night gathered around the queen city with dark and sombre fold, after the chilly october day previous to the one appointed for leah mordecai's departure for europe-a night whose ominous gloom seemed to pervade the innermost apartment of the banker's home. it was late before mr. mordecai could spare his daughter from his presence, and give the good-night kiss, his usual benediction before they separated for slumber. even the wily rebecca said good night now in a tender tone, and gave leah a gracious smile as she ascended the stairs for the last time. "it is the last," thought she, "for many a long day, maybe forever, and i can smile in sincerity. once gone, i'll see to it that she never comes again. aha! i am happy now, and can smile in joy and truth."
once more within her quiet chamber, leah locked the door and stood a moment with frightened face gazing furtively around the room. all was silent. the beating of her own wild heart was all the sound she heard. then sinking down from actual weakness, she sat a moment as if summoning the last spark of courage in her timid, fearful soul and said, "yes, it is a dreadful alternative, but i am driven to it. if i obey my father, and go to europe, i know i shall not return for many years, if ever. if i am to be separated from my father, it shall not be by that woman's scheming. she has devised this plan to send me from my home, and she shall be disappointed. i am assured that emile loves me, yet i should never have married him had i not been forced to do so-simply because he is not a jew. but as it is, i take the step deliberately, firmly resolved to abide the consequences, be they good or evil. yes, i am resolved to take this first step in disobedience to my father's wishes. i cannot help it. it has caused me terrible suffering to reach this decision, but circumstances press me to it. now, it is irrevocable. god forgive me, if i cause my father sorrow! he knows how i love and serve him, and heaven knows how cruelly i have been dealt with. but time is passing. i must write a last, fond letter to my dear lizzie; tell her of this final, desperate step in my life, and beg that her love, so long tried, may follow me still through the untried life that lies before me, be it a life of sunshine or of shadow.
"oh! the thought is dreadful. let me see. now the hour is eleven. emile will come at twelve. i must hasten;" and rising from her recumbent posture, leah replaced the watch within her bosom, and seating herself at the escritoire, wrote a last, loving letter to the friend of her school-days. this she dropped into her pocket, that she might post it at the lodge. then she wrote, with trembling hand and faltering heart, a farewell message to her beloved father; and she was done. in a small portmanteau she had carefully packed the few things requisite for her clandestine journey. the well-filled trunks were safely locked, and the keys hanging idly upon the ring in her work-basket. "these trunks," she murmured to herself, as she glanced around the room preparatory to leaving it, "will descend to my sister, or go to europe, or, maybe, will be destroyed. i shall never use their contents. dear aunt barbara's careful packing was all to no purpose, had she only known it. kind aunt barbara! now, one thing more remains to be done. i must have my mother's miniature before i quit my father's house, perhaps forever. aunt barbara has secured the key of the cabinet for me, and it lies secreted in one of the drawers. yes, rebecca has kept it from me for nearly five years. how i burn with anger yet, to think of the cruel lie that took from me the only gift i ever valued in my life! that perfidious bosom shall never feel the pressure of that precious, jewelled face again. no, in heaven's name, i will not leave without it!"
"hush! the citadel clock strikes the quarter to twelve! dear old room! chair, bed, books, pictures-all, farewell!"
the house below was silent. the lights had been darkened for an hour. with stealthy step along the upper hall, and silent footfall on the stairway, the cloaked and hooded figure of leah approached the sleeping apartment of her father and his wife. the sound of heavy breathing betokened heavy slumber, as she silently turned the door-knob and stood within the chamber. reassured by this sound, she glided toward the cabinet, and noiselessly adjusting the key, turned it gently in the lock. the white, delicate finger stole softly about the first smoothly polished drawer, to find it empty. then one and another underwent, in quick succession, the same noiseless inspection, till the fourth and last drawer was reached; and that one yielded up the coveted treasure. hastily placing it in her bosom, she closed the drawer, and then glided out as softly as she had glided into the room. on the threshold she cast back one fond, lingering look at the dimly outlined figure of her father, as he lay before her in unconscious slumber. "heaven ever shield him," she whispered softly; and passed on-on and out beyond the heavily-bolted front door-out forever! in the starlight, chill and faint, she found herself, with trembling limbs and trembling heart, and for a moment sat down on the cold stone step to rally her failing strength and courage before she sought the lodge. at the sound of approaching wheels she arose, and walked with rapid step to the lodge, reaching it just as a coach drew up before it.
"is it you, emile?" said leah softly, as the lodge door opened and a manly form appeared.
"yes, darling. thank fortune, your courage has not failed you. i have been feverish with anxiety and impatience for hours. are you ready, dear?"
at these words leah trembled, and faltered "yes."
"well, i thought it best to bring the minister with me, and so my friend bishop leveret is in the carriage. suppose we have the ceremony performed here; then there can be no possible disappointment or danger. are you afraid?"
"what have i to fear now, when i have gone so far? i abide now by your wishes in all matters, henceforth and forever. i am ready."
in a moment the bishop was summoned. by the light of a dimly burning lantern, he drew forth the prayer book, and read the impressive marriage ceremony of his church. the responses were solemnly uttered, the benediction invoked, and at that midnight hour, in the stillness of the porter's lodge, emile le grande and the young jewess were pronounced "man and wife." driving quickly to the vessel that was ready to depart for the tropical port with the first appearance of the morning sun, emile soon safely ensconced his bride in the comfortable cabin, and with a feeling of joy, tinged only with a shadowy apprehension, he bade adieu to the kind bishop, who had accompanied them thither.
as the morning sun rose, bright and ruddy, from its eastern bed, the vessel's gun, giving the signal for departing, sounded beyond the foaming bar, and the newly wedded lovers were adrift, alike upon the ocean of life and upon the blue expanse that surrounded them-adrift to suffer a dismal shipwreck, or to anchor safely within some remote harbor of love and security.
