A modern exodus: a novel

Mr. Lawson Holmes and his colleagues might talk to him till Doomsday without the slightest effect, because he is strenuously determined to oppose them; but I have the opportunity of approaching him in his tenderest moments—when he is with his child. There are some cases in which a ‘mere woman’ can do more than the strongest man.”

He glanced at her with admiration, not unmixed with wonder.

“And if you do cure him of his anti-Semitic mania, as you call it,” he said slowly, “what will be the practical result?”

“I cannot say; but it will be a victory worth achieving. Everyone knows how the Premier dominates the Government, both collectively and individually—how they have not the courage to move a step without his approval, how they follow him just like a flock of sheep. Cure him of his anti-Semitism, and there is no knowing what may happen. Do not discourage me, Ferdinand, I mean to try very hard.”

The clock struck four, and warned her that she was due in the sick-room; but she had so many messages to send that she could scarcely bear to tear herself away. If she had only known of his coming, she would have loaded him with presents for her dear ones, but he intended to start on the morrow, and it was too late to get anything now. So she was obliged to be content with sending her love—so much of it that Ferdinand laughingly declared he would never be able to carry it; and she wept a little in spite of his cheerful words. Then she said good-bye, and went to her own room for a few minutes to finish her cry.

It might be a long time before she saw a Montella again.

Slowly, but surely, Phyllis Moore crept back to health, and as the danger of infection was over, Lady Chesterwood and Leslie returned to the Hall. The child had been ordered to Bournemouth to recuperate her lost strength, but the weather was so unfavourable that her father thought it advisable to wait for a possible improvement. He himself would not be able to leave London until the Christmas recess, and was rather glad than otherwise of the enforced delay.

Patricia was asked to accompany them, in order that her health might also benefit by the change; but as her services were no longer required, she politely but firmly declined. She acknowledged to Mamie that her stay at Ravenscroft Hall had been somewhat of a strain; and although she was glad to have been of use at so urgent a time, she did not care to remain as the Premier’s guest.

Athelstan Moore had shown very little appreciation of her magnanimity during the child’s illness, but as her stay drew to a close he gradually unbent, and on the last night he made an effort to express his gratitude for her kindness. Perhaps he felt more demonstrative than usual, for all Richmond was rejoicing at his little daughter’s happy recovery; and they had just returned from a crowded thanksgiving service at the parish church. He took her into the library after dinner on the pretext of showing her a particular edition de luxe, but in reality it was because he had something to say. He fidgeted uneasily with his diamond stud, and launched forth into a long explanation concerning the merits of his various editions of Shakespeare, whilst Patricia, knowing that he had not brought her there to discuss bibliography, waited as patiently as she could.

She sat down in front of the blazing log-fire, and watched him from the depths of a heavy arm-chair. He looked almost handsome that night, in spite of the lines on his forehead, and seemed to have regained a little of his former sprightliness. Yet, recollecting his visit to her father on the day of her marriage, she recognised a great difference. She remembered how his short, thick-set figure had bristled with indignation, and how the steely grey eyes had gleamed. She remembered his gestures—sharp, stern, commanding, just as the political caricaturists had pictured him in their cartoons—but there was little of that fiery alertness in his bearing now. He looked like a man who had in some peculiar way lost all verve: the features, the form, and the voice remained, but the animation which had given life to the whole personality was gone.

Abruptly finishing his superfluous dissertation, he took up his position on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire, and gazed moodily down at the parquet floor. Then glancing up suddenly his eye caught Patricia’s, and his face lit up with the faintest glimmer of a smile.

“I want to ask you something,” he said, leaning his arm against the oaken mantel-shelf. “In reviewing the events of the last three weeks, it has struck me as curious that you, of all persons, should have nursed my little girl, since neither she nor I had the slightest claim on you. Tell me, Lady Patricia, and do not be offended at my question—why did you do it?”

“Why?” She hesitated. “Oh, because I thought it was a case in which I could assist. I am always ready to help anyone in trouble, if I can.”

“I see. You did it for charity’s sake. If it had been my lodge-keeper’s child you would have nursed her with equal willingness and care?”

“Certainly.”

“Ah!” His exclamation was sharp and gruff. “Then you did not do it as a personal favour to me?”

“No.” She met his gaze steadily. “I did not do it for you.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. He turned round and gave the fire a vigorous poke, which sent the flames roaring up the chimney. The light caught the diamond star at her breast, and set it scintillating with prismatic rays. Then with his eyes almost involuntarily set on the jewel, he addressed her again.

