CHILDRENS^FATE 
 
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CHILDREN OF FATE 
 
By ADOLPHE DAIVZIGER 
 
 THE MONK AND THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER 
 
 (In Collaboration with Ambrose Bierce.) 
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL AND THE FOLLOWING 
 
 (Short Stories.) 
 
 A MAN. A WOMAN AND A MILLION 
 
 (London.) 
 
 JEWISH FORERUNNERS OF CHRISTIANITY 
 
 (New York and London.) 
 
CHILDREN OF FATE 
 
 A dtory nf PaBBtan 
 
 — ADOLPHE DANZIGER 
 
 Author op 
 ♦*A MAN, A WOMAN AND A MILLION," ETC. 
 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
 NEW YORK 
 1905 
 
Copyrighted J 905, by A. Danzigcr 
 All rights reserved 
 

 FRANK KINSEY, Esq., 
 Marquette Building, 
 
 Chicago, III. 
 
 My Dear Frank : 
 
 When in July, 1884, you indicated to me my duty to 
 this, my adopted country, I hut little realized what that 
 duty meant. I was then a stranger to its obligations 
 and to the language in which you spoke. Later I keenly 
 appreciated the importance of that first lesson, and dur- 
 ing the eventful years that since have elapsed, I made 
 an earnest effort to live up to the ideals which you 
 then so eloquently portrayed. 
 
 But above and beyond these ideals stood and still 
 stands the friendship that then arose. I have cherished 
 it with ever increasing affection, and deemed it a capital 
 from which I was not to draw the smallest part of its 
 accumulating interest unless I was able to contribute my 
 full share, for "friendship is reciprocal benevolence 
 which inclines each party to be solicitous for the welfare 
 of the other as for its own." 
 
 However, you were always in advance of me. Your 
 splendid manhood, your loyalty, your unequivocal sup- 
 port of whatever I attempted, inspired me to act so as 
 to merit the grace of your friendship, upon the altar of 
 which I now lay this story, taken from life. 
 
 Accept then, my dear Frank, this volume, and may 
 you derive as much pleasure from its contents as I have 
 in giving it to you. Ever yours, 
 
 ADOLPHE DANZIGER. 
 
 New York, August, 1905. 
 
 W7G3415 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childrenoffatestOOdanzrich 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 
 BOOK ONE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A Matter of Opinion. 
 
 II. 
 
 A Statement of Fact. 
 
 III. 
 
 A Mere Accident. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An Incident. 
 
 V. 
 
 Love Letters. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Love Letters Continued. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Vision. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Under a Spell. 
 
 X. 
 
 'TwixT the Priest and the Doctor. 
 
 XL 
 
 The Reality. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A Thousand Roubles. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Mission of Joseph. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Temptation. 
 
 XV. 
 
 On the Train. 
 
 XVL 
 
 Found. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 I. The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 II. Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 VII 
 
III. Beatrice and the Baroness. 
 
 IV. At the Ball. 
 V. The Plot. 
 
 VI. The Marriage Broker. 
 
 VII. The Solution of a Problem. 
 
 VIII. The Wooing. 
 
 IX. The Reward. 
 
 X. A Revelation. 
 
 XL On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 
 I. Jean Merau, Artist. 
 
 II. The Inner Voice. 
 
 III. After the Duel. 
 
 IV. Jealousy. 
 
 V. The Heart of the Banker. 
 VI. Mistaken Identity. 
 VII. "They Would Not Condemn Me?" 
 VIII. A Miracle. 
 IX. The Cousins. 
 X. Waldeck's Resolve. 
 XI. The Dream. 
 XII. "I Have But One Life to Lose." 
 
 XIII. "The Greater Calamity Has Come." 
 
 XIV. The Apotheosis. 
 
 L'Envoy : Extract from Ella's Letter. 
 
 vxn 
 
"Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 Und welken wieder ah, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wieder, 
 So geht es bis ans Grab.''' 
 
 (Heinrich Heine.) 
 
CHILDREN OF FATE 
 
 BOOK ONE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A MATTER OF OPINION. 
 
 It was four o'clock in the morning that Joseph 
 Rosen, under-sexton of the Synagogue, stood on 
 the door-step of his house, one of a row of squat 
 Httle dwelHngs of the "Hinter Gass" in Dobrzyn, 
 Poland. 
 
 His eyes swept the wondrous scene before him ; 
 he saw the golden glory that bathed the steeple 
 of the Catholic Church, the flaming glow on 
 trees and houses and fields, and his heart thrilled 
 as the first lark seemed to burst her throat with 
 song, mingling her piercing note with the music 
 of tinkling sheep bells and the lowing of cattle. 
 
 Joseph listened, while the soft breeze fanned 
 his face and stirred his hair that hung in long 
 black locks. 
 
 "Are you glad, Joseph?" said a voice softly. 
 
 He raised his head, and the smile that had 
 hovered on his lips turned into something more 
 than a smile and becam.e a benediction. 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 From a round window within the gable of the 
 adjoining house there looked upon him a face 
 which, lit up by the moving light that shone 
 upon its perfect oval, its downcast long-lashed 
 eyelids and delicate tint of ivory, appeared like 
 one of Raphael's Madonnas set in a rough frame. 
 
 "Ah, it is you, Rachel; good morning," said 
 Joseph. 
 
 "A good morning and a blessing upon you; 
 how is your mother?" she asked. 
 
 "She is well, thank God," he said. "May 
 peace be with you." 
 
 He raised his hand as if to bless, to shield, 
 to implore, all in one. 
 
 The face above him reddened, the eyes lifted, 
 the lips smiled ; then the casement closed, and 
 Joseph was alone. But there was no regret de- 
 picted in his face, nothing to indicate that he had 
 more than a passing interest in what was per- 
 haps a daily occurrence. Outwardly he appeared 
 calm, if thoughtful. He shut the door noise- 
 lessly, not to disturb those within the house, then 
 walked a short distance westward along the nar- 
 row street. Suddenly he called out: 
 
 "Ri-i-ise to Psalms!" 
 
 A multiple echo gave back its last sound, 
 and through the narrow street there came some- 
 thing like the sigh of a satisfied sleeper. 
 
 Joseph called again in the same monotonous 
 singsong, but there was no response ; the ancient, 
 iron-bound, heavy wooden shutters remained 
 closed, and the pious in Israel thus summoned 
 
A Matter of Opinion. 
 
 to their early orisons evidently slept on undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 A third time Joseph called. He was now be- 
 yond Back Street, up to the post office stables, 
 where, scattered about, a few Jews dwelt. 
 
 All at once another voice was heard; a mo- 
 ment later Joseph stood face to face with Kam- 
 inski, the policeman of the town. 
 
 "Ah-ee, Yushu, you call; you call, and the 
 dog brothers — the Jews — sleep, they sleep; haw, 
 haw, haw!'' 
 
 The last sounds were those of an asthmatic 
 cough that echoed through the empty street like 
 thunder. 
 
 "Good morning, Pan Kaminski." 
 
 "Well, good morning, good morning," said 
 the policeman. He was a big, bloated, choleric 
 man, the personification of the domineering ty- 
 rant who brooks no interference and demands 
 absolute obedience; but when Joseph bade him 
 good morning, his red face seemed to soften 
 and the great, bushy moustache trembled in an 
 effort to show a smile. 
 
 "Bad business, Yushu, your calling the Jews 
 and their not responding," he said. 
 
 "They will respond soon. Pan Kaminski; it is 
 very early," the young man answered. 
 
 "As I love God, I would not serve such pigs," 
 said the officer. 
 
 "You are serving the Russians, Pan Kamin- 
 ski,'' Joseph responded, and a faint smile played 
 on his lips. 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 The policeman's face turned purple; such a 
 remark made by another would have led to se- 
 rious consequences to the offender. 
 
 "Am I the less a Catholic because I am not 
 fool enough to fight for a lost cause? It is bet- 
 ter than serving a filthy race like yours. Go 
 home, Yushu, and attend to your beans. 1*11 
 spring my rattle loud enough to make them 
 think the Day of Judgment has come." 
 
 ''Do not, I pray you. Pan Kaminski; they 
 would be angry with me," said Joseph. 
 
 "Ah, 'tis for that alone that I do not strike 
 them to the last man. As I love God, I would 
 like to." 
 
 "But, Pan Kaminski, I am a Jew." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha I Hear the boy! You a Jew! 
 Mother of God, am I a Jew, Yushu, am I a Jew ? 
 You are no more a Jew than I." 
 
 "But you know my people and you have known 
 me from my childhood ; do not say such a thing 
 again. I am a Jew, Pan Kaminski." 
 
 "May lightning strike me if you are a Jew. 
 Though I hear you say so, and though I often 
 get my share of the meats you bring from Jew- 
 ish weddings, still I say you are not a Jew." 
 
 Joseph was silent. What could he say? He 
 had no mind to irritate the policeman by fur- 
 ther assertion, nor did he wish to fritter away 
 his time when there were so many duties to 
 which the day called him; so, without further 
 parley, he again called out the plaintive sum- 
 mons to Psalms. 
 
A Matter of Opinion. 
 
 At this, the poHceman sprang forward and, 
 taking hold of Joseph's arm, said : 
 
 "Don't call the Jews, Yushu, don't call them/' 
 
 *1 must call them; it is my duty," was the 
 calm reply. 
 
 "As I love God, you shall not call them," the 
 policeman cried. 
 
 "But I must, Pan Kaminski, I must." 
 
 "Blood of Christ, who must when I say no?" 
 he shouted, and held Joseph's arm fast. 
 
 Joseph looked at him with his great, sad eyes, 
 and the angry officer dropped his hand as if 
 it were struck down. Joseph walked away. 
 
 For a moment the officer gazed after the re- 
 treating form, then he heaved a sigh. 
 
 "Mother of God, did he strike me? Did he 
 strike me?" he reiterated, froth gathering on his 
 heavy lower lip. 
 
 "Who struck you, brother Kaminski?" asked 
 the stage driver, who, with hair awry and sleep 
 in his eyes, came from the post office stables. 
 
 Kaminski turned fiercely on him. 
 
 "Me, struck me? You are drunk, Janushek; 
 who would dare to strike me?" he cried, and 
 blinked his small, black eyes over the great brass- 
 rimmed spectacles with the fierceness of an 
 angry rat. 
 
 "But you were speaking to someone," Jan 
 persisted. 
 
 "Of course I was, stupid; of course I was," 
 said Kaminski. 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "To whom? Who else would be about the 
 town before you went to feed your horses but 
 Yushu?" 
 
 **The Jew who calls ?" asked Jan. 
 
 "He cEdls, Janushek, but he is not a Jew." 
 
 "He is, Kaminski." 
 
 "You are the son of a sow, Janushek, and 
 you have not enough brains to pull your leg 
 through a fence," Kaminski said with contempt. 
 
 "I know that your mother barked at your birth, 
 Kaminski ; I am not a traitor," Jan retorted. 
 
 "You," cried Kaminski, and his thick neck 
 swelled out enormously. 
 
 "You yourself," said Jan, unafraid. 
 
 Kaminski raised his fist to strike, but Jan fell 
 upon him and in a moment the two held each 
 other by the hair. 
 
 Silently, without a word, they pulled, setting 
 their elbows against each other's breast. Neither 
 sought to strike. Each was bent by the sheer 
 force of the purchase he had on the other's hair, 
 each pressing desperately on the other's breast to 
 wear him out and force him to his knees. Both 
 had their legs firmly planted and their heads al- 
 most touching. 
 
 Jan's elbows sank into the fat breast of the 
 policeman as into dough, making him puff and 
 groan. 
 
 Backwards and forwards they swayed, until 
 
 Kaminski was gradually forced against the wall 
 
 of the stables. This appeared to give Jan an 
 
 advantage, for he forced the big man's head 
 
 6 
 
A Matter of Opinion. 
 
 down so that the pressure against the latter's 
 double chin choked him. 
 
 Suddenly Jan's hands dropped; he sprang 
 back, and between him and the policeman, who 
 sank down limp and gasping, stood Joseph. 
 
 Jan gazed at him in speechless horror. Ka- 
 minski, who was slowly regaining his breath, 
 crossed himself, and as he was getting to his 
 feet, Joseph walked away. 
 
 The erstwhile combatants looked at each 
 other, consternation depicted in their faces, then 
 both stood still and listened. From the distance 
 came the plaintive call of the under-sexton : 
 "Ri-i-se to— Psalms." 
 
 Jan and Kaminski both made the sign of the 
 cross. 
 
 "Mary, mother of God, have mercy on us," 
 they said. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A STATEMENT OF FACT. 
 
 "Is he a Jew?" asked Kaminski, putting on 
 his cap. 
 
 "No Jew ever could do that," Jan rejoined. 
 "But what is he?" 
 
 "Ugh, he says he is a Jew," said Kaminski. 
 
 "Then he must be," timidly remarked Jan. 
 
 "Must be," cried Kaminski. "Last month 
 when the ice had broken and floated down the 
 Vistula so that no one trusted himself to cross, 
 my little Annusha, playing with other girls, fell 
 into the river ; I saw it and my soul went out of 
 me. There were hundreds of people and many 
 Jews, too, but no one made a move. And what 
 did this boy do? He walked straight into the 
 river and brought out my little girl just as she 
 was sinking beneath one of the ice floes." 
 
 "Jesus, Mary! I did not know," said Jan. 
 
 "No, you were in Plotzk then. You remem- 
 ber the old Doctor Lerko who lived on the 
 square ?" 
 
 "Do I? Have I not waited on Rachelka his 
 daughter whenever she went on my coach to 
 Lipno, and would not I have cut off my head to 
 serve her? But she had eyes only for that 
 damned Russian officer, may the devils take 
 him," cried Jan, and spat. 
 
 8 
 
A Statement of Fact. 
 
 "Well, he left Rachelka with a souvenir," said 
 Kaminski. 
 
 "A child?" 
 
 Kaminski nodded. 
 
 "I thought it would come to that when I saw 
 them at the Fair in Belsk. But, you know, I was 
 transferred to Lipno for a time and did not know 
 what became of her. Ah, but she was pretty, and 
 to think that she would throw herself away on 
 a Cossack when there are so many good Polish 
 Catholics here," said Jan sadly. 
 
 "Yes, she did throw herself away, but who can 
 tell anything about a woman? Most women are 
 like children. But this Rachelka was not at all 
 like a Jewess; and her father was a great man, 
 he spoke Russian like a Cossack, and her mother 
 spoke Polish like one of us. I think she was 
 no more a Jewess than you and I are Jews." 
 
 "Impossible," cried Jan. 
 
 "Quite true, and the Jews claimed them, too, 
 for she was good to the poor ; but when Rachel- 
 ka's child was born they made a great noise and 
 wanted to kill her." 
 
 "Where is she now?" asked Jan. 
 
 "Stick a carrot in your mouth for an answer," 
 said Kaminski, winking his eye. 
 
 Jan looked about him. If he had dared he 
 would have throttled the policeman till he gave 
 him the desired information, but a nameless fear 
 had hold of him. 
 
 "Mother of God, one is not safe," he mur- 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 mured. But Kaminski misunderstood his mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "I sometimes think the same," he said. "But 
 no one knows. Well, one day it happened that 
 I was coming down this very street and saw the 
 vile Jewish scum chase Rachelka." 
 
 Jan jumped as if stung by a viper. 
 
 "Mother of God, they chased her !" he cried. 
 
 "And threw mud and stones at her," the other 
 continued. 
 
 Jan spat in a passion of disgust. 
 
 "The vermin!" he cried. "I'll get even with 
 them." 
 
 "She ran like a deer, but they came from all 
 sides and she sank down." 
 
 "My God !" cried Jan, gritting his teeth, "and 
 you looked on?" 
 
 "I was so amazed they dared to do this 
 in my presence, that for a moment I stood still. 
 As I was about to charge them with my sabre, 
 Yushu, as if sprung from the earth, stood in 
 front of her. They threw mud and sticks at him 
 and demanded that he should give her up." 
 
 "Did he?" asked Jan tremblingly. 
 
 "He stretched forth his hands to protect her 
 and then I ran up full charge and the scum dis- 
 persed." 
 
 "Holy Virgin save us! I am afraid of that 
 Jew," said Jan. 
 
 "There is a mystery about him, that is cer- 
 tain," said the policeman ; "but he is very good." 
 
 Jan made no response; he was perplexed. 
 10 
 
A Statement of Fact. 
 
 Of a sudden an idea seemed to have struck 
 his mind, and putting the left hand on his fore- 
 head, he put his right in his pocket. 
 
 "I had almost forgotten," he said, pulling out 
 a bottle of vutki. "I brought it from Lipno, and 
 meant to give you a drink this very morning." 
 
 The eyes of the policeman glistened. 
 
 "Oh, Janushek, brother, how could you be so 
 forgetful?" he said reproachfully, and took the 
 proffered bottle. 
 
 Having taken a long draught of the precious 
 liquid, he smacked his lips and gave the bottle 
 back to Jan, who in his turn took a long 
 draught. 
 
 "By the way, Janushek," said Kaminski, and 
 his voice had a ring of gratitude, "the Pultava 
 regiment is coming this way again." 
 
 "When?" cried Jan excitedly. 
 
 "To-day," said Kaminski. 
 
 "Are they going to quarter here or are they 
 just passing through?" asked the stage driver. 
 
 "Passing through. See, the Jews are going to 
 the Synagogue; it is time for you to attend to 
 your horses," said Kaminski. 
 
 "My horses are all right," said Jan. "Why 
 are the soldiers coming this way, Kaminski?" 
 
 "I don't know,'' answered the policeman. 
 
 From the wink in his eye it was evident that 
 he did know, but he also knew that he must not 
 talk too much to Jan, who was a tattler and fre- 
 quently gave the policeman important informa- 
 tion. Thus, for example, it was Jan who had 
 II 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 told him that there was going to be a political 
 meeting of the nobles in that part of the country, 
 and that the meeting was fixed for this very Fri- 
 day in the city of Vlotzlavek. Kaminski had 
 told the Burgomaster, who sent word to Plotzk, 
 and the Governor sent the Pultava regiment to 
 Vlotzlavek. 
 
 It was well for Kaminski that Jan had no ink- 
 ling of the matter, else the knife instead of the 
 vutki had gone into the traitor's body. But Jan's 
 thoughts were upon a different matter. 
 
 "The Cossack will come and he will take 
 Rachelka. Tell me, brother, where she is. I 
 want to protect her," he cried. 
 
 The policeman grinned broadly. 
 
 "Rachelka does not need your protection, 
 brother Janushek. But I don't know. Perhaps 
 she is here or maybe she is in Plotzk, perhaps 
 she is in Vlotzlavek or in Warsaw. Yushu, I 
 think, knows ; there he goes, ask him, brother," 
 said the policeman. 
 
 Jan looked in the direction indicated and made 
 a move as if to follow, but Joseph had already 
 disappeared behind one of the houses. 
 
 At this moment both were startled by the 
 sight of two soldiers at the extreme end of the 
 road. 
 
 "They are here," said the policeman. 
 
 "Mother of God, protect us," cried Jan, and 
 went hastily into the stables, while Kaminski 
 walked slowly toward the square. 
 
 12 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MERE ACCIDENT. 
 
 When the policeman saw Joseph, the latter 
 was not walking as usual, slowly and with bowed 
 head, but was running. If the policeman 
 thought this extraordinary he must have had his 
 reasons for concealing it from the stage driver. 
 More likely he did not know, for he went in a 
 direction different from that taken by Joseph. 
 
 The latter ran behind one of the houses, 
 peeped cautiously back to see if he were followed 
 and then, running through the passageway, en- 
 tered his own house from the back. He hastily 
 climbed to the attic and opening a casement in 
 the gable called out softly: 
 
 "Rachel, Rachel !" 
 
 In a moment the window opposite opened, and 
 the face of the young woman appeared. 
 
 "What is it, Joseph? Oh, why are you so 
 pale? What has happened? How is your 
 mother?" she cried. 
 
 "Be calm, Rachel; nothing has happened to 
 me, and mother is well. But tell me, do you 
 still love him?" he whispered. 
 
 The face opposite flushed to a deep red. 
 
 "Why do you ask? You know that long ago 
 I gave up hope and love," she said. 
 
 "Yet he may call you, and if he does you must 
 
 13 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 follow him, although under the Russian law you 
 cannot be his wife." 
 
 As Joseph said this the face above him turned 
 ashen ; it worked convulsively as in anguish, but 
 the eyes remained tearless and even grew hard 
 as she asked: 
 
 "Do you think he knows that law?" 
 
 "He must; he is an officer. You must decide 
 quickly, for he is here," said Joseph. 
 
 "My God!" cried the woman, "when did he 
 come? Is he alone?" 
 
 "No, he is with his regiment. He will search 
 for you and find you. It will be for sin, for he 
 does not love you as a wife. He has deceived 
 you; decide." 
 
 "I will not see him," she said. "I would rather 
 die." 
 
 "You shall not die. God is merciful; come, 
 get ready," said Joseph softly. 
 
 "Where shall I go? Where shall I hide?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "The graveyard is a good place to hide until 
 the regiment has gone away; but veil yourself 
 closely." 
 
 The casements closed, and soon afterwards 
 Rachel stepped through the back door into the 
 garden, where Joseph joined her. Screened by 
 the high grass which filled a dip in the ground, 
 they reached unobserved the eminence where the 
 Jewish burial ground was situated. But no 
 sooner were they at the top than they saw an 
 officer on horseback. He was gazing across the 
 14 
 
A Mere Accident. 
 
 majestic Vistula that in the morning sun looked 
 like a moving, myriad-rippled flame. Beyond 
 was the brilliant forest, deepening to a dark blue 
 in its recesses, with here and there open spaces 
 where pretty peasant houses, white-walled and 
 red-roofed, gleamed in the sunshine. 
 
 The amazed and frightened couple stood still. 
 It seemed as if fate had planned the encounter, 
 or with less faith Rachel might have thought 
 that Joseph had contrived the meeting. But she 
 had no time for thought ; she recognized the offi- 
 cer at a glance and that caused her a weakness 
 which she could scarcely conquer. 
 
 "Down, quick," Joseph whispered. 
 
 But it was too late, the officer turned, he saw 
 them and at once rode toward them. 
 
 "Who are you?" he demanded. 
 
 "I am a Jew," said Joseph. 
 
 "I can see it; who is this woman?" 
 
 "An unfortunate," Joseph answered. 
 
 "Is she young? Remove your veil, woman," 
 the officer commanded. 
 
 Rachel trembled violently. 
 
 "She must not remove her veil," said Joseph. 
 
 "Silence, Jew." 
 
 "Leave her in peace, my lord. See how she 
 trembles." 
 
 "Silence," cried the officer, "and you, Jewess, 
 obey!" 
 
 Rachel straightened, and with a quick move- 
 ment put aside her veil. 
 
 "Rachelka!" cried the officer. 
 
 15 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Her body quivered at the sound of the name, 
 but she made no move. 
 
 "Rachelka!" the officer repeated. 
 
 She appeared not to hear. 
 
 "Leave her, my lord, she is only a Jewess," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 The officer grew red in the face. 
 
 "Is she your wife?" he asked. 
 
 "She thinks she is your lordship's wife," Jo- 
 seph said, and calmly gazed in the officer's eyes. 
 
 "And why did you bring her here ?" he asked, 
 grinding his teeth. 
 
 "To save her from evil." 
 
 "Insolent Jew, I'll teach you " 
 
 He raised the riding whip to strike. 
 
 Rachel uttered a cry, but Joseph looked at the 
 Russian unafraid. 
 
 "What boots it to strike a Jew? You have 
 struck us so often that we are used to it. You 
 have deceived, defiled and forsaken this poor wo- 
 man ; leave her in peace now ; do not again lead 
 her to ruin, more deeply and irredeemably." 
 
 "Silence, you chattering idiot," cried the offi- 
 cer, springing from his horse. 
 
 Joseph did not move. 
 
 The officer measured the tall, commanding 
 figure of Joseph. 
 
 "I suppose you think it is better for her to live 
 with filthy Jews than to go with me?" he said 
 with a sneer. 
 
 "Yes, if she cannot go as your wife," was Jo- 
 seph's reply. 
 
 i6 
 
A Mere Accident. 
 
 "That cannot be," said the officer curtly. 
 
 Rachel shivered. 
 
 "Then your marriage was a mockery," cried 
 Joseph, and pointing to a little mound near the 
 wall he added: "Do you see that little heap of 
 earth? It is the grave of your child, the fruit of 
 your sin — not of hers, for she was innocent and 
 did not know." 
 
 "Enough, filthy Jew!" the officer cried, step- 
 ping toward her. "Rachelka, come with me to 
 Vlotzlavek." 
 
 But Joseph put himself between him and the 
 girl. 
 
 "Don't touch her; it were better she died this 
 instant than be defiled by you a second time," he 
 cried. 
 
 "Die, you dog," cried the officer and his sword 
 flashed in the sunlight. 
 
 Rachel sprang forward and the blade pierced 
 her breast. 
 
 It was the work of a moment, but it worked like 
 a spell upon the enraged officer. He was trans- 
 fixed. At last he realized what he had done and 
 throwing away his sword, he knelt by the side of 
 the stricken girl. 
 
