The Old Maids' Club

by Israel Zangwill

  CHAPTER XI.

  ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF THE POLE.

  "Oh, by the way, Miss Friscoe will not trouble you, you will be glad tohear," said Lillie, lightly.

  "Indeed?" said Silverdale. "Then she has drawn a prize after all! Icannot say as much for the young man. I hardly think she is a credit toyour sex. Somehow, she reminded me of a woman I used to know, and ofsome verses I wrote upon her."

  ("If he had given me a chance, and not gone on to read his poetry soquickly," wrote Lillie in her diary that night, "I might have told himthat his inference about Miss Friscoe was incorrect. But it is such atrifle--it is not worth telling him now, especially as he practicallyintimated she would have been an undesirable member, and I only savedhim the trouble of trying her.")

  Lord Silverdale read his verses without the accompaniment of the banjo,an instrument too frivolous for the tragic muse.

  LA FEMME QUE NE RIT PAS.

  It was fair with a loveliness mystic, Like the faces that Raphael drew, Enigmatic, intense, cabalistic, But surcharged with the light of the true: Such a face, such a hauntingly magic Incarnation of wistful regret, It was tenebrous, tender, and tragic, I dream of it yet.

  And there lives in my charmed recollection, The sweet mouth with its lips cruelly curled, As with bitter ironic rejection Of the gods of the frivolous world. Yet not even disdain on her features Was enthroned, for a heavenly peace Often linked her with bright seraph creatures Or statues of Greece.

  I met her at dinners and dances, Or on yachts that by moonlight went trips, And was thrilled by her marvellous glances, And the sneer or repose of her lips. Never smile o'er her features did play light, Never laughter illumined her eyes; She grew to seem sundered from daylight And sun-kindled skies.

  Were they human at all, these dusk glories Of eyes? And their owner, was she A Swinburnian Lady Dolores, Or a sprite from some shadowy sea? A Cassandra at sea-trip and _soiree_, Or Proserpina visiting earth? Ah, what Harpy pursued her as quarry To strangle so mirth?

  Ah, but now I am wiser and sadder, And my spirit can never again At the sight of your fairness feel gladder, O ladies, who coolly obtain Our enamelled and painted complexion On conditions (which really are "style,") _You must never by day risk detection And nevermore smile._

  "I don't see where the connection with Miss Friscoe comes in," saidLillie.

  "No? Why simply if she acquired an enamelled complexion, it might be thesalvation of her, don't you see? Like Henry I., she could never smileagain."

  Lillie smiled. Then producing a manuscript, she said: "I think you willbe interested in this story of another of the candidates who appliedduring your expedition to the clouds. It is quite unique, and foramusement I have written it from the man's point of view."

  "May I come in?" interrupted the millionaire, popping his head throughthe door. "Are there any Old Maids here?"

  "Only me," said Lillie.

  "Oh, then, I'll call another time."

  "No, you may come in, father. Lord Silverdale and I have finished ourbusiness for the day. You can take that away with you and read it atyour leisure, Lord Silverdale."

  The millionaire came in, but without _empressement_.

  That night Lord Silverdale, who was suffering from insomnia, took themanuscript to bed with him, but he could not sleep till he had finishedit.

