Earl Hubert's Daughter Part 28

"That is a Christian saying."

"May be. It is true."

"Well!" And Licorice's hands were thrust out from her, as if she were casting off drops of water. "I've done my best. I shall let it alone now. Genta must be nursed: and I cannot bring infection home. And after all, the girl is thine, not mine. Thou must take thine own way.

But I shall bid her good-bye for ever: for I have no hope of seeing her again."

Abraham made no answer, unless his troubled eyes and quivering lips did so for him. But the night closed in upon a very quiet chamber, owing to the absence of Licorice. Delecresse sat studying, with a book open before him: Belasez was busied with embroidery. Abraham was idle, so far as his hands were concerned; but any one who had studied him for a minute would have seen that his thoughts were very active, and by no means pleasant.

Ten calm days pa.s.sed over, and nothing happened. They heard, through neighbours, that Genta was going through all the phases of a tedious illness, and that Licorice was a most attentive and valuable nurse.

At the end of those ten days, Delecresse came in with an order for some of the exquisite broidery which only Belasez could execute. It was wanted for the rich usurer's wife, Rosia: and she wished Belasez to come to her with specimens of various patterns, so that she might select the one she preferred.

A walk through the city was an agreeable and unusual break in the monotony of existence; and Rosia's house was quite at the other end of the Jews' quarter. Belasez prepared to go out with much alacrity. Her father escorted her himself, leaving Delecresse to mind the shop.

The embroidery was exhibited, the pattern chosen, and they were nearly half-way at home, when they were overtaken by a sudden hailstorm, and took refuge in the lych-gate of a church. It was growing dusk, and they had not perceived the presence of a third person,--like themselves, a refugee from the storm.

"This is heavy!" said Abraham, as the hailstones came pouring and dancing down.

"I am afraid we shall not get home till late," was the response of his daughter.

"No, not till late," said Abraham, absently.

"Belasez!" came softly from behind her.

She turned round quickly, her hands held out in greeting, her eyes sparkling, delight written on every feature of her face.

"Father Bruno! I never knew you were in Norwich."

"I have not been here long, my child. I wondered if we should ever meet."

Ah, little idea had Belasez how that meeting had been imagined, longed for, prayed for, through all those weary weeks. She glanced at her father, suddenly remembering that her warm welcome to the Christian priest was not likely to be much approved by him. Bruno's eyes followed hers.

"Abraham!" he said, in tones which sounded like a mixture of friends.h.i.+p and deprecation.

Abraham had bent down as though he were cowering from an expected blow.

Now he lifted himself up, and held out his hand.

"Bruno de Malpas, thou art welcome, if G.o.d hath sent thee."

"G.o.d sends all events," answered the priest, accepting the offered hand.

"Ay, I am trying to learn that," replied Abraham, in a voice of great pain. "For at times He sends that which breaks the heart."

"That He may heal it, my father."

The t.i.tle, from Bruno's lips, surprised and puzzled Belasez.

"It may be so," said Abraham in a rather hopeless tone. "'It is Adonai; let Him do what seemeth Him good.' So thou hast made friends with--my Belasez."

"I did not know she was thine when I made friends with her," said Bruno, with that quiet smile of his which had always seemed to Belasez at once so sweet and so sad.

"'Did not know'? No, I suppose not. Ah, yes, yes! 'Did not know'!"

"Does this child know my history?" was Bruno's next question.

"She knows," said Abraham in a troubled voice, "nearly as much as thou knowest."

"Then she knows all?"

"Nay, she knows nothing."

"You speak in riddles, my father."

"My son, I am about to do that which will break my heart. Nay,--G.o.d is about to do it. Let me put it thus, or I shall not know how to bear it."

"I have no wish nor intention to trouble you, my father," said Bruno hastily. "If I might, now and then, see this child,--to tell truth, it would be a great pleasure and solace to me: for I have learned to love her,--just the years of my Beatrice, just what Beatrice might have grown to be. Yet--if I speak I must speak honestly--give me leave to see Belasez, only on the understanding that I may speak to her of Christ.

She is dear as any thing in this dreary world, but He is dearer than the world and all that is in it. If I may not do this, let me say farewell, and see her no more."

"Thou hast spoken to her--of the Nazarene?" asked Abraham in a low tone.

"I have," was Bruno's frank reply.

"Thou hast taught her the Christian faith?"

"So far as I could do it."

Belasez stood trembling. Yet Abraham did not seem angry.

"Thou hast baptised her, perhaps?"

"No. That I have not."

"Not?--why not?"

"She was fit for it in my eyes; and--may I say it, Belasez?--she was willing. But my hands were not clean enough. I felt that I could not repress a sensation of triumphing over Licorice, if I baptised her daughter. May the Lord forgive me if I erred, but I did not dare to do it."

"O my son, my son!" broke from Abraham. "Thou hast been more righteous than I. Come home with me, and tell the story to Belasez thyself; and then--Adonai, Thou knowest. Help me to do Thy will!"

Bruno was evidently much astonished, and not a little perplexed at Abraham's speech; but he followed him quietly. The storm was over now, and they gained home and the chamber over the porch without coming in contact with Delecresse. Abraham left Bruno there, while he desired Belasez to take off her wet things and rejoin them. Meantime he changed his coat, and carried up wine and cake to his guest. But when Belasez reappeared, Abraham drew the bolt, and closed the inner baize door which shut out all sound.

"Now, Bruno de Malpas," he said, "tell thy story."

And sitting down at the table, he laid his arms on it, and hid his face upon it.

"But, my father, dost thou wish _her_ to hear it?"

"The Blessed One does, I believe. She has heard as yet but a garbled version. I wish what He wishes."

"Amen!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bruno. And he turned to Belasez.