 He opened her dress, and with his handker- 
 chief sought to stem the flow of blood. He called 
 her by endearing names, but her senses were 
 gone ; she neither heard nor saw. 
 
 Joseph stood by with bowed head; his lips 
 moved in prayer. 
 
 17 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Fetch a doctor, quick," said the officer. 
 
 Joseph hastened away. Near the hollow he 
 stopped. 
 
 "Father in heaven, have mercy! Have mercy, 
 Lord!" he cried. 
 
 Standing there in the shadow, with the sun 
 shining on his uplifted face and raised hands, 
 he looked like one of those rare paintings in 
 which a master hand has put the agony of the 
 whole world into the features of a Christ. A 
 moment he stood, as if listening to the echoes of 
 the prayer he had breathed, then he hastened 
 away, and all was still. 
 
 i8 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN INCIDENT. 
 
 The burial ground was on the road to the 
 beautiful town of Vlotzlavek, which was, at the 
 time the incidents in this story took place, a 
 centre for the meetings of the Polish nobles, 
 who, although continually harassed by the Rus- 
 sian police, continued their agitation for inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 On the very Friday on which Rachel was 
 struck down, a regiment of Russian soldiers 
 marched into the town, surrounded the great hall 
 in the Old Square, and there and then arrested 
 five hundred nobles. Many were at once sent to 
 Siberia, others were publicly flogged and sent to 
 the German frontier. A goodly number escaped 
 punishment, owing in part to their absence from 
 the meeting, but mainly because thev list of names 
 of the patriots had been lost. 
 
 Amongst those to whom fate had been partic- 
 ularly kind that Friday was the widow, Baroness 
 Levanovska, an ardent patriot, very wealthy and 
 very capricious, who lived at Castle Wysiniaski, 
 an old building of noble proportions. 
 
 The meeting of the nobles had been called for 
 an early hour, and the Baroness, seated in an 
 open barouche, was being driven to Vlotzlavek, 
 the road to which led through Dobrzyn and past 
 
 19 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 the old Jewish burial ground. 
 
 Suddenly a glint of light caught her eyes. 
 Ordering the carriage to stop, she took the reins 
 and told the driver to see what was going on at 
 the burial ground. He came back running and 
 terribly agitated. 
 
 "There is a Russian officer up there/' he whis- 
 pered. *'I think he has killed some one." 
 
 The Baroness threw him the reins and stepped 
 from the carriage. She walked briskly up the 
 incline to the gate and soon was bending over 
 the stricken girl. 
 
 "What has happened?" she asked. 
 
 "Has the Jew come with the doctor?" the offi- 
 cer inquired, staring like a madman. 
 
 "What has happened?'' the Baroness repeated. 
 
 "A terrible accident," he replied ; "bring help, 
 as you are a woman, I beg you, else she will 
 die." 
 
 "There is no time to be lost then; hurry and 
 carry her outside; my carriage is there and I 
 will take her home," said the Baroness. 
 
 He lifted the inanimate form of Rachel and 
 carried it down the incline. As he moved away, 
 the Baroness noticed a small white package on 
 the ground. She bent down, picked it up, and, 
 hiding it in her dress, followed. Having taken 
 her seat, she told the officer to place the girl by 
 her side, so that she might support her. Order- 
 ing the driver to take the garden road to the 
 Castle, she bade the officer hurry to the doctor 
 in Dobrzyn and tell him to come at once to Castle 
 
 20 
 
An Incident. 
 
 Wysiniaski. The officer looked up quickly. 
 
 "Baroness Levanovska, I presume?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; now go quickly and call the doctor," 
 she said. 
 
 "Pardon, madame la Baronne, it will be impos- 
 sible for me to do this; I must join my regi- 
 ment. Adieu, madame," he said, and walked 
 away. He ran to the graveyard, picked up his 
 sword, and as he buckled it on gazed after the 
 fast disappearing carriage. 
 
 "How unfortunate," he murmured; then his 
 brow clouded. "Curse that dog of a Jew," he 
 said and gritted his teeth. A moment later he 
 was on his horse and dashed away on the road 
 to Vlotzlavek. 
 
 Joseph and the doctor walked hurriedly to- 
 ward the burial place. In a few words he told 
 the physician what had happened ; but the latter 
 listened with but little attention. Joseph had 
 called him at the moment he was about to leave 
 for Vlotzlavek. But when Joseph mentioned 
 that the Pultava regiment was on its way to that 
 city, and that the officer was the colonel himself, 
 the doctor stood still. 
 
 "Are you sure the regiment is going to Vlotz- 
 lavek?" he asked. 
 
 "I am sure," said Joseph. "I saw them on the 
 road, and I heard the colonel himself say that 
 he was going to Vlotzlavek." 
 
 "Rather imprudent to tell everyone of his 
 movements," the doctor rejoined, and a smile 
 played on his lips. 
 
 21 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "It was so ordered; God be praised for all 
 things!" said Joseph. 
 
 "This matter of ordering has not been fully 
 settled by science; but, however it came about, 
 it was a very lucky arrangement. You have put 
 me in good humor; now let us hasten." 
 
 But Joseph stopped. 
 
 "There is the officer; he is riding to Vlotzla- 
 vek. Go quickly," said he, and walked away, 
 while the doctor hurried to intercept the carriage. 
 
 22 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOVE LETTERS. 
 
 "Will she live?" asked the Baroness eagerly, 
 when they had reached the Castle and the doctor 
 had examined Rachel's hurt. 
 
 "There are no vital organs affected ; but she 
 had a narrow escape. If no complications arise 
 she will be well in a month," said the doctor. 
 
 "You must try all means to prevent compli- 
 cations/' the Baroness rejoined. 
 
 The doctor gave her a quick look. 
 
 "Politics?" he asked, i 
 
 "Perhaps that and something else," she said 
 evasively. "I am interested in her." 
 
 "But I should like to know the reason for 
 this solicitude, providing it rests on political 
 grounds ; for others I do not care," he said. 
 
 "You may know both," said the Baroness, 
 "and the chances are you will care as much as I 
 do. To begin with, did you know that Dr. Lerko 
 was baptized a Greek Catholic?" 
 
 "I surmised it; otherwise he could not have 
 been a high military official in the Russian 
 army," the doctor replied. 
 
 "And did you know that his wife was a Cath- 
 olic, who lived as a Jewess, and was a baroness 
 in her own right?" she asked. 
 
 "That is certainly news," he rejoined. 
 
 23 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Yes, and I dare say you did not know that 
 Colonel de Prussnitzki of the Pultava regiment 
 was married to this young woman, who bore him 
 a child?" the Baroness continued, enjoying the 
 amazement of the doctor at this recital. 
 
 ''And how did you get behind all that so 
 quickly, dear Baroness?" be asked. 
 
 But she was bent on tantalizing him a little 
 longer. 
 
 **Nor did you know that some one had fur- 
 nished the Governor with a full list of names, 
 mine and yours included, of the people who 
 were to meet this morning at Vlotzlavek; and, 
 but for this girl, we might now be manacled and 
 on our way to Siberia," she said. 
 
 "I have received an inkling of this through 
 the young Jew who called me. But then, if there 
 be a list, which I greatly doubt, it is only a ques- 
 tion of time how soon the soldiers will be here," 
 the doctor said. "But, pray, tell me how did you 
 find out all about the Lerkos?" 
 
 "Read these letters ; they are marked, as you 
 see, according to numbers," she said, handing 
 him three letters. 
 
 He opened the first. 
 
 "Ah, French," he said, and this is what he 
 read: 
 
 "My Well-beloved! My Life! Dearest Vladi- 
 mir: 
 
 "It seems to me that a century has passed 
 since you left. I did not believe that there was 
 so much suffering in store for me; that life 
 
 24 
 
Love Letters. 
 
 would be so very dark as it has seemed since 
 you went away and I no longer can look into 
 your eyes and rest my head on your breast. The 
 sun has lost its brightness, the days are full of 
 gloom, and in my solitude I can only weep and 
 weep for my lost happiness. I love you, I love 
 you more than any being on earth, more than 
 my life, more than my soul and its salvation. I 
 love you, I love you ! 
 
 "There is indeed no grief so keen as to recall 
 in misfortune the happiness we once enjoyed. 
 Each time I think of the happy moments you 
 and I were together, beloved, I feel the most 
 poignant pain. 
 
 'T thank you for the exquisite sweetness of 
 love you have taught me, and I pray God that I 
 may die the moment doubt of your love for me 
 enters my soul; that would be to experience a 
 greater torture than I now suffer from your ab- 
 sence. 
 
 "I love to recall the moments of our first 
 meeting; when I saw you, love came to me like 
 the glory of the sunrise, waking my dormant 
 soul to a life it had never known. Each night, 
 while you and my father talked, my heart went 
 out to you for the gentle manner and respect 
 with which you treated him. It was at that time 
 I learnt that my father had been baptized in 
 the Greek Catholic faith, having been abducted 
 in childhood and educated in the Russian mili- 
 tary academy. Later, when invalided, he was 
 given permission to live in the city of Warsaw, 
 
 25 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 where he met the Baroness Gurakovska, my own 
 dear mother. At the time they met my father 
 was neither Jew nor Christian, and my mother 
 did not take rehgion into account with her love. 
 And yet my father had so strong a leaning to 
 his own people that he persuaded my mother to 
 be married according to Jewish rite. When they 
 finally came to this, his birthplace, to live, he as- 
 sociated with the old Jewish families as if re- 
 ligious differences had never existed. They of 
 course did not know of my mother's Christian 
 origin, and with the exception that people some- 
 times said she was "Gentile-like," no one 
 ever suspected that she was not a Jewess by 
 birth. My father's position did not admit of any 
 severe criticism on the part of the Jewish com- 
 munity ; they looked upon him as one with whom 
 it was well to be circumspect, as they often 
 sought and always received his help. 
 
 "My parents lavished their entire affection on 
 me, their only child. My father taught me the 
 sciences, and my mother languages. She often 
 told me that I must be accomplished, as some day 
 she would take me to see my aunt, who, she said, 
 held a high position in Warsaw. 
 
 "Then you came. 
 
 "Oh, how every nerve in my body thrills when 
 I think of that day. Lover of my soul, how was 
 it possible not to love you, and how could I re- 
 sist the wondrous charm of your words when 
 you told me you loved me? They rang in my 
 soul like the rarest harmonies, and I yielded. 
 26 
 
Love Letters. 
 
 "Beloved, do you remember the little church 
 in Belsk, where I vowed to love you all the days 
 of my life? Perhaps it was a sin not to marry 
 according to the laws of my faith, for I am a 
 Jewess, but God is the Father of all, and the love 
 He gives He Himself has sanctified. I knew 
 and felt it when I gave myself to you, my lover, 
 my husband. 
 
 "I know you will come back to me, but I pray 
 God that it be soon, for I cannot live without 
 you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 
 
 "I have named a beautiful rose bush in our 
 garden, 'Vladimir.' Daily, when I go to water 
 it, I kiss the leaves and the buds. I break none, 
 because it seems to me that it would hurt you 
 if I broke one. 
 
 "I send you my heart and my love. I kiss you 
 with the tenderest and most passionate kisses. I 
 kiss your eyes and your soft lips. My lover, do 
 you not feel the warmth of my embrace, the 
 beating of my heart? You surely must, for my 
 life is bound up with yours. I cannot think of 
 myself as living without your love. I know not 
 how to worship my God better than by breathing 
 your name and asking a blessing upon our love. 
 
 "I live in the atmosphere your love has created 
 for me; waking, your name is on my lips, and 
 sleeping I dream of you, my beloved, my life. I 
 feel that deeper than the sea, higher than heaven, 
 and stronger than death, is the love of 
 
 "Your 
 
 "Rachelka." 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 When the doctor had finished reading he 
 looked at the Baroness in speechless wonder- 
 ment. 
 
 "I thought you would be interested," said she. 
 
 "Interested!" he cried. "Why, this is the 
 rarest love letter I ever read in all my life, and 
 he a Russian." 
 
 "A woman's heart cares for nothing else when 
 it loves; it does not stop to analyze," the Bar- 
 oness rejoined. 
 
 "It seems so," said the doctor. "But let us 
 see what follows," and, opening the second let- 
 ter, he read: 
 
 "Adored Vladimir: 
 
 "Four months have passed; an eternity, it 
 seems to me. I have not heard from you, yet I 
 write again. I know that you are on duty and 
 may be hindered from writing; still I must 
 write ; I must free my soul from the pressure 
 that fate has laid on it. Not that I doubt your 
 love, but I am sad because you are away. I long 
 for you with a passion for which I can find no 
 words. 
 
 "I am orphaned now, my father having died 
 suddenly on the very night I sent my first letter 
 to you. A few days after, the Burgomaster's 
 wife brought me the news that your regiment 
 was ordered to the Caucasus for the manoeuvres. 
 This knowledge came over me like a pall. For 
 weeks I was like one in a dream, a dreadful 
 dream, and, despite my mother's effort to engage 
 28 
 
Love Letters. 
 
 my attention in work, study, or conversation, I 
 could not rid myself of the terrible pressure that 
 held my heart as in a vice. As if my sufferings 
 were not great enough, an attempt was made to 
 make them greater. 
 
 "One day a man — a professional matchmaker 
 — came to see my mother and told her that he 
 had made all the necessary arrangements to be- 
 troth me to the son of a rich man from Plotzk, 
 who had arrived in town. I nearly fainted. 
 When I regained my self-possession^ I told the 
 man that I would not marry any one. 
 
 " 'Not marry !' he cried. 'Jewish girls must 
 marry; it is the law.' 
 
 " *But I don't want to marry, and I don't love 
 the man,' I said. 
 
 " 'Love, love!' he cried. 'What is love? Who 
 wants love? We are not Gentiles, whose acts 
 spring from the evil passions of their hearts. We 
 marry because it is the law and a woman must 
 marry.' 
 
 "My poor mother winced at his speech ; I saw 
 that she was afraid. But my heart rebelled. I 
 told him I did not want to marry and went from 
 the room. 
 
 "The man stayed a while, then I saw him 
 leave. He appeared very angry. I did not mind 
 this, for I took no more heed of his words than 
 of a flitting fly. However, the excitement made 
 me ill. I went back to mother and, lying in her 
 arms, I soon fell asleep. 
 
 "And even while I was sleeping, it seemed to 
 29 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 me that I heard my mother weep. I opened my 
 eyes, and my mother's tears were falHng fast. I 
 threw my arms about her neck and begged her 
 not to sadden herself because I did not want to 
 marry. But she cried more keenly while her 
 slender white hand soothed my aching head. 
 
 " 'My little dove, my own,' she said, 'you need 
 not marry if you do not wish, but tell your own 
 mother, Rachelka, do you love any man, my own 
 lamb, tell me, do you?' 
 
 "I threw myself at her feet and told her my 
 heart's secret. 
 
 "And as I spoke there came a great ringing in 
 my ears, the blood rushed to my head, I felt as 
 if I were lifted by unseen hands into space, and 
 I saw myself lying at my mother's feet. Around 
 me I seemed to see a group of celestial beings 
 who pointed at an object so beautiful, so wonder- 
 ful that from it a glory seemed to shine over all 
 the world. At this a great yearning to see 
 seized me, and, descending among the angels, I 
 asked them to tell me the mystery. 
 
 " It is thy child,' they said in chorus, and the 
 music of their words was re-echoed throughout 
 the entire universe, so high and holy is the first 
 step of motherhood. 
 
 "Oh, my beloved Vladimir, I did not know 
 that I had become pregnant with life until my 
 mother's eyes, keener than my knowledge, until 
 her tears, as merciful as love itself, revealed to 
 me the holy secret. 
 
 30 
 
Love Letters. 
 
 "But she wept and sighed and told me she 
 feared evil days were in store for me. 
 
 "I am glad, however ; for God surely gave me 
 this great blessing to make my heart joyous. 
 May He bring you back to me, beloved, for I 
 need your strength and your support. 
 
 "Your own for life and beyond, 
 
 "Rachelka." 
 
 31 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVE LETTERS CONTINUED. 
 
 The doctor's excitement was so intense that 
 he did not venture any comment. He hastily 
 opened the third letter and read : 
 
 "Vladimir: 
 
 "I write this letter in a garret. I am in hiding ; 
 have been in hiding for weeks. I am without 
 the means to get away from this town. I dare 
 not come forth to claim my own property, as 
 there is not a person of influence among the Jews 
 in this town who would stand by me to see that 
 I am not molested. Were it not for one who 
 has been as a brother to me, I should have ended 
 this miserable existence. 
 
 "Now, alas, I recall with pain and remorse the 
 vvords of my poor mother when she told me that 
 days of evil were in store for me. The evil is 
 here and the days have become one long night 
 as dark as my soul, as chill as my heart. 
 
 "I do not live in the present; the present is 
 grief, so keen that it often seems I must die of 
 its sheer keeness. Yet I am fated to live. Why ? 
 I can see no glint of future happiness. Every- 
 thing appears to me like a dream. You, in whom 
 I placed sutpreme confidence, are far, far away. 
 Is your soul, too, far away? Have you read my 
 
 3a 
 
Love Letters Continued. 
 
 letters that I sent to Plotzk to be forwarded? 
 Will you read this? Will you have pity on the 
 girl who trusted you, or can it be that you do 
 not love me? I shall not believe so horrible a 
 thought. Let this letter witness my faith in you, 
 my husband. Perhaps, when you read the suf- 
 ferings I have undergone, you will hasten to 
 me. 
 
 "I wrote you in my last letter how I was made 
 aware that motherhood awaited me. The days 
 that followed were of ineffable bliss. I tried to 
 measure my capacity for affection for that life 
 which was part of myself, but it seemed limit- 
 less. 
 
 "When my condition could no longer be con- 
 cealed, our misery began. I could not leave the 
 house without fear of being molested by the 
 Jewish children and old women. My mother, 
 who felt the distress more keenly than I, grew 
 weaker from day to day. I was less affected by 
 their jeers. I had done nothing wrong. I was 
 the wife of one not of my faith, but somehow 
 my conscience did not smite me. I even grew 
 more joyous as the days passed, and my joy 
 spread its calming influence. Even the urchins 
 and the cantankerous old women, as they passed 
 our house, seemed to feel the contagion of our 
 gladsomeness. 
 
 "One day, as I sat at the piano — for my music 
 soothed me strangely — there came upon me 
 something like a flash of fire that seemed to en- 
 velope me and burn me to the very heart. My 
 
 33 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 fingers, running over the keys, played music no 
 master had composed, notes that sounded defi- 
 ance to earthly sorrow and sadness. Every 
 minute a million-voiced chorus seemed to sing 
 an anthem that rolled on in great waves of music, 
 and with each stirring of the precious life within 
 me, my very soul thrilled in rapturous response. 
 
 ''I was carried away in a whirl of the most in- 
 tense emotion ; I was keyed up to the highest 
 pitch of that mysterious joy that is as much be- 
 yond human understanding as some rare colors 
 are beyond the capacity of human vision, or some 
 acutie notes in music beyond the grasp of human 
 hearing. So intense had this joy become, it so 
 thrilled and lifted me, it so embraced me, that 
 while my fingers still moved on the keys of the 
 piano, it forced one bitter cry from me, one ago- 
 nized call, and then I felt myself falling, falling 
 into cool and still space. 
 
 "When I awoke I was on my bed, a woman 
 was bending over me, and my mother was 
 fondling my hand, upon which her tears were 
 falling. The momentary relaxation felt so sweet 
 that I abandoned myself fully, thinking nothing, 
 feeling nothing, desiring nothing. Gradually 
 there came a slow concentration, physical and 
 mental. I began to think of you, to long for 
 you ; I desired to be happy, to be free of pain, 
 and as my mind centred upon these thoughts, I 
 heard again the great volume of music; the 
 whole universe seemed full of melodv — so full 
 
 34 
 
Love Letiers Continued. 
 
 that I felt the tension could last no longer and 
 that it must burst and go to pieces. 
 
 "Sounds seemed to start from my feet and 
 run with quick, sharp notes up to my heart, 
 thence to my brain. My body felt like a harp 
 over which the tense nerves were strung, to be 
 struck from time to time by a giant hand with 
 passionate force. And each time it smote the 
 world was filled with so mighty a harmony that 
 I was forced to cry out with ecstasy. Then there 
 came a rush of sound in which all joy and all 
 grief were mingled; it overpowered me, and 
 with a lingering cry I sank into darkness and 
 silence. 
 
 "How long this silence lasted I do not know, 
 but when I opened my eyes the intensity of the 
 feeling had given way to a calm and profound 
 peace; in my arms lay all the world — our child. 
 
 "I cannot recall every thought that passed 
 through my brain when I heard its first cry. I 
 know I thought of you with infinite sweetness 
 of gratitude, and prayed God to bring you back 
 to me, that I might put into your arms the holi- 
 est token of our love, the dear son I bore you. 
 
 "My mother sat by my side. She kissed my 
 hand and hot tears fell from her eyes. 
 
 "Why did she weep? Alas, I found out later 
 why she wept. 
 
 "Eight days after the child's birth, they came 
 to perform the rite of circumcision, which, my 
 mother said, would cause the Jewish community 
 to pardon my sin. 
 
 35 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "My sin ! I was not conscious of any sin and 
 desired no forgiveness. But my inexperience in 
 the ways of the world and the prejudices of men 
 was too great to let me judge of the conse- 
 quences of what was deemed my crime. 
 
 **Soon, however, I forgot everything in adora- 
 tion of my treasure. It was lovely to look at. 
 Then of a sudden it fell ill, and, even as I looked 
 at it, it began to fade away. Three months after 
 its birth, the last vestige of my happiness passed 
 out of my life; my child died, and as they 
 grudged it honor even in death, it was buried 
 near the wall of the cemetery. 
 
 "On my return from the graveyard, a band of 
 boys and girls met me. They hooted and jeered, 
 they called me vile names, they threw mud at 
 me, they beat me, pulled my hair and tore my 
 clothes. 
 
 "Wild with grief and torture, I ran, ran, to- 
 ward the river. I wanted to end a life that held 
 no joy. 
 
 "As I rushed down the hill to the water, a 
 young man standing near it spread out his arms 
 and barred my way. 
 
 "What are you about?' he asked. 
 
 " 'Let me go, oh, let me go ! They will kill 
 me!' I cried. 
 
 " 'They will not,' he said. Turn and go home, 
 Rachel. You must be brave. God has put a 
 burden upon you and you must bear it for your 
 mother's sake.' 
 
 "His words quieted me wonderfully. He was 
 
 36 
 
Love Letters Continued. 
 
 the under-sexton of the Synagogue. I had seen 
 him often, for he came to our house every Friday 
 afternoon rattling a tin box into which my 
 mother used to throw a few coppers. I had 
 never noticed him particularly, but now, as he 
 spoke to me, I felt an awe in his presence. He 
 seemed like one I had never known until this 
 moment. He looked so strong in his manhood, 
 yet so pale and so spiritual, so much of a man 
 and so much more like an angel, that my soul 
 sank in humility and obedience to him. 
 
 " *I will go home if you say I must,' I said. 
 
 " *Go home, and peace be with you. The pain 
 that man gives is as nothing to the pain that 
 comes from one's own heart and conscience,' he 
 said. 
 
 "I went back. But no sooner did I enter the 
 street than I was met by a mob of young and 
 old. Oh, the tortures that I endured ! At length 
 I made my way to our house, and there, alas, a 
 greater misfortune awaited me. Unable to sate 
 its fury on me, the mob had besieged the house. 
 They called my mother vile names and threw 
 mud and stones at the windows. I found my 
 mother on the floor; she was unconscious and 
 blood streamed from her mouth. 
 
 "My cries for help brought several persons to 
 the house, amongst them the Jewish barber who 
 had been a surgeon's assistant during the war. 
 He pronounced her dead. At this, the women 
 fell to cursing me, saying I had killed my mother 
 by my disgrace. I took no notice of their curses ; 
 
 37 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 grief had dulled my senses, and when, on the 
 following day, they took away the body, they 
 warned me not to follow it to the grave. 
 
 "But when all of them were in the Synagogue, 
 I stealthily made my way to the burial ground. 
 All night I wept at the grave, and prayed the 
 dear one to take me to her. Frequently I thought 
 of going down to the river to end my life; but 
 each time the words of Joseph rang in my ears, 
 'God has put a burden upon you and you must 
 bear it.' 
 
 " 'But they make my life miserable beyond en- 
 durance,' I would argue. Then I seemed to hear 
 him say, 'The pain that man gives is as nothing 
 to the pain that comes from one's own heart and 
 conscience.' 
 
 "Alas, my conscience did smite me then. But 
 I silenced it, and in deepest agony I cried out, 
 'Punish me. Lord, chastise me, only bring me 
 back my lover, my husband.' 
 
 "Thus I wailed until the sun broke forth and 
 all around me appeared as if bathed in flame. 
 Then came the grave-digger's wife. 
 
 " 'Panna Rachelka ! As I love God, it is my 
 mistress, the Panna Rachelka ! Oh, you are cold ! 
 Come into the house. I will give you a glass of 
 tea,' she cried, and taking me in her arms as if 
 I were a child, she carried me into the house and 
 put me to bed. She gave me tea to drink, and 
 then I fell into a dull sleep. 
 