“It is as well to know the truth,” he said, with feigned nonchalance. “Otherwise I might have flattered myself that you nursed Phyllis for my sake. I suppose, in reality, you consider me more of an enemy than a friend?”

“I think I have reason to do so,” she returned, with a sigh.

“On account of the Jewish question?” he asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“I am sorry.” He spread his hands deprecatingly. “But you see it is not my fault that you happened to marry a Jew. You know I have no love for that race.”

“I do know, to my sorrow,” she answered quietly. “But I cannot understand it at all. Mr. Moore, why are you an anti-Semite?”

The question was given with such direct simplicity that for a moment he was at a loss for a reply. This was carrying the war into the enemy’s country.

“Why am I an anti-Semite?” he repeated, with hesitation. “Well, that is too large a matter to be entered into now. My motives are both political and personal; but they can be summed up in one sentence: I hate the Jews.”

“And yet you call yourself a Christian!” she said, with contempt.

His cheeks flushed. “Lady Patricia!” he exclaimed, half angrily; but she was undismayed.

“You do call yourself a Christian,” she continued calmly. “You are publicly known as one of the staunchest of churchmen, and you are president of several church societies. Mr. Moore, did Christ hate the Jews?”

There was silence, but she scarcely waited for a response. “You know He did not,” she went on quickly. “He healed them of their diseases, toiled for them, suffered for them, died for them, loved them to the end. To be at the same time a Christian and an anti-Semite is absolutely impossible. More: if England is anti-Semitic, she cannot be Christian, and (I quote from one of your own speeches now)—the day England ceases to be Christian she ceases to be great. Oh, cannot you see the inconsistency of your position? How could you reconcile it with your conscience to persecute the Jews?”

She raised her sweet face in passionate appeal. The words seemed to come direct from her heart, and her ardour expressed itself in the depths of her blue eyes. Moore stared at her with unconcealed astonishment. No one—not even his friend Lawson Holmes—had dared to be so outspoken; but this gentle girl evidently was not afraid. And her words struck home: they pierced the outer shield of his obstinacy, and penetrated to the true self within; they touched the inmost chords of his troubled emotions, and set them quivering like the strings of a lyre. Yet he displayed no resentment, rather was he abashed: for his usual flow of language deserted him; he could, for once, find no counter-reply.

“Persecution is an accommodating term,” he said, at last. “Place the smallest restriction on the liberty of a sect, and immediately they proclaim themselves martyrs. We have no desire to ‘persecute’ the Jews; we have used neither the knout nor the rack. For myself, all I desire is to eliminate everything Jewish from our English life; nothing more.”

“To eliminate everything Jewish?” she repeated, unable to conceal a touch of scorn. “Why, it cannot be done; the Jews have left too great an impress on the world. Religion, history, science, the fine arts, commerce, is there anything in which they have never had a place? We went to church this evening: was your enjoyment of the anthem marred because the music was composed by Mendelssohn, a Jew? And has it ever occurred to you that our Liturgy is almost entirely of Jewish origin? The Magnificat—what is it but the joy-song of a Jewish maiden?—the Nunc Dimittis, that of Simeon the Jew? Why, the whole Bible belongs to the Jews—is Jewish literature from Genesis to Revelations. And yet you would eliminate everything Jewish from your thoughts. As well try to wipe out the past and re-create the world!”

She paused as the door opened to admit the Countess, who was tired of her own society, and wondered what the two could be talking about. Mamie considered it selfish of her husband to monopolise the girl’s company on the last night of her stay; but noticing the gravity of his expression, she conquered her desire to tell him so.

“I hope you have thanked Patricia nicely for her kindness to Phyllis,” she said, with complacence, as she settled herself in the opposite arm-chair. “Have you decided what form the memento is to take?”

Her husband looked almost disconcerted. “Not yet,” he returned dryly. “When I led up to the subject we both went off at a tangent; however, the evening is yet young.”

“We want to give you a little souvenir of your visit,” Mamie explained eagerly; “but we could not decide as to what it should be, so we thought we had better ask you. I suggested a crescent brooch to replace the one you gave to the Unemployed. Do you remember that day, Patricia? What a tender-hearted goose you were!”

Patricia’s colour rose.

“You are very good,” she said, addressing them both, and inwardly determining not to accept any reward for her services, however delicately it might be offered. “But I really have more jewellery than I can wear already. I would rather not have a present, if you don’t mind; indeed, I haven’t the faintest idea what to choose. I have all I want.”

The Premier seemed to be turning over something in his mind.

