The Maroon Part 7

It was a beauty that need not be painted in detail. The forehead of n.o.ble arch; the scimitar-shaped eyebrows of ebon blackness; the dark-brown flas.h.i.+ng pupils; the piquant prominence of the nose, with its spiral curving nostrils; were all characteristics of Hebraic beauty--a shrine before which both Moslem and Christian have ofttimes bent the knee in humblest adoration.

Twenty cycles have rolled past--twenty centuries of outrage, calumny, and wrong--housed in low haunts--pillaged and persecuted--oft driven to desperation--rendered roofless and homeless--still, amid all, and in spite of all, lovely are Judah's dark-eyed daughters--fair as when they danced to the music of cymbal and timbrel, or, to the accompaniment of the golden-stringed harp, sang the lays of a happier time.

Here, in a new world, and canopied under an occidental sky, had sprung up a very type of Jewish beauty: for never was daughter of Judah lovelier than the daughter of Jacob Jessuron--she who was now riding by his side.

A singular contrast did they present as they rode together--this fair maid and that harsh-featured, ugly old man--unlike as the rose to its parent thorn.

Sad are we to say, that the contrast was only physical morally, it was "like father like daughter." In external form, Judith Jessuron was an angel; in spirit--and we say it with regret--she was the child of her father--devilish as he.

"A failure?" said this fair she, taking the initiative. "Pah! I needn't have asked you: it's clear enough from your looks--though, certes, that beautiful countenance of yours is not a very legible index to your thoughts. What says Vanity Vaughan? Will he sell the girl?"

"No."

"As I expected."

"S'help me, he won't!"

"How much did you bid for her?"

"Och! I'sh ashamed to tell you, Shoodith."

"Come, old rabbi, you needn't be backward before me. How much?"

"Two hunder poundsh."

"Two hundred pounds! Well, that is a high figure! If what you've told me be true, his own daughter isn't worth so much. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Hush, Shoodith, dear! Don't shpeak of that--for your life don't shpeak of it. You may shpoil some plansh I hash about her."

"Have no fear, good father. I never spoiled any plan of yours yet--have I?"

"No, no! You hash been a good s.h.i.+ld, my daughter!--a good s.h.i.+ld, s'help me gott, you hash."

"But tell me; why would the Custos not sell? He likes money almost as well as yourself. Two hundred pounds is a large price for this copper-coloured wench--quite double what she's worth."

"Ach, Shoodith dear, it wash not Vochan hishelf that refused it."

"Who then?"

"Thish very daughter you speaksh of."

"She!" exclaimed the young Jewess, with a curl of the lip, and a contemptuous twist of her beautiful nostril, that all at once changed her beauty into very ugliness. "She, you say? I wonder what next! The conceited _mustee_--herself no better than a slave!"

"Shtop--shtop, Shoodith," interrupted the Jew, with a look of uneasiness. "Keep that to yourshelf, my s.h.i.+ld. Shay no more about it-- at leasht, not now, not now. The trees may have earsh."

The burst of angry pa.s.sion hindered the fair "Shoodith" from making rejoinder, and for some moments father and daughter rode on in silence.

The latter was the first to re-commence the conversation.

"You are foolish, good father," said she; "absurdly foolish."

"Why, Shoodith?"

"Why? In offering to buy this girl at all."

"Ay--what would you shay?" inquired the old Jew, as if the interrogatory had been an echo to his own thoughts. "What would you shay?"

"I would say that you are silly, old rabbi Jacob; and that's what I do say."

"Blesh my shoul! What dosh you mean, Shoodith?"

"Why, dear and worthy papa, you're not always so dull of comprehension.

Answer me: what do you want the Foolah for?"

"Och! you know what I wants her for, Thish prinshe will give hish twenty Mandingoes for her. There ish no doubt but that she's his sister.

Twenty good shtrong Mandingoes, worth twenty hunder poundsh. Blesh my soul! it'sh a fortune?"

"Well; and if it is a fortune, what then?"

"If it ish? By our fathers! you talk of twenty hunder poundsh ash if monish was dirt."

"My worthy parent, you misunderstand me."

"Mishunderstand you, Shoodith?"

"You do. I have more respect for twenty hundred pounds than you give me credit for. So much, as that I advise you to _get it_."

"Get it! why, daughter, that ish shoosht what I am trying to do."

"Ay, and you've gone about it in such a foolish fas.h.i.+on, that you run a great risk of losing it."

"And how would you have me go about it, mine Shoodith?"

"By _taking it_."

The slave-merchant suddenly jerked upon the bridle, and pulled his mule to a stand--as he did so darting towards his daughter a look half-puzzled, half-penetrating.

"Good father Jacob," continued she, halting at the same time, "_you_ are not wont to be so dull-witted. While waiting for you at the gate of this pompous sugar-planter, I could not help reflecting; and my reflections led me to ask the question: what on earth had taken you to his house?"

"And what answer did you find, Shoodith?"

"Oh, not much; only that you went upon a very idle errand."

"Yesh, it hash been an idle errand: I did not get what I went for."

"And what matters if you didn't?"

"Mattersh it? Twenty Mandingoes mattersh a great deal--twenty hunder poundsh currenshy. That ish what it mattersh, Shoodith mine darling!"