 "When I awoke it was late in the afternoon. 
 I rose quickly and, giving the children a few 
 
 38 
 
Love Letters Continued. 
 
 coppers, I went away. Ill luck would have it 
 that the Jews just then came from the Syna- 
 gogue. In a moment they surrounded me. 
 
 " 'Rachel, Rachel, will you have a soldier ?' 
 they shouted ; look at the brazen-faced harlot ! 
 Kill her, drive her into the river! Renegade! 
 Harlot! Unclean beast!' 
 
 "They cuffed and kicked me, they bespattered 
 me with mud, they pulled my hair, until I sank 
 to the ground. I prayed God to forgive me my 
 sins ; I was ready to die. But He would not have 
 it so, and in my supreme distress sent me a 
 saviour. Joseph, pushing through the crowd, 
 placed himself in front of me. 
 
 " 'Go away !' he cried ; 'if she be guilty, she 
 will answer to God. Are you so good that you 
 have the right to punish those whom you deem 
 bad? Go away!' 
 
 " 'Hear the beggar,' they cried. *He insults 
 the community that supports him. Give it to 
 him!' 
 
 "At this there came a perfect storm of mud, 
 sticks and stones. He bent over me to protect 
 me, and I know that he was struck several times. 
 
 " 'Come, Rachel, we must run. They are mad 
 and are not accountable for their acts. If we 
 stay we may cause them to commit murder,' he 
 said. 
 
 "And so I got up, and, under cover of his 
 body, ran with him. As we ran, I heard the 
 voice of Kaminski, the policeman, but we did not 
 turn. A few moments later I was at the widow 
 
 39 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Rosen's little cottage, and, no sooner was I in- 
 side than all became dark before my eyes. When 
 I came to myself Joseph took me to his mother's 
 room. 
 
 " 'Mother dear, this is Rachel, the doctor's 
 daughter; she is in distress.' 
 
 "My nerves were so unstrung that I broke out 
 sobbing. 
 
 " 'Poor child, they have ill-treated you,' she 
 said. *Ah, man is more cruel in his judgment 
 than God would have him be.' 
 
 "Her words brought the whole burden of my 
 misery before me. Cruel! Ah, yes, man is 
 cruel; but is God kind? Why had He taken 
 everything my soul cherished? In sheer agony 
 I cried out : 'I am miserable, miserable !' 
 
 " 'Rachel, there are people in this world more 
 miserable than you,' said Joseph. 
 
 " 'Impossible ; what creature could be more 
 wretched than I am?' 
 
 " Those who threw mud and stones at you a 
 few moments ago,' he said. 
 
 "At these words a light came into my soul, and 
 I was made to understand. My tears ceased to 
 flow and a sudden lightness buoyed me up. 
 
 " 'God bless you, Joseph,' I said ; 'I will try to 
 be strong.' 
 
 " 'It is well to remember that God's mercy is 
 without end. Whether you have sinned or not, 
 it is not for man to judge. However great your 
 fault, God's mercy is greater. Rest here or next 
 door. Aunt Leah will give you the garret. No 
 40 
 
Love Letters Continued. 
 
 one will look for you there. Aunt Leah is dis- 
 creet and she will see to your comfort/ he said, 
 and left the room. 
 
 "My heart bowed in humility to God for this 
 marvelous salvation, and in deep thankfulness I 
 kissed the hand of the blind woman. 
 
 " Tear nothing, little one,' said she, pressing 
 me to her bosom; *my son will protect you. 
 God's grace is upon him and his words are as 
 the words of a saint.' 
 
 "I glanced around the room of the woman who 
 was reputed to be so very poor that her son was 
 not given the advantage even of a Hebrew edu- 
 cation, and I was astonished at what I saw. 
 There was a big bookcase filled with volumes 
 which were not all in Hebrew, as I could see by 
 the inscriptions on the backs. Who read these 
 books in the widow's house? Involuntarily I 
 compared what my eyes beheld and what my ears 
 had heard of the young man's utterances, and 
 the mystery deepened. 
 
 "But I have since learned much about him, 
 and although he has warned me that my love 
 may lead me to great unhappiness, he has never 
 blamed me. 
 
 "I have been here a little over a week, and 
 when I am alone, as I am now, the gloomiest 
 thoughts assail me, and I feel wretched, oh, so 
 very wretched! 
 
 "To-night I am more downcast than ever. It 
 seems to me that I am doomed to pass away 
 without joy. I feel that there will be no re- 
 
 41 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 sponse to this, my cry in distress, and that I shall 
 be left in the dreary silence that saps away my 
 life. But I hope against hope that God will in- 
 spire you to redeem from torture the soul of 
 "Your loving 
 
 "Rachelka." 
 
 When the doctor had finished reading, he held 
 the letters for some time in his hands, and 
 glanced again at the written pages. 
 
 "What do you think of them?" asked the 
 Baroness. 
 
 "I am thinking of the man who could be so 
 callous as to leave them unanswered," said he. 
 
 "He did not see these letters until a day or 
 two ago; they were addressed to his club in 
 Plotzk, and were not forwarded," the Baroness 
 rejoined. 
 
 "How do you know?" he asked. 
 
 "By his own memorandum. The package of 
 letters and his private notes slipped from his 
 pocket, probably as he bent down to aid the girl. 
 Here is the memorandum," she said, handing 
 him a long slip of thin paper. As he read, his 
 face became ghastly pale. When he had fin- 
 ished he said : 
 
 "Fate has been exceedingly kind to us. The 
 girl saved you, and the young Jew, Joseph, 
 saved me ; such services cannot be esteemed too 
 highly. I shall henceforth be a little more at- 
 tentive to the young man." 
 
 42 
 
Love Letters Continued. 
 
 "I wonder what he looks like," said the 
 Baroness. 
 
 A groan from the adjoining room prevented 
 an answer; the doctor sprang up, and went 
 quickly to his patient. A moment later, a ser- 
 vant handed the Baroness a note. 
 
 "A soldier on horseback brought it, your lady- 
 ship, and rode off at once." 
 
 "Baroness" (she read on opening the note) : 
 "You must have picked up a package of papers 
 that slipped from my pocket in the graveyard. I 
 clearly remember that you were behind me when 
 I carried away the girl. I also remember to 
 have seen your name on the list of rebels. As 
 this is the only list, you are safe. Let it be your 
 reward for your kindness to the Jewess. She 
 was to me more than a passing fancy. If she is 
 unhappy, conditions are at fault, not I." 
 
 The note bore no signature. The Baroness 
 struck a match and burned the paper. 
 
 "This note, if I sent it to Warsaw, would 
 mean a trip to Siberia, or worse, for its writer; 
 but a service for a service. We are quits," she 
 said. 
 
 43 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 Joseph Rosen was a disappointed man. Not 
 that he manifested anything of the sort in speech 
 or manner, for there was no meeker soul than 
 his in the world. But fate had tricked him. The 
 fickle jade had shown him, through a chink in 
 the Wall of Opportunity, glimpses of beautiful 
 vistas and of cooling fountains at which the 
 tired and weary travelers in the vast desert of 
 this world might quench their thirst; then this 
 glimpse was suddenly obscured, and his life was 
 wrapped in a deep gloom through which his un- 
 daunted soul groped ; and though now and again, 
 from that inner self that is said to be part of 
 God, there came a spark that brightened the path 
 of some other saddened soul, it seemed to give 
 no warmth to his own. 
 
 His life was not happily conditioned; that is, 
 he was born to poverty and no change seemed 
 ever possible. He was to be poor and unpitied, 
 for the poor, despite the adage, seldom have 
 sympathy with the poor. The statement that 
 generous hearts go with empty pockets must be 
 taken with a multitude of qualifications. 
 
 In the town where he lived there was poverty, 
 but not of the pitiable kind. It was not the sor- 
 did, degrading poverty that disgusts. It was in- 
 born, hereditary. Men were poor because they 
 
 44 
 
Joseph. 
 
 were descended from generations of poor people. 
 Those that defied fate and broke the rule were 
 not respected even in their wealth. The "newly- 
 rich" might show a brazen front to the old kind, 
 they might buy power; they could not buy re- 
 spect. 
 
 There was, one might say, an aristocracy of 
 poverty in Dobrzyn. Those that peddled small 
 goods amongst the peasants and those that 
 bought farm produce for the rich merchants, 
 were equally sure of their position in Poordomj 
 they knew what they were; their standing was 
 indisputable. 
 
 No one complained. Whatever they had to 
 complain of was told in their prayers, with 
 sighs and groans, to God. As for telling one 
 another that there was no meat in the Sabbath 
 pot, or no freshly baked bread for the Sabbath 
 table, that was entirely out of the question. 
 
 They were virtuous, and the devil does not 
 hate holy water more keenly than they hated an 
 unvirtuous person. Their children, if bred in 
 filth, were born in wedlock. Their women, if 
 they sometimes made comparisons, never ran 
 off with Russian soldiers. Heaven forbid! 
 
 This aristocracy lived in Back Street, the dirti- 
 est street in the town. Behind Back Street were 
 beautiful gardens; behind these were broad 
 fields and long rows of thatched granaries, and 
 between the fields ran the great road, lined with 
 high poplar trees, to the city of Plotzk. There 
 was sadness, poverty and filth in Back Street, 
 
 45 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 and beauty and the joy of nature behind it. 
 
 It was in this street and under these circum- 
 stances that Joseph lived. Here his father, also 
 poor, was born, and here he died when Joseph 
 was little more than an infant. 
 
 Of his relatives he knew only that his mother's 
 brother, Daniel Horovitz, an ambitious and 
 learned youth, had gone away and was never 
 heard of again; and that his father's brother 
 Max, a genius, had emigrated to America. The 
 virtuous in Poordom joined to their vitriolic ob- 
 servations a few blasting curses upon the head 
 of the apostate who had left the land of his birth 
 to go to the land of the heathen, where observ- 
 ance of the Jewish ritual was impossible. 
 
 Joseph had indeed heard that his mother ex- 
 pected help from this very heretic uncle who, it 
 was said, was quite wealthy, but the years went 
 by and no help came; and Joseph thought of 
 nothing save the uplifting of his own soul. 
 
 He manifested this ardent desire when quite 
 young. He wanted to know. But his mother's 
 poverty was so dire that she could not afford to 
 send him to the Hebrew school, so she herself 
 taught him to read the Hebrew prayers. This 
 was not enough for the ambitious lad, who was 
 then five years of age and envied the other chil- 
 dren as he saw them going to school. He felt 
 they were going to be great scholars while he 
 would be ignorant. 
 
 He wept and kept up his unreasonable request 
 to be sent to the Jewish school. Then the 
 
 46 
 
Joseph. 
 
 mother's heart, tortured with exquisite pain that 
 she could not grant her child's plea, fell upon a 
 pious subterfuge. She told him to go to a corner 
 and pray God earnestly every day to send her the 
 means for his education. 
 
 Joseph took the matter very seriously, and 
 prayed for hours every day. Frequently at night 
 he would get up, and, going to the comer, would 
 pray and weep. But, for a long time, there 
 seemed to be no heed to this rare supplication. 
 
 One thing, however, resulted from this insist- 
 ence on heavenly thoughts. Though the boy 
 grew paler from day to day, upon his face and 
 form there seemed to be poured out something 
 that made one think of the angels in heaven. 
 His speech, too, became changed ; his words 
 were those of one who had received a measure 
 of divine wisdom and of the perfect knowledge of 
 things. 
 
 One day he went to his mother, and, putting 
 his hands on hers, said: "Mother, God has 
 shown me the way to study His law. I will go 
 to Reb (Rabbi) Moise Libe and ask him to 
 teach me." 
 
 "Oh, my dear child," said she, almost terrified 
 by his words. "Reb Mose Libe is a great schol- 
 ar, and he would not think of teaching a little 
 child." 
 
 "I will ask him. Have you not read to me 
 that it is commanded to observe the law and to 
 teach it, and must he not teach the law, when he 
 
 47 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 is asked, to those who do not know it? I will 
 go and ask him," he said. 
 
 What reply could she make to so strange and 
 so definite a purpose? She pressed him to her 
 heart and told him to go, bidding God's blessing 
 go with him. 
 
 Reb Moise Libe, who devoted his life to the 
 study of Rabbinic literature, was seated at his 
 table bent over a large folio volume of the 
 Talmud, when the door opened and the little 
 searcher after knowledge entered. Thinking 
 that the boy had been sent with a ritualistic 
 question such as he was often called upon to 
 decide, the Rabbi smilingly asked, 
 
 "Well, my son, what is it?" 
 
 "Rabbi," said Joseph, and awe robbed his 
 mind of the words he had prepared. 
 
 Seeing the child's hesitation, the Rabbi rose 
 and asked him to come nearer and tell him what 
 he wanted. 
 
 "Rabbi, I want to learn, I want to know the 
 holy Law." 
 
 The Rabbi made a quick movement. 
 
 "What?" he cried, "you want to learn, to learn, 
 and you come to me ?" 
 
 "Yes, Rabbi, to learn and to know." 
 
 The Rabbi put his hand to his forehead, his 
 lips moved as if in prayer; then he strode up 
 to the boy. 
 
 "You — you want to learn ? Who are you, my 
 child?" he cried, his fine face reddening with 
 evident emotion. 
 
 48 
 
Joseph. 
 
 "I am the widow Rosen's son. My mother 
 has taught me to read Hebrew, but I want to 
 learn the Law and the Talmud, and I told her I 
 would ask you,'* said Joseph. 
 
 'Terhaps your mother told you to go?" the 
 Rabbi asked. 
 
 **She told me that you were a learned man 
 and would not think of teaching a child; but I 
 said that it was commanded to learn and to 
 teach, and that you would teach me if I asked," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 "Your faith is great and it shall not fail you, 
 my son. Well has Rabbi Judah, the Prince, said, 
 'disturb not the teaching of the young, not even 
 for the sake of rebuilding the holy Temple.' 
 May God bless you, and cause your life to be a 
 blessing to mankind. I will teach you every 
 evening." 
 
 "I told my mother you would," the boy cried 
 exultingly. 
 
 "Yes, with the help of God; but you must 
 promise me that in the daytime, for some hours 
 at least, you will run about in the free air. Jump 
 and play and get strong, for those who take upon 
 themselves the burden of the Law must be strong, 
 both in body and in mind. Go home, my son, and 
 come back here this evening,'' said the Rabbi. 
 
 To the little cottage in Back street there came 
 that afternoon a joy so great and so ineffable 
 that the poor widow, usually so sad, laughed 
 and cried and prayed as she kissed, with a ten- 
 derness not unmixed with awe, the child that had 
 
 49 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 brought her this joy, for she had a prescience of 
 his greatness although she could give it no ex- 
 pression. 
 
 For six years Joseph had the attention of the 
 gentle Rabbi, and at the end of that time they 
 were more like fellow students than master and 
 pupil, so well had Joseph profited by the Rabbi's 
 teaching. !< •'•^«j 
 
 The outside world had no inkling of this, for 
 being most of the time out of doors and not 
 attendng any school, the boy was not considered 
 of any consequence. Then, too, he never went 
 near the Talmud academy where the youths of 
 his own age, advanced in study, were to be found. 
 He was not even considered a good Jew, for he 
 was constantly seen in the fields with the labor- 
 ers, working with them, ploughing, harrowing or 
 assisting in the harvest. Sometimes he was 
 working at the grain elevators, carrying heavy 
 sacks of wheat ; sometimes disporting himself in 
 the waters of the river, for he was an expert 
 swimmer. By degrees he became unusually 
 strong and developed a splendid physique. 
 
 Of a sudden a new idea possessed him. He 
 wanted to study subjects other than Hebrew lore. 
 He thought of going to the public school, but 
 he was past the school age, and he knew no one 
 who would teach him. At times he thought of 
 confiding his desire to Doctor Lerko, Rachel's 
 father. But the doctor's family was classed as 
 the very highest in the town and he was afraid 
 the doctor would drive him away with a sneer of 
 
 50 
 
Joseph. 
 
 contempt. Educated Jews in Poland have a con- 
 tempt for the uneducated, and if the uneducated 
 happen to be poor, they regard them as animals 
 that have no right to higher aims or higher pur- 
 poses in life. 
 
 Fate came to his assistance. He was lying 
 in the field one day when the aged priest, Father 
 Cohanoski, a former university professor, spoke 
 to him. 
 
 Joseph sprang up and gave a ready answer in 
 Polish, which he had learned from the laborers, 
 for the Jews amongst themselves speak a mis- 
 erable German jargon. 
 
 "Ah, you speak Polish, that is good. Can you 
 read and write?" asked the priest. 
 
 "No, but I should very much like to know 
 how," Joseph replied. 
 
 "Why did you not go to the Polish school?" 
 asked the priest, seating himself on a rude bench 
 by the wayside. 
 
 At this Joseph, in quick, concise speech, told 
 him his story, and the interest of the priest in- 
 creased as he listened. 
 
 "What plan have you, what would you like 
 to be?" asked the priest when the boy had fin- 
 ished. 
 
 "A physician,'* said Joseph without hesitation. 
 
 "You have set yourself a very high aim, con- 
 sidering that you have not reached even the low- 
 est rung on the ladder; but we may try. If 
 you are apt you might in a couple of years be 
 ready to enter the high school, which would 
 
 51 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 mean many years of hard study there ; and then, 
 many years more at the university. Are you 
 wilHng to undergo all these hardships of study 
 for a career which affords but a scanty income at 
 the beginning?" 
 
 "I am, Fa3ier, even if I have to live on bread 
 and water all the years while I study," said 
 Joseph. 
 
 "That will not be necessary. You shall re- 
 ceive a stipend sufficient to cover your personal 
 wants. You would not care to become a Catholic 
 priest?" the old man asked, looking straight at 
 the boy. The latter shrank back terrified. 
 
 "No, no," he cried. 
 
 "Fear nothing," said the priest, putting his 
 hand on the boy's shoulder, "you shall not be 
 asked to do anything against your wish." 
 
 "When may I come?" asked Joseph, in whose 
 eyes shone the gladness of his heart. 
 
 "If you wish, to-morrow," said the priest, and 
 went away. 
 
 When Joseph entered his humble home that 
 afternoon he actually sang. 
 
 "What blessings have come to my dear son?" 
 asked his mother. 
 
 "Ah, mother dear, God gives blessings to His 
 creatures far in excess of what they deserve. 
 I am going to study with Father Cohanoski to- 
 morrow, so as to learn something of things other 
 than Hebrew," he said. 
 
 "Come here, my dear son, and tell your own 
 mother — at what price will Father Cohanoski 
 
 52 
 
Joseph. 
 
 teach you?" she asked, taking hold of his hand. 
 
 "Dearest, at the same price that Reb Moise 
 Libe taught me, at the same price that all im- 
 selfish and great men do everything for the wel- 
 fare of their fellow creatures," he replied. 
 
 ''Did he not ask? Did he not make some 
 suggestion?" she persisted. 
 
 *'He did, but I told him that I did not want 
 to become a renegade, and he told me that I 
 should not be asked to do anything against my 
 will," was Joseph's reply, which satisfied his 
 mother fully. When on the day following he 
 went to the priest's house, she tenderly kissed 
 him and asked God's blessing on his work. 
 
 During the first week or two the priest was 
 often disheartened ; the elements of the new work 
 appeared so strange and bewildering to Joseph 
 that his mind refused to grasp them. No sooner, 
 however, were the first difficulties overcome and 
 the rudiments mastered, than the wonderful 
 mind of the youth came into play. His studies 
 with Reb Moise Libe had taught him how to 
 learn. At the end of three years the priest de- 
 clared him ripe for the university examinations, 
 and told Joseph to get ready to go with him to 
 Warsaw. 
 
 However, one Sunday, as the priest was put- 
 ting on his vestments for high mass, he was 
 stricken down by paralysis and died in the 
 church. 
 
 An unspeakable sadness fell upon Joseph ; from 
 that day onward, he became strangely silent, and 
 
 53 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 with the exception of his master, Reb Moise 
 Libe, he would communicate with no one. His 
 health, too, would have suffered but for his pas- 
 sion for swimming and the work he did in the 
 garden. But there was also another stimulus 
 to his life in the fact that he was forced to 
 make a living for himself and his blind mother. 
 Formerly she had supported him by sewing, and 
 during the time he studied with the priest the 
 stipend he received was more than enough for 
 both, but now he was entirely without means. 
 He began to cast about, and at length was sent 
 by one of the small traders to buy up some farm 
 produce, but he was no adept in the petty trickery 
 which is the mainspring of success in such busi- 
 ness. 
 
 When Simon, the old under-sexton, died, Reb 
 Moise Libe saw an opening for his young friend. 
 He canvassed the elders of the synagogue, and 
 as he commanded some influence, obtained the 
 position for him. Joseph's life, however, had 
 been lonely and monotonous until Rachel was 
 thrust in his way, and he realised a new duty in 
 protecting her. 
 
 54 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 Six weeks had passed since Rachel, desperate- 
 ly wounded, had been taken to Castle Wysiniaski. 
 Her recovery was more rapid than was at first 
 expected when fever had set in. Baroness Lev- 
 anovska had taken a great fancy to the girl and 
 spent many hours at her bedside. 
 
 The broken sentences Rachel had uttered dur- 
 ing her illness and much that she had afterwards 
 told the Baroness about Joseph, aroused a keen 
 desire on the Baroness' part to know this man, 
 although in her mind she pictured an image of 
 him that was entirely unlike the real Joseph. 
 
 She thought of him as one of superior char- 
 acter, but hardly of the class to be spoken to by 
 one of her rank except in tones of command. 
 What pleased a girl like Rachel, however well- 
 born she might be, could not possibly be accept- 
 able to the Baroness Levanovska. 
 
 "I must be growing stupid," she would say, 
 breaking off from her reveries to laugh at her- 
 self. "Why, I believe I shall soon be letting my 
 thoughts dwell on the young Jew." 
 
 As a matter of fact it was what she was 
 doing. 
 
 "He may be some freak, some clever dreamer 
 of his race. What is that to me? Nothing. I 
 would not be guilty of going to the doctor's 
 
 55 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 office with any such idea. No, no, — certainly 
 not to try to see a Jew," she said. 
 
 The order she gave to her lackey, however, 
 was exactly contrary to what she had protested 
 to herself; and that very day, knowing all the 
 while that the doctor was attending several pa- 
 tients across the Vistula and would not return 
 till the next day, she drove to his office, which 
 was on the second floor of Martsup's house, and 
 sat there for hours, looking out into the square, 
 waiting, waiting for what? 
 
 Suddenly her eyes clouded, and in the strange 
 mist that arose before her vision she saw the 
 figure of a man like none she had ever seen. 
 The figure stood motionless at the foot of the 
 great wooden cross that was in the centre of the 
 square. The bell of the church was tolling the 
 "Agnus Dei," and at each stroke it seemed to her 
 as if the figure rose higher and higher until 
 it was on the cross, and with each measured, 
 plaintive note, the face came into clearer view, 
 until it appeared with a distinctness that startled 
 her. With the last stroke of the bell the vision 
 passed away, and nothing but the great wooden 
 cross remained. 
 
 Though in the cold light of reason the Baron- 
 ess called herself stupid when she thought of 
 the strange vision, nevertheless she loved it, and 
 went back to the doctor's day after day, ostensibly 
 to fetch him to see Rachel, but often when she 
 knew he was on his way to the Castle by another 
 road. 
 
 S6 
 
The Vision. 
 
 She would then sit in the window and watch 
 the Jewish street or the square for her vision 
 to appear. To the doctor who once surprised 
 her there she said, 
 
 "I shall make a pilgrimage to Our Lady of 
 Tshenstohova, for I have just seen the face of 
 the Saviour himself." 
 
 The doctor, who followed the direction of her 
 eyes, gave a loud laugh. 
 
 "Why, that is the young Jew, Joseph, who 
 played a part in our heroine's drama," he said. 
 
 "Indeed," said the Baroness lightly, "then I 
 am afraid you will have to give me powders for 
 my nerves. I surely thought I saw the face of 
 the Saviour." 
 
 "A ride on your horse Tyrant will do you 
 more good than all the powders I can give you. 
 How is our patient?" he asked. 
 
 "The Mother Superior took her out for a drive 
 and I think she will not be home before late in 
 the afternoon," she said as she rose to leave. 
 "By the way, Kolbe is near Shierps ; he needs 
 money, but bids us to make no attempt to com- 
 municate with him at present. He will let me 
 know and then you and Father Turetzki will call 
 a meeting. And now an revoir." 
 
 On her way home she said to herself, 
 
 "Things are very stupidly arranged in this 
 world. I certainly am beginning to think of 
 him." 
 
 Try as she might, she could not rid her mind 
 of the desire to become acquainted with this man, 
 
 57 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 although she knew little more of him than she 
 had gleaned from the letters and from Rachel's 
 meagre information about his life. 
 
 "Among us," Rachel had said, "we take little 
 notice of people whose standing would not admit 
 of even the possibility of an alliance." 
 
 "Not even if the man is as noble as your 
 description of him?" asked the Baroness. 
 
 "But his position is ignoble, although I don't 
 think there is a soul in all the world nobler than 
 his," said Rachel. 
 
 "Do you not love him ?" asked the Baroness. 
 