“All you want?” he repeated slowly; “except—your husband.”

Mamie cast him a sharp glance of interrogation, but he took no notice, and advanced towards his guest.

“Lady Patricia,” he said impressively, “you do want your husband?”

“Want him?” She choked down a sob. “Yes, I do want him; I long for him night and day! But you are unkind: don’t tease me, Mr. Moore!”

The tears welled up in her eyes, and gathered slowly on her beautiful lashes. She felt as if he were playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse, and her whole being rose in revolt at such a lack of generous feeling. But the Premier’s features showed no sign of intended satire; he had evidently spoken in perfect faith.

“I am not teasing you,” he said, in a peculiarly quiet voice. “Patricia, I have to make an important decision before ten o’clock to-morrow morning. A month ago I should have given my answer without the slightest hesitation, but now—now I see that things are different to what they appeared a little while ago. Supposing the Edict of Expulsion were cancelled, would your husband return?”

“The Edict cancelled!” She could scarcely believe her ears. “Do you mean that England will open her doors to the Jews again?” she asked, in a tone of excitement. “Oh, it seems too good to be true; I can scarcely believe it.” She took a deep breath. “Of course Lionel would come back; Haifa would soon empty itself of its English population. But, Mr. Moore, is it true? Do you really—really mean it?”

“It is a possibility,” he returned, as though with an effort. “Statistics show that trade and commerce have deteriorated since the Expulsion; and the people are clamouring for the Jews’ return. To-morrow the question comes up in Parliament, and I shall make a speech either for or against. My colleagues, knowing my views, anticipate my opposition; but—”

“But you will surprise them all by supporting the resolution,” she interpolated quickly. “Mr. Moore, you know the Expulsion Act has been a weight on your mind ever since it was put into force; you know that it was all a gross miscarriage of justice. If the Jews have suffered through it, so has England, so have you. Here is a Heaven-sent opportunity to retrieve your mistake!”

The Premier winced, scarcely relishing such frank condemnation. If he were obliged to drink the cup of defeat he shrank from having it offered in that way. But Patricia had conquered; and the long arguments in which she had so patiently engaged with him all through his child’s convalescence were about to bear fruit. She had known all along that her insistent pleading was making some little impression on his stubborn heart; but she had never dared to think that he would so easily surrender. Her questions fell thick and fast as she considered the details of the proposed repeal, and she volunteered more than one pertinent remark. The Premier sighed as he noticed her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes; for what was to her a cause of profound joyfulness, meant to him a great renunciation. Perhaps the girl never knew what the abandonment of his principles really cost him; it was like an upheaval of his whole political life.

It was nearly twelve o’clock before they parted for the night, and even then Patricia seemed inclined to linger. Hope had sprung up anew within her breast, and the thought of her husband’s probable return invested her with fresh life and energy. She listened to Mamie’s cheerful prognostication of the future with a happy smile, never thinking that her elation perhaps jarred upon her host. But when the clock struck the hour she approached him to say good-night, and the gladness on her face grew more subdued.

“Good-night, Mr. Moore,” she said, holding out her hand. “I am sorry if I hurt you by what I said before, and if—if you will have me as a friend—?”

He bent over the hand and raised it to his lips.

“Certainly we are friends, Patricia,” he answered quietly, with an involuntary sigh. “Moore—the anti-Semite—is dead.”

“And Mr. Moore the Christian statesman lives!” She glanced into his face with shining eyes. “Oh, I am so glad—so glad! I feel as if I could sing a Te Deum of praise!”

So the English nation decided that it was more to their advantage to “take hold of the skirt of him that is a Jew” than to avoid him altogether; and the Expulsion Act was eventually repealed. But Parliament was too wary to fall into the old error of allowing unrestricted immigration, and determined to keep the pauper alien away from English shores. Fortunately this class was rapidly becoming extinct, for in the Holy Land there was work and a welcome for all, and the term “pauper alien” would soon be as worn out as the dodo. Moreover, the establishment of the Jews in Palestine meant an end to the atrocities to which they had been subjected from time to time in Eastern Europe: for in their own land they were at least free. And even though the English population flowed steadily back to the dearly-loved native country, there were still enough Jews in Palestine to promote the general welfare of the Jewish State. Indeed, the return of the Jews to England proved a beneficial check to the threatened overcrowding of the towns.