  * * * * *

  I, Anton Mendoza, bachelor, born thirty years ago by the grace of theHoly Virgin, on the _fete_-day of San Anton, patron of pigs and oldmaids, after sundry adventures by sea and land, found myself in theautumn of last year in the pestiferous atmosphere of London. I hadpicked up bad English and a good sum of money in South America, and bythe aid of the two was enabled to thread my way through the mazes of themetropolis. I soon tired of the neighborhood of the Alhambra (in theproximity of which I had with mistaken patriotism established myself),for the wealthy quarters of all great cities have more affinities thandifferences, and after a few days of sight-seeing I resolved to fareforth in quest of the real sights of London. Mounting the box of thefirst omnibus that came along, I threw the reins of my fortunes into thehands of the driver, and drew a little blue ticket from the lottery offate. I scanned the slip of paper curiously and learned therefrom that Iwas going fast to "The Angel," which I shrewdly divined to be apublic-house, knowing that these islanders display no poetry andimagination save in connection with beer. My intuition was correct, andthough it was the forenoon I alighted amid a double stream ofpedestrians, the one branch flowing into "The Angel," and the otherissuing therefrom. Extricating myself, I looked at my compass, andfollowing the direction of the needle soon found myself in a network ofunlovely streets. For an hour I paced forwards without chancing on aughtof interest, save many weary organ-grinders, seemingly serenading theirmistresses with upward glances at their chamber-windows, and I wascommencing to fear that my blue ticket would prove a blank, when asavory odor of garlic struck on my nostrils and apprised me that my walkhad given me an appetite. Glancing sideways I saw a door swinging, thesame bearing in painted letters on the glass the words: "Menotti'sRestaurant--Ici on parle Francais." It looked a queer little place, andthe little back street into which I had strayed seemed hardly auspiciousof cleanly fare. Still the jewel of good cookery harbors often in theplainest caskets, and I set the door swinging again and passed into anarrow room walled with cracked mirrors and furnished with a few littletables, a rusty waiter, and a proprietorial looking person perpetuallybent over a speaking tube. As noon was barely arrived, I was notsurprised to find the place all but empty. At the extreme end of therestaurant I caught a glimpse of a stout dark man with iron-graywhiskers. I thought I would go and lunch at the table of the solitarycustomer and scrape acquaintance, and thus perhaps achieve an adventure.But hardly had I seated myself opposite him than a shock traversed hisface, the morsel he had just swallowed seemed to stick in his throat, herose coughing violently, and clapping his palm over his mouth with thefingers spread out almost as if he wished to hide his face, turned hisback quickly, seized his hat, threw half-a-crown to the waiter andscuttled from the establishment.

  _He scuttled from the Establishment._]

  I was considerably surprised at his abrupt departure, as if I hadbrought some infection with me. The momentary glimpse I had caught ofhis face had convinced me I had never seen it before, that it had noplace in the photograph album of my brain, though now it would be fixedthere forever. The nose hooked itself on to my memory at once. It mustbe that he had mistaken me for somebody else, somebody whom he hadreason to fear. Perhaps he was a criminal and imagined me a detective. Icalled the proprietor and inquired of him in French who the man was andwhat was the matter with him. But he shook his head and answered: "Thatman there puzzles me. There is a mystery behind."

  "Why, has he done anything strange before to-day?"

  "No, not precisely."

  "How then?"

  "I will tell you. He comes here once a year."

  "Once a year?" I repeated.

  "No more. This has been going on for twelve years."

  "What are you telling me there?" I murmured.

  "It is true."

  "But how have you remembered him from year to year?"

  "I was struck by his face and his air the very first time. He seemedanxious, ill at ease, worried. He left his chop half eaten."

  "Ha!" I murmured.

  "Also he looks different from most of my clients. They are not of thattype. Of course I forget him immediately--it is not my affair. But whenhe comes the second time I recall him on the instant, though a year haspassed. Again he looks perturbed, restless. I say to myself: 'Aha, thouart not a happy man, there is something which preys on thy mind.However, thy money is good and to the devil with the rest.' So it g
oeson. After three or four visits I commence to look out for him, and Idiscover that it is only once a year he does me the honor to arrive.There are twelve years that I know him--I have seen him twelve times."

  "And he has always this nervous air?"

  "Not always. That varies. Sometimes he appears calm, sometimes evenhappy."

  "Perhaps it is your fare," I said slily.

  "Ah, no, monsieur, that does not vary. It is always of the firstexcellence."

  "Does he always come on the same date?"

  "No, monsieur. There is the puzzle. It is never exactly a year betweenhis visits--sometimes it is more, sometimes it is less."

  "There is, indeed, the puzzle," I agreed. "If it were always the samedate, it would be a clue. Ah, an idea! He comes not always on the samedate of the month, but he comes, perhaps, on the same day of the week,eh?"

  Again the proprietor dashed me back into the depths of perplexity.

  "No," he said, decisively. "Monday, Wednesday, Saturday,--it is all thesame. The only thing that changes not is the man and his dress. Alwaysthe same broadcloth frock-coat and the same high hat and the same sealsat the heavy watch-chain. He is a rich man, that sees itself."

  I wrinkled my brow and tugged the ends of my moustache in the effort tofind a solution. The proprietor tugged the ends of his own moustache insympathetic silence.

  "Does he always slink out if anybody sits down opposite to him?" Iinquired again.

  "On the contrary. He talks and chats quite freely with his neighborswhen there are any. I have seen his countenance light up when a man hascome to seat himself next to him."

  "Then to-day is the first time he has behaved so strangely?"

  "Absolutely."

  Again I was silent. I looked at myself curiously in the cracked mirror.

  "Do you see anything strange in my appearance?" I asked the proprietor.