 "I ? Oh, love does not exist for me any more. 
 I must work to forget — " 
 
 "If — if you should change your mind and 
 something were done to better the condition of 
 this — this Joseph — would you — marry him?" the 
 Baroness asked. 
 
 "I must think of nothing but my work to atone 
 — to atone — " the girl said sobbingly. 
 
 "What have you to atone for, Rachelka?" the 
 Baroness said, and there was a rare gladness in 
 her voice. "You loved the man who married 
 you—" 
 
 "He did not marry me," interrupted the girl. 
 
 "Yes, he did. He married you in the Catholic 
 Church. It is true that neither you nor he pro- 
 fessed the faith of the Church, but in all civ- 
 ilized countries it would be considered a legal 
 marriage." 
 
 "So much the worse. I am married to a man 
 who would not have me as his wife, but as his — " 
 
 S8 
 
The Vision. 
 
 "Hush," said the Baroness, putting her hand 
 on Rachel's mouth. *lt is better to love a bad 
 man than be chained to one you cannot love. 
 Hell has no tortures more horrible than that." 
 
 "How can one marry without love?" asked 
 Rachel. 
 
 "One does; some people marry for position, 
 others to get rid of their surroundings, others 
 for spite," said the Baroness. 
 
 "And you — ?" cried Rachel excitedly. 
 
 "Mainly for spite," the Baroness answered 
 calmly. 
 
 "You frighten me," said Rachel. 
 
 "There is nothing to be frightened at. I was 
 in love with a cousin; we quarreled and parted. 
 Out of spite and in a spirit of bravado I married 
 some one else. My husband was a man of great 
 goodness of heart, but I did not love him. It 
 was two years of torture, of a cold, passionless 
 life that maddened me and would in the end have 
 driven me to crime. But God's mercy saved me. 
 My husband died, and now at the age of five and 
 twenty I am free, heart-whole, and a mad poli- 
 tician," she cried with a laugh that had no ring 
 of gladness in it. 
 
 Rachel drank in every word eagerly, and the 
 excitement threw her into a fever that troubled 
 the doctor greatly. He asked the Baroness to 
 communicate with the girl's relatives, which she 
 did at once, and as a result the Countess von 
 Bruchstein came to Castle Wysiniaski. 
 
 However, Rachel rallied and mended rapidly. 
 
 59 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 After a fortnight her aunt returned to Warsaw 
 to prepare a reception for the child of her sister. 
 She adored Rachel, and wanted her to grace 
 Warsaw society; but Rachel's mind was turned 
 in a different direction. The Sisters of the Con- 
 vent of the Immaculate Conception near Vielga 
 had gained a great influence over her, and in her 
 heart she wished to stay with the Sisters rather 
 than go to Warsaw. 
 
 But the Baroness dissuaded her. 
 
 "You owe it to your aunt and to yourself to 
 get as much happiness out of life as possible; 
 you had enough of trouble. The convent is good 
 only for the very saintly, the stupid, and those 
 who have something to live down. Our kind 
 must live in the world. One can do much good 
 without being hooded and cloaked and dropping 
 one's eyes at the sight of a man." 
 
 "But there is danger and temptation in the 
 world," said Rachel. 
 
 "Well, what of it? It lends a zest to life. A 
 woman of the world knows how to meet danger," 
 said the Baroness. 
 
 "And temptation?" asked Rachel. 
 
 "It does not touch a woman of sense ; but when 
 the right temptation comes — " 
 
 "Well?" asked Rachel, eagerly. 
 . "Then a woman is a fool to run away from it." 
 
 "Oh, but the sin." 
 
 "You simpleton, the right temptation is sancti- 
 fied by God himself, for it is love, it is the bliss 
 of wedded life ; and the woman who does not 
 60 
 
The Vision. 
 
 yield herself wholly and unconditionally to it is 
 not a woman." 
 
 "Would you?" 
 
 "Yes, if I loved. If I loved I would yield 
 my very life, and be his wife in life and in death. 
 If I hated, I would kill." 
 
 "Do you love any one?" Rachel asked timidly. 
 
 "I ?" said the Baroness, her cheeks crimsoning. 
 "I— I do not think I do." 
 
 "I pray God to send you the best He can give ; 
 you are so beautiful and good." 
 
 "No, no, Rachelka, I am not good; I never 
 was good. I used to wish my husband would die 
 even while he had his arms round me. I have 
 often wished to slaughter the Russians as they 
 slaughtered my people. There is nothing soft 
 or tender in my nature, for God never made any- 
 thing right for me." 
 
 "Oh, it is sinful to speak thus. You are good. 
 You saved my life and you are so good to every- 
 body and — " 
 
 Rachel stopped, frightened; the Baroness had 
 thrown herself on the couch and sobs shook her 
 body. A few moments later she sprang up and 
 smiling through her tears, said, 
 
 "Do not mind it, Rachelka, my nerves are not 
 very strong to-day. Perhaps it is because you 
 are going to leave me. I shall be so lonely 
 without you." 
 
 "You can come to Warsaw, dear," said Rachel. 
 
 "No, no, Rachelka, I cannot go to Warsaw, 
 at least not just now. I must stay here. My 
 6i 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 happiness, perhaps my life, depends upon — stay- 
 ing away from Warsaw." 
 
 "There is great restlessness in Warsaw," said 
 Rachel, thinking that she guessed the reason why 
 the Baroness would not go to the capital ; "but 
 that, of course, makes no difference to me; my 
 work is waiting and I must go on with it to find 
 peace." 
 
 "And I to find my fate," said the Baroness, 
 and went quickly from the room. 
 
 62 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UNDER A SPELL. 
 
 Rachel's departure left the Baroness in a con- 
 dition that she herself could scarcely understand. 
 An unaccountable nervousness led her at times 
 into the wildest and most intemperate actions. 
 In the course of a dinner given by her shortly 
 after Rachel had left, she became so enraged at 
 a servant for some trifling inattention that she 
 ordered him instantly to be flogged, and a mo- 
 ment later, regretting it, rushed from the room, 
 gave the servant a handful of coins and almost 
 entreated him to be better mannered in the fu- 
 ture. Then she shut herself into her room for 
 half an hour in a fit of tears, after which she re- 
 appeared, radiant and smiling. 
 
 The doctor, whom she visited almost daily, 
 ordered her to go to Switzerland; but though 
 she had planned out the journey, she put it oif 
 from day to day. She would not even go to 
 Warsaw, although Rachel wrote her the most 
 entreating letters. 
 
 "I have found," Rachel wrote, "more happi- 
 ness than I deserve. My dear aunt indulges me 
 in my pleasures, which consist in going to the 
 hospitals and the homes of the poor and trying 
 to alleviate as much suflfering as I can. I never 
 knew that there was so much suffering and sor- 
 row in the world until I came to this city. I am, 
 
 63 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 of course, mindful of what I owe to my dear 
 aunt, whose only living relative I am, for I 
 know she takes a keen interest in social matters. 
 I beg of you, dear Amanda, to come here and 
 stay with me a while. I long to see you and 
 to show you how deep and undying is my love 
 for you." 
 
 But the Baroness always found an excuse. 
 Her large estate demanded her presence. She 
 never had known (she wrote in answer) how 
 wrongly her affairs were managed until she 
 looked into them herself. 
 
 As a matter of fact her affairs did not trouble 
 her much. What she longed for was to find 
 the reason for her unnatural condition of temper 
 that had grown to be almost fierce. If it were 
 only loneliness, that could be overcome. She 
 could, if she so desired, have almost the whole 
 male aristocracy in the district to amuse her; 
 for the number of nobles who would have liked 
 to retrieve their fortunes by an alliance with her 
 was considerable. But she treated them with 
 contempt. 
 
 "Our men," she once said to Countess de Lack 
 of Vielga, ** favor Polish women only when they 
 have ruined their health and their fortunes in 
 Paris." 
 
 "One ought to be patriotic and encourage them 
 to stay at home," the Countess rejoined with a 
 smile. 
 
 "If ever I offer myself as a sacrifice on the 
 altar of my country, it will not be in this man- 
 
 64 
 
Under a Spell. 
 
 ner," the Baroness replied. "By the way, when 
 is Waldeck coming home?" 
 
 **Not for some time, I fear; he is hard at 
 work at the university, and is the special favorite 
 of Professor Baron von Horovitz," said the 
 Countess. 
 
 "I wish he were here ; he is the only man with 
 whom one can talk rationally, and is not a bore," 
 said the Baroness. 
 
 ''He is a good boy," the Countess said, her eyes 
 shining with maternal pride. "But really, 
 Amanda, you ought to marry," she continued, 
 "there are plenty of good men in Poland." 
 
 "I have had enough of one good man, and I 
 am not going to put my neck into the yoke of 
 unhappiness a second time." 
 
 As a matter of fact, however, she was deliber- 
 ately going the way to put her neck in the yoke 
 of unhappiness. Her daily rides to Dobrzyn 
 were undertaken with a purpose, a purpose she 
 dreaded to analyze and felt she could not achieve. 
 
 The Jew, Joseph, had crystallised into some- 
 thing more than a mere vision, and each time 
 she saw his face and his tall, strong figure, a 
 great trembling seized her. Once she heard 
 him speak. She was in the doctor's drawing- 
 room in animated conversation with his wife 
 when a visitor was announced. The doctor 
 looked through the glass door into his office. 
 
 "Ah, the young Jew, Joseph," he said, and 
 went to see him, leaving the door partly open. 
 
 "Well, my friend, what do you want?" 
 
 6s 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "My mother is ill and I thought it best to ask 
 you kindly to see her." 
 
 The Baroness heard the resonant tone of his 
 voice and it thrilled her to the very heart. 
 
 Then the physician, perhaps with intention, 
 asked for more particulars, which Joseph gave 
 quite concisely, but at the doctor's effort to draw 
 him into a broader field of conversation the 
 young man became reserved and monosyllabic. 
 The other did not press him any further; he 
 promised to call within the half hour and Joseph 
 went away. 
 
 "Did you hear the speech of the young Jew?" 
 asked the doctor. 
 
 "Yes, he speaks rather well," the Baroness 
 replied. 
 
 "Well, I shall have to see his mother ; stay and 
 have tea with us," he said, making ready to go. 
 
 "No, no, I must go; I have much to do; my 
 correspondence has been shamefully neglected 
 of late. By the way, doctor, do these people 
 pay you ?" she asked, fastening her glove. 
 
 "One cannot expect much from that class of 
 patients," he said with a laugh. 
 
 "One ought to do something for these people," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, Baroness, you are not stingy with the 
 Jews; you always let them drive good bargains 
 in wheat and produce," he remarked. 
 
 "That is not charity, but business. What I 
 mean is this poor woman, the young man's 
 
 66 
 
Under a Spell. 
 
 mother; if she needs anything in the way of 
 nourishment, let me know." 
 
 On the following day she learned that Mrs. 
 Rosen's illness was not at all of a serious nature, 
 but that she ought to have better attention. 
 
 When the Baroness left the doctor's house 
 she gave her maid a hundred rouble bill. 
 
 "Take this to the widow Rosen," she said, 
 "do not say who sent it. Just talk to the old lady 
 and then give her the money. Do not say who 
 you are. She lives somewhere on Back street; 
 they will tell you." 
 
 The Rosens were puzzled at the girl's visit, but 
 when she said she cahie from the doctor they 
 felt more at ease. 
 
 "The doctor wants your mother to eat young 
 chickens and drink Burgundy wine," she said to 
 Joseph. Her eyes danced as she looked at the 
 young man. 
 
 "Ah, young chickens and Burgundy wine cost 
 much money," said Mrs. Rosen. "God makes 
 us sick and He can make us well again." 
 
 "No doubt," said the girl, "but when you can 
 get a little money to buv chickens and wine as 
 the doctor has ordered, God will not be angry." 
 
 "Perhaps not, but I have not the money and 
 so I must do without," Mrs. Rosen rejoined. 
 
 "As I love God, I'll give you the money — just 
 lend it to you," said the girl, and put the bank 
 note on the table. 
 
 The sight of the money frif^htened Joseph. 
 
 67 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "No, no, we must not take this money ; take it 
 back," he cried. 
 
 "Don't fear," she cried, "it is honest money 
 and you may take it. You can buy chickens and 
 wine for your mother. You can get a new satin 
 shubah for yourself ; take it, handsome Jew, take 
 it," she coaxed him. "And supposing I wanted 
 to give you this money. It is my money and I 
 can do with it what I please. And supposing the 
 doctor told me to give you the money? But he 
 did not. I like you and I give you the money; 
 do, please, take it," she pleaded. 
 
 But Joseph would not be persuaded, and the 
 girl, deeply offended, called him a fool and left. 
 
 That night the Baroness wept bitterly; she 
 could not have said why. When she fell asleep 
 she dreamed, and in her dream she saw more 
 clearly. She saw herself at the feet of Christ, 
 into whose bleeding hands she laid the burden 
 of her sorrow. He told her to be patient and 
 learn a lesson from her trial. Yet when she 
 awoke the influence seemed to have passed away 
 with the dream; she became restless, and asked 
 herself what had come over her. During that 
 day and many succeeding days she asked the 
 same question again and again, always the same 
 question. Sometimes she asked it with a sigh, 
 at other times half in anger, and often in a fit of 
 passionate weeping. 
 
 "Is it possible, dear Lord in heaven, is it pos- 
 sible that I am so forsaken?" she once cried out. 
 
 She was standing in front of a large mirror, 
 68 
 
Under a Spell. 
 
 and as she looked at the reflection of herself it 
 seemed to her that she was not the proud and 
 beautiful Baroness Levanovska, but a lowly 
 woman, a creature of ordinary clay who had no 
 right to the possession of this and a half dozen 
 other castles, no right to the rich furniture and 
 thousands of costly articles that lay about in the 
 great rooms of this palace, to the exquisite plate 
 that was worth a king's ransom, to the retinue 
 of servants that obeyed her will. She was alone 
 in the world, an atom of humanity, struggling, 
 suffering, and weeping without sympathy, with- 
 out help, without hope. Of what good was all 
 this wealth to her if it could not purchase sur- 
 cease from pain, if it could not gain her the 
 object she desired? 
 
 But what was the object? What was it she 
 longed for? 
 
 She was afraid to give her thoughts shape, to 
 put them into words. 
 
 At length, turning from the mirror, she lay 
 down and tried in vain to rest. 
 
 But the thoughts in her tortured brain would 
 not stop, the pain in her heart would not cease. 
 
 She sprang up. 
 
 '*! am under a spell, a dreadful spell ; I must 
 shake it off," she cried, and rang the bell. 
 
 "The carriage," she said to the maid. 
 
 Passing through the great double-pillared ver- 
 anda, down the broad marble stairs that led to 
 the graveled walk of the court, she came to 
 where the carriage stood in waiting, but she took 
 
 69 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 no notice of it. Her eyes wandered from the 
 flower beds in the court to the roofs of the 
 town, above which the spire of the old church 
 gleamed in the sunlight. 
 
 The lackey held the carriage door open and 
 looked at his mistress, but she saw nothing of her 
 surroundings. She stood motionless, gazing into 
 the distance. 
 
 Suddenly a clatter of hoofs was heard and 
 the inspector of the estate rode into the court. 
 At the sight of him a thought seemed to have 
 come to her, and her eyes kindled. 
 
 "Anton," she called. 
 
 The inspector sprang from his horse and, cap 
 in hand, approached the Baroness. 
 
 "Has the Rabbi of Dobrzyn sent for the 
 wheat?" she asked. 
 
 "Not yet, your ladyship, although we threshed 
 it last week and have it ready for delivery." 
 
 "Why was it not sent?" 
 
 "He would not accept it," said the inspector, 
 his face flushing, "because it was not watched b^ 
 one of themselves while it was threshed and 
 sacked ; he is afraid, I suppose, that we put pork 
 in the wheat." 
 
 "Well, if we have agreed to let him watch it, 
 he has the right to do so. Have some more 
 wheat cut and let the Rabbi know. Matchek 
 will go to town and fetch the man the Rabbi may 
 send." 
 
 "We must send a hundred sacks of wheat to 
 Mr. David Gold this forenoon, your ladyship, 
 70 
 
Under a Spell. 
 
 and Matchek might go with the teamsters," said 
 the inspector. 
 
 "No, let him take the wagonette. Matchek, 
 exercise the horses for a half hour; I shall not 
 drive out now," she said, and walked back into 
 the house. 
 
 She took off her hat and gloves and sat for 
 a long time quietly thinking ; then she sprang up. 
 
 "If I go to Paris, I shall be rid of all these 
 gloomy thoughts. Yes, I'll go to Paris or to 
 Warsaw. This is ridiculous. I am bewitched. 
 Because I have not seen him for three days I 
 am making myself ill. To think that he would 
 not accept money from Anna. It was foolish, 
 foolish and wicked of me to send a servant. She 
 could make no excuse, one at least that a man 
 like him would accept. I wonder if he would have 
 taken it from me," she mused, and a happy smile 
 played on her lips. 
 
 "Whom will the Rabbi send?" she murmured. 
 "Him perhaps. Then I shall see him more 
 closely; I shall speak to him. Perhaps at close 
 quarters the glamour will disappear, and I shall 
 be free. But how can I speak to him and not 
 betray myself? Oh, where is my strength, where 
 is my courage ? Is it possible that I love a Jew ? 
 I, I ? No, it is impossible. What demon brought 
 Rachel to my notice? Why did she speak to me 
 of him? No, I will not have it; no, no. If 
 you looked a thousand times like Christ I do not 
 want you. I hate the Jews. I hate everybody — 
 I hate myself." 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 She threw herself down upon a couch. In 
 her soul was unspeakable rage, though in her 
 heart a different fire was burning. 
 
 Her mind told her that society would consider 
 her a pariah if it knew that she even thought 
 of so unheard of a mesalliance. Her heart de- 
 fied all reasoning. 
 
 Her mind warned her of a great personal and 
 financial peril if she persisted in this desire, that 
 the Count of Vielga in his unbending family 
 pride might put her under guardianship or into 
 a lunatic asylum. Her heart already schemed 
 to defeat their attacks and to defend her love. 
 
 This mood was followed by a fit of self-re- 
 proach. "I am Baroness Levanovska, and my 
 position demands something of me. I will not 
 yield to my passion like a dairy maid. I am 
 mistress of my own emotions. I will not see 
 him ; I will never see him again." 
 
 She rang the bell fiercely, and to the maid 
 who rushed in she seemed like one suddenly 
 gone mad. Trembingly the girl asked what 
 the Baroness wanted. 
 
 "My horse," she cried, "and bring me my 
 riding habit." 
 
 In less than ten minutes she stood outside, 
 holding in one hand the train of her riding 
 gown and in the other a stout English riding 
 whip. She appeared the incarnation of a beauti- 
 ful fury, and the groom trembled as he looked 
 at her. 
 
 78 
 
Under a Spell. 
 
 She swung herself upon the horse, a great, 
 fleet-footed thoroughbred, who reared at her grip 
 and dashed away. 
 
 1^ 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 'twixt the priest and the doctor. 
 
 The disappearance of Rachel caused Joseph 
 much anxiety. But he dared not speak of it to 
 his mother, whom the girl's sad fate had caused 
 a great deal of unhappiness. These people were 
 primitive ; their hearts felt keenly for their 
 neighbour's sorrow. Civilization had not taught 
 them the hard lesson of selfishness, and in the 
 little Polish town the widow Rosen and her son 
 were warmest of all in their love for the unhappy 
 girl. 
 
 Mrs. Rosen had asked several times for Rachel, 
 but Joseph had not the heart to tell her what he 
 knew. 
 
 "She has gone away," was all he said. 
 
 Of a sudden there came to him the absolute 
 certainty that Rachel was alive and well. He 
 could not have told how this knowledge was 
 conveyed to him, but it was vivid and positive. 
 
 One day he met the doctor, whom he saluted 
 as befitted a man of so high a position in the com- 
 munity, by taking off his cap. Everybody in 
 Dobrzyn took off their caps to the doctor. They 
 did it, the priest had once said, because they 
 were afraid of their lives. But as the people 
 were equally deferential to the priest, the doctor 
 revenged himself by saying that the people were 
 
 74 . 
 
'TwiXT THE Priest and the Doctor. 
 
 afraid of their death at the sight of the priest, 
 as he invariably took their money for the Church. 
 These two men had long agreed to disagree ex- 
 cepting" on one point, and that was Joseph. Like 
 Kaminski and Janushek, they too found it hard 
 to believe the evidence of their senses. Joseph 
 was not a Jew; that was their assertion, and 
 nothing he said could alter their conviction. 
 
 ''Did you ever see a Jew who was not bitter 
 against Christ and the Church? and this Joseph 
 does and says things of which Christ and the 
 holy ChuEch would fully approve," said the 
 priest. 
 
 "It is certainly so, Father, judging by what I 
 have heard and have observed myself. But I 
 should like to know his sentiments with regard 
 to our cause," the doctor rejoined. 
 
 "He will be here to-morrow afternoon, and if 
 you are here we might ask him." 
 
 "You may ask, but ten to one he will not 
 answer." 
 
 "He will," said the priest. 
 
 "We shall see ; if it were not against my latest 
 principle I would bet you a basket of good Bur- 
 gundy," the doctor rejoined. 
 
 "As I should have to send the Burgundy to 
 your house first in case you lost the bet, I think 
 we had better not bet; but you try and be here 
 at two o'clock to-morrow,*' said the priest. 
 
 "Very well. Father," replied the doctor, and 
 went away. 
 
 In the square he met Joseph and when the 
 
 75 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 latter, as we have said, saluted him, the doctor 
 stopped him. 
 
 "How are you, my friend, and how is your 
 mother?" 
 
 "Quite well, thank you." 
 
 "Have you had any news of Rachelka ?" asked 
 the doctor. 
 
 Joseph looked up quickly. 
 
 "She is well, I know, although I have not 
 heard from nor of her since I called you to aid 
 her," said Joseph. 
 
 "Then how do you know?" asked the doctor; 
 but as Joseph made no reply, the doctor said, 
 "Yes, she is well and far from here." 
 
 At this Joseph smiled. 
 
 The doctor saw the smile and it affected him 
 wonderfully. 
 
 "If Christ had smiled that way the Jews, your 
 brethren, would never have crucified him," he 
 said. 
 
 "He did not smile because he knew that your 
 brethren, sir doctor, would forever tell this false- 
 hood," Joseph replied. 
 
 The doctor clapped his hands and laughed 
 loud. 
 
 "As I love God you have wit as well as holi- 
 ness. Will you repeat it to the Father? I will 
 go to him now if you will tell him that," cried the 
 doctor. 
 
 "I am going to see him now, but I shall not 
 repeat to him what I said to you," said Joseph. 
 
 "And why, pray?" 
 
TwixT THE Priest and the Doctor. 
 
 ''Because he is a priest and he believes what 
 theology teaches on this subject." 
 
 "And you do not?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "No, you do not/' Joseph replied. 
 
 "A revelation, as I live, a revelation." 
 
 "Which I beg you, sir doctor, not to communi- 
 cate to the Father." 
 
 "I consent, on one condition." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "That you take part in our discussion, for the 
 Father and I will talk politics." 
 
 "If I am able to follow I will gladly do so." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, you were evidently anxious about 
 the Burgundy," cried the priest as soon as he saw 
 his visitors. 
 
 "Something worse might happen to your Bur- 
 gundy, Father, than to be drunk by good Poles, 
 and something might have happened to it if the 
 Pultava regiment had taken quarters in town," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 "Well, my young friend, are you still engrossed 
 in the history of the French Revolution?" asked 
 the priest, shaking hands with Joseph. 
 
 "No, Father, I am reading the history of our 
 own unfortunate country," said Joseph. 
 
 "That is right, my son ; it is a glorious history, 
 a history of the most liberal people and the fairest 
 land in all Europe. But its fall, ah, its fall, its 
 oppression, is without parallel." 
 
 "You forget Judaea, Father," said Joseph. 
 
 "Judaea was doomed to destruction ; the people 
 had sinned against God ; they crucified His Son." 
 
 77 
 
Children of Fatie. 
 
 The doctor looked at Joseph, but the latter 
 was silent. 
 
 "Then, too, the Jews had no leaders," the priest 
 continued. 
 
 *'Do not say that. Father," said Joseph. 'The 
 Jews had mighty leaders, but the nation died of 
 the same disease as Poland." 
 
 *'What do you mean?" cried the priest. 
 
 "Lack of discipline, want of cohesion; Rome 
 had both and so has Russia." 
 
 The doctor and the priest were startled; the 
 idea seemed a new one to them. 
 
 "Thus you conclude — " said the doctor. 
 
 "That a united people is invincible," Joseph 
 replied. 
 
 "Then you think there is no hope for our 
 country?" cried the priest. 
 
 "I do not say that; hope is the gracious gift 
 of God. A brave people like ours may hope, but 
 they must be united. I have read that the Am- 
 erican people, once few in number, defied and 
 defeated the English nation. The American 
 people were united." 
 
 "Blood of Christ," cried the doctor, "these 
 are brave words, and doubly brave coming from 
 the mouth of a Jew. Tell me, would you fight 
 for the liberty of Poland ?" 
 
 "I will fight against the oppressor, if I be 
 deemed worthy to give my life for the sacred 
 cause," he replied. 
 