Haifa—as Patricia had predicted—soon lost its English citizens, and Lionel Montella found it easy to resign his post. His mother, preferring to remain in the Holy Land, went to live with Dr. and Mrs. Engelmacher in Jerusalem, but intended to visit England once a year. The others made preparations to leave in the ensuing April; perhaps they were less susceptible to the claims of ancestry.

Patricia’s joy knew no bounds, and she was so busy preparing for their return that the intermediate months seemed to have taken wings. With generous magnanimity her husband renounced the ownership of Burstall Abbey in favour of his step-brother; and she had been commissioned to see that the place was prepared for the reception of Sir Ferdinand and his bride. Lionel himself intended to stay at Ivydene, prior to purchasing a new and suitable town-house near Piccadilly, for Patricia had refused her father’s offer of his mansion for the whole of the forthcoming season. So she occupied herself in beautifying the villa so far as its dimensions would allow, and spared no pains to make it as attractive as possible. She called Mrs. Lowther into the nursery one day to see the alterations she had made, and leaning against the dappled back of the rocking-horse, gave vent to the rapture which burned within her breast.

“To think that in a week’s time my little Julian will be here!” she exclaimed, with joy. “And I thought when I left him that I should not see him for years!”

And then she proceeded to relate a pretty little anecdote of his infancy; for nothing gave her greater pleasure than to talk about her boy.

She looked so fair and radiant that Mrs. Lowther could not help congratulating her on her improved appearance. She went singing about the house as blithely as a lark, and the careworn expression on her face had entirely disappeared. The greater part of her time was spent in the company of the Princess, who, with her husband, had just arrived on a visit to Ravenscroft Hall. Her Highness was delighted at the turn affairs had taken, and expressed keen satisfaction that her prophecy had been fulfilled.

“I told you I guessed the separation would not be for long, didn’t I?” she said, when they first met; “but tell me, Pat, how are you going to arrange matters about Lionel’s Judaism now?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” the girl rejoined, a ring of defiance in her voice; “there will be time enough to worry about that later on. Besides, Lady Montella means to stay in Jerusalem, so I shall feel comparatively free.”

“You always speak of your respected mother-in-law as if she were a kind of policeman,” said Lady Chesterwood, smiling. “Was her interference really so terrible as all that?”

Patricia nodded.

“Yes. You see Lady Montella is very nice, and one of the kindest and most religious women in the world, but her rigid Judaism is very difficult to get on with. To be honest, I am glad that she is making her home in Jerusalem; it is the best place for her under the circumstances.”

“I wish I could send my mother-in-law to Jerusalem!” remarked the Princess feelingly. “She is always doing her utmost to upset my poor Karl. We have decided to stay away from Felsen-Schvoenig as long as we possibly can; but if we could ship her off to the Holy Land we might be able to go back.”

Whereupon they agreed that there ought to be a special place for unwanted mothers-in-law; and talked a great deal of nonsense to that effect.

And so the time went on, until the long-looked-for day of the Montellas’ return dawned at last. Patricia was up with the birds, thankful for the spring sunshine which streamed through the windows, and seemed to typify to her the brightness of her coming future. Directly after breakfast her friends from Ravenscroft Hall brought her some of the choicest flowers out of the Premier’s conservatories, and gaily helped her to fill the rooms. But they considerately refused the invitation to accompany her to the station, thinking she would prefer to meet her people alone. They remained until the hour of departure, and then drove back to the Hall, the Countess making Patricia promise to bring her husband to see the Premier at the first opportunity.

In spite of her careful calculations, the expectant wife arrived at the station only just in time. The continental train came steaming into the terminus just as her brougham drew up alongside the platform, and the usual bustle and shouting of porters immediately ensued. Patricia looked about her in bewilderment, but in another moment she was surrounded by the party she sought. Sir Ferdinand and his happy young bride; Mrs. Emanuel—elated at the thought of returning to her beloved Canonbury—with her little brood; baby Julian fast asleep in the arms of the faithful Anne; and last but not least, Lionel Montella, looking pale and somewhat thin, but happy withal. Patricia received her husband’s embrace in silence, unable to say a word; but he knew that her heart was full with a joy too deep for utterance, and her hand-clasp meant more to him than the choicest of flowery speeches.

It was not until they had parted from the others, and were driving back to Richmond, that she remembered a non-arrival amongst the party.

“I thought Zillah Lorm intended to come, too,” she said half wonderingly. “Did she leave you on the way?”

Montella exchanged a glance with Anne.

“Yes, darling, she left us on the way,” he returned, with a sigh. “Poor Zillah! It is very sad.”

Something in his tone arrested the girl’s attention.