  "Nothing in the world," said the proprietor, shaking his headvigorously.

  "Nothing in the world," echoed the waiter, emphatically.

  "Then why does he object to me, when he doesn't object to anybody else?"

  "Pardon," said the proprietor. "It is, after all, but rarely that astranger sits at his table. He comes ordinarily so early for his lunchthat my clients have not yet arrived, and I have only the honor to servean accidental customer like yourself."

  "Ah, then, there is some regularity about the time of day at least?"

  "Ah, yes, there is that," said the proprietor, reflectively. "But evenhere there is no hard and fast line. He may be an hour earlier, he maybe an hour later."

  "What a droll of a man!" I said laughing, even as I wondered. "And youhave not been able to discover anything about him, though he has givenit you in twelve?"

  "It is not my affair," he repeated, shrugging his shoulders.

  "You know not his name even?"

  "How should I know it?"

  "Ah, very well, you shall see!" I said, buttoning up my coat resolutelyand rising to my feet. "You shall see that I will find out everything inonce. I, a stranger in London, who love the oceans and the forestsbetter than the cities, I, who know only the secrets of Nature, behold,I will solve you this mystery of humanity."

  "As monsieur pleases," replied the proprietor. "For me the only questionis what monsieur will have for his lunch."

  "I want no lunch," I cried. Then seeing his downcast face andremembering the man must be out of sight by this time and nothing was tobe gained by haste, I ordered some broth and a veal and ham pie, andstrode to the door to make sure there was no immediate chance of comingupon him. The little by-street was almost deserted, there was not a signof my man. I returned to my seat and devoted myself to my inner maninstead. Then I rebuttoned my coat afresh--though with lessfacility--and sauntered out joyously. Now at last I had found somethingto interest me in London. The confidence born of a good meal was strongin my bosom as I pushed those swinging doors open and cried "_Aurevoir_," to my host, for I designed to return and to dazzle him with myexploits.

  "_Au revoir_, monsieur, a thousand thanks," cried the proprietor,popping up from his speaking-tube. "But where are you going? Where doyou hope to find this man?"

  "I go not to find the man," I replied airily.

  "_Comment!_" he exclaimed in his astonishment.

  "I go to seek the woman," I said in imposing accents. And waving my handamicably I sallied forth into the dingy little street.

  But alas for human anticipations! The whole of that day I paced the deadand alive streets of North London without striking the faintestindication of a trail. After a week's futile wanderings I began torealize the immensity of the English metropolis--immense not only by itsactual area, but by the multiplicity of its streets and windings, and bythe indifference of each household to its neighbors, which makes everyroof the cover of manifold mysterious existences and potentialities. Tolook for a needle in a bundle of hay were child's play to the task offinding a face in a London suburb, even assuming as I did my enigmalived in the northern district. I dared not return to the restaurant toinquire if perchance he had been seen. I was ashamed to confess myselfbaffled. I shifted my quarters from Leicester Square to Green Lanes andwalked every day within a four mile radius of the restaurant, butfortune turned her face (and his) from me and I raged at my own folly inundertaking so futile a quest. At last, "Patience!" I cried. "Patience,and shuffle the cards!" It was my pet proverb when off the track ofanything. To cut yourself adrift from the old plan and look at theproblem with new eyes--that was my recipe. I tried it by going into thecountry for some stag hunting, which I had ascertained from a farmerwhom I met in a coffee-house, could be obtained in some of the villagesin the next county. But English field-sports I found little to my taste,for the deer had been unhorned and was let out of a cart, and it wasonly playing at sport. The Holy Mother save me from such bloodlessmake-believe! Though the hunting season was in full swing I returned indisgust to the town, and again confiding my fortunes to a common orgarden omnibus, I surveyed the street panorama from my seat on the rooftill the vehicle turned round for the backward journey. This time Ifound myself in Canonbury, a district within the radius I had previouslyexplored. The coincidence gave me fresh hope--it seemed a happy auguryof ultimate success. The saints would guide my footsteps after all; forhe who wills aught intensely cajoles Providence. The dusk had fallen andthe night lamps had been lit in the heavens and on the earth, thoughwithout imparting cheerfulness to the rigid rows of highly respectablehouses. I walked through street after street of gray barracks, tallnarrow structures holding themselves with the military stiffness andranged in serried columns, the very greenery that relieved their frontsgrowing sympathetically symmetrical and sombre. I sighed for my nativeorange-groves, I longed for a whiff of the blue Mediterranean, I stroveto recall the breezy expanses of the South American Pampas whence I hadcome, and had it not been for the interest of my search, I should havefled like St. Anthony from the lady, though for very opposite reasons.It seemed scarcely possible that romance should brood behind those dullfacades; the grosser spirit of prose seemed to shroud them as in a fog.