 Moved by the same impulse, the priest and the 
 doctor threw their arms around Joseph. 
 
 78 
 
TwiXT THE Priest and the Doctor. 
 
 "Brother," they cried. 
 
 Joseph was deeply moved at this manifestation 
 of kindness, and when the others had seated 
 themselves he remained standing, his flushed 
 face betraying the agitation in his heart. 
 
 To the eye of the doctor he seemed like a super- 
 natural being, and all at once the latter realised 
 that Baroness Levanovska might well have con- 
 ceived a passion for this young god. 
 
 When Joseph bade them au revoir the doctor 
 said, 
 
 "We may want your services any day ; the 
 Baroness Levanovska may send you on a mis- 
 sion." 
 
 "I shall be ready," said Joseph and went away. 
 
 On the square he was met by a little boy who 
 told him that the Rabbi desired to see him at 
 once, and he went to the Rabbi's house. 
 
 "Joseph," said the Rabbi, "the inspector of the 
 Baroness Levanovska's estate has sent word that 
 the wheat I ordered for the Passover is ready 
 to be threshed. Go there and see that it is prop- 
 erly handled and be careful that no moisture gets 
 to it. The Baroness has sent a wagonette, so 
 you can go at once." 
 
 Joseph promised to be careful. He went home 
 to bid his mother good-bye, then returned to the 
 Rabbi's house, where the wagonette was wait- 
 ing. He climbed up beside the coachman, and 
 they set off through Back street on to the road 
 to Wysiniaski. 
 
 79 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE REALITY. 
 
 Matchek, the coachman, cast furtive glances 
 at Joseph, who seemed in deep thought. They 
 had passed a large wooden crucifix before which 
 Matchek uncovered his head. As he looked up 
 to the wooden representation of the crucified 
 Christ and then at his neighbor, he made the sign 
 of the cross. 
 
 *'As I love God," he cried, "it is wonderful." 
 
 Joseph turned quickly. 
 
 "What is wonderful?" he asked. 
 
 "Your face," Matchek replied. 
 
 Joseph smiled but made no reply. He was 
 used to these remarks. They had caused him 
 pain and pleasure in years gone by. He was not 
 really interested in them. It had often seemed 
 to him that he was very unfortunate to resemble 
 a person so utterly hated by one class and so 
 fully adored by another. He had derived no 
 benefit from the r.esemblance, as he was not high- 
 ly respected by the Jews nor greatly honored by 
 the Christians ; he was after all "the Jew Joseph". 
 
 While these thoughts ran through his mind, 
 Matchek, too, was thinking, and at length gave 
 it expression by asking, 
 
 "Are you a Jew?" 
 
 "I am a Jew," was the reply. 
 80 
 
The Reality. 
 
 "Ah, but you don't look like one ; you look like 
 our Lord Christ ; how can you be a Jew ?" the 
 driver clinched the argument. 
 
 Joseph gazed into the distance, a sad smile 
 hovering on his lips. 
 
 Suddenly his features became animated, a flush 
 spread over his face. 
 
 "Yonder is a rimaway horse," he cried, point- 
 ing straight ahead, "and it is coming this way. 
 Turn to the side and stop the horses." 
 
 "As I love God, so it is. Mary, Mother of 
 God ! it is our Tyrant. Oh, help, Holy Virgin ! 
 the Baroness ! Look, the bridle is hanging down 
 and she is clinging to the saddle. Help! good 
 saints in heaven, help!" 
 
 "Stop the horses," said Joseph curtly. 
 
 But Matchek was so excited that he was unable 
 to do this. 
 
 Seeing the necessity of immediate action, Jo- 
 seph grasped the reins and with a tug brought 
 the horses to a halt. He sprang from the wagon- 
 ette, and tying the reins to the front wheel, told 
 Matchek to alight. In a moment Joseph's long 
 mantle was off; he grabbed the wide wagonette 
 cover and told Matchek to hold on to one side. 
 
 "Mother of God, what good will this do?" he 
 moaned. 
 
 "We will throw it over the horse's head, it will 
 stop him. I saw it done in Nureck's field," said 
 Joseph. 
 
 They held the cover stretched like a screen, 
 
 8i 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 and as the maddened animal came close, Joseph 
 cried, 
 
 "Throw !" 
 
 The horse went down. He tried to rise, but 
 Joseph held his head, at the same time calling to 
 Matchek to take the Baroness from the saddle. 
 
 But the animal struggled and kicked, so that 
 Matchek could not approach. The Baroness 
 lay on the side of the horse ; she was unconscious, 
 but in no danger of being hurt by the horse's 
 kicks. 
 
 "Come here and hold his head down," cried 
 Joseph, "I'll see what I can do. Have you a 
 knife? Well, put it on the ground and come 
 here." 
 
 In a moment Joseph had cut the girth of the 
 saddle, and carried the inanimate form of the 
 Baroness to the wagonette. 
 
 "Fetch water from the creek," said he. 
 
 "How?" cried Matchek. 
 
 "In your cap ; hurry." 
 
 Matchek let go of the horse, who struggled to 
 its feet and galloped back to the castle. 
 
 "What will you do with the water?" asked 
 Matchek. 
 
 Joseph was struck with the same thought. 
 
 "The best thing we can do is to take her home 
 as fast as we can," said he. "Hold her ladyship 
 while I put on my coat." 
 
 While he was putting on his long mantle, 
 Joseph, who was accustomed to think quickly, 
 realised immediately in what a predicament he 
 82 
 
The Reality. 
 
 would be if he were to hold the Baroness as 
 Matchek was holding her — like a child in the 
 arms of its mother. For a moment he stood 
 irresolute. 
 
 *'Now, why don't you come here?" cried Mat- 
 chek. 
 
 "Get up to your seat," said Joseph. 
 
 "You get in first and take her ladyship, quick ; 
 I must drive, mustn't I?" cried Matchek. 
 
 There was no time to lose and so Joseph was 
 forced to get into the wagonette and take the 
 Baroness from Matchek's arms. A few moments 
 later Matchek was driving at a rapid pace toward 
 the castle. 
 
 Not once while he held her in his arms did 
 Joseph look at the woman whose head rested on 
 his breast. His thoughts were far away, with his 
 mother, with Rachel, with the doctor and the 
 priest, and with God, whom he prayed to save the 
 life of this high born Gentile who had met so sud- 
 den an end even in the morning of her life. He 
 believed she was dead, yet he prayed for a mir- 
 acle. His eyes were turned heavenward and his 
 lips moved in voiceless prayer. 
 
 Suddenly the Baroness opened her eyes; she 
 saw the face of Joseph and a tremor ran through 
 her body. She sighed and closed her eyes ; it was 
 a dream, a delicious, sacred dream ; she was dead 
 and in heaven. 
 
 However, the living present was too strong 
 for a dream ; the strong arms that held her told 
 only of life, of power, of love. She clearly re- 
 
 83 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 called what had happened; she had tried to ride 
 down her excitement by racing over the long 
 road, had taken fences and ditches recklessly, and 
 had whipped the horse on and on until he got be- 
 yond her control. The reins fell from her nerve- 
 less hands, she had just a moment's presence of 
 mind to fasten her skirt and girdle around the 
 saddle horn, then she sank upon the horse's neck 
 and all was dark. But now she saw; she saw 
 clearly that she could not run away from her fate 
 — she was in its very arms. Joseph had evidently 
 saved her life. The thought overpowered her and 
 great sobs shook her body. 
 
 He saw her tears, and together with the in- 
 tense relief that he felt at the evidence of her 
 recovery, came also distress at the idea that she 
 might be hurt and in pain. 
 
 "Gracious lady ** 
 
 He could say no more. ^" 
 
 "You have saved my life," she said. 
 
 "Is your ladyship in pain ?" 
 
 "Was I thrown when you found me?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No, we brought the horse down. Your lady- 
 ship is not hurt, I hope?" 
 
 "No, I am only tired," she replied, and closed 
 her eyes. God is good she thought, and abandon- 
 ed herself to the delicious feeling that permeated 
 her whole being. 
 
 When the wagonette drew up in front of the 
 broad steps and the frightened servants crowded 
 
 84 
 
The Reality. 
 
 about their adored mistress, the latter said to 
 Joseph, 
 
 "Carry me into the room." 
 
 Without a word he rose and carried her into 
 the house. 
 
 Having placed her on a couch, he quickly with- 
 drew. In the hall he was met by the inspector, 
 whom Matchek had informed of all that had 
 taken place. 
 
 "I thank you in the name of our people for the 
 service you rendered our gracious mistress," said 
 the inspector. 
 
 "Sir Inspector," said Joseph, "I have done my 
 duty, and God gave me the strength to do it. I 
 am glad to have been of service to her lady- 
 ship. And now, if you will permit me, I'll look 
 after the wheat." 
 
 As they went toward the granaries the in- 
 spector said, "Ah, if all Jews were like you." 
 
 "Sir Inspector," said Joseph, "in the sight of 
 God there are neither Jews nor Gentiles, but 
 human beings He has made, just as this, our 
 mother country, knows neither Jews nor Gentiles, 
 but Poles who must try to love one another for 
 her sake." 
 
 The inspector stood still and looked at the 
 young Jew who had said this, then he grasped 
 his hand and with a voice that ill concealed his 
 deep emotion, he said, 
 
 "Brother, you are a Pole." 
 
 8s 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A THOUSAND ROUBLES. 
 
 The Baroness, although not hurt, was very 
 weak from the shock, and the doctor who soon 
 afterward arrived at the castle ordered absolute 
 quiet. No one was admitted to see her. 
 
 Joseph stayed long enough to see the wheat 
 sacked and locked in a large bin which he sealed, 
 then he went away unobserved and walked back 
 to Dobrzyn. 
 
 He had hardly got into his house when the 
 door opened and a thick-set, ruddy-faced 
 stranger appeared. 
 
 "Does Reb Solomon Rosen live here?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Alas, his widow lives here," said Mrs. Rosen. 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Reb Solomon dead !" he exclaimed. "Blessed 
 be the Righteous Judge. It seemed as if it were 
 but yesterday I bade him good-bye." 
 
 "Who are you ?" the widow asked. 
 
 "I am Yoel Sager from Plotzk. I arrived a 
 few days ago from America and I have a mes- 
 sage to deliver to you, some good news." 
 
 "Ah, Yoel Sager ; yes, I remember. Why, that 
 must be nearly twenty-three years ago, for it 
 was soon after the birth of my blessed son Jos- 
 eph. Have you prospered?" she asked. 
 
 "Thanks be to the Lord who has made me 
 86 
 
A Thousand Roubles. 
 
 prosper in that strange and wonderful land," he 
 replied. 
 
 "And are you going to stay in Poland?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "God forbid," he said. "I came to visit the 
 graves of my father and mother and then I am 
 going back to my family in New York." 
 
 "Did you — did you meet my brother-in-law. 
 Max?" cried the widow excitedly. 
 
 "Of course I did. He is, or was, for he died 
 a year ago, one of the richest men in New York, 
 a millionaire, I tell you. Now, of course, his son 
 has it all ; but Howard Rosen is one of the fin- 
 est men in New York, and he will soon be here," 
 he said. 
 
 The widow seemed not to have heard the last 
 remarks. Her body swayed to and fro. 
 
 "Poor Max dead, dead," she said. "All, all, 
 every one gone, my poor husband, now Max too ; 
 and my brother — alas, God only knows where he 
 is. My dear son, we are alone in the world now. 
 I had hoped that some day you would receive 
 something to further your fortune, I had hoped 
 that Max would remember us ; but suffering is 
 our inheritance; let us not murmur, lest we sin 
 against the Lord." 
 
 Her voice had gradually fallen, and the last 
 words were spoken almost in a whisper. 
 
 Joseph, who had stood by his mother's side, 
 put his arm around her. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "have no regrets ; we can- 
 not go against the will of God." 
 
 87 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 The woman threw her arms around his neck. 
 
 "My dear child," she sobbed, "It was for 
 your sake, only for your sake. Your uncle Max 
 is dead, and the second generation forgets, for- 
 gets." 
 
 "Dear mother, do not worry on my account; 
 it has pleased God to keep me in lowly sta- 
 tion, but we have not gone hungry. God, who 
 cares for all, has provided for us, and we live. 
 Perhaps it is my destiny to serve others; then, 
 dear mother, let me keep on in the service; let 
 me do what is right though I had to sacrifice my 
 life." 
 
 Sager sat like one dazed; open-mouthed, he 
 listened to the words of the young man in whose 
 meekness lay a power that seemed divine. At 
 length he found sufficient mastery over himself to 
 speak, but his voice was husky with emotion. 
 
 "I always thought that Howard Rosen was a 
 prince among men by his education, by his 
 manner, by his charities, but here is his superior. 
 Young man," he cried, " you are worthy of the 
 best this world can give, and I feel honored in 
 knowing you. Your cousin Howard is coming 
 to this country on some business of great im- 
 portance. I do not know how soon he will be 
 here, but he will be here this summer. Before 
 T left New York he gave me five hundred dol- 
 lars to give you. I changed it into Russian 
 money and here it is," he said, "a thousand rou- 
 bles." 
 
 "A thousand routjles'!" cried Mrs. Rosen. 
 88 
 
A Thousand Roubles. 
 
 "Dear mother," said Joseph, "a thousand rou- 
 bles is a great deal of money and for your sake 
 I am glad to have it, but as for myself, it comes 
 too late. Good friend," he said to Mr. Sager, "I 
 do not undervalue the kindness of my cousin, but 
 of what good is money to me now except to as- 
 sist those less fortunate? If this money had 
 come years ago I might have lived up to my 
 birthright, I might have become qualified to 
 work successfully for humanity. But to-day all 
 this is scarcely possible. I am stamped a beg- 
 gar. 
 
 Mr. Sager was moved by the force of passion 
 which this statement suggested. In it spoke the 
 accumulated suffering of a lifetime. He rose 
 and, taking the young man's hand, said, 
 
 "There are many sins committed in this world, 
 but the sin of neglecting those who with proper 
 aid might become as beacon lights to their fel- 
 low men, is surely the greatest of all sins. I have 
 this evening learned a lesson I shall not forget. 
 God bless you, my young friend, and may He 
 wipe out your suffering. Better days are in 
 store for you. And now I must go back to Plotzk. 
 Farewell!" 
 
 He shook hands with Joseph and Mrs. Rosen 
 and left. 
 
 89 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MISSION OF JOSEPH. 
 
 "Mother," said Joseph, " the doctor wants to 
 see me and " 
 
 "What is it, my son?" she asked, seeing that 
 he hesitated. 
 
 "I may have to go away for a day." 
 
 "You know best, dear; if it is necessary, go," 
 she said. 
 
 "I don't like to leave you alone, mother." 
 
 "Don't be alarmed on my account, my son; 
 but you might ask Mrs. Kaminski to send over 
 her little girl." 
 
 "Very well," said Joseph, "I'll send her over, 
 as I may have to start immediately on the doctor's 
 errand." 
 
 "Go, and God be with you, my son." 
 
 Joseph kissed his mother and went to the doc- 
 tor's office. He was asked to go into the private 
 room, but when he entered and saw who was 
 there, he hesitated. 
 
 "Enter, brother," cried the priest and the doc- 
 tor. 
 
 He was introduced to the several nobles pres- 
 ent. 
 
 "Well," cried Bogadski, a wealthy landowner 
 from across the Vistula, "A man is a man and 
 a Pole is a Pole, as long as his heart is in the 
 90 
 
The Mission of Joseph. 
 
 right place. But I would ask you, my friend, of 
 what use is it to have one Jew amongst us when 
 all the others are afraid of their own shadows 
 and hold with the Russians ?" 
 
 *Tan Bogadski," said the priest, "you are 
 badly informed on the subject; but this is not the 
 object of our meeting. It is first, to find our Pan 
 Kolbe, secondly to send him the twenty thou- 
 sand roubles for which he asked the committee 
 several months ago, and thirdly, to find out how 
 many men he needs. Prussia is now at war with 
 Austria and our operations can be carried on 
 with greater hope of success in this part of the 
 country, it appears to me." 
 
 "You will find it very difficult, Father, to 
 reach Pan Kolbe, and even more difficult to send 
 him money, as the roads are covered with the 
 Cossacks who are on his track," said Bogadski. 
 
 "That difficulty will be overcome easier than 
 you think, Brother Bogdan," the priest replied. 
 "Our young frend here will do both.'* 
 
 All looked at Joseph. 
 
 "You!" cried Bogadski who sat next to Jo- 
 seph. 
 
 "It will be an honor to serve my countrymen," 
 he calmly replied. 
 
 A clapping of hands greeted the remark. 
 
 "As I love God, this is the speech of a Pole," 
 cried Bogadski. "But you may find your death 
 in the attempt." 
 
 "To die in the service of humanity is an end 
 any good man might seek; to die in the service 
 91 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 of one's oppressed country is a glory for which 
 every patriot longs and in which he finds his 
 richest reward. I am ready to go wherever 
 you may send me." 
 
 "Bravo ! bravo ! Long live Poland !" they cried, 
 and springing up they surrounded him, each 
 eager to shake his hand. 
 
 Amid all the talk and excitement Joseph re- 
 mained calm. Suddenly his face flushed, for in 
 the door leading from the front room stood the 
 Baroness Levanovska. 
 
 As soon as the nobles saw her, they greeted 
 her enthusiastically and each kissed her hand ; 
 but her eyes saw only Joseph who, with bent 
 head, waited to be spoken to. 
 
 She approached him. 
 
 Bogadski hastened forward. 
 
 "Gracious Baroness," he cried, "let me in- 
 troduce to you the best Jew my eyes have ever 
 beheld." 
 
 "Pan Rosen," said the Baroness, and stretched 
 forth her hand. 
 
 A thrill went through Joseph ; it was the first 
 time in his life that any one had ever called him 
 Pan Rosen. 
 
 He took the proffered hand but did not kiss it. 
 
 "Kiss the hand of the gracious Baroness," 
 cried Bogadski, "you are a gentleman, and as 
 good a Pole as ever breathed. Kiss her hand." 
 
 Joseph bent down and kissed the hand. His 
 confusion was great. 
 
 92 
 
The Mission of Joseph. 
 
 "I ought to kiss your hand," whispered the 
 Baroness, "you saved my life/' 
 
 *1 thank you," he murmured. He was so over- 
 come that he sought the chair by his side to 
 steady himself. 
 
 But the Baroness added to his confusion by 
 saying, 
 
 "Gentlemen, this Pole has saved my life by the 
 greatest bravery, and I beg to commend him to 
 your kindest regard." 
 
 A great shout of "bravo" greeted the remark. 
 When all were seated the priest said, 
 
 "The only thing that is needed to make Yushu 
 absolutely one of ourselves is his baptism in the 
 Holy Mother Church." 
 
 "Well, Brother," said Bogadski, "what do you 
 say to this V 
 
 "I say that I should be unworthy your confi- 
 dence if I consented." 
 
 "How?" cried Bogden Bogadski, who being a 
 choleric man, his face darkened at this remark. 
 
 "My experience in life is very limited," said 
 Joseph, "but I know that honour and love are 
 won by faithfulness in the cause for which a 
 man lives and works. Could you trust one to 
 whose name was attached the stigma of traitor ?" 
 
 "But the Jews are wrong and we are right," 
 said the priest. 
 
 "The Jews say that you are wrong and they 
 are right, and my faith is the Jewish ; but I am 
 not called upon to decide who is wrong and 
 who is right. All I know is that I hold a faith, 
 
 93 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 and whosoever breaks a faith is a traitor. If 
 I am wrong in this I shall answer to my God, 
 for He alone knows the truth. But I have an- 
 other faith, and that is the faith of my oppressed 
 and downtrodden country. For this faith I am 
 accountable to you, my countrymen. I shall not 
 break the religious faith, so that I may, if need 
 be, die honorably for the faith of a Pole." 
 
 The nobles applauded Joseph's words while 
 the Baroness looked at him through her tears; 
 she felt so humble in his presence, so grateful 
 that God had permitted her to know this man, 
 that she could have thrown herself at his feet 
 and begged him to permit her to serve him as 
 a creature too lowly to love him. 
 
 Bogadski too, was fascinated by the young Jew, 
 and during the subsequent discussion as to the 
 best means of keeping up the revolutionary 
 activity, his manner to Joseph was most deferen- 
 tial. 
 
 At length it was decided that Joseph should 
 go to Wysiniaski and thence proceed to Shireps 
 where Kolbe with his small force was in hiding. 
 
 To the Baroness, who offered him her car- 
 riage, Joseph said, 
 
 "It is best that I should walk; it will excite 
 no suspicion." 
 
 Two hours later Joseph was driven to Shireps, 
 and through the good offices of the druggist, a 
 trusted friend of Kolbe, he came face to 
 face with the great leader. But it was a sad 
 message he brought back. The leader himself 
 
 94 
 
The Mission of Joseph. 
 
 was disheartened ; his people were scattered, and 
 he was making arrangements to go to France. 
 He desired to return the money to the Baroness, 
 but Joseph told him that his orders were to 
 give him the money as a gift from her. Kolbe's 
 low spirits affected Joseph as a personal calamity, 
 and on the way home he was silent, though 
 Matchek tried hard to draw him into conver- 
 sation. 
 
 "Lost, lost, all is lost," he murmured. 
 
 95 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE TEMPTATION. 
 
 At one of the windows of the Castle the Bar- 
 oness stood, eagerly scanning the road to Shireps. 
 The morning was far advanced, the clock had 
 struck eight, but still there was no sign of Jo- 
 seph. She opened the window, adjusted a field- 
 glass, and tried to throw her sight as far into the 
 distance as her heart had gone. At last she 
 heaved a great sigh — more of a sob than a sigh — 
 and putting her hand to her bosom said, 
 
 'Thank God, they are coming." 
 
 She took a book and sat down. A few min- 
 utes later Joseph stood before her. 
 
 "Why so sad, my friend?" she asked. 
 
 "Ah, your ladyship, I am the bearer of bad 
 news," he said. 
 
 "And it is?" she asked. 
 
 "Kolbe told me to tell your ladyship and all 
 the friends here that the star of Poland has set ; 
 that we are in the clutch of the bear and that we 
 must wait a better opportunity or get the aid 
 of Napoleon." 
 
 The Baroness appeared little affected by the 
 news. 
 
 "Ah, well. Pan Kolbe knows best; no better 
 man could possibly go to Napoleon. But, pray be 
 seated," she said, and pointed to a chair by her 
 side. 
 
 96 
 
The Temptation. 
 
 "And meanwhile?" he asked. 
 
 "We must submit, and try to live for other 
 things. There is much pleasure to be got out of 
 life besides politics," she rejoined. "I suppose 
 you find pleasure in many things." 
 
 "Pleasure — I never think of that. How 
 could I? I only do my duty. I do not know 
 anything else," he said falteringly. 
 
 "But I am told that you are well read, and that 
 you are a linguist; then literature must be one 
 of your pleasures. If so, you are enjoying pleas- 
 ures beyond the reach of many of the wealthiest 
 in the land." 
 
 This clever manoeuvre disarmed him com- 
 pletely. All the time he had been in her pres- 
 ence he had had in mind the rabbinical dictum 
 that 'it is sinful to talk to a woman, for women 
 talk only idle talk.' Her turning the conversation 
 to literature made him forget the rabbis and their 
 dicta. 
 
 "I will confess to your ladyship that I like 
 books very much. I have never been in a great 
 library, but it must be wonderful," he said. 
 
 "There is something more wonderful than lit- 
 erature," she said slowly, and as he looked at her 
 questioningly she continued, "that which is 
 more wonderful than literature is art, the art of 
 painting as seen in the galleries of great cities." 
 
 "Does your ladyship mean that the wonder is 
 in the idea represented or in the technical exe- 
 cution?" he asked. 
 
 She saw the drift of his question. 
 
 97 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Both," she said. "But then what art could 
 really portray an idea? What painter could 
 show us the workings of the human heart?" 
 
 "Literature does it," said Joseph with flaming 
 cheeks. "Mitchkievitch did it, and the infinitely 
 sweeter Heine." 
 
 "Do you like Heine?" she asked. 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "Then read me something; you will find his 
 Book of Songs on the table." 
 
 Joseph took the book. As he opened it his 
 eyes betrayed the pure gladness of his heart, and 
 the Baroness, mentally paraphrasing Heine's 
 words, thought, "I wish I were a book and thou 
 wouldst thus hold me and thus regard me." She 
 did not know that he loved Heine best because 
 the poet knew, as did few others, how to portray 
 the passion and the suffering of the heart, the 
 quenched aspirations and the blighted hopes in 
 love and life. Heine, too, was the antithesis to his 
 own thoughts, which were ever high and holy, but 
 made him sombre and sad. The mental excur- 
 sions he had made into the unexplored regions 
 depicted by the poet, his satire and his self-casti- 
 gation, acted as a tonic upon Joseph's mind. The 
 first poem that met his eye was one of those 
 he had so often read that it seemed to him as if 
 he himself was the author of it. 
 
 "Which poem shall I read?" 
 
 "Any you like." 
 
 "Well, then, this," he said, and read in the 
 original : 
 
 98 
 
The Temptation. 
 