“What do you mean, dear?” she asked, with hesitation. “Is anything wrong?”

“The poor unfortunate woman threw herself overboard soon after we left Port Said, my lady,” said Anne, as her master did not reply. “She was drowned almost before anyone knew, and the Lascars tried in vain to recover her body. Oh, dear, what excitement there was on the boat! We were all that upset we could talk of nothing else for days, she being such a comely young person and all!”

“So I should think. But how dreadful! Poor girl!” Her eyes filled. “What made her put such a terrible end to her life? Was she unhappy?”

“I am afraid so, dear,” replied Montella quietly. “She seemed to have no aim in life, and to find everything as Dead Sea fruit. She was always pessimistic and despondent. I believe she wanted to return to England some months ago, and only remained for my mother’s sake; yet when we eventually started, she expressed no pleasure at the thought of going home. On board the vessel she became engaged to an English officer, but quarrelled with him the night before her death. Whether that had anything to do with her suicide, however, we shall never know. It is unspeakably sad.”

It was indeed sad, and Patricia could not help thinking about it for days. It seemed such a potent example of the consequence of a life unsustained by faith. She knew that poor Zillah Lorm had believed neither in God nor her fellow-creatures, and that to her the world had been naught but a great charnelhouse of crushed and moribund desires. But she was unable to imagine the agony of mind which had caused the unhappy girl to throw herself into the sea. The tragedy scarce bore contemplation; its secret reason would remain a mystery to the end.

Not wishing to mar her husband’s home-coming by the expression of gloomy sentiments, she avoided the subject after she had learnt the news. Arrived at Ivydene, little Julian awoke from his sleep just in time for tea, and delighted the mother’s heart by his display of recognition and affection. Full of happiness, she assisted Anne to put him to bed, lingering by his little cot until he visited slumberland once more. Then she descended to spend a quiet evening with her husband tête-à-tête; for Mrs. Lowther considerately went to dine out with a friend.

It was not cold, but they had a fire lit for comfort’s sake, and watched the cheerfully blazing embers as they talked. They had so much to say that they scarcely knew where to begin, and enjoyed each other’s presence in silence for a little while. Patricia felt like a child who, after long waiting, had found its lost protector, and sat with her head nestled contentedly against Lionel’s shoulder. Presently, however, her curiosity got the better of her; there were so many things she wanted to know.

He answered her questions concerning his doings in Palestine with gentle patience. Their enemy, Ben Yetzel, had conquered, in so far as rigid orthodoxy throughout the Holy Land was to prevail, and he had had more than one skirmish with the Rabbi since she had taken her departure. Dr. Engelmacher, good-humoured and pliant as usual, had accepted the dictum with cheerful resignation, deeming it wiser to sacrifice his own view of the matter for the sake of peace. Most of the English people who availed themselves of the repealing of the Act retained a financial interest in Palestine, which would result in a constant communication between the two countries. The outlook on Jewish affairs, therefore, was of the brightest, and more promising than it had been since the time of the First Dispersion.

“And Lady Montella?” asked Patricia, when he had finished. “Did she approve of your returning to England and me, or would she have been better pleased if you had remained out there in spite of the cancelling of the Edict?”

“I am not sure, dear,” was her husband’s reply. “My mother is so fond of the Holy Land that she would have been delighted had I chosen to stay; but I should have been more than human had I remained under those circumstances. When the path which led to you became easy, how could I refrain from taking it? Only an exaggerated sense of duty would have made me act otherwise. Besides I wanted you so much, my darling. Those eight months of our separation were the hardest of my life.”

“And of mine,” she added softly, with a fervent pressure of his hand. “But, Lionel, I am surprised that your mother allowed you to bring baby Julian back to me. She seemed to think that I had no further right to him since I could not teach him orthodox Judaism.”

“I took the law into my hands in this instance, dear,” he answered, dispelling the pucker on her brow with a kiss. “I told her that Julian was your child as well as mine, and that I was determined you should educate him in accordance with your conscience until he grew old enough to choose for himself. Besides, there’s Ferdinand now to keep up the old traditions of the House; and as he has married a Jewess, we can reasonably hope for a Jewish heir.”

“And you will not expect me to feign Judaism any more?” she asked wistfully.

“Certainly not. We shall settle the question by introducing a Jewish housekeeper to do all that is necessary. I have thoroughly made up my mind that the difference-in-creed bogey shall never come between us again. I am a Jew, and you are a Christian, and so long as we do our duty according to our respective convictions, no one has a right to expect any more. Thank God, there is now neither a fanatical Chief Rabbi nor a foolish Assimilation Act to interfere. We are free at last, and in such freedom there is happiness for us both. Set your mind at rest, my dear one; the troubles of the past can never return.”

