Read Ebook: A modern exodus: a novel by Guttenberg Violet

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r. In regard to the religious point of view, I feel justified in seceding from Christianity if the circumstances necessitate my doing so. Perhaps had I received a more careful religious training, I might not have found it so easy to renounce, but since my mother died I have been left to flounder about in the maze of conflicting and contradictory doctrines; consequently I have nothing to cling to, and no treasured sentiment to forego. Finally, I love Mr. Montella with all my heart, and therefore I am determined to be faithful to my promise."

She gave a sigh of relief as her voice dropped into silence. Her listeners could not help admiring the staunch spirit of her words. Lionel hated to be eulogised, but his heart warmed towards his sweet and zealous advocate. The Premier realised the futility of his intervention, but he was not yet willing to throw up the sponge.

He jerked out the last words as though he were pronouncing final judgment, and brought his fist down on the table with force. The lovers looked at each other, and Montella made as though he would speak; but again Patricia restrained him.

"Father," she said, approaching the Earl, with a look of appeal, "do you not think this interview has lasted long enough? I have listened to Mr. Moore with all the patience I could manage; but when he threatens to prevent my marriage by means of the law, it is like trying to frighten a child. We may not know much--Lionel and I--but we are wise enough to know that the law has no power where we are concerned. Besides, you would not give Mr. Moore permission to act for you in this matter, would you, dear?"

The Earl was getting impatient, and took no notice of her caress.

"I give Mr. Moore permission to do as he likes," he answered, a trifle pettishly. "If the matter is of national importance, it is in his domain, and he can take what steps he chooses. Personally, I like Montella, and have no objection to him as a son-in-law. You must fight it out between you; I wash my hands of the whole affair."

The two young people looked triumphant, but so did the Premier.

"Then it is unnecessary to prolong this interview further," he said, taking up his hat and stick. "Since you give me authority, Lord Torrens, I shall know what course to pursue."

Montella at last came forward.

He had no occasion to repeat his statement; his words carried conviction with them. The Earl started in surprise, and then gave vent to a chuckle of amusement. The Premier was quite taken aback, but in spite of the sudden pallor which overspread his face, he managed to retain his self-possession.

"Since you have taken the law into your own hands, then there is no more to be said," he returned, in a voice from which all the bombast had departed. "May I ask where the ceremony was performed?"

The bridegroom produced sundry documents from his breast pocket.

"We were married first at the registrar's office at Knightsbridge, then by the Chief Rabbi in my mother's drawing-room. If you wish to see the certificate you are welcome to do so," he said.

The Premier condescended to give the papers his examination. Then he suddenly veered round, and astonished them all by offering his congratulations. The newly-married pair were too happy to bear malice, and accepted them with satisfaction. But they could not help remarking on his sudden change of feeling when the Premier eventually took his leave.

The Earl chuckled for the remainder of the day, and in his admiration for Montella's smartness, forbore to be angry. He considered that the interfering Premier had been nicely fooled, and expressed the hope that the lesson would do him good. Montella wondered what Moore's next move would be; he knew that he was not the man to swallow defeat.

"What a strange wedding-day, dearest!" he exclaimed on the drive towards his mother's flat--their temporary home. "We could not have been married in a quieter manner had we been the poorest couple in England. Why, even our footman had his wedding-breakfast, and a fortnight at Southend; but we have had to dispense both with festivities and honeymoon."

Patricia smiled up at him reassuringly.

"Never mind, Lal, we will make up for it later on," she returned happily. "It is Parliament's fault, and you are still in mourning, you know. There will be plenty of time for our honeymoon when the Edict is proclaimed."

"There will be hardships for us both," he said, with a sigh, his brow clouding. "I quail when I think of what I have brought upon you, my beloved."

She drove away his forebodings with a gentle caress.

"I can bear all hardships and all troubles," she answered, in an eager voice. "I can undergo anything--so long as I have you!"

The Montella-Byrne alliance evoked no little comment in society and the Press, and it was tacitly agreed that Lady Patricia should be socially punished for her offence. Nevertheless, friends sprang up in defence of the newly-married pair from the most unexpected quarters, and Patricia found that she was not to lose all her Christian acquaintance after all. When Parliament adjourned for the Christmas recess, she and her husband travelled to a village near Thorpe Burstall, in the vicinity of which was situated the Montellas' country seat. They arrived there at noon on Christmas Eve, and to their complete surprise, received an ovation at the railway station. The villagers, too loyal to be affected by the anti-Jewish agitation, remembered only the never-failing kindness they had received at the hands of the late Sir Julian Montella, and turned out in full force to welcome his son's bride. Between the station and Burstall Abbey two arches of welcome had been erected, and although the quantity of highly-coloured paper with which they were adorned conduced to a somewhat crude effect, to the happy pair they were not lacking in beauty. When the second was reached, four stalwart men insisted on taking the horses out of the carriage, and themselves dragged the vehicle to its destination. Surely there could be no greater honour than this!

Amidst the joyous sound of cheering they alighted and entered the house. Montella's heart was so full that he could scarcely find words in which to frame his thanks. The devotion of the people, coming at a time when he had had nothing but unfavourable criticism on all sides, could not fail to touch him deeply. It showed him that the burning fever of anti-Semitism had at least not been permitted to penetrate here, and that it was still possible to show good feeling towards a Jew. He reciprocated by inviting them to dinner in the large hall on New Year's Day, an invitation which, needless to say, was unanimously accepted.

Burstall Abbey--which was built in the Gothic style--had come into the Montellas' possession in 1870. It was a fine old place, and Sir Julian had taken pride in seeing that it was kept in good repair. There had been two chapels attached, the first of which had fallen into decay many years ago. The second had been transformed into a dining-room, and was one of the finest apartments in the house. The altar had long since been done away with, and its place was now occupied by a massive chiffonier; but the oak wainscot and mullioned windows remained, as well as the high-pointed arches and lofty roof.

"What would the old monks say if they could see us enjoying our lunch here?" remarked Patricia laughingly, as she sat down to the table. "They would call us vandals and barbarians, I suppose."

She was so delighted with everything in the place, that Lionel was all the more grieved that the property would so soon pass out of his hands. It seemed such a great pity to have to give up the Abbey, where both he and his father had been born. There were so many tender memories and associations of his childhood connected with it, that it would be like renouncing part of his own personality. But when the Edict was proclaimed there would be no other alternative; and sell it he must.

"I wish my father would take it over," Patricia said eagerly, when they had discussed the question several times. "We can ask him to hold it in trust for us; some day we may be able to have it back again. Shall I write to him about it, Lionel?"

"If you like, dear; but there is no immediate hurry. You are more hopeful than I am," he added half sorrowfully. "Some day to me means no day."

Patricia looked up quickly and noticed the little furrow on his brow.

"It is not like you to be despondent, Lal," she said, with a touch of reproach. "You have worried too much, and eaten too little of late I think. I want you to promise me not to give another thought to the Jews whilst we are down here. Let us be happy as long as we can."

Had she been less unselfish, the girl would have been jealous of the subject which engrossed so much of her husband's attention; but she was so anxious to be his helpmate as well as his wife, that she concentrated her own interest on the same question. She knew that when the call to action came he was the man of all men to be inspired with hope, and to press on towards the end he had in view. It was the forced inaction--the waiting for events--which proved such a strain to his mental system, and it was for this reason that she sought to divert his thoughts elsewhere. She encouraged him to go out as much as possible, and scoured the surrounding country with him in his motor. There were also his numerous cottages to be inspected and his favourite tenants to be visited, for Montella was not only landlord, but friend.

It was while they were on their peregrinations through the village that they came across one Anne Whiteside, who had once been Lionel's nurse. They happened to meet her just outside her own dwelling, and she insisted on their entering to partake of tea. The Montellas, nothing loath, stepped into her little parlour, and settled themselves comfortably on the stiff horse-hair sofa. It was a pleasant little room in spite of its plainness, and everything in it was scrupulously clean. There was an old-fashioned piano which had probably not been opened for years, and a still more old-fashioned cabinet. The table--round in shape--was covered by an elaborately worked cloth, upon whose surface rested a number of books, including a huge Family Bible.

The old dame took such evident pleasure in preparing the tea, that the visitors felt no compunction in giving her the trouble. She toasted the cakes in the kitchen, but popped into the parlour every few minutes, fork in hand, to assure them that she would not be long. When all was ready, she donned her best widow's cap, and took her seat at the head of the table. Then Montella inquired after Tom.

"Oh, Tom's well enough," she replied, with affability. "He's grown mightily since you saw him last, Master Linie, only his poor brain seems to stand still. He is sitting in his corner of the kitchen, looking at a picture-book the lady up at the lodge has given him. He's mighty fond of pictures, is my Tom."

The "Master Linie" caused a smile to flit across Patricia's face, and immediately she called up the vision of her husband as a child in frocks and pinafores.

"Is Tom your little grandson?" she asked.

The old nurse nodded.

"Yes; leastways, he isn't a little boy, for he will be fifteen next March, and he's an orphan, poor lad! Perhaps you would like to see him, my lady, after tea?"

Patricia answered in the affirmative, and proceeded to attack a somewhat substantial toasted bun. She knew that if she did not do justice to the tea, Mrs. Whiteside would feel aggrieved, so she strove courageously to demolish her share of the feast. Her duty fulfilled, she followed her kindly hostess to the kitchen, where the shining cleanliness of the stove and culinary utensils excited her admiration. In a corner by the window sat the afflicted boy. Patricia went over to him, and held out her hand.

He was small for his age, but he had a large and peculiarly-shaped head. His abnormally developed forehead contrasted almost grotesquely with the receding chin, and his small nose was out of proportion with both. His eyes were large, and surmounted by heavy lids, but there was little intelligence in their depths. They roamed shiftily from one object to another, never concentrating their gaze on anything for more than two or three seconds at a time. His mouth was large and weak, and he was unable to close it with firmness. Moreover, he was afflicted by an impediment in his speech, which added to the difficulty he experienced in making himself understood. To strangers, it was hard to understand the purpose of the poor lad's existence, for to the end of his life he could be nothing but a useless burden. But his grandmother loved him, and never considered him a load of care. Since her husband's death, she had saved and pinched in order to put by enough to keep the boy when she was gone. It was nothing to her that he could not understand and appreciate her self-denial; all the wealth of her affection was lavished on the lad. He took no notice of Patricia's outstretched hand, but glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, whilst Mrs. Whiteside coaxed him to say "How do you do?" to the lady. Montella's deep voice seemed to attract his attention more than Patricia's gentle tones, and an expression which was almost intelligent passed over his countenance as he gazed steadily for a moment at the stalwart figure of the man. Montella noticed it, and smiled back encouragingly, but he could not persuade the boy to speak.

"Do you think he has improved at all?" he inquired of the grandmother, whose face beamed with pride. "I suppose he is not able to go to school?"

"Oh, no; I couldn't bear to trust him out of my sight, and to think that the other boys might make game of him. Besides, he could not learn anything, poor lamb. There will be time enough for him to learn when he has put off this mortal flesh, and received his incorruptible inheritance."

She spoke so cheerfully that Lionel was puzzled.

"Do you mean when he has finished with this life?" he asked.

She nodded.

"That thought is my greatest comfort, Master Linie," she replied. "You see, if poor Tom cannot do any work in the world by reason of his poor weak brain, he cannot commit sins either. I would far rather have him as he is than see him grow up to drink and gamble like Widow Robson's son next door. And I know that the Lord will make up to him in the next world for all he has missed in this; so you see that it will all come right in the end, after all."

"What faith you have!" exclaimed Patricia, in admiration. "I suppose that you would have him cured if you could, all the same?"

"Certainly, my lady; I would travel to the other side of the earth if I thought that I should find an infallible cure at the end of the journey; but as the doctors have assured me over and over again that nothing can be done for the boy, I am resigned to the inevitable. As long as the Lord spares him to me I shall never complain."

"Your resignation is exemplary, nurse," said Montella, as they returned to the little parlour; and then Patricia having refastened her jacket, they took their leave.

They saw more of Mrs. Whiteside, however, before they went back to town. She had heard something of the anticipated Edict, and desired full information on the subject. Leaving Tom in the charge of a neighbour, she came up to the Abbey one morning, dressed in her best. The Montellas were in the library discussing a letter they had received from Dr. Engelmacher. The news was good, insomuch as building operations on the portion of land between Haifa and Akka, stretching to the Sea of Galilee, had now commenced.

Montella put the letter away as Mrs. Whiteside was shown into the room. To the old nurse every chair in the place was familiar, and she entered with the air of one who knew her way about. She remained standing, however, and refused to be seated. She did not wish to detain Master Linie and her ladyship; she had only come to make a request. Lionel expressed his willingness to grant it whatever it might be. He thought she might want to change her abode, or to have some improvements made to the cottage, or something of a like nature. He was always ready to meet the wishes of his tenants, including this one, in spite of the fact that she lived rent free. But Mrs. Whiteside's desire lay in another direction altogether; she was quite satisfied with the present condition of her house.

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