Part 38 (1/2)

Mendel caught Miriam's jacket which was slipping to the floor and laid it aside.

”It helps not to cry,” said he gently, longing to cry with her. ”This cannot be. He must marry the maiden whom his heart desires. Is it not enough that he feels that we have crippled his life for the sake of our Sabbath? He never speaks of it, but it smoulders in his veins.”

”Wait a little!” moaned Beenah, still rocking to and fro.

”Nay, calm thyself.” He rose and pa.s.sed his h.o.r.n.y hand tenderly over her white hair. ”We must not wait. Consider how long Daniel has waited.”

”Yes, my poor lamb, my poor lamb!” sobbed the old woman.

”If Daniel marries,” said the old man, striving to speak firmly, ”we have not a penny to live upon. Our Miriam requires all her salary.

Already she gives us more than she can spare. She is a lady, in a great position. She must dress finely. Who knows, too, but that we are in the way of a gentleman marrying her? We are not fit to mix with high people.

But above all, Daniel must marry and I must earn your and my living as I did when the children were young.”

”But what wilt thou do?” said Beenah, ceasing to cry and looking up with affrighted face. ”Thou canst not go glaziering. Think of Miriam. What canst thou do, what canst thou do? Thou knowest no trade!”

”No, I know no trade,” he said bitterly. ”At home, as thou art aware, I was a stone-mason, but here I could get no work without breaking the Sabbath, and my hand has forgotten its cunning. Perhaps I shall get my hand back.” He took hers in the meantime. It was limp and chill, though so near the fire. ”Have courage.” he said. ”There is naught I can do here that will not shame Miriam. We cannot even go into an almshouse without shedding her blood. But the Holy One, blessed be He, is good. I will go away.”

”Go away!” Beenah's clammy hand tightened her clasp of his. ”Thou wilt travel with ware in the country?”

”No. If it stands written that I must break with my children, let the gap be too wide for repining. Miriam will like it better. I will go to America.”

”To America!” Beenah's heartbeat wildly. ”And leave me?” A strange sense of desolation swept over her.

”Yes--for a little, anyhow. Thou must not face the first hards.h.i.+ps. I shall find something to do. Perhaps in America there are more Jewish stone-masons to get work from. G.o.d will not desert us. There I can sell ware in the streets--do as I will. At the worst I can always fall back upon glaziering. Have faith, my dove.”

The novel word of affection thrilled Beenah through and through.

”I shall send thee a little money; then as soon as I can see my way dear I shall send for thee and thou shalt come out to me and we will live happily together and our children shall live happily here.”

But Beenah burst into fresh tears.

”Woe! Woe!” she sobbed. ”How wilt thou, an old man, face the sea and the strange faces all alone? See how sorely thou art racked with rheumatism.

How canst thou go glaziering? Thou liest often groaning all the night.

How shalt thou carry the heavy crate on thy shoulders?”

”G.o.d will give me strength to do what is right.” The tears were plain enough in his voice now and would not be denied. His words forced themselves out in a husky wheeze.

Beenah threw her arms round his neck. ”No! No!” she cried hysterically.

”Thou shalt not go! Thou shalt not leave me!”

”I must go,” his parched lips articulated. He could not see that the snow of her hair had drifted into her eyes and was scarce whiter than her cheeks. His spectacles were a blur of mist.

”No, no,” she moaned incoherently. ”I shall die soon. G.o.d is merciful.

Wait a little, wait a little. He will kill us both soon. My poor lamb, my poor Daniel! Thou shalt not leave me.”

The old man unlaced her arms from his neck.

”I must. I have heard G.o.d's word in the silence.”