 " 'Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 Und welken wieder ab, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wieder, 
 So geht es bis ans Grab/ " 
 
 The Baroness was struck by the deep emo- 
 tion his reading betrayed, and her heart felt a 
 pang as she thought that he too knew "the sweet 
 wishes that bloom and wither and bloom and 
 wither again, and so on till the grave." 
 
 The pathos with which he read touched her 
 heart. There was a wonderful charm in his 
 voice; its depths, as he subdued it to give more 
 effective expression to the poet's thoughts, 
 seemed to her like the rarest music. 
 
 She knew he could not have learned to read 
 like this from the good Father Cohanoski. This 
 was the gift of nature by which one master spirit 
 presented the thoughts and words of another. 
 Joseph seemed oblivious to his surroundings, and 
 did not notice that she had moved close to him. 
 Still more closely she moved up to him, until her 
 palpitating bosom touched his arm and her 
 sweet breath rose to his face, but he seemed to 
 be unaware of it. He was in a different world. 
 
 "Read the sonnets," she said, and herself turned 
 the pages. 
 
 He read Heine's beautiful Sonnets to his 
 Mother, and while he read her hand stole softly 
 upon his arm and she felt an unquenchable de- 
 sire to tell him of her love. Bending over she 
 breathed, 
 
 99 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Yushu, I love you." 
 
 He sprang to his feet. In a moment he was 
 aware of what had happened and of what it 
 meant to them both. 
 
 "I beg your ladyship to permit me to go," he 
 murmured. 
 
 "I beg of you to stay and hear me, Joseph. It 
 is not a wild and sudden passion. I love you ; I 
 have loved you for months. Do not think 
 harshly of me because I speak to you thus. I 
 am alone in the world. The different stations 
 we occupy made it impossible for me to come 
 near you and win your love by degrees. God 
 meant you to save my life and that life is yours. 
 Love me and I will make you happy. Your 
 every wish shall be fulfilled. Joseph, dear, speak 
 to me," she pleaded. 
 
 But he remained silent. 
 
 She rose and took his hand. 
 
 "Joseph, are you made of stone? Will you 
 have less pity on me than on Rachel ? See, I am 
 hungry for your love ; my life has been desolate 
 until now. Can you be so cruel and pitiless as to 
 thrust me back into the abyss of coldness, soli- 
 tude, and suffering?" 
 
 Still he remained silent, although it was evi- 
 dent that her words distressed him. 
 
 At length the woman's passion overpowered 
 her, and throwing her arms around his neck, she 
 cried, 
 
 "Have pity on me, Joseph ; do not destroy the 
 
 lOO 
 
The Temptation. 
 
 life you saved. Speak to me; only a word, I 
 implore you." 
 
 "My dear friend," he said, gently disengaging 
 himself, "I am but an humble man and unworthy 
 the great grace you have shown me. I respect 
 and admire you, for who would not ? but I cannot 
 say to you that I love you. I pity you from the 
 depth of my soul, and I pray God to send you a 
 man you may love and who may love you in 
 honour. Realize that I am a Jew, that I am of 
 very humble station ; you are of high station, and 
 to it you owe a duty you dare not shirk." 
 
 "I defy the world," she cried ; "the world has 
 given me no happiness. You are nobler than T 
 am, nobler than all who pretend to be so, and I 
 love you. Come to me, you and your dear 
 mother; I will make you both happy. We will 
 go away, to Paris, to Italy, anywhere you like. 
 Only do not leave me, I beseech you," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "Ah, you do not understand and I cannot ex- 
 plain. All I can say is that God calls me else- 
 where. I must work, work for something which, 
 although definite in my soul, I yet can find no 
 words to express. I wish neither gold nor high 
 station ; to do the will of God neither is needed. 
 But you, who have an abundance of earthly 
 riches, I beg you to look about you and see the 
 sorrow and the suffering that is everywhere, and 
 try to do the best you can. Some day you will 
 be glad that you have followed the desire of God 
 and not that of your heart." 
 
 lOI 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 But his words, spoken with infinite tenderness, 
 excited her more keenly. 
 
 "I cannot live without you. Take my for- 
 tune, take all, give it to the poor; only do not 
 leave me." 
 
 Hot tears fell from her eyes, and the soul in 
 him suffered at her distress. She sank down and 
 covered her face with her hands. 
 
 Joseph gazed at her, at first with a feeling of 
 pity ; he was still the Joseph of old, a meek, ser- 
 vile creature whose life, being pitiful, could 
 accord compassion to all who were tortured by 
 grief; he pitied the woman who sobbed broken- 
 hearted. 
 
 Then gradually another look came into his 
 eyes, a look that came like a streak of flame di- 
 rect from the heart and burnt the scales that 
 hitherto had covered his sight. The woman be- 
 fore him was beautiful ; the lines of her form ex- 
 quisite ; she seemed like a phantom that floated 
 in the air, trailing behind a fascination that 
 lured earthborn man to eager pursuit. From 
 her body emanated a fragrance that enveloped 
 and dazed him, that stirred his blood and made 
 his senses run riot. He stretched forth his 
 hands — it was the act but of a moment; then 
 his hands fell. Again he was Joseph, the self- 
 abnegating Jew. "Mother," he whispered; and 
 bending toward the Baroness he said: 
 
 "God have pity on you and — on me." 
 
 He turned and quickly left the room. 
 
 Hastening from the castle he ran all the way 
 
 I02 
 
The Temptation. 
 
 to Dobrzyn. He arrived at his home in an al- 
 most exhausted condition. 
 
 "I have been very anxious about you, my son ; 
 I thought I saw you in danger, but thank God, 
 you are here," said his mother. 
 
 "Danger is always near," said Joseph, "but a 
 mother's prayer is the guardian on our way. 
 God bless you, mother, and keep you well. In 
 about a week we shall be in the great city of 
 Warsaw, and with God's help, you will be well 
 and happy." 
 
 103 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON THE TRAIN. 
 
 The days succeeding his conversation with the 
 Baroness were days of great unrest for Joseph. 
 A nameless fear caused him to keep away from 
 his Christian acquaintances. In his distress he 
 went to his former teacher, the aged Reb Moise 
 Libe, to whom he confided the story of the events 
 that so grievously burdened his mind. 
 
 "I am not afraid of evil consequences from 
 your association with the revolutionists," said the 
 Rabbi. "You are a man, and you must live up 
 to your convictions. The cause of Poland is just, 
 our people are well treated by the Poles. The 
 Russians have treated us barbarously, and we 
 do not know what greater evil is in store for 
 us. But the other matter is more serious. A 
 woman's passion is like a raging lion. The 
 best you can do is to go away. Let no one 
 know where you are. Do not write to me, for 
 I may be asked. I want to say truly that I do 
 not know. Do not wait until the eight days 
 of the Passover are gone by. Leave to-mor- 
 row morning. Nureck's wagon goes to Vlotz- 
 lavek at four o'clock. Take your mother and go." 
 
 The old man gave him his blessing and 
 Joseph left him. He went straight to Nureck's 
 house and arranged to be taken to Vlotzlavek, 
 
 "Going to celebrate your engagement in 
 Vlotzlavek?" asked the wagoner. 
 104 
 
On the Train. 
 
 "Just going to see the city, and then away," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 "Don't tell me that. When a young man 
 travels in Passover week he goes to see his pro- 
 spective wife. It was so in olden times among 
 Jews and so it will be," said Nureck. 
 
 Joseph paid for his journey in advance, and 
 bidding the wagoner good-day, went home. 
 
 His mother naturally acquiesced in whatever 
 Joseph said. She was loth to leave the things in 
 the house in view of the fact that their stay in 
 Warsaw was to be indefinite. But Joseph told 
 her that it was absolutely necessary for him to 
 be unhindered by luggage, as they could buy 
 all they needed in Warsaw. 
 
 "But how shall we carry the money?" asked 
 Mrs. Rosen. 
 
 "Carry it on your person, mother," said 
 Joseph. 
 
 "God forbid, it would make me too nervous; 
 but I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll put the large 
 bills in the prayer book, and as soon as you have 
 bought the tickets and the necessary provisions 
 for the journey in Vlotzlavek, we will put all the 
 money in the prayer book and this we will put 
 in the portmanteau." 
 
 Joseph, who had no experience in such mat- 
 ters, did as his mother told him, and when he 
 had made his small purchases, he put the money 
 in the prayer book, and this he replaced into the 
 portmanteau, which he carefully locked. He 
 gave his mother the key. In the train to War- 
 
 105 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 saw, as they travelled fourth class, they were 
 forced to sit on the floor with the many peas- 
 ants who went the same way. The crowd was 
 constantly changing as many got off at the way- 
 side stations, many others getting on to go to 
 the great horse market in Lovitch. 
 
 Joseph and his mother sat in a corner. He 
 had spread his long overcoat, on which his mother 
 lay sleeping, and between them was the precious 
 portmanteau. At one of the stations a Jewish 
 peddler offered mead and fruit for sale. Joseph 
 wanted an orange, and as his mother was awake 
 he told her that he would like to buy one. She 
 gave him the key to the portmanteau, out of which 
 he took the money. Both enjoyed the fruit, and 
 when they arrived at the station at Kalish, 
 Joseph went out to "stretch himself." When he 
 returned he found his mother in hysterics, utter- 
 ing shriek after shriek. The portmanteau was 
 gone. 
 
 The crowd of peasants, not knowing the cause 
 of the woman's cries, swore at her for disturb- 
 ing their peace. Some laughed at the woman's 
 anguish, others tried to console her. None 
 seemed to know what to think of the matter, and 
 all grabbed their belongings and held them 
 tightly about their persons. 
 
 During the trouble a guard came in, and push- 
 ing away the peasants, made his way to Mrs. 
 Rosen. 
 
 "Throw her out, guard, she makes us crazy," 
 one cried. 
 
 io6 
 
On the Train. 
 
 "Put her in the baggage wagon," cried a sec- 
 ond. 
 
 "No, in the swine car; she is only a Jewess/' 
 a third called out. 
 
 "Silence, you trash," cried the guard. "What 
 is the trouble, Jewess?" 
 
 "Someone has stolen my portmanteau," 
 moaned the poor woman. 
 
 "Stolen your portmanteau ! Did you see who 
 did it?" he asked. 
 
 "My mother is blind," said Joseph. 
 
 "Blind, and some one stole her portmanteau. 
 Ah, it is too late now ; the train has started, but 
 you are all under arrest," said the guard. "Don't 
 open a window. The whole pack of you goes to 
 Warsaw to be searched." 
 
 Joseph smiled perforce at this summary pro- 
 ceeding. The suggestion that the guard might 
 look about or permit Joseph to do so for the miss- 
 ing portmanteau was rejected with scorn. 
 
 "And supposing we find it, will that help the 
 matter? Is it not a fact that the outrage was 
 commited in my car? I have said they go to 
 Warsaw and to Warsaw they go," said the 
 guard. 
 
 There was howling and lamentation amongst 
 the peasants, for they were not only forced to 
 miss their business appointments, but they knew 
 to what trouble they would be put in the city 
 of Warsaw under the Russian government. But 
 there was no help; the guard was there and it 
 looked as if the peasants would have to take 
 107 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 the enforced journey. However, at the next 
 station, one peasant, more courageous than the 
 rest, opened the window and appealed to the 
 station master. At the latter's order the peas- 
 ants were lined up and their portables submitted 
 to Joseph for identification. It was in vain, the 
 portmanteau was not found. 
 
 "What shall we do, my son, what shall we 
 do?" Mrs. Rosen asked in despair. 
 
 "What can we do ? God has sent us this mis- 
 fortune to try our souls. Let us be strong, 
 mother, and trust in God." 
 
 "But where shall we go, where shall we stay 
 in the great city? Oh, why did I not follow 
 your advice and keep the money about me ? I am 
 to blame, my son, I am to blame," she lamented. 
 
 "God forbid that I blame you. I know it was 
 the will of God. At present there is no need 
 to worry. We must trust in God, He will not 
 let us die; He will provide. We shall go to a 
 Jewish hotel, and then I will see. Sit down, 
 mother, and rest. We have paid our passage 
 money, and I have the bundle of provisions. Sup- 
 pose I had put the provisions into the portman- 
 teau? There is always a reason to be thank- 
 ful to our Father in heaven," he said, and as- 
 sisted his mother to sit down. 
 
 But she sighed deeply, and when they reached 
 Warsaw and were told to leave the car, she 
 could not keep back her tears, and when once on 
 the platform, sobbed bitterly. 
 
 io8 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FOUND. 
 
 "Vladislav," said a tall, white haired man, 
 "give me the hand bag and run over to that 
 woman and the young man yonder and see what 
 is the trouble." 
 
 "The woman is blind, she was robbed on the 
 train, and the young man is her son, my lord," 
 Vladislav reported. 
 
 "Fate," murmured the gentleman. "Perhaps 
 she is ill, and she has been robbed ! Well, Vlad- 
 islav, let us see what we can do for robbed hu- 
 manity." 
 
 "My lord, you will miss the train.'' 
 
 "I may miss the train, Vladislav, but I shall 
 miss something else if I do not assist robbed 
 humanity. We have started out to mend our 
 ways, Vladislav, and to be more merciful to our 
 kind. Let us begin by doing it in this place and 
 now. We may smooth the road to the woman's 
 grave, for she is old, and we may brighten the 
 life of her son, for by his quiet demeanor in mis- 
 fortune he is evidently wise and of a fine tem- 
 perament." 
 
 While he said this the speaker's eyes rested 
 on Joseph, who stood by his mother's side, his 
 face full of a calm dignity. He approached 
 
 109 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 the couple fully determined to lend them his aid 
 no matter how difficult the task. 
 
 However, at the very moment he was about 
 to speak to the young man, a police officer 
 stepped up and demanded who Joseph was and 
 if he had a passport. At this both Joseph and 
 his mother trembled; for they had not foreseen 
 such an emergency, and it had never entered 
 Joseph's mind to ask for a passport on leaving 
 his native town. 
 
 "Ah, Vladislav, we shall have to play the role 
 of autocrat besides that of providence," said the 
 gentleman, and resolutely stepped forward. 
 
 "Officer, these two people are in my charge, 
 have the goodness to remove your hand from 
 that man's shoulder." 
 
 "Who are you?" the policeman asked. 
 
 "One you ought to know, Kureck, for I 
 brought you round when you were flogged three 
 years ago.'' 
 
 The officer gave a sharp look, then quickly re- 
 moved his cap. 
 
 "Oh, pardon, my lord doctor, I did not know," 
 he said with cringing humility. 
 
 "It is well, Kureck ; call a carriage, and do you, 
 Vladislav, take the luggage and go home in a 
 cab." 
 
 When he was alone with them he asked 
 Joseph whence he came, and when he heard 
 that it was from Dobrzyn, he gave a slight 
 start. 
 
 "And your name, if I may ask? I am not a 
 IIO 
 
Found. 
 
 policeman you know," he said with a smile. 
 
 "My name is Joseph — ^Joseph Rosen." 
 
 The man changed colour. 
 
 "And your father's name — let me see — was it 
 not Solomon?" he asked, and his voice trembled. 
 
 "Yes, it was Solomon, but he is dead," said 
 Joseph, and looked at the face of the stranger. 
 But it told him nothing; he did not know him, 
 and had never seen him before. 
 
 "And this is your mother? How came she 
 to be blind?" 
 
 "I do not know. I always thought she might 
 be cured if she had proper treatment, and we 
 came to this city for that purpose," said Joseph. 
 
 "I thought so ; well, we shall see, we shall see. 
 By the way, did not your mother have a brother 
 named Daniel?" 
 
 "Yes; but we do not know where he is," 
 Joseph replied. 
 
 "Well, well, we'll have to find him. Ah there, 
 Kureck, that is nice of you, here is something 
 for your trouble," he said.; "And now, my 
 friends, let us go and look for some lodgings." 
 
 During the time the stranger was speaking 
 Mrs. Rosen's head was bent forward in an at- 
 titude of close attention. Once or twice she put 
 her hand to her heart, while her fingers moved 
 nervously. But when she heard the stranger 
 say, "well, we'll have to find him," her hands 
 sank down, and as she was led to the carriage 
 she murmured to herself, "If it be God's will." 
 
 Ill 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Joseph's astonishment, sufficiently great at 
 what had already happened, increased immeas- 
 urably when the carriage halted in front of a 
 magnificent palace into which he and his mother 
 were led by his new found friend. It was all 
 miraculous and mysterious to him, and his soul 
 bent in obedience before his God who thus took 
 care of him and his poor mother. They had 
 been conducted into a room, the grandeur of 
 which reminded Joseph of the salon in Castle 
 Wysiniaski. They sat side by side, Joseph hold- 
 ing his mother's hand, she feeling his constantly 
 to assure herself that it was not all a dream. 
 
 In a few minutes their benefactor entered. 
 
 "My friends," said he, "you must be very tired 
 after your journey, I suggest! therefore, that 
 you let my servants show you your rooms, for 
 you will have to stay here until we can find your 
 relative — Daniel Horovitz — that is the name, is 
 it not? Meanwhile this shall be your home. 
 Now, young man, follow Vladislav ; he is an ex- 
 cellent fellow and will attend to you ; and do you 
 madam, follow Marusha. You will find a 
 change of clothing in your room, young man, 
 and for your mother we will find something to- 
 morrow." 
 
 At a motion of his head they were led from 
 the room. An hour later they came down to join 
 him looking like different beings. Joseph looked, 
 indeed, as the fancy of the Baroness pictured 
 him, a young god, and the elder man gazed at 
 
 112 
 
Found. 
 
 him with undisguised admiration as he shook his 
 hand. 
 
 **I knew this was my lucky day. I have made 
 a conquest of which an emperor might be proud/' 
 he murmured in French. How could he know 
 that this provincial understood what he said! 
 
 "You have not seen your brother for many 
 years," he said to Mrs. Rosen, as she drank her 
 tea with evident enjoyment. 
 
 "No, I have not seen him in many years. God 
 knows if he lives. He was a good boy, an am- 
 bitious boy, but I suppose he has had to strug- 
 gle in the world. Life is very hard when one is 
 poor," she said. 
 
 "Very true; but your brother is not poor, 
 madam. You will naturally wonder how I 
 know so much about you and your brother, but 
 the fact is that I was in Dobrzyn many years 
 ago. I knew your husband, and have known 
 Daniel Horovitz all my life. Seeing you now 
 and knowing of your poor condition, I am very 
 angry with him for neglecting you so shame- 
 fully." 
 
 "Please do not ; poor boy, he may have had his 
 troubles and heartaches ; who knows, who 
 knows," she said. 
 
 "Heartaches!" cried the man; "madam, you 
 have a prescient soul. Daniel Horovitz had 
 heartaches, or rather one great overpowering 
 heartache that nearly killed him," said the man, 
 and his voice trembled. 
 
 "I thought so; poor Daniel. He was always 
 
 "- 113 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 so proud and so full of strange plans and wishes," 
 she rejoined. 
 
 *'Ha, ha, ha," laughed the man. "Yes, Dan- 
 iel Horovitz had the very strangest wishes; he 
 wanted to become a great surgeon, a great 
 scholar, a wealthy man. He wanted life and 
 love; but, 
 
 "Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 
 Und welken wieder ab, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wied^cr. 
 So geht es bis ans Grab." 
 
 Young man, you ought to study German and 
 learn these lines by heart ; they are the best anti- 
 dote for the poison called 'wishes'; if they do 
 not cure entirely they are at least serviceable as 
 a tonic to the heart. 
 
 "They are by Heine," said Joseph, who had 
 turned pale. He felt a strange gripping at the 
 heart as the elder man spoke. 
 
 The latter noticed only the fact that this ap- 
 parently bucolic youth knew German and knew 
 the author of these lines. 
 
 "Precisely, and I am glad to learn that you 
 have read the finest of poets. But to return 
 to Daniel Horovitz, I must tell you, madam, that 
 few people in this world so fully realized the 
 words of the poet as he; for the only wish for 
 whose realization he would have given his life 
 remained unfulfilled. All his other wishes came 
 to their fullest realization, only one failed. If 
 anything, therefore, can be said in excuse for his 
 114 
 
Found. 
 
 shameful neglect of you, it is that his life was 
 terribly unhappy ; that he suffered the agonies of 
 the damned ; that his hair turned white in a 
 night of supreme torture, and that he thought 
 only of his grief." 
 
 The man's words came almost in a whisper. 
 
 Both Joseph and his mother were profoundly 
 moved. 
 
 "Ah, if he had sent me word," sobbed the lat- 
 ter, "I might have tried to console him, my poor 
 brother, my dear Daniel." 
 
 "Ah, madam, man is selfish in his grief and 
 often takes pleasure in nursing it. Daniel is 
 such a man. At first he worked in poverty, his 
 thought centred upon one aim — ^to raise himself 
 from the low station of his kind. After he had 
 succeeded and fully felt his power, he gloated in 
 this strength and thought only of himself. Of 
 a sudden he was taken out of himself. A power 
 greater than he, greater than his selfishness, 
 greater than his former aspirations, took hold of 
 him : he fell in love. He loved the most beauti- 
 ful and the sweetest woman in all the world. 
 Your brother Daniel, madam, actually loved the 
 Princess Berg, the daughter of the Governor 
 General of Poland, and, madam, she returned his 
 love ; but a Jew could not marry a princess, and 
 he was stupid enough not to crawl to the Cross. 
 He wanted truth in his love ; he did not want to 
 utter a lie; for God created love, and did not 
 baptize it in the name of any religion, and there- 
 fore man has no right to baptize it in falsehood. 
 
 "5 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 He remained not true to his religion — for he had 
 none in particular — ^but steadfast in his refusal 
 to become a so-called Christian. The result was 
 disastrous for him. The Princess was taken to 
 Switzerland, and one day Daniel received a des- 
 patch bidding him to go thither. He went — and 
 the Princess died in his arms." 
 
 The man was silent ; he appeared overcome by 
 the recital of his friend's grief. Joseph, who 
 had listened with bated breath, hung his head. 
 An echo of something rang in his ears — some- 
 thing that he faintly felt, but could not clearly 
 define^ — yet it was strong enough to stir him pro- 
 foundly; sufficient to make it seem like a per- 
 sonal experience. 
 
 Mrs. Rosen sobbed and silently prayed for her 
 poor brother. 
 
 At length the man spoke again. 
 
 "During that one night Daniel experienced 
 agonies such as are not in the power of man 
 to describe, and the following morning found 
 him a white haired man. You may perhaps have 
 read a poem that apF>eared anonymously in the 
 'Dzienik Warszawski,' for it created a sensation. 
 Daniel wrote it that night. I know it by heart. 
 He called it 'The Empty Heart.' Listen ! 
 
 "Alive ? No, no, Vm dead ; 
 My tortured soul is fled ; 
 My body, cold and sore. 
 Her hand will touch no more 
 In love as oft before. 
 ii6 
 
Found. 
 
 What vile and traitor hand, 
 By jealousy unmanned, 
 Has slain my gentle queen 
 That e'er adored hath been 
 By all her grace had seen? 
 
 Or was it by the nod 
 
 Of some capricious god 
 
 My gladness to disperse, 
 
 A demon so perverse 
 
 Was sent? Then him I curse! 
 
 Is simple, earthborn man 
 More kind and wiser than 
 Your God ? For man appears 
 To shed compassion's tears 
 And cherish what he rears. 
 
 Is madness this, or spite, 
 In horror to delight? 
 Oh, ne'er will I believe 
 The reaper cuts the sheave 
 The tender plants to grieve. 
 
 The reaper cuts to feed 
 A lower kind of breed, 
 And where he cuts he sows, 
 He harrows — but he knows 
 The soil much richer grows. 
 
 The plants thus cut away 
 Give seed another day, 
 But human hearts that die 
 With agonizing cry, 
 Forever buried lie. 
 117 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 What happiness if one 
 Could die when love is done 
 And break life's iron band; 
 Or, with a sweep of hand. 
 An end of pain command. 
 
 But no, our memories live 
 And thousand tortures give; 
 Unquenched remains desire 
 In hearts with grief on fire 
 Until our souls expire. 
 
 We're proud and potent kings 
 When love's glad summons rings; 
 The golden crowns we wear 
 Bode not a single care 
 Until there comes despair. 
 
 We rule with gentle hand 
 That dream and flower land ; 
 When love's sweet rose is blown. 
 We're kings; when love is flown, 
 We're Kings Without a Throne." 
 
 Joseph listened with bated breath. How 
 keenly he appreciated the sufferings of that man, 
 who appeared so intimate with the other that 
 he recited the story of his grief with an emo- 
 tion as intense as if it were his own. 
 
 After a while the professor continued: "For 
 years afterward, grief stricken, silent, proud and 
 cynical, Daniel lived by himself — for himself. 
 Of a sudden, remorse and longing took hold of 
 him ; he remembered his only sister and desired 
 
 Ii8 
 
Found. 
 
 to see her, and with this feeling came a Hght- 
 ness of heart and buoyancy of spirit that made 
 him almost happy. He desired to share his 
 wealth with his only Bilinka — Bilulena " 
 
 Mrs. Rosen sprang up. 
 
 "Daniel, Daniel, it is Daniel; I recognize the 
 way you call me," she cried. 
 
 "Yes, Bilulena, it is I, and I believe in mira- 
 cles. God be praised." 
 
