something that the mother sets store on--jewels, perhaps."
"Nothing more unlikely. The poor woman didn't have a shilling to bless herself with. I shouldn't trouble about it if I were you."
"I have gone too far," said Aaron, sighing; "I cannot retreat."
"It would be madness to dream of such a thing. Remember what depends upon it. Cohen, in case anything occurs, I think I ought to tell you what has been passing in my mind."
"In case anything occurs!" repeated Aaron, in a hollow tone, and with a startled look. "What can occur?"
"The poor child," continued Mr. Moss, "has had a hard time of it. We almost dug her out of the snow last night; the exposure was enough to kill an infant of tender years, and there's no saying what effect it may have upon her. If it had been a child of my own I should be alarmed for the consequences, and I should scarcely expect her to live through it." Aaron gasped6. "The idea distresses8 you, but we must always take the human view. Should she not survive no one can be blamed for it. How is your own dear little girl?"
"She is well," replied Aaron, mechanically. He passed his hand across his eyes despairingly. The duplicity he was compelled to practise was hateful to him, and he despised himself for it.
"Good-night again," said Mr. Moss. "I have sent my telegram to the London lawyers. Don't forget that I shall be at the Salutation till eleven in the morning. I should like to hear how Mrs. Cohen is before I leave."
It was not only the incident of the iron safe that Mr. Moss, in the first instance, had omitted to impart to Aaron. In the agreement formulated9 by Mr. Gordon there was an undertaking10 that in the event of the child's death, or of her marriage if she grew to womanhood, the lawyers were to pay the sum of five hundred pounds to the person into whose home the child was received. Mr. Moss had not mentioned this, and Aaron was in consequence ignorant of the fact. Had he been aware of it, is it likely that he would have shrunk from carrying out the scheme inspired by his agony? It is hard to say. During these pregnant and eventful hours he was dominated by the one overpowering, passionate11 desire to save the life of his beloved; during these hours all that was highest and noblest in his nature was deadened by human love.
There was no rest for him on this night; he did not dare to undress and seek repose12. The moments were too precious; some action had to be taken, and to be taken soon, and, his mind torn with agony and remorse13, he devoted14 himself to the consideration of it. In the course of this mental debate he was plunged15 at times into the lowest depths of self-abasement; but the strength of his character and the serious issues at stake lifted him out of these depths. Ever and anon he crept into Rachel's room and derived16 consolation17 from the calm sleep she was enjoying. The doctor's prognostications of returning health seemed to be on the point of realisation; when she awoke in the morning and clasped her child to her bosom18, and heard its sweet voice, all would be well with her. What need, then, for further justification19?
But his further action must be decided20 upon and carried out before Rachel awoke. And it was imperative21 that she should be kept in ignorance of what had taken place. On no account must it be revealed to her that he had taken a strange child into the house, and that it had died there within a few hours. In her delicate state the news might be fatal.
Gradually all that it was necessary for him to do unfolded itself, and was mentally arranged in consecutive22 order. He waited till three o'clock, and then he went from his house to the Salutation Hotel. The night porter, half asleep, was in attendance, and after some demur23 he conducted Aaron to Mr. Moss's sleeping apartment.
"Who is there?" cried Mr. Moss, aroused by the knocking at his door.
"It is I," replied Aaron; "I must speak to you at once."
Mr. Moss jumped from bed.
"Is it all right, sir?" asked the night porter.
"Of course it is all right," said Mr. Moss, opening the door, and admitting his visitor.
The night porter returned to his duties, and fell into a doze24.
"What brings you here at this time of night?" exclaimed Mr. Moss; and then, seeing the distress7 in Aaron's face, "Good God! It is not about Rachel?"
"No, it is not about Rachel; it is bad enough, but not so bad as that. How shall I tell you--how shall I tell you?"
"Stop a moment," said Mr. Moss. "I ordered half a bottle of port before I went, and there is a glass or two left. Drink this."
The wine gave Aaron courage to proceed with his task.
"I have dreadful news to tell you," he said, putting down the glass.
"I guess it," interrupted Mr. Moss. "The child!"
"Yes," answered Aaron, with averted25 eyes, "the child."
"Is she very ill?"
"Mr. Moss, the child is dead."
"Heavens!" cried Mr. Moss, slipping into his clothes as fast as he could. "What a calamity26! But at the same time, Cohen, what a release! Tell me all about it. Does Rachel know?"
"Rachel does not know. She is still sleeping, and she must not know. It would kill her--it would kill her!'