  Suddenly, as I paced with clogged footsteps in these heavy regions, Iheard a voice calling somebody, and looking in the direction of thesound I could not but fancy it was myself whose attention was sought. Agentleman standing at the hall-door of one of the houses, at the top ofthe white steps, was beckoning in my direction. I halted, and gazing onall sides ascertained I was the sole pedestrian. Puzzled as to what hecould want of me, I tried to scan his features by the rays of a streetlamp which faced the house and under which I stood. They revealed apleasant but not English-looking face, bearded and bronzed, but theyrevealed nothing as to the owner's designs. He stood there stillbeckoning, and the latent hypnotism of the appeal drew me towards thegate. I paused with my hand on the lock. What in the name of all thesaints could he possibly want with me? I had sundry valuables about myperson, but then they included a loaded revolver, so why refuse theadventure?

  "Do come in," he s
aid in English, seeing my hesitation. "_We are onlywaiting for you._"

  _I accepted the strange invitation._]

  The mysterious language of the invitation sealed my fate. Evidently Ihad again been mistaken for somebody else. Was it that I resembledsomeone this man knew? If so, it would probably be the same someone theother man had dreaded. I seemed to feel the end of a clew at last, theother end which was tied to him I sought. Putting my hand to my breastpocket to make sure it held my pistol, I drew back the handle of thegate and ascended the steps. There was an expression of satisfaction onthe face of my inviter, and, turning his back upon me he threw the doorwide open and held it courteously as I entered. A whiff of warm stuffyair smote my nostrils as I stepped into the hall where an india-rubberplant stood upon a rack heavily laden with overcoats. My host precededme a few paces and opened a door on the right. A confused babble ofguttural speech broke upon my ear, and over his shoulder I caught aglimpse of a strange scene--a medley of swarthy men, wearing their hats,a venerable-looking old man who seemed their chief being prominent in agrim, black skull cap; there was a strange weird wick burning in a cupof oil on the mantelpiece, and on a sofa at the extreme end of the roomsat a beautiful young lady weeping silently.

  My heart gave a great leap. Instinct told me I had found the woman. Imade the sign of the cross and entered.

  A strange look of relief passed over the faces of the company as Ientered. Instinctively I removed my hat, but he who had summoned medeprecated the courtesy with a gesture, remarking, "We are commencing atonce."

  I stared at him, more puzzled than ever, but kept silence lest speechshould betray me and snatch the solution from me on the very eve of myarrival at it.

  It was gathering in my mind that I must strikingly resemble one of theband, that the man of the restaurant had betrayed us, and that he wentin fear of our vengeance. Only thus could I account for my receptionboth by him and by the rest of the gang.

  The patriarchal-looking chieftain got up and turned his back to thecompany, as if surveying them through the mirror. He then addressed themat great length with averted face in a strange language, the othersfollowing him attentively and accompanying his remarks with anundercurrent of murmured sympathy, occasionally breaking out into loudexclamations of assent in the same tongue. I listened with all my ears,but could not form the least idea as to what the language was. Therewere gutturals in it as in German, but I can always detect German if Icannot understand it. There was never a word which had the faintestanalogy with any of the European tongues. I came to the conclusion itwas a patter of their own. The leader spoke hurriedly for the most part,but in his slower passages there was a rise and fall of the voice almostamounting to a musical inflection. Near the end, after an emphaticspeech frequently interrupted by applause, he dropped his voice to awhisper and a hushed silence fell upon the room. The beautiful girl onthe couch got up and, holding a richly-bound book in her hand, perusedit quietly. Her lovely eyes were heavy with tears. I drifted upon acurrent of wonder into perusing her face, and it was with a start that,at the sudden resumption of the leader's speech, I woke from my dreams.The address came to a final close soon after, and then another memberwound up the proceedings with a little speech, which was received withgreat enthusiasm.

  While he was speaking, I studied the back of the patriarch's head. Hemoved it, and my eyes accidentally lighted on something on themantelpiece which sent a thrill through my whole being. It was aphotograph, and unless some hallucination tricked my vision, thephotograph of the man I sought. I trembled with excitement. My instincthad been correct. I had found the woman. Saint Antony had guided myfootsteps aright. The company was slowly dispersing, chatting as itwent. Everybody took leave of the beautiful girl, who had by this timedried her eyes and resumed the queen. I should have to go with them, andwithout an inkling of comprehension of what had passed! What had theybeen plotting? What part had I been playing in these uncannytransactions? What had they been doing to bring suffering to this fairgirl, before whom all bowed in mock homage? Was she the unwillingaccomplice of their discreditable designs? I could not see an inch inthe bewildering fog. And was I to depart like the rest, doomed to cudgelmy brains till they ached like caned schoolboys? No, my duty was clear.A gentle creature was in trouble--it was my business to stay and succorher.

  Then suddenly the thought flashed upon me that she loved the man who hadbetrayed us, that she had pleaded with fear for his life, and that herpetition had been granted. The solution seemed almost complete, yet itfound me no more willing to go. Had I not still to discover for what endwe were leagued together?

  As I stood motionless, thus musing, the minutes and the company slippedaway. I was left with the man of the doorstep, the second speaker, andthe beautiful girl.

  While I was wondering by what pretext to remain, the second speaker cameup to me and said cordially: "We are so much obliged to you for coming.It was very good of you."

  His English was that of a native, as I enviously noted. He was a young,good-looking fellow, but, as I gazed at him, a vague resemblance to thestranger of the restaurant and to the photograph on the mantelpieceforced itself on my attention.

  "Oh, it was no trouble; no trouble at all," I remarked cheerfully. "Iwill come again if you like."

  "Thank you; but this is our last night, with the exception of Saturday,when one can get together twenty quite easily, so there is no need totrouble you, as you perhaps do not reside in the neighborhood."

  "Oh, but I do," I hastened to correct him.

  "In that case we shall be very pleased to see you," he replied readily."I don't remember seeing you before in the district. I presume you are anewcomer."

  "Yes, that's it," I exclaimed glibly, secretly more puzzled than ever.He did not remember seeing me before, nor did the man of the doorstepvouchsafe any information as to my identity. Then I could certainly nothave been mistaken for somebody else. And yet--what was the meaning ofthat significant invitation: "_We are waiting only for you?_"

  "I thought you were a stranger," he replied. "I haven't the pleasure ofknowing your name."

  This was the climax. But I concealed my astonishment, having alwaysfound the _nil admirari_ principle the safest in enterprises of thisnature. Should I tell him my real name? Yes, why not? I was utterlyunknown in London, and my real name would be as effective a disguise asa pseudonym.

  "Mendoza," I replied.

  "Ah," said the man of the doorstep. "Any relation to the Mendozas ofHighbury?"

  "I think not," I replied, with an air of reflection.

  "Ah well," said the second speaker, "we are all brothers."

  "And sisters." I remarked gallantly, bowing to the beautiful maiden. Onsecond thoughts it struck me the remark was rather meaningless, butsecond thoughts have an awkward way of succeeding first thoughts, whichsometimes interferes with their usefulness. On third thoughts I went onin my best English, "May I in return be favored with the pleasure ofknowing your name?"

  The second speaker smiled in a melancholy way and said, "I beg youpardon, I forgot we were as strange to you as you to us. My name isRadowski, Philip Radowski; this is my friend Martin, and this my sisterFanny."

  I distributed elaborate bows to the trinity.

  "You will have a little refreshment before you go?" said Fanny, with asimple charm that would have made it impossible to refuse, even if I hadbeen as anxious to go as I was to stay.

  "Oh no, I could not think of troubling you," I replied warmly, and indue course I was sipping a glass of excellent old port and crumbling amacaroon.

  This seemed to me the best time for putting out a feeler, and I remarkedlightly, pointing to the photograph on the mantelpiece, "I did not seethat gentleman here to-night." Instantly a portentous expressiongathered upon all the faces. I saw I had said the wrong thing. Thebeautiful Fanny's mouth quivered, her eyes grew wistful and pathetic.

  "My father is dead," she said in a low tone.

  Dead? Her father? A great shock of horror and surprise trav
ersed myframe. His secret had gone with him to the grave.

  "Dead?" I repeated involuntarily. "Oh, forgive me, I did not know."

  "Of course not, of course not. I understand perfectly," put in herbrother soothingly. "You did not know whom it was we had lost. Yes, itwas our father."

  "Has he been dead long?"

  He seemed a little surprised at the question, but answered: "It is he weare mourning now."

  I nodded my head, as if comprehending.

  "Ah, he was a good man," said Martin. "I wish we were all so sure ofHeaven."

  "There are very few Jews like him left," said Fanny quietly.

  "Alas, he was one of the pious old school," assented Martin, shaking hishead dolefully.

  My heart was thumping violently as a great wave of light flooded mybrain. These people then were Jews--that strange, scattered race ofheretics I had often heard of, but never before come into contact within my wild adventurous existence. The strange scene I had witnessed wasnot, then, a meeting of conspirators, but a religious funerealceremonial; the sorrow of Fanny was filial grief; the address of thevenerable old man a Hebrew prayer-reading; the short speech of PhilipRadowski probably a psalm in the ancient language all spoke so fluently.But what had I come to do in that galley?

  All these thoughts flashed upon me in the twinkling of an eye. There wasscarce a pause between Martin's observation and Radowski's remark thatfollowed it.

  "He was, indeed, pious. It was wonderful how he withstood the influenceof his English friends. You would never imagine he left Poland quitethirty years ago."

  So I had found the Pole! But was it too late? Anyhow I resolved to knowwhat _I_ had been summoned for? The saints spared me the trouble of thesearch.

  "Yes," returned Martin, "when you think how ready he was to go to thehouses of mourners, I think it perfectly disgraceful that we had suchdifficulty in getting together ten brother-Jews for the services in hismemory. But for the kindness of Mr. Mendoza I don't know what we shouldhave done to-night. In your place, Philip, I confess I should have felttempted to violate the law altogether. I can't see that it matters tothe Almighty whether you have nine men or ten men or five men. And Idon't see why Fanny couldn't count in quite as well as any man."

  "Oh! Martin," said Fanny with a shocked look. "How can you talk soirreligiously? Once we begin to break the law where are we to stop? Jewsand Christians may as well intermarry at once." Her righteousindignation was beautiful to see.

  Two things were clear now. First, I had been mistaken for a Jew,probably on account of my foreign appearance. Secondly, Fanny wouldnever wed a Christian. But for the first fact I would have regretted thesecond. For a third thing was clear--that I loved the glorious Jewesswith all the love of a child of the South. We are not tame rabbits, weAndalusians: the flash from beauty's eye fires our blood and we loveinstantly and dare greatly. My heart glowed with gratitude to my patronsaint for having brought about the mistake; a Jew I was and a Jew Iwould remain.

  "You are quite right, Miss Radowski," I said, "Jew and Christian mightas well intermarry at once."

  "I am glad to hear you say so," said Fanny, turning her lovely orbstowards me. "Most young men nowadays are so irreligious."

  Martin darted a savage glance at me. I saw at once how the land lay. Hewas either engaged to my darling or a _fiance_ in the making. I surveyedhim impassively from his head to his shoes and decided to stand in them.It was impossible to permit a man of such dubious religious principlesto link his life with a spiritually-minded woman like Fanny. Such aunion could only bring unhappiness to both. What she needed was a goodpious Jew, one of the old school. With the help of the saints I vowed tosupply her needs.

  "I think modern young women are quite as irreligious as modern youngmen," retorted Martin, as he left the room.

  "Yes, it is so," sighed Fanny, the arrow glancing off unheeded. Then,uplifting her beautiful eyes heavenwards, she murmured: "Ah, if they hadbeen blessed with fathers like mine."

  Martin, who had only gone out for an instant, returned with Fanny's hatand a feather boa, and observing, "You must really take a walk atonce--you have been confined indoors a whole week," helped her to putthem on. I felt sure his zeal for her health was overbalanced by hisenthusiasm for my departure. I could not very well attach myself to thewalking party--especially as I only felt an attachment for one member ofit. Disregarding the interruption I remarked in tones of fervent piety:

  "It will be an eternal regret to me that I missed knowing your father."

  She gave me a grateful look.

  "Look!" she said, seating herself on the sofa for a moment and pickingup the richly-bound book lying upon it. "Look at the motto ofexhortation he wrote in my prayer-book before he died. Our minister saysit is in the purest Hebrew."

  I went to her side and leaned over the richly-bound book, which appearedto be printed backwards, and scanned the inscription with an air ofappreciation.

  "Read it," she said. "Read it aloud! It comforts me to hear it."

  _"Read it aloud," she said. "It comforts me."_]

  I coughed violently and felt myself growing pale. The eyes of Martinwere upon me with an expression that seemed waiting to become sardonic.I called inwardly upon the Holy Mother. There seemed to be only a fewwords and after a second's hesitation I murmured something in my mostinarticulate manner, producing some sounds approximately like those Ihad heard during the service.

  Fanny looked up at me, puzzled.

  "I do not understand your pronunciation," she said.

  I felt ready to sink into the sofa.

  "Ah, I am not surprised," put in her brother. "From Mr. Mendoza's nameand appearance I should take him to be a Sephardi like the Mendozas ofHighbury. They pronounce quite differently from us, Fanny."

  I commended him to the grace of the Virgin.

  "That is so," I admitted. "And I found it not at all easy to follow yourservices."

  "Are you an English Sephardi or a native Sephardi?" asked Martin.

  "A native!" I replied readily. "I was born there." Where "there" was Ihad no idea.

  "Do you know," said Fanny, looking so sweetly into my face, "I shouldlike to see your country. Spain has always seemed to me so romantic, andI dote on Spanish olives."

  I was delighted to find I had spoken the truth as to my nativity.

  "I shall be charmed to escort you," I said, smiling.

  She smiled in response.

  "It is easy enough to go anywhere nowadays," said Martin surlily.

  "I wish you would go to the devil," I thought. "That would certainly beeasy enough."

  But it would have been premature to force my own company upon Fanny anylonger. I relied upon the presence of death and her brother to hinderMartin's suit from developing beyond the point it had already reached.It remained to be seen whether the damage was irreparable. I went againon the Saturday night, following with interest the service that hadseemed a council-meeting. This time it began with singing, in whicheverybody joined and in which I took part with hearty inarticulateness.But a little experience convinced me that my course was beset withpitfalls, that not Mary Jane aspiring to personify a duchess could glideon thinner ice than I attempting to behave as one of these strangepeople, with their endless and all-embracing network of religiousetiquette. To my joy I discovered that I could pursue my suit withoutgoing to synagogue, a place of dire peril, for it seems that theSpaniards are a distinct sect, mightily proud of their blood and theirpeculiar pronunciation, and the Radowskis, being Poles, did not expectto see me worshipping with themselves, which enabled me to continue mydevotions in the Holy Chapel of St. Vincent. It also enabled me to skateover many awkward moments, the Poles being indifferently informed as tothe etiquette of their Peninsular cousins. That I should have been twicetaken for one of their own race rather surprised me, for myphysiognomical relationship to it seemed of the slightest. The darkcomplexion, the foreign air, doubtless gave me a superficialresemblance, and in the face it is the surface that tells. I read upSpa
nish history and learnt that many Jews had become Christians duringthe persecutions of the Holy Inquisition, and that many had escaped thefires of the _auto-da-fe_ by feigning conversion, the while secretlyperforming their strange rites, and handing down to their descendantsthe traditions of secrecy and of Judaism, these unhappy people beingstyled Marranos. Perchance I was sprung from some such source, but therewas no hint of it in my genealogy so far as known to me; my name Mendozawas a good old Andalusian name, and my ancestors had for generationsbeen good sons of the only true Church. The question has no interest forme now.

  For, although like Caesar I am entitled to say that I came, saw, andconquered, conquering not only Fanny but my rival, yet am I still abachelor. I had driven Martin on one side as easily as a steamer bearingdown upon a skiff, yet my own lips betrayed me. It was the desire topenetrate the mystery of the restaurant that undid me, for if a womancannot keep a secret, a man cannot refrain from fathoming one. Therose-gardens of Love were open for my walking when the demon inpossession prompted me to speech that silvered the red roses withhoar-frost and ice.

  One day I sat holding her dear hand in mine. She permitted me no morecomplex caresses, being still in black. Such was the sense of duty ofthis beautiful, warm-blooded Oriental creature, that she was as cold asher father's tombstone, and equally eulogistic of his virtues. She spokeof them now, though I would fain have diverted the talk to hers. Failingthat, I seized the opportunity to solve the haunting puzzle.

  "Do you know, I fancy I once saw your father," I said, earnestly.

  "Indeed!" she observed, with much interest. "Where?"

  "In a restaurant not many miles from here. It was before noon."

  "In a restaurant?" she repeated. "Hardly very likely. There isn't anyrestaurant near here he would be likely to go to, and certainly not atthe time you mention, when he would be in the city. You must bemistaken."

  I shook my head. "I don't think so. I remember his face so well. When Isaw his photograph I recognized him at once."

  "How long ago was it?"

  "I can tell you exactly," I said. "The date is graven on my heart. Itwas the twenty-fourth of October."

  "This year?"

  "This year."

  "The twenty-fourth of October!" she repeated musingly. "Only a few weeksbefore he died. Poor father, peace be upon him! The twenty-fourth ofOctober, did you say?" she added, suddenly.