 Brother and sister were clasped in each other's 
 arms, and Joseph looked at them with profound 
 emotion. 
 
 "Oh, Daniel; and this is my son, my own 
 blessed son. Love him, Daniel, love him," cried 
 Mrs. Rosen. 
 
 "No need to make any promises; he is my 
 own," he said, as he embraced Joseph. 
 
 "The ways of the Lord are wonderful," said 
 Mrs. Rosen; "at the time He inspired you to 
 find your sister, He also put it into the heart 
 of my brother-in-law Max, in America, to re- 
 member the widow of his poor brother. Max 
 died last year, but his son sent us money, and 
 with this we were able to come to Warsaw, as 
 it was Joseph's purpose to take me to an ocu- 
 list. Well, God be praised, for His mercy en- 
 dureth forever." 
 
 END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
 119 
 
''The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn. 
 Which Fable places in her breast of wail. 
 Is lighter far of heart and voice than those 
 Whose headlong passions form their proper woes.^^ 
 
 (Byron.) 
 
BOOK SECOND, 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE AMERICAN MILLIONAIRE SOCIALIST. 
 
 "What ! you are the son of Max Rosen ? Lord, 
 Lord! and this is your daughter? Wife, wife! 
 Come in for a minute," cried Mr. Alphonse Ep- 
 stein, the banker. 
 
 A tall, white haired and imposing looking 
 woman came in and bowed to the strangers. 
 
 "Wife, you cannot guess who this gentleman 
 is, you cannot guess. He is the son of Max Rosen 
 who married Eva Kohn, your cousin, and after 
 her death went to America," he cried. 
 
 Mrs. Epstein appeared surprised, and shook 
 hands with the stranger. 
 
 "Why, it must be nearly thirty years since 
 Max went away; you were quite a boy then," 
 she said, "And is this your daughter?" 
 
 "My only child," the man replied. 
 
 "I am glad to meet you, my dear," said the 
 elderly woman, and kissed the girl. Then she 
 looked at her critically and closely. 
 
 "Upon my word, she is beautiful ; and what is 
 your name?" she asked. 
 123 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Beatrice," the girl replied. 
 
 "A beautiful name and exceedingly appropri- 
 ate. Your American women must be of a differ- 
 ent type. Where will you find a Jewish girl here 
 that is blonde and of such exquisite features?" 
 said the old lady. 
 
 The father's pride was flattered by this free 
 acknowledgment of his daughter's graces, and 
 he expressed his thanks. But the girl felt em- 
 barrassed and half regretted that her father had 
 taken her to see these people. Mrs. Epstein un- 
 intentionally added to her discomfort by ask- 
 ing, 
 
 "And where is her mother?" 
 
 "Her mother has passed away," Mr. Rosen re- 
 plied. : ' 
 
 "An orphan! God pity us, my dear lamb, we 
 shall have to love you so much more," said Mrs. 
 Epstein, putting her arms around the girl. 
 
 This act of genuine sympathy touched Beatrice, 
 and without knowing why she began to sob. 
 
 "Well, well, little lamb, don't cry. Take off 
 your things, and make yourself at home." 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Epstein sent forth a fusillade 
 of questions, which the American strove hard 
 to answer. The appearance of this distant con- 
 nection impressed Epstein favorably. Still, he 
 might be inclined to presume on the relation- 
 ship and desire to draw on the bank for funds ; 
 one can never tell and it was best to know how 
 to arrange matters in the future. 
 
 124 
 
The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 
 "You have come to Warsaw at a bad time," 
 said the banker. "Affairs here are uncertain, the 
 people are restless, and to succeed in anything a 
 good deal of capital is required. Unless one trav- 
 els for pleasure, as I hope you do, then Warsaw 
 is not a bad place to visit." 
 
 "I came here on business and may stay here 
 indefinitely," said the American. 
 
 "In Warsaw?" 
 
 "No, in the province." 
 
 The American fell a little in the banker^s es- 
 timation. A man who lives in the province is 
 a small man and Banker Epstein did not deal 
 with small men. And yet the American had said 
 that he came on business. To come from Amer- 
 ica to Poland on business must mean something. 
 
 "The province, notably the Polish province, is 
 a bad place to live in, unless one has a great 
 fortune, can live in a castle and do business in 
 one of the great cities ; of course, there is but 
 one city in Poland — ," said Epstein. 
 
 "I am sure of it; but I have at present no 
 thought of engaging in business of any sort 
 unless the reform movement I have in mind can 
 be called business," the American rejoined. 
 
 "Reform movement," cried the banker, "you 
 are not, I hope a wandering preacher of revo- 
 lutionary ideas like the crazy men that are at 
 present working in Russia? If you are you will 
 lose your time and get yourself into trouble ; the 
 time is not ripe for that sort of thing." 
 
 125 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I am nothing of that sort," Rosen said, smil- 
 ing. "I am here on a mission to find some poor 
 relations and to create as much happiness in the 
 little town of Dobrzyn, where my father was 
 born, as is possible with a fortune far in excess 
 of my needs." 
 
 "But it requires an immense fortune to in- 
 dulge in that sort of amusement," cried the 
 banker. "I should be sorry if at the age of 
 forty — you cannot be a day more — you were to 
 commit a folly that you would regret at the 
 age of sixty." 
 
 Rosen smiled. 
 
 "If I lived ever so extravagantly I could not 
 spend what my income is for one year. Why 
 then should I seek to gather more millions?" 
 
 "Millions!" cried the banker, "Millions of 
 what?" 
 
 "Dollars," said the other, amused at the bank- 
 er's amazement. 
 
 "Have you a gold mine?" 
 
 "No; but railroad securities amounting to 
 something like nine million dollars, besides some 
 minor interests that may bring the total up to 
 about fifteen million dollars." 
 
 "And how did you get all this money?" asked 
 the banker aghast. 
 
 "The bulk of the fortune was made by my 
 father from inventions and railroad interests. 
 Our fortune grew almost despite ourselves. It 
 was only at my father's death-bed that T learned 
 how great a sin a man commits who gives his 
 126 
 
The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 
 soul to the making of money to the exclusion of 
 all else. In the race for fortune my father forgot 
 his nearest of kin who lived in poverty. I have 
 come to repair the wrong.'* 
 
 The banker began to feel rather small by the 
 side of this giant; but the criminal inutility to 
 which the American was putting his vast wealth 
 irritated him. 
 
 "Charity is well enough, but business is busi- 
 ness, and business, sir, is as much of a duty as 
 charity. Business means civilization, enlighten- 
 ment, it means peace or war. If all rich men 
 were to think as you do, there would be an end 
 to all commerce and the beggar would ride the 
 high horse. And, my friend, what would be- 
 come of our nobility? We live by our nobility. 
 They need money, they spend money, and they 
 come to us for it. This is business, this is life.'* 
 
 'T do not know anything about the present 
 condition of your nobility, but I do know that 
 when a man has reached a certain degree of 
 wealth and is assured that he can spend only a 
 certain sum annually to satisfy all his wants, it is 
 criminal for him to draw more money from 
 others and add it to his already large store. Nor 
 can I see how commerce could possibly suffer if 
 instead of charging a man ten cents for a loaf of 
 bread I charged him two cents, when the loaf 
 of bread costs me only a cent and a half. Large 
 profits always mean the hurt of some one and 
 the benefit of none. Debit and credit, income and 
 expense, labor and capital, all must be propor- 
 127 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 tionate and relative, otherwise there will be ar- 
 rogance on one side and dissatisfaction on the 
 other," said the American. "And lastly, sir, 
 the accumulation of vast capital is, I think, a 
 mania, a disease," he added. 
 
 "But you forget that rich men invest and re- 
 invest their money, and that means wages and 
 expenditure. Often, too, a man is forced to pro- 
 vide for the family of a servant that is good for 
 nothing," the banker rejoined. 
 
 "You naturally would have to provide for him, 
 since your negligence of his character caused 
 his condition," said the American. 
 
 "That means that we are responsible for any 
 man we employ, any servant we get to do our 
 work," cried the banker. 
 
 "So you are. When you are loading a wagon 
 or a boat you first consider its capacity, and 
 when you are ready to start you do not deliber- 
 ately run into ruts in the road or shoals in the 
 river ; and a man ought to be considered as good 
 as a wagon or a boat. Then, also, it is wrong to 
 do a half charity to a workingman when he is 
 entitled to a full right. You speak about the 
 rich man investing his money. Pay a man five 
 roubles for the work for which you paid him two 
 and he will become an investor in his turn. He, 
 too, will build himself a house and employ peo- 
 ple and he will have to pay a proportionate wage 
 to those he employs. Thus you would run 
 down the scale and raise mankind all around," 
 said Rosen. 
 
 126 
 
The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 
 "That would give the low brutes a chance to 
 play the great lords, or to get drunk and raise 
 a row," the banker rejoined with disdain. 
 
 "I do not believe either would occur. Labor 
 would not 'play the lord' because men in gen- 
 eral have a natural respect for position, notably 
 for financial position of another. Secondly, the 
 men that get drunk and raise a row are not men 
 that receive the highest, but the lowest wage. 
 The devil-may-care feeling does not rule the 
 man whose position brings him a handsome 
 wage each week, who has a family to support 
 and a position to maintain in the circle where 
 he moves ; the feeling of total carelessness only 
 rules the man who feels that he has not much to 
 lose." 
 
 "Your argument is based on the theory that 
 all men are rich and able to pay a high wage," 
 the banker said with a sneer. 
 
 "Not at all ; but there are a great many rich 
 men that could make very many poor men hap- 
 pier and better. I am making an earnest ef- 
 fort in this direction. I believe that a great in- 
 dividual fortune should be active for the bene- 
 fit of humanity, directly or indirectly. Directly, 
 by raising the standard of manhood of all 
 around you. Employ men and let them earn 
 their bread and butter — I insist on the butter — 
 and indirectlv, throueh investment or ordinary 
 commerce. But deal honestly, pay the best 
 wages you can with your means, and have the 
 satisfaction of knowing that there are no tears 
 129 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 flowing while you enjoy your rest, no curses 
 hurled at you while you amuse yourself with 
 your friends at the club or with your dear ones 
 at home," said Rosen. 
 
 "This is rank socialism," cried the banker. 
 
 "If the earnest effort to do good to our fel- 
 low men when one has the means can be called 
 socialism, then I am a socialist," the American 
 rejoined. 
 
 "Well, a rich man can do anything, and here 
 in Poland one can do a great deal more with 
 money than elsewhere. But just now I crave for 
 something more than argument. Wife, dear," 
 cried Mr. Epstein, "please, let us have tea; you 
 see," he said to Rosen, "we live in English style 
 and have tea instead of coffee. How old is your 
 daughter ?" 
 
 "Eighteen." 
 
 "A delightful age; well, maybe you can find 
 something good here for her; our young men, 
 particularly of the nobility, are not so bad. Of 
 course, it costs a good bit of money, but then 
 the connections! When one has reached a cer- 
 tain position in the financial world one does not 
 care to associate with the low class of Jews nor 
 with any Jews." 
 
 "It is strange, how our ideas differ," said 
 Rosen. "My inclination is the other way. I want 
 to do all the good I can to all alike, but if possi- 
 ble, a little more to my own people, because they 
 have had so little happiness among the nations 
 of Europe." 
 
 130 
 
The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 
 "You have queer ideas," said the banker, "but 
 I will confess that I like you immensely. Now 
 come, let us all go out for a drive in the Lazienki 
 Park. Our daughter will follow us on horse- 
 back, when she returns. Well, sweet Miss New 
 York, how do you like it here ?" said the banker, 
 standing in front of Beatrice. 
 
 "I like it very much indeed, and I love Aunt 
 Epstein," she replied, putting her arm in the old 
 lady's. 
 
 "Well, now, that is charming. Now, Howard 
 — I think I'd better call you by your first name. 
 I'm old enough to be your father, eh?" 
 
 "By all means," said Rosen, " you honour me." 
 
 "Then take Mrs. Epstein, and I'll take Miss 
 New York," he said, offering his arm to Beatrice. 
 
 When they drove toward the botanical gardens, 
 a carriage passed them. Mr. Epstein nearly 
 doubled, so low and profound was his salute, and 
 Beatrice looked after the carriage with eyes that 
 bespoke a deep emotion. 
 
 "The young man to the right of us is Count 
 Waldeck, Casimir de Lack," the banker said, 
 and his mouth watered as he recited the full 
 name, "the white haired gentleman by his side 
 is Professor de Horovitz, physician and surgeon 
 to Prince Berg and elevated to the nobility by 
 his majesty the Emperor of Russia, and facing 
 them was the professor's nephew. They visit 
 us occasionally ; both are very wealthy." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Epstein tried to entertain their 
 guests and to explain the sights to them, but 
 
 131 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 while Beatrice appeared to be attentive, her mind 
 was in reality wandering, following a dream, an 
 image, that had flashed across her horizon. 
 
 "When I come to think of it,'' said Mr. Ep- 
 stein, "I shall see Count Lack to-morrow and 
 will secure for you a letter of introduction to his 
 people, if — if you are bent on going to 
 Dobrzyn." 
 
 "I should deem it a favour, but I could 
 scarcely accept a letter when I have not met the 
 young man," said Rosen. 
 
 "That can be done to-morrow at my office. By 
 the way, do you carry a letter of credit?" asked 
 the banker. 
 
 "Well, not exactly, but I have an open account 
 with the Rothschild banking house," the Ameri- 
 can replied. 
 
 "Well, then you don't need me," said the 
 banker rather regretfully. 
 
 "On the contrary, I shall need you very much 
 and shall transfer my account as soon as I am 
 settled," was the rejoinder. 
 
 The introduction to Count Waldeck took place 
 at the office as the banker had promised, and 
 after a spirited conversation the three went to 
 the Cafe de Paris for luncheon. 
 
 "You so remind me of my friend Horovitz, the 
 Professor's nephew, that at times I thought he 
 was speaking. Your ideas are very much alike ; 
 he, too, uses the great means at his command to 
 benefit the unfortunate, but he is almost a slave 
 to his work. Night and day he goes amongst the 
 132 
 
The American Millionaire Socialist. 
 
 poor and sick and lends them his aid," said the 
 Count. "I wish you two could meet." 
 
 "Some day I may meet him, for he is the very 
 person I want to help me in my own work of re- 
 form, and I will gladly place a certain sum of 
 money at his disposal. But at present I have a 
 duty to perform which is more pressing. I hope 
 to have the pleasure of seeing your lordship 
 again soon, if not here, then in the province," 
 said Rosen. 
 
 "I shall not be at home for another month, and 
 perhaps not before Christmas; but I will send 
 word to my parents and they will probably call 
 on you." 
 
 They shook hands and parted. Two days later 
 Rosen and his daughter were on their way to 
 Dobrzyn. 
 
 133 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 COUNT AND COUNTESS DE LACK. 
 
 His visit to Warsaw had given the American 
 a fair idea of the conditions of life in Poland, 
 and during the few days he was there he saw 
 enough to convince him that the level of civiliza- 
 tion among the better classes was high. The 
 poverty among the lower classes of the city was 
 appalling, but he saw also that all the wealth of 
 the Rothschilds could not have improved their 
 condition. Misery was too deeprooted amongst 
 the people. He was glad to get away. 
 
 The beauty of the town of Vlotzlavek height- 
 ened his good impression of Poland. The public 
 buildings, the squares and gardens, all had a 
 pleasing appearance. 
 
 "I am agreeably surprised with the conditions 
 hereabouts. I wonder how we shall find Dob- 
 rzyn ?" he said to Beatrice. 
 
 "Do you really intend to live in that little 
 town?" she asked. 
 
 "Certainly not, if you do not like it, dear ; but 
 you know I have some affairs to settle. It cannot 
 be worse than some of the French villages or 
 other small places in Europe," he said. 
 
 "That is quite true, and then it was grand- 
 papa's wish, and oh, I am so eager to see our rel- 
 atives. Judging by Mr. Sager's description of 
 
 134 
 
Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 cousin Joseph, he must be a wonderful young 
 man," she said, gazing into the distance. 
 
 "I am only sorry I could not get here sooner. 
 I cannot imagine why he failed to answer my 
 letter and acknowledge my cheque." 
 
 "Perhaps he cannot write English," said the 
 girl, trying to find an excuse. 
 
 "I am afraid that is not the reason," he re- 
 joined, and his brow clouded. 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by the 
 hotel clerk, who announced that the carriage 
 stood ready to take them to Dobrzyn, and that 
 all the trunks and boxes were on the wagons. 
 
 "We had to get two wagons with four horses 
 to each wagon, as the road to Dobrzyn is uphill 
 all the way." 
 
 Howard Rosen paid his bill and was exceed- 
 ingly liberal to the personnel of the hotel, for he 
 had been charmed with their treatment of him 
 and his daughter. 
 
 After a long drive through some of the finest 
 scenery in Poland, they arrived in Dobrzyn late 
 in the afternoon, and the first shock the Ameri- 
 can received was through being told that there 
 was not an hotel in the town, and that there was 
 absolutely no place where they could stay over- 
 night. 
 
 The teams had halted on the square, and a few 
 moments later the greater portion of the popula- 
 tion was congregated about the newcomers. 
 Through the help of a Polish companion, whom 
 Rosen had engaged for Beatrice and had brought 
 
 135 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 with them, they found out that one Martsup sold 
 wine to the nobles and sometimes gave them 
 lodging in his great three-storied house. 
 
 On hearing that they were friends of the 
 Count of Vielga, Martsup was only too glad to 
 accommodate ttiem. Their baggage was taken to 
 the stores below and they were shown into suit- 
 able rooms. 
 
 As soon as Beatrice was comfortably settled, 
 her father went out to seek his relations. But 
 the door of the little cottage in Back Street was 
 shut and there was no answer to his knocks. 
 
 "Whom do you seek?" asked the boy who had 
 shown him Mrs. Rosen's house. 
 
 ''The widow Rosen and her son Joseph," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Oh, they have disappeared, and the people 
 say that the Shidim (evil spirits) have carried 
 them away," said the boy. 
 
 Rosen stood as if rooted to the spot. 
 
 "Gone?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, clean gone and no one knows where ; it 
 is a great mystery ; they say that Reb Moise Libe 
 knows but will not tell." 
 
 "Show me the way to Reb Moise Libe," said 
 Rosen. 
 
 He received but little comfort from the old 
 scholar. 
 
 "I would not have mentioned his name as I 
 did not want to draw attention to him, but you 
 are, of course, different. You desire to fulfill a 
 sacred duty, and I know no one more worthy of 
 
 136 
 
Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 your help. But I cannot tell you where he is, 
 except that he is in Warsaw." 
 
 "Thank you, Rabbi," said Rosen. "It is 
 enough to know that he is in Warsaw; I shall 
 find him if I am obliged to hire every detective 
 in Russia." 
 
 "No, no, my friend, you must not do that; it 
 might cause them great trouble. You must not 
 employ a Christian at all. There are plenty of 
 Jews in Warsaw, I dare say, who know every 
 house and every person in the city; get one of 
 these and you will succeed with less danger to 
 the welfare of your kindred," said the Rabbi. 
 
 Rosen saw the wisdom of the advice, but it ap- 
 peared to him that if he were to follow it, he 
 might as well first learn a little more about his 
 cousin. But the other would not yield the least 
 point that might give him a clue to the secret 
 Joseph had entrusted to him. 
 
 "All I can say is that he was my pupil ever 
 since he was a little boy, and I can say also that 
 there is not a soul on earth more pure than his. 
 If I had a son I would not wish him a better 
 man than Joseph." 
 
 This speech gave a keener edge to Rosen's de- 
 sire to see his relative, and as he was going to- 
 ward the square he vowed to spare neither 
 trouble nor expense to find his people. He be- 
 lieved this to be so easy a task that he was almost 
 joyous as he told Beatrice that Joseph and his 
 mother were in Warsaw, and that they would 
 soon be in Dobrzyn. 
 
 137 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "But why don't we go to Warsaw and join 
 them there?" said the girl. 
 
 "I must stay here a while," her father repHed. 
 "I hope you will not feel bored in this place, my 
 pet. Remember, my own dear daughter, that 1 
 have a serious motive in staying here, one as 
 weighty, if not weightier, than the one of finding 
 our relatives." 
 
 "Papa Howard Rosen, how could you think 
 I would ever question your motives? Whatever 
 you do is right," she said, resting her head on 
 his breast. 
 
 "And yet, dearest, I like you to know what 
 I am doing. But this case is not ripe and I don't 
 want you to bother your head with it yet. We 
 shall make this our home for the present, and as 
 soon as I have seen the Count of Vielga I shall 
 go to work to build a house of some sort." 
 
 Fortune had so arranged that the following 
 day was the annual Fair in Dobrzyn, and the 
 peasants from the neighboring towns and vil- 
 lages came to buy or sell or to amuse themselves. 
 The Square was filled with traders' booths, little 
 restaurants and all sorts of devices for amuse- 
 ment. To this Kirmess (as the fair was called) 
 came also many of the nobles, who sold horses 
 and wheat to the big dealers and incidentally in- 
 dulged in politics over a bottle of wine at 
 Martsup's. Among the nobles who attended the 
 Kirmess that day were the Count and Countess 
 of Vielga, who drove up to Martsup's house. 
 
 138 
 
Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 Martsup rushed into Rosen's room and told 
 him the news. 
 
 "Shall I tell him that you are here ?" he asked. 
 
 "By no means," said Rosen ; "the Count does 
 not know me and the chances are that he has 
 never heard my name, but I have a letter to him.'* 
 
 Martsup went away not at all pleased. A let- 
 ter to the Count ! Any beggar could get a letter 
 to the Count or to the Emperor. What was that ? 
 However, as he left the room, Mrs. Martsup 
 rushed up to him. 
 
 "Henry, is Rosen the man's name?" she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Well, it is; what of it? He has a letter, 
 any " 
 
 "Hush, the Count has asked for him, wants to 
 see him, and would like to know when he can 
 have the honour?" 
 
 "What — what!" cried Martsup, open-mouthed. 
 
 "Yes ; let me go in." 
 
 "No, I'll go in." 
 
 He turned and actually removed his cap. 
 
 "The honorable Count of Vielga wishes to see 
 you, Mr. Rosen," he said. 
 
 "I shall see the Count in a few minutes. Pray 
 conduct him to the salon." 
 
 "The Count is in the salon," said Martsup. 
 
 "Which salon?" asked Rosen. 
 
 "Why, mine, of course, where the Count al- 
 ways stays when he is here, and to-day he is here 
 with the Countess," the host replied proudly. 
 
 139 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "That will not do," said Rosen. "You will 
 please conduct the Count and Countess to our 
 salon. Or, better still. Martha," he said to his 
 daughter's maid, "go with this gentleman and 
 ask the Count and Countess de Lack into our 
 room. My daughter and I will be with them in 
 a few moments." 
 
 The young woman did not wait for Martsup 
 to lead her. She brushed by him and a few mo- 
 ments later the distinguished visitors were in the 
 salon. 
 
 The evident surprise in the eyes of both par- 
 ties as they met was too strong to be concealed, 
 although they were people of the world and 
 knew how to control their emotions. 
 
 "Our dear son has apprised us of your com- 
 ing and we have hastened to bid you welcome," 
 said the Countess. "But our son has not told us 
 of the young lady, your daughter. He will be 
 surprised when he learns what he has missed in 
 Warsaw." 
 
 An hour was passed delightfully. The Count 
 showed himself well informed on American af- 
 fairs and Rosen's suggestions about social re- 
 forms were listened to with great attention by 
 both the Count and his wife. 
 
 "Of course one must know one's ground and 
 the subject matter thoroughly," said Rosen. 
 "Perhaps reforms such as T have in mind might 
 work better in England or America, where the 
 conditions are different. But it seems to me that 
 one can encourage workingmen without insti- 
 
 140 
 
Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 gating a social revolution. I want to see people 
 at work ; idleness is a crime. I also want to pay 
 the workingman a fair wage for his labour; to 
 underpay a workman is the greatest stupidity an 
 employer can commit, for no underpaid work- 
 man is ever proud of or faithful to his employer, 
 and where this is lacking there can be no good 
 work. I see that this town has no hotel ; I con- 
 clude that it has no bank. I know that I was 
 worn out with fatigue of the journey from 
 Vlotzlavek to this place by road, when there is 
 the broad Vistula waiting for steamers to bring 
 commerce and passengers. There ought to be 
 no difficulty about driving the demon of poverty 
 from this town." 
 
 When the Count rose to leave, he assured 
 Rosen of his hearty support in anything he un- 
 dertook, and that if he desired to eo to Plotzk 
 to get permission to build or to acquire any con- 
 cession, he would give him a letter to the Gov- 
 ernor. 
 
 Rosen accepted the offer gratefully and said he 
 would call within a day or two, as he then in- 
 tended to go to Plotzk. 
 
 "But not alone, you must not call alone. We 
 want you to bring your daughter; she can stay 
 with us during the time you transact your busi- 
 ness in Plotzk," said the Countess. 
 
 "Your ladyship honours me; I am much 
 obliged," said Rosen. 
 
 On parting the Countess kissed Beatrice and 
 as the Count held her hand he said : 
 141 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I never knew what envy was 
 until this moment. I envy Mr. Rosen. God did 
 not give us a daughter. Permit me to kiss your 
 hand, Mademoiselle." 
 