And Patricia gave a sigh of relief as she gazed into the heart of the fire. How broad-minded he was, and noble, and true!

“Dear boy!” she exclaimed softly. “I am the happiest creature in the world!”

The heaviness which endured for a night had been replaced by the joy of the morning. She felt that the suffering of the past months was as nothing compared with the happiness which had dawned at last.

They went to Ravenscroft Hall before the end of the week to pay their respects to the Premier and his wife. It was quite a summer’s day—one which had wedged itself into April by a meteorological mistake—and they found their friends enjoying tea on the lawn. Lady Chesterwood presided, assisted by her sister, whilst Prince Karl pretended to be a waiter, to the intense delight of Phyllis and Leslie. The new-comers were provided with tea, and urged by the children to tip the waiter for his attention; after which they suddenly discovered Raie behind a neighbouring tree.

“I wanted to give you a surprise,” she said laughingly, as she came forward and joined the group. “Ferdinand is indoors talking to Mr. Moore. We came over to Richmond this morning.”

“But you did not find time to visit us?” said Patricia, aggrieved.

“Oh, we went with mamma and Harriet to the Isaacson’s to lunch,” was her apologetic reply. “Mamma insists on taking us to see all her friends; it is such a novelty for her to possess a married daughter.”

She did not add that Mrs. Emanuel was so proud of “my daughter Lady Ferdinand” that she was anxious to exhibit her to all and sundry. She was so happy that what might have jarred upon her in other circumstances simply caused her amusement now.

“What do you intend to do with the she-dragon, Pat?” asked Mamie, when the conversation turned on domestic affairs. “I suppose her services as lady-companion will no longer be required.”

Patricia smiled. “I have two dear companions of my own now,” she answered happily. “I shall have to find Mrs. Lowther another berth.”

“Send her to Jerusalem,” suggested the Princess naïvely; and Raie, unable to see the point of the remark, wondered why they laughed.

Lionel left them to finish their tea without him, and strolled through the grounds towards the house. The French windows at the north side stood invitingly open, and ascending the short flight of steps, he entered the room. It happened to be the Premier’s library, and the shelves which lined the four walls were filled with books. In one corner stood a large writing-table, littered with documents of various descriptions; and above it hung a beautifully painted panel mounted in oak, and inscribed with a lengthy quotation from Shakespeare. Not caring to linger near the open bureau, Montella would have passed on; but the old English letters with their illuminated points attracted his attention, and half wondering what would be the substance of the Premier’s motto, he paused a moment to read:

“Salarino—Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh; what’s that good for?

“Shylock—To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what’s his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; if a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.”

So this was the lesson which Athelstan Moore had set himself to learn! Lionel could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise as his eye ran over the inscription. As in a flash, the revelation of what Moore’s inward struggle must have meant burst in upon him; and he recognised the courage the great man had shown even in his defeat. Full of thought, the young champion of the Jews turned thoughtfully away, to be met by the Premier himself before he reached the door.

There was a moment of embarrassing silence as the two men confronted one another. The thoughts of both went back to the time of their antagonism, when hot and bitter words had been spoken on either side. But the Prime Minister was not long before he recovered himself, and with a softened light in his usually brilliant eyes, he held out his hand.

“Welcome back to England, Montella,” he said, in a quiet but hearty voice. “We parted as enemies, but I trust we meet as friends?”

Lionel gripped his hand like a true Briton.

“I trust so,” he returned, noticing almost with a pang of compunction how grey and old he looked. “It was never my wish to quarrel with you, Mr. Moore, but I could not help being a Jew.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” He glanced towards the panel with a sigh. “And I know you are proud of it, too. We’ve been taught a hard lesson during your absence, Montella. Anti-Semitism doesn’t answer in England, and it never will; for it’s a savage and retrograde movement, incompatible both with our Christianity and our advanced state of civilisation. Strange that we had to have an Expulsion in order to find that out! The simplest truths are the most difficult to learn, it seems to me.”

“They are, sometimes,” acquiesced the young man, with respect; “but we had better forget the past, Mr. Moore. The Jew—in spite of popular tradition—does not bear malice, and now that our beloved England has returned our freedom to us, I am sure we shall be greater friends than ever before.”

“God grant we may!” was the Premier’s fervent reply.

He was no longer an enemy of the Jews. He had become their staunch ally.