  "What is the matter?" I asked. "You are agitated."

  "No, it is nothing. It cannot be," she added, more calmly. "Of coursenot." She smiled faintly. "I thought----" she paused.

  "You thought what?"

  "Oh, well, I'll show you I was mistaken." She rose, went to thebook-case, drew out a little brown-paper covered volume, and turned overthe pages scrutinizingly. Suddenly a change came over the beautifulface; she stood motionless, pale as a statue.

  A chill shadow fell across my heart, distracted between tense curiosityand dread of a tragic solution.

  "My dear Fanny, what in Heaven's name is it?" I breathed.

  "Don't speak of Heaven," said Fanny, in strange, harsh tones, "when youlibel the dead thus."

  "Libel the dead? How?"

  "Why, the twenty-fourth of October was _Yom Kippur_."

  "Well," I said, unimpressed and uncomprehending, "and what of it?"

  She stared at me, staggered and clutched at the book-case for support.

  "What of it?" she cried, in passionate emotion. "Do you dare to say thatyou saw my poor father, who was righteousness itself, breaking his fastin a restaurant on the Day of Atonement? Perhaps you will insinuate nextthat his speedy death was Heaven's punishment on him for his blasphemy!"

  In the same instant I saw the truth and my terrible blunder. Thisfast-day must be of awful solemnity, and Fanny's father must have gonesystematically to a surreptitious breakfast in that queer,out-of-the-way restaurant. His nervousness, his want of ease, his terrorat the sight of me, whom he mistook for a brother-Jew, were allaccounted for. Once a year--the discrepancy in the date being explainedby the discord between Jewish and Christian chronology--he hied his wayfurtively to this unholy meal, enjoying it and a reputation for sanctityat the same time. But to expose her father's hypocrisy to the trusting,innocent girl would be hardly the way to advance love-matters. It mightbe difficult even to repair the mischief I had already done.

  "I beg your pardon," I said humbly. "You were right. I was misled bysome chance resemblance. If your father was the pious Jew you paint him,it is impossible he could have been the man I saw. Yes, and now I thinkof it, the eyebrows were bushier and the chin plumper than those of thephotograph."

  A sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips. Then her face grew rigid againas she turned it upon me, and asked in low tones that cut through melike an icy blast: "Yes, but what were _you_ doing in the restaurant onthe Day of Atonement?"

  "I--I----?" I stammered.

  Her look was terrible.

  "I--I--was only having a cup of chocolate," I replied, with a burst ofinspiration.

  As everybody knows, since the pronunciamento of Pope Paul V., chocolatemay be imbibed by good Catholics without breaking the fasts of theChurch. But, alas! it seems these fanatical Eastern flagellants allownot even a drop of cold water to pass their lips for over twenty-fourhours.

  "I am glad you confess it," said Fanny, witheringly. "It shows you havestill one redeeming trait. And I am glad you spoke ill of my poorfather, for it has led to the revelation of your true character beforeit was too late. You will, of course, understand, Mr. Mendoza, that ouracquaintance is at an end."

  "Fanny!" I cried, frantically.

  "Spare me a scene, I beg of you," she said, coldly. "You, you the manwho pretended to such ardent piety, to such enthusiasm for our holyreligion, are an apostate from the faith into which you were born, ablasphemer, an atheist."

  I stared at her in dumb horror. I had entangled myself inextricably. Howcould I now explain that it was her father who was the renegade, not I?

  "Good-bye," said Fanny. "Heaven make you a better Jew."

  I moved desperately towards her, but she waved me back. "Don't touchme," she cried. "Go, go!"

  "But is there no hope for me?" I exclaimed, looking wildly into thecold, statue-like face, that seemed more beautiful than ever, now it wasfading from my vision.

  "None," she said. Then, in a breaking voice, she murmured, "Neither foryou nor for me."

  "Ah, you love me still," I cried, striving to embrace her. "You will bemy wife."

  She struggled away from me. "No, no," she said, with a gesture ofhorror. "It would be sacrilege to my dead father's memory. Rather wouldI marry a Christian, yes, even a Catholic, than an apostate Jew likeyou. Leave me, I pray you; or, must I ring the bell?"

  I went--a sadder and a wiser man. But even my wisdom availed me not, forwhen I repaired to the restaurant to impart it to the proprietor, thelast consolation was denied me. He had sold his business and returned toItaly.

  To-morrow I start for Turkestan.