 But Beatrice held up her face to him in a man- 
 ner that showed her deep veneration for the 
 aged Count, and he bent and kissed her fore- 
 head. 
 
 Notwithstanding the strong liking that the 
 Count and the Countess had conceived for 
 Beatrice and her father, they felt puzzled at their 
 appearance in the town of Dobrzvn. Why had 
 they come? What was their object in taking up 
 their residence in this part of the country when 
 they might as well have stayed in Warsaw? 
 Why did they call themselves Jews when they 
 showed neither in manner nor features the least 
 resemblance to the race? The father looked 
 more like a distinguished Frenchman than a Jew, 
 and the daughter was so clearly of a northern 
 type that it was hard to believe she was aught 
 else. 
 
 "This much is certain," said the Count, "the 
 man is a relative of the Epsteins, and one must 
 feel a certain respect for the relatives of one's 
 banker, particularly when the relative in ques- 
 tion can afford such expensive philanthropic 
 amusements as this gentleman has indulged in 
 and wishes to continue." 
 
 "A man's argument! It is only the money 
 that impresses you. I look at it from an entirely 
 different point. I feel that this girl has good 
 142 
 
Count and Countess de Lack. 
 
 blood in her veins. I wish I could find out who 
 they are," said the Countess. 
 
 "She will be at the Castle to-morrow or the 
 next day; perhaps she will tell you. The gods 
 are always gracious to an inquisitive soul," the 
 Count said with a smile. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said and sighed deeply. 
 
 The Countess de Lack was not sure that she 
 would find the solution to the problem that the 
 appearance of the American girl presented, al- 
 though she wished for nothing so keenly and for 
 which she had prayed so earnestly. With a lov- 
 ing husband and an admirable son. Countess de 
 Lack was yet lonely and unhappv. Her unhap- 
 piness, dating back from girlhood, at which 
 time her mother and younger sister mysteriously 
 disappeared, became more intense as the years 
 passed. She longed for her mother and hoped 
 that God in His mercy would some time in this 
 life bring her face to face with her. She had 
 never loved her father, whose cruelty drove her 
 despairing mother with the infant in arms to 
 seek safety either in death or in distant lands, 
 and though with his demise the proud name of 
 de Pauli became extinct, she was almost glad to 
 be alone. His regrets and lamentations in later 
 vears were as keen a torture to her as the loss of 
 her beloved mother. She was alone; for her 
 cousin, Baroness Levanovska, the only surviving 
 relative and conditional heiress to the de Pauli 
 estates, was not a person with whom she could 
 live in close intimacy. The difference in their 
 
 143 
 
Children OF Fate. 
 
 ages and dispositions, but, above all, material in- 
 terests, acted as a bar. Countess de Lack con- 
 sidered Amanda Levanovska an usurper of her 
 sister's rights, and the Countess had an unshak- 
 able conviction that her sister was alive. Where 
 was that sister? The Countess would have 
 given ten years of her life to know — to know it 
 now that she had seen the American girl who 
 so suddenly had awakened all the dormant long- 
 ing in her soul. She felt herself drawn to her 
 by a power as strong as it was mysterious, yet 
 she dared not speak of it to her husband, who 
 would laugh her out of countenance — the 
 American was a Jewess : that was enough to si- 
 lence all arguments, all so-called presentiments. 
 Polish nobles may seek lost relations among 
 Russians or Gypsies, but among Jews, and Amer- 
 icans at that: ridiculous! Besides, there was 
 that "episode" in the Countess* life for which 
 one man at least died at the hand of another. 
 Guilty or innocent, it was best to let the dead 
 past bury its dead, although she dreaded and yet 
 hoped the best from the future. 
 
 144 
 
v: CHAPTER III. ''■ 
 
 BEATRICE AND THE BARONESS. 
 
 "Ah, Baroness, you ought to see the new peo- 
 ple that have come to Dobrzyn. I saw them yes- 
 terday ; they are stopping at Martsup's. I under- 
 stand that the man, who is said to be very 
 wealthy, is going to build a big house here," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 "That is not very interesting, Pan Doctor," 
 said the Baroness, lying back languidly. "Why 
 do you not bring me the news I want?" 
 
 "My dear Baroness, don't you think you are 
 chasing a fata morgana? Yushu is dead; there 
 can be no doubt about that. We have searched 
 for two years, and not a living soul seems to 
 know anything about him or his mother. But 
 supposing he lives, will you mourn for him all 
 your life ? Don't you think he is ungrateful not 
 to give a sign as to his whereabouts?" 
 
 "Don't say that, doctor. If there be any grat- 
 itude it should be all on my side. He saved my 
 life," she said. 
 
 "It passes my understanding how the young 
 Jew could be so blind as to go away from you; 
 but then he may have had his mind set on his 
 cousin, who is superb. I saw her yesterday." 
 
 The Baroness sat up as if electrified. 
 
 "His cousin, the American girl ? You must be 
 dreaming, doctor." 
 
 145 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Not in the least. Of course, you know that 
 they are intimate with the de Lacks." 
 
 'That is nothing; I know all about the letter 
 Waldeck sent and the girl's visit to Vielga ; but 
 what concerns me is your statement that the girl 
 is his cousin. How did you find it out?" 
 
 "I attended old Libe and he told me of the 
 relationship." 
 
 "I have a feeling that the old man knows 
 where Yushu is. If it were not that I have a 
 great regard for him because he was Yushu's 
 teacher, I would have him tortured to get the 
 secret from him," she cried, and her eyes 
 gleamed wildly. 
 
 "But it may be that he does not know. You 
 must not follow your impulse too much. Do 
 you hear much from Rachelka?" he asked, desir- 
 ing to lead her mind to another subject. 
 
 "Rachelka ! Why, yes. I hear from her often. 
 Her aunt died last autumn and left her a large 
 fortune, which the sweet soul spends on the sis- 
 ters and on the sick. She seems to be quite happy 
 since she joined the Church and does her works 
 of mercy, the dear creature." 
 
 "I wish you would turn your mind to some 
 such work; you know this sort of languishing 
 will ruin your health," said the doctor. 
 
 "Do not fear for my health, it is very good. I 
 am interested just now in this American Jewess. 
 Do you think she knows where Yushu is?" 
 
 "Quite possible; they are relatives and they 
 
 146J 
 
Beatrice and the Baroness. 
 
 would most likely let him know they were com- 
 ing to Europe." 
 
 **And the father is building a house, then she 
 will go to Warsaw or elsewhere and marry him 
 and bring him here to live," she said, and her 
 face turned ghastly pale with the dread of such 
 a possibility. She sprang up. 
 
 "Come, doctor, I want to see this Jewess. I 
 want to find out if she is really as beautiful as 
 Countess de Lack says," she cried. 
 
 "I think the Countess did not exaggerate. Nor 
 is the girl's beauty of the Jewish type." 
 
 But the Baroness did not hear him at all ; she 
 hastily put on her hat and left the room. The 
 doctor followed quietly. He felt distressed at 
 her sorrow, which, he well knew, was beyond 
 his comfort. 
 
 "I shall go to Martsup's and see her," said the 
 Baroness as she and the doctor stepped into the 
 carriage. 
 
 "Let us hope the sight will satisfy you," the 
 doctor rejoined. Inwardly he told himself that 
 the Baroness was courting danger to her own 
 peace of mind ; but he was afraid to express his 
 thoughts. 
 
 It seemed as though fate meant to grieve the 
 Baroness more keenly, for the first person she 
 met on entering the Martsup house was Beatrice 
 Rosen. 
 
 For a few moments the two women looked at 
 each other in blank amazement. The Baroness, 
 recognizing the superlative beauty of the Amer- 
 
 147 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 ican girl, felt a faintness at her heart as she con- 
 templated her supposed rival. Beatrice, entirely 
 unconscious of the meaning of the other's scru- 
 tiny, regarded the newcomer with undisguised 
 admiration. 
 
 "Are you attending to the patrons ?" asked the 
 Baroness in the Polish language. 
 
 "Vous me pardonneres, mats je ne parle pas 
 Polonais. Madam Martsup!" Beatrice called 
 out. 
 
 "Do not call," said the Baroness haughtily. "I 
 desire to talk to you." 
 
 Beatrice was so glad to hear the beautiful wo- 
 man speak French that she did not notice the 
 haughtiness. 
 
 "Madame " said Beatrice haltingly. 
 
 "La Baronne" the other put in. "You are an 
 American, I believe?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame la Baronne" Beatrice empha- 
 sized. 
 
 The Baroness felt rather uncomfortable; she 
 realized that she was not living up to the tradi- 
 tions of the Polish nobility, whose graciousness 
 to strangers has ever been their characteristic. 
 
 "I am told that you are going to reside here 
 permanently," she said with greater friendliness. 
 
 "It is my father's intention to spend here sev- 
 eral months in the year. But I do not know his 
 plans," Beatrice answered. 
 
 "You have relatives here, I suppose?" 
 
 "We have distant relatives in Warsaw." 
 
 "Distant relatives! You have visited them?" 
 148 
 
Beatrice and the Baroness. 
 
 "Yes, we spent several days there, but I like 
 this place very much." 
 
 "Then your relatives will come here to see 
 you?" 
 
 "I cannot tell," said Beatrice ; she became con- 
 scious that she was being questioned. At this 
 moment Mrs. Martsup came into the room and 
 asked the Baroness what she could do for her. 
 Beatrice rose and, bowing to the Baroness, went 
 from the room. 
 
 "You may send me a case of Rhine wine and 
 a case of good Burgundy. By the way, Madam 
 Martsup, is it true that this American is related 
 to some poor Jews in this town, to one Ras or 
 Ros?" she said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Rosen; they are cousins. The wid- 
 ow and her son have disappeared and no one 
 knows anything about them," Mrs. Martsup an- 
 swered. 
 
 "But they know, I suppose, where their rela- 
 tives are?" 
 
 "Not at all, your ladyship, although they have 
 sent everywhere and asked everybocly. They 
 think, however, that they are in Warsaw," said 
 the woman. 
 
 "Ah, well, it is of no importance to me ; adieu. 
 Madam Martsup, and have the wine sent to-day, 
 please." 
 
 The Baroness went to the doctor's. She was 
 not satisfied. The American girl had disquieted 
 her. 
 
 "I am sure she knows where he is," the Bar- 
 149 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 oness said, "and it drives me mad. I do not 
 know, but it seems to me that I have seen her 
 somewhere; her features are familiar; she does 
 not look like a Jewess, either. There is some 
 mystery in all this." 
 
 "What is that to you, Baroness ? Why trouble 
 yourself about things you cannot alter?" said the 
 doctor. 
 
 "Every one is not of the same even tempera- 
 ment as Dr. Maral," she retorted. "All the ad- 
 vice you can give me is travel, travel. I have 
 traveled like a crazy woman all over Europe, and 
 what is the result ? I am as unhappy to-day as I 
 was when you found me after that terrible scene 
 two years ago. I envy the poorest beggar in the 
 street. What shall I do, what shall I do?" she 
 cried. 
 
 "Poor child, I pity you. Ah, why did your 
 love go out to the young Jew? He is excellent, 
 certainly, but then you could never have married 
 him. Try to forget. Marry someone else; 
 there is your cousin Waldeck, I understand that 
 he will be at home for Christmas; why not 
 marry him?" said the doctor. 
 
 "I do not love any other man in this world, 
 and if this Jewess takes him from me, let her 
 beware," she cried. 
 
 Poor Beatrice! She had not the faintest idea 
 that she was the cause of Baroness Levanovska's 
 unhappiness. Notwithstanding the coldness of 
 the Baroness the American girl had taken no 
 dislike to her. 
 
 I.SO 
 
Beatrice and the Baroness. 
 
 "She is as beautiful as an angel," she told her 
 father, "and it seems to me that I have seen her 
 somewhere. I am sure I have seen her before.'* 
 
 "In the mirror," said Mr. Rosen, "you saw 
 her when you looked at yourself. You look 
 enough alike to be sisters or at least cousins." 
 
 "Then you have seen her before and never 
 told me a word; oh, you horrid papa to so de- 
 ceive your own daughter," she cried. 
 
 "I saw her only once, but forgot to tell you. I 
 trust you will pardon me, little lady," he said, 
 putting out his hand to her. 
 
 "On condition that it never shall happen 
 again." 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Then you may kiss me," she said. 
 
 Howard Rosen had of course told but half the 
 truth. He had not only seen the Baroness, but 
 he had made careful inquiries about her, and 
 during the time he spent in Plotzk had gone into 
 a thorough examination of certain properties be- 
 longing to the Baroness Levanovska in her own 
 right as descending from the noble house of 
 De Pauli, a fact which would have caused the 
 Baroness great chagrin had she suspected it. But 
 Howard Rosen was a careful business man and 
 kept his aflfairs to himself; even his daughter, 
 whom he adored, knew practically nothing of 
 what he was doing in Poland. What she knew 
 was what everybody else knew and saw, namely, 
 that he was contriving to stir up the shiggish 
 blood of the inhabitants of the town, and that he 
 
 151 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 appeared to have but one aim in view, to break 
 up its hoary traditions of poverty. He had 
 spent a great deal of money in Plotzk to get con- 
 cessions from the governor. His building gave 
 employment to scores of people. Then he aston- 
 ished the people of the entire neighbourhood by 
 an announcement, which the Count de Lack 
 caused to be sent to every landowner far and 
 wide, that steam mills for milling grain and fac- 
 tories for wool spinning would be erected in 
 Dobrzyn by Mr. Howard Rosen and the Count 
 de Lack, and that the firm would also do a gen- 
 eral banking business and lend money to nobles 
 and other land owners for the purpose of the 
 better cultivation of their lands. 
 
 This activity brought prosperity to all classes 
 of the people, and many and profound were the 
 blessings given to the American and to his beau- 
 tiful daughter, who went among the poor like a 
 good fairy, giving sympathy and help to those in 
 need. Yet those who created so much happiness 
 were unhappy themselves; for every post that 
 brought discouraging news regarding the search 
 for Joseph and his mother lowered their spirits 
 and made Beatrice wretchedly unhappy. She 
 had set her cousin Joseph upon a pedestal for 
 worship. Daily she used to go to the old Rabbi 
 Moise Libe and hear from his mouth again and 
 again the story how Joseph came and asked to 
 be taught the Law and the Talmud. The doctor 
 and the priest had yielded to her charm, and 
 from them, too, she heard what sort of a man 
 
 152 
 
Beatrice and the Baroness. 
 
 this young kinsman of hers was. Even Kamin- 
 ski was made to repeat the wonderful story of 
 Joseph's life, and the worthy policeman was 
 ready to give his life for this girl whose sympa- 
 thy for Joseph was enough to win his regard, 
 even without the liberal presents Beatrice had 
 made him. She worshiped her idea of Joseph ; 
 to her his soul was as the soul of a saint, his 
 heart as the heart of a lion. In him were com- 
 bined all the virtues that a maiden's fancy could 
 possibly conceive. She seemed to know every 
 detail of his life, so full was her information ; the 
 only thing she did not know — and this was the 
 one thing that could have hurt her pure heart — 
 was Baroness Levanovska's love for Joseph. 
 Thus she could meet the Baroness face to face at 
 Castle Lack and love her, for her gentle soul 
 could hate no one, whilst the Baroness, the more 
 she saw of the Jewess, could feel nothing but a 
 growing hatred of her. 
 
 153 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 Castle Lack was decorated from roof to cellar. 
 The arched approaches were festooned with 
 evergreen and flowers from the hothouses. 
 Over the massive entrance, between the two 
 noble towers of the Castle, there was set a caul- 
 dron containing a mixture of pitch and hemp, 
 which at night was to blaze as a beacon light. 
 Within the Castle painters and carpenters were 
 busy putting the finishing touches to a work that 
 had been going on for weeks. Invitations had 
 been sent to the neighbouring nobility to attend 
 the reception to be given in honour of Count Wal- 
 deck de Lack, only child and heir to Casimir de 
 Lack, Imperial Councillor, etc., etc. Incidentally 
 it was mentioned that it was to celebrate Count 
 Waldeck's success in the "Imi>erial States Ex- 
 amination," in which he had taken the first place, 
 together with the nephew of the famous Profes- 
 sor de Horovitz, who, having received the im- 
 perial ring, publicly gave it to his friend, Count 
 Waldeck. It was not certain whether the Pro- 
 fessor's nephew would come to Vielga, as he was 
 very busy in Warsaw, the Countess explained to 
 Mr. Rosen. 
 
 "All I can say is that if you permit this child 
 to catch cold, I shall be very angry, Mr. Rosen. 
 
 154 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 I want her to be the queen of the evening. It 
 will be delightful," she said as she left. 
 
 "I wish I could account for the strange fancy 
 that draws me to this child. If she were my own 
 flesh and blood I could not think more fondly of 
 her," she said to herself. 
 
 On entering the hall she was caught from be- 
 hind and held by two strong arms, while a man's 
 cheek was pressed against her own. 
 
 ''Who is it?" cried the captor. 
 
 "Waldeck!" she exclaimed, and soon mother 
 and son were in each other's arms. 
 
 "We did not expect you before to-morrow; 
 ihis is a delicious surprise." 
 
 "I thought you would like it, dushka (darling 
 soul)," said he, laying his hand on his mother's 
 shoulder. "I say, dushka, have you been bathing 
 in the waters of eternal youth? You are more 
 beautiful than any woman I know." 
 
 "Thank you, dear heart; I am glad to please 
 my boy, whom I adore." 
 
 "And yet it appears that I am not the only 
 possessor of your heart. There is your Jewess, 
 of whom you have written so glowingly," he 
 said. 
 
 "Wait until you see her," was the reply. 
 
 "And how is he? Has he improved on ac- 
 quaintance, I mean from your — the woman's — 
 point of view?" he asked. 
 
 "I have never met a more liberal or a more 
 unassuming man," said the Countess. 
 
 "Epstein tells me that he is worth something 
 
 155 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 like thirty million roubles. It seems incredible. 
 He made a very good impression upon me when 
 I first saw him in Warsaw. He reminded me of 
 my friend Horovitz." 
 
 "Warsaw rings with that young man's name. 
 Is he really so great, or is he merely the fash- 
 ion?'' she asked. 
 
 ''Petit mere, Warsaw does not know a hund- 
 redth part of what he really is. Nor do I pre- 
 tend to know. You know Merau, the great 
 painter? Well, he told me that all the work he 
 had done so far was not worth speaking of after 
 he had heard young Horovitz's criticism. The 
 scientist^ 'ay the same thing after he discusses 
 any subject with them. It is the same in the 
 case of anything he takes in hand." 
 
 "Has he been in love?" asked the Countess. 
 
 "I have not the least idea; but — oh, it is the 
 pretty Jewess you are thinking of. I see ma 
 petite mere is already scheming to match the 
 matchless souls. Voila, I have no objection. 
 Where is papa?" 
 
 "He has gone down to look at the new well 
 they are boring," she said. 
 
 Waldeck kissed her and went to see his father. 
 
 In the afternoon of the following day the 
 guests began to arrive. They came from Vlotz- 
 lavek, Lipno and Plotzk. The great halls were 
 soon filled with men and women who were 
 charmed with the welcome provided for them. 
 
 The political temper of the Poles had gradu- 
 ally toned down to a philosophical acceptance of 
 
 IS6 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 the inevitable, and although many felt chagrined 
 at the presence of Count Radzin, a Tartar and 
 Colonel of a regiment of Cossacks that had acted 
 outrageously in the province, the majority ap- 
 peared pleased or indifferent at the presence of 
 a number of Russian officers and officials. 
 
 The appearance of the Countess leaning on her 
 son's arm was greeted with loud acclamation. 
 The eye of the Countess searched the crowd of 
 people to find one dearer to her than any save 
 Waldeck. She gave a start as the Baroness 
 Levanovska came up radiant as a sunbeam. She 
 appeared the very image of Beatrice, and there 
 was not in her beautiful face a trace that be- 
 trayed the misery of her soul. 
 
 "How do you do, cousin?" said Waldeck, 
 kissing the Baroness* hand. 
 
 "I am quite well. It is so dreadfully long 
 since I saw you that I almost forgot we were 
 cousins," she said with a smile. 
 
 "But I did not forget, and now I am doubly 
 glad that I kept it in mind, for you are very 
 beautiful, Amanda," he said, bending over her. 
 
 "That a great savant such as you should not 
 have forgotten to be polite, redeems your sex. 
 I wonder whom your mother is greeting so af- 
 fectionately," she said, with a pain at her heart, 
 for she had recognized Beatrice. "Apropos," 
 she continued, "you know we have become lib- 
 erals in Poland, and have taken all sorts of peo- 
 ple into our ranks. An American, a Jew, I be- 
 lieve, has conquered the entire aristocracy, and 
 
 157 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 has bamboozled your father into some business 
 partnership. Oh, Waldeck, there is that dread- 
 ful Russian, Count Radzin. He has been perse- 
 cuting me with his attentions for over a year. 
 I hate him. Take me away." 
 
 But it was too late. The dreadful but hand- 
 some Russian came up, and bowing profoundly, 
 begged the honor of offering his arm to the 
 Baroness. 
 
 *T wish I could offer your ladyship something 
 better than an ice, but they are serving ices in 
 the next room and I wish to put myself at the 
 disposal of the most beautiful woman in Po- 
 land," said the Count. 
 
 "That was exceedingly well put, and my 
 cousin, the Baroness, must appreciate it," Wal- 
 deck put in. 
 
 "I do not agree with you. The Count did not 
 intend it to be a compliment, as there is no Po- 
 land. But a conquered people has no choice," 
 said the Baroness. 
 
 "Pardon, chere Baronne, his imperial majesty 
 has conquered the territory, but Poland is still 
 supreme, she is sovereign," the Count rejoined. 
 
 "I fail to see it ; how ?" asked the Baroness. 
 
 "In her women," the Count replied, bowing. 
 
 "Cest bien vrm" cried the old Count de Lack, 
 who had come up with Mr. Rosen. "Permit me 
 to introduce to your ladyship my friend, Mr. 
 Rosen." 
 
 The Baroness inclined her head. 
 
 "Count Radzin, Mr. Rosen." 
 
 158 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 The Count, taking the hint from the Baroness, 
 bowed politely, very politely, so politely that the 
 sneer with which the bow was accompanied was 
 an obvious affront. Rosen felt it, but he had al- 
 ready learned a lesson in Poland and concealed 
 his resentment. He stretched out his hand to 
 Waldeck, who grasped it and shook it heartily. 
 
 The Baroness, thoroughly pleased with Count 
 Radzin's manner, took his arm and was led 
 away. A moment later the Countess, leading 
 Beatrice, came up, and as they came into full 
 view of the three men standing under the chan- 
 delier, the latter started as if moved by the same 
 impulse and looked at the two women with an as- 
 tonishment that bordered on amazement. 
 
 The Countess and Beatrice appeared like 
 mother and daughter, the latter a younger coun- 
 terpart of the former, but with a likeness so 
 strong that no one could possibly mistake it. 
 
 Howard Rosen was bewildered, but his mind 
 failed to solve the puzzle. The old Count seemed 
 seized with a sort of vertigo, and involuntarily 
 his hand caught Waldeck's. The latter, intoxi- 
 cated by the beautiful vision, asked : 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 The question broke the spell, but before any 
 of them could speak, the Countess de Lack intro- 
 duced Beatrice to her son, or rather him to her, 
 for she addressed herself to the girl, saying: 
 
 "Beatrice dear, permit me to introduce to you 
 my son, Waldeck." 
 
 Beatrice gave him her hand. 
 
 159 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I am glad to meet you. I have heard so 
 much about you that I feel as if I had known you 
 for a long time," she said. 
 
 "Let me hope, Miss Rosen, that you have 
 heard only what was good and that I may not 
 prove a disappointment," he said, thrilled by the 
 melody of her voice. 
 
 "That is not likely, for to-night's impression 
 is not the first," she said smilingly. 
 
 "How?" asked Waldeck. 
 
 "I saw you once before." 
 
 "Where?" he cried. 
 
 "In Warsaw," she said, amused at his mysti- 
 fication. 
 
 "In Warsaw," he said, looking at her with in- 
 tense admiration, "it would have been impossible 
 for me not to have seen you unless you were hid- 
 den behind the curtains of your window or in a 
 closed carriage." 
 
 "Neither ; I was driving in the Lazienki Park ; 
 you were in a carriage with two other gentle- 
 men, and passed us on the way to the Botanical 
 Gardens," she said. 
 
 "Upon my word, that is so; I remember; 
 but " 
 
 He felt: almost pain in his regret at not having 
 seen her then. He would have given much to 
 have had this beautiful image in his mind. 
 
 "You were going to say," she said, looking up 
 to him. 
 
 "That I was held in thrall by the rhythm of 
 poetry. My friend, Joseph Horovitz, was com- 
 
 i6o 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 paring Mitchkievitch with Heine and he recited 
 the verses of both with such pathos that I saw 
 nothing and heard nothing but his voice and his 
 face. Joseph has a marvelous face and he is a 
 poet.'' 
 
 Beatrice had started at the mention of the 
 name. Her face flushed ; she felt as if the mys- 
 tