A Fair Jewess. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

mayhap-a higher flight which we all hope to take when the time comes for us to claim our birthright of the grave-of a dead bullfinch or canary, carried thither on its back, with its legs sticking heavenward, and buried with grown-up solemnity, and very often with all the genuineness of grief for a mortal bereavement. Have you not attended such a funeral, and has not your overcharged heart caused you to sob in your dreams as you lay in your cot close to mamma's bed?

      But these fantastic fancies will not serve. It was a real human churchyard, and Rachel Cohen knew it to be so as she stood looking out upon it from the window of her bedroom on the first floor. It was from no feeling of unhappiness that her sight became dimmed as she gazed upon the tombstones. Shadows of children rose before her, the pattering of whose little feet was once the sweetest music that ever fell on parent's ears, the touch of whose little hands carried with it an influence as powerful as a heart-stirring prayer; children with golden curls, children with laughing eyes, children with wistful faces-but there was one, ah! there was one that shone as a star amid the shadows, and that rose up, up, till it was lost in the solemn clouds, sending therefrom a divine message down to the mother's heart: "Mamma, mamma, I am waiting for thee!"

      Quiet as was everything around her, Rachel heard the words; in the midst of the darkness a heavenly light was shining on her.

      She wiped the tears from her eyes, and stole down to the room in which her husband was sitting.

      CHAPTER XI.

      MR. WHIMPOLE INTRODUCES HIMSELF

      It was the front room of the house on the ground floor which Aaron Cohen had converted into a shop. The small parlor windows had been replaced by larger ones, a counter had been put up, behind which were shelves fitted into the walls. These shelves at present were bare, but Aaron hoped to see them filled. Under the counter were other shelves, as empty as those on the walls.

      When Rachel entered her husband was engaged counting out his money, like the king in his counting house. There was a studious expression on his face, which was instantly replaced by one of deep tenderness as he looked up and saw traces of tears in her eyes. He gathered his money together, banknotes, silver, gold, and coppers, and motioned her into the room at the rear of the shop. This was their living room, but a large iron safe in a corner denoted that it was not to be devoted entirely to domestic affairs. In another corner was the symbol of his business, which was to be affixed to the front of the premises, over the shop door-the familiar device of three golden balls.

      Letting his money fall upon the table, he drew his wife to his side, and passed his arm round her.

      "The house," he said, "is almost in order."

      "Yes, Aaron; there is very little to do."

      "I am also ready for business. I have the license, and to-morrow those glittering balls will be put up and the name painted. They are rather large for so small a shop, but they will attract all the more attention." He gazed at her anxiously. "Do you think you will be contented and happy here?"

      "Contented and happy anywhere with you," she replied in a tone of the deepest affection.

      "In this town especially, Rachel?"

      "Yes, in this town especially. It is so peaceful."

      "But," he said, touching her eyes with his fingers, "these?"

      "Not because I am unhappy," she said, and her voice was low and sweet. "I was looking out upon the churchyard from our bedroom window."

      "Ah!" he said, and he kissed her eyes.

      He divined the cause of her tears, and there was much tenderness in his utterance of the monosyllable and in the kisses he gave her, Man and wife for five years, they were still the fondest of lovers.

      "My dear," said Aaron presently, "the spirit of prophecy is upon me. We shall lead a comfortable life in this town; we shall prosper in this house. It was a piece of real good fortune my hitting upon it. When I heard by chance that the man who lived here owned the lease and wished to dispose of it I hesitated before parting with so large a sum as a hundred pounds for the purchase. It was nearly half my capital, but I liked the look of the place, and a little bird whispered that we should be lucky in it, so I made the venture. I am certain we shall not regret it. There is a knock at the street door."

      "Who can it be?" asked Rachel anxiously. "We know no one in Gosport, and it is night."

      "Which is no excuse for our not opening the door," said Aaron Cohen, sweeping the money off the table into a small chamois leather bag, which he tied carefully at the neck, and put into his pocket. "True we believe we are not known here, but there may nevertheless be an old acquaintance in Gosport who has heard of our arrival, and comes to welcome us; or Judah Belasco may have told a friend of his we are here; or it may be an enterprising baker or grocer who wishes to secure our custom. No," he added as the knock was repeated, "that is not a tradesman. Let us see who it is that expresses himself so impatiently."

      Aaron went to the street door, and Rachel followed him into the passage, carrying a candle. The night was dark, and Rachel stood a little in the rear, so that Aaron could not distinguish the features of his visitor. He was a big man, and that was all that was apparent to the Cohens.

      "Mr. Cohen?" queried the visitor.

      "Yes," said Aaron.

      "Mr. Aaron Cohen?"

      "That is my name."

      "Can I speak with you?"

      "Certainly." And Aaron waited to hear what the stranger had to say.

      "I am not accustomed to be kept waiting on the doorstep. I should prefer to speak to you in the house."

      Rachel, who was naturally timid, moved closer to her husband, who took the candle from her hand, and held it up in order to see the face of the stranger.

      "Step inside," he said.

      The stranger followed Aaron and Rachel into the little parlor, and without taking off his hat, looked at Aaron, then at Rachel, and then into every corner of the room; the last object upon which his eyes rested was the device of the three golden balls, and a frown gathered on his features as he gazed. Aaron noted these movements and signs with attention and amusement.

      "Do you detect any blemish in them?" he asked.

      "I do not understand you," said the stranger.

      "In those balls. There was an expression of disapproval on your face as you gazed on them."

      "I disapprove of them altogether," said the stranger.

      "I am sorry, but we cannot please everybody. I am not responsible for the insignia; you will find the origin in the armorial bearings of the Medici. That is a beautiful hat you have on your head." The stranger stared at him. "Really," continued Aaron blandly, "a beautiful hat; a fine protection against the hot rays of the sun; a protection, also, against the wind and rain. But in this room, as you may observe, we have neither wind nor rain nor sun." The stranger, reddening slightly, removed his hat, and placed it on the table. "My wife," then said Aaron.