"I see the necessity, Cohen; it must be kept from her, and I think I see how it can be managed. It is a fortunate thing that the woman who accompanied me here with the poor child has not returned to Portsmouth, as I bade her. She met with some friends in Gosport who persuaded her to stop the night, and she was going back with me in the morning. I promised to call for her, but she will have to remain here now till the child is buried. She will not mind, because it will be something in her pocket. A sad ending, Cohen, a sad ending, but I feared it. Did I not prophesy27 it? What else was to be expected after last night's adventure? A child of such a tender age!' The wonder is it did not die in my arms. But you have not told me how it occurred."
"It is very simple," said Aaron, in a low tone. "I laid the babe in my own bed, intending to call in a woman as soon after daylight as possible to attend it till Rachel was well and able to get about. She seemed to be asleep, and was in no pain. I determined28 not to go to bed, but to keep up all night, to attend to the little one, and to Rachel and my own child---- Bear with me, Mr. Moss, I am unstrung."
"No wonder. Take time, Aaron, take time."
"Now and again I went up to look at the babe, and observed nothing to alarm me. An hour ago I closed my eyes, and must have slept; I was tired out. When I awoke I went upstairs, and was startled by a strange stillness in the child. I lifted her in my arms. Mr. Moss, she was dead. I came to you at once, to advise me what to do. You must help me, Mr. Moss; my dear Rachel's life hangs upon it. You know how sensitive she is; and the doctor has warned me that a sudden shock might be fatal."
"I will help you, Cohen, of course I will help you; it is my duty, because it is I who have brought this trouble upon you. But I did it with the best intentions. I see a way out of the difficulty. The woman I employed--how fortunate, how fortunate that she is still here!--is a god-send to us. She is a kind-hearted creature, and she will be sorry to hear of the child's death, but at the same time she is poor, and will be glad to earn a sovereign. A doctor must see the child, to testify that she died a natural death. She must have passed away in her sleep."
"She did. Is it necessary that the doctor should visit my house in order to see the child?"
"Not at all. I have everything planned in my mind. Now I am ready to go out. First to the telegraph office--it is open all night here--to despatch29 a telegram to the London lawyers to send a representative down immediately, who, when he comes, will take the affair out of our hands, I expect. Afterwards to the house of the woman's friends; she must accompany us to your house, and we will take the child away before daylight. Then we will call in a doctor, and nothing need reach Rachel's ears. Don't take it to heart, Cohen; you have troubles enough of your own. The news you give me of Rachel is the best of news. Joy and sorrow, Cohen--how close they are together!"
In the telegraph office Mr. Moss wrote a long message to Mr. Gordon's lawyers, impressing upon them the necessity of sending a representative without delay to take charge of the body, and to attend to the funeral arrangements.
"Between ourselves, Cohen," he said, as they walked to the house of the woman's friends, "the lawyers will be rather glad of the news than otherwise; and so will Mr. Gordon, when it reaches him. I am not sure whether I made the matter clear to you, but there is no doubt whatever that, so far as Mr. Gordon is concerned, the child was an encumbrance--to say nothing of the expense, which perhaps he would not have minded, being almost a millionaire. But still, as it has turned out, he has got rid of a difficulty, and he will not be sorry when he hears of it."
"And the mother," said Aaron, "how will she take it?"
"I will not pretend to say. We know, Cohen, what we think of our own children, but there are people in the world with different ideas from ours. The mother of this little one will feel grieved at first, no doubt, but I dare say she will soon get over it. Then, perhaps her husband will not tell her. Here we are at the woman's house."
They halted before a small cottage, inhabited by people in humble30 circumstances. Before he aroused the inmates31, Mr. Moss said,--
"I shall keep your name out of the affair, Cohen; but to a certain extent the woman must be taken into our confidence. Secrecy32 will be imposed upon her, and she will be paid for it. Remain in the background; I will speak to her alone."
The woman herself came to the door, and when she was dressed Mr. Moss had a conversation with her, the result of which was that she and the two men walked to Aaron's house, where she took charge of the dead child, and carried it to the cottage. Then she went for a doctor--to Aaron's relief not the doctor who attended his wife--and as there was no doubt that the child had died a natural death, a certificate to that effect was given. At six in the morning Aaron returned to Rachel, and sitting by her bedside, waited for her awakening33. The potion she had taken was to ensure sleep for twelve hours; in two hours he would hear her voice; in two hours she would be caressing34 a babe to which she had not given birth.
It seemed to Aaron as though months had passed since Mr. Moss had presented himself at his house last night, and for a while it almost seemed as though, in that brief time, it was not himself who had played the principal part in this strange human drama, but another being who had acted for him, and who had made him responsible for an act which was to colour all his future life. But he did not permit himself to indulge long in this view of what had transpired35; he knew and felt that he, and he alone, was responsible, and that to his dying day he would be accountable for it. Well, he would bear the burden, and would, every by means within his power, endeavour to atone36 for it. He would keep strict watch over himself; he would never give way to temptation; he would act justly and honourably37; he would check the hasty word; he would make no enemies; he would be kind and considerate to all around him. He did not lay the flattering unction to his soul that in thus sketching38 his future rule of life he was merely committing himself to that which he had always followed in the past. This one act seemed to cast a shadow over all that had gone before; he had to commence anew.
A strange and agonising fancy haunted him. The child of his blood, Rachel's child, was lying dead in the house of a stranger. The customary observances of his religion could not be held over it; Christians39 had charge of the lifeless clay. With his mind's eye he saw his dead child lying in the distant chamber40, alone and unattended, with no sympathising heart near to shed tears over it, with no mourner near to offer up a prayer in its behalf. The child opened its eyes and gazed reproachfully upon its father; then it rose from the couch, and in its white dress went out of the house and walked through the snow to its father's dwelling41. The little bare feet left traces of blood in the snow, and at the door of its father's house it paused and stood there crying, "Mother, mother!" So strong was this fancy that Aaron went to the street door, and, opening it, gazed up and down the street. The snow was still falling; no signs of life were visible, and no movement except the light flakes42 fluttering down. A mantle43 of spotless white was spread over roads and roofs, and there was silence all around. But in Aaron's eyes there was a vision, and in his heart a dead voice calling. His babe was there before him, and its voice was crying, "Mother, mother! Why am I deserted44? why am I banished45 from my father's house?" When he drew back into the passage he hardly dared shut the street door upon the piteous figure his conscience had conjured46 up.
At eight o'clock in the morning Rachel stirred; she raised her arm and put her hand to her eyes, blind to all the world, blind to her husband's sin, blind to everything but love. Then instinctively47 she drew the babe nearer to her. A faint cooing issued from the infant's lips, and an expression of joy overspread the mother's features. This joy found its reflex in Aaron's heart, but the torturing anxiety under which he laboured was not yet dispelled48. It was an awful moment. Was there some subtle instinct in a mother's love which would convey to Rachel's sense the agonising truth that the child she held in her arms was not her own?
There was no indication of it. She fondled the child, she suckled it, the light of Heaven shone in her face.
"Aaron!"
"My beloved!"
"Do you hear our child, our dear one? Ah, what happiness!"
"Thank God!" said Aaron, inly. "Oh, God be thanked!"
"Is it early or late, dear love?" asked Rachel. "It is morning, I know, for I see the light; I feel it here"--with her hand pressing the infant's head to her heart.
"It is eight o'clock, beloved," said Aaron.
"I have had a long and beautiful sleep. I do not think I have dreamt, but I have been so happy, so happy! My strength seems to be returning; I have not felt so well since the night of the fire. Our darling seems stronger, too; it is because I am so much better. I must think of that; it is a mother's duty to keep well, for her child's sake--and, dear husband, for your sake also. I do not love you less because I love our child so dearly."
"I am sure of that. Should I be jealous of our child? That would be as foolish as it would be unwise."
"You speak more cheerfully, Aaron. Is that because of me?"
"It is because of you, beloved. We both draw life and happiness from you. Therefore, get strong soon."
"I shall; I feel I shall. My mind is clear, there is no weight on my heart. Before many days have passed I shall be out of bed, learning my new duties. Aaron, our child will live."
"She will live to bless and comfort us, beloved."
She passed her hand over his face. "You are crying, Aaron."
"They are tears of joy, Rachel, at seeing you so much better. A terrible fear has weighed me down; it is removed, thanks be to the Eternal. The world was dark till now; I dared not think of the future; now all is well."
"Am I, indeed, so much to you, dear husband?"
"You are my life. As the sun is to the earth, so are you to me."
The wife, the husband, and the child lay in each other's embrace.
"God is good," murmured Rachel. "I did so want to live for you and for our child! But I feared, I feared; strength seemed to be departing from me. What will they do, I thought, when I am gone? But God has laid His hand upon us and blessed us. Praised be His name for ever and ever!"
"Amen, amen! I have not yet said my morning prayers. It is time."
She sank back in bed, and he put on his taleth and phylacteries, and prayed fervently49. He did not confine himself to his usual morning devotions, but sought his book for propitiatory50 supplications for forgiveness for transgressions51. "Forgive us, oh, our Father! for we have sinned; pardon us, oh, our King! for we have transgressed52; for Thou art ever ready to pardon and forgive. Blessed art Thou, the Eternal, who is gracious and doth abundantly pardon." And while he supplicated53 forgiveness, Rachel lay and sang a song of love.
His prayers ended, Aaron folded his taleth and wound up his phylacteries, and resumed his seat by Rachel's bed.
"While you slept last night, dear love," he said, "a piece of good fortune fell to my share, through our friend Mr. Moss. I shall be able to take a servant in the house."
"How glad I am!" she answered. "It distressed54 me greatly to know that you had everything to attend to yourself. A woman, or a girl, is so necessary!"
"There is altogether a brighter outlook for us, Rachel. Do you think Prissy would do?"
"She is very handy, and very willing. If you could manage till I can get up I could soon teach her."
"I will go, then, and see if she is able to come. You must not mind being alone a little while."
"I shall not be alone, dear," said Rachel, with a bright smile at the child.
He prepared breakfast for her before he left, and she partook of it with a keen appetite. Then he went on his mission, and met Mr. Moss coming to the house.
"I have received a telegram," said that gentleman, "in reply to mine. A gentleman will arrive from London this afternoon to attend to matters. You look brighter."
"Rachel is much better," said Aaron.
"You are in luck all round, Cohen. There are men who always fall on their feet. I'm one of them; you're another. This time yesterday you were in despair; now you're in clover. Upon my word, I am as glad as if it had happened to myself. You know one of our sayings--'Next to me, my wife; next to my wife, my child; next to my child, my friend.' My good old father told me it was one of the wise sayings of Rabbi ben--I forget who he was the son of. A friend of ours who used to come to our house said to my father that there was no wisdom and no goodness in the saying, because the Rabbi put himself first, as being of more consequence than wife, and child, and friend. My father answered, 'You are wrong; there is wisdom, there is goodness, there is sense in it. Self is the greatest of earthly kings. Put yourself in one scale, and pile up all the world in the other, and you will weigh it down.' He was right. What comes so close home to us as our own troubles and sorrows?"
"Nothing," said Aaron, rather sadly; "they outweigh55 all the rest. We are human, and being human, fallible. Can you imagine an instance, Mr. Moss, where love may lead to crime?"
"I can, and what is more, I would undertake to justify56 it. Who is this little girl?"
The diversion in the conversation was caused by Prissy, who had run to Aaron, and was plucking at his coat.
"A good girl who attends to our Sabbath lights."
"'Ow's missis, please, sir?" inquired Prissy, anxiously.
"Much better this morning, thank you."
"And the babby, sir?"
"Also better and stronger, Prissy." Prissy jumped up and down in delight. "I was coming to see you. Do you think your aunt would let you come to us as a regular servant, to live, and eat, and sleep in the house?"
This vision of happiness almost took Prissy's breath away; but she managed to reply, "If yer'd make it worth 'er while, she would, Mr. Cohen. She's allus telling me I'm taking the bread out of 'er mouth, and ain't worth my salt. Oh, Mr. Cohen, will yer take me, will yer? I don't care where I sleep, I don't care wot yer give me to eat, I'll work for yer day and night, I will! Aunty makes my life a misery57, she does, and I've lost Wictoria Rejiner, sir. She's got another nuss, and I ain't got nobody to care for now. Aunty sed this morning I was a reg'lar pest, and she wished she could sell me at so much a pound."
"You don't weigh a great deal," said Aaron, gazing at Prissy in pity; and then, with a sad touch of his old humour, "How much a pound do you think she would take?"
"Come and arks 'er, Mr. Cohen, come and arks er," cried Prissy, running before Aaron, and looking back imploringly58 at him.
He and Mr. Moss followed the girl into the presence of Prissy's aunt, and, although he did not buy Prissy by the pound weight, he made a bargain with the woman, and by the outlay59 of five shillings secured the girl's permanent services, it being understood that she was not to take her niece away without Prissy's consent. As they walked back to Aaron's house he spoke60 to Prissy about wages; but the girl, who felt as if heaven's gates had opened for her to enter, interrupted him by saying,--
"Don't talk about wages, sir, please don't. I don't want no wages. Give me a frock and a bone, and I'll work the skin off my fingers for yer, I will!"
Extravagant61 as were her professions, never was a poor girl more in earnest than Prissy. Blithe62 and happy she set to work, and never did valiant63 soldier polish up his arms with keener zest64 than did Prissy her pots and pans. The kitchen was her battleground, and she surveyed it with the air of a conqueror65. There was joy in Rachel's heart in the room above, there was joy in Prissy's heart in the room below.
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1
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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inmates
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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transpired
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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propitiatory
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| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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transgressions
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| n.违反，违法，罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
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transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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supplicated
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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outweigh
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| vt.比...更重，...更重要 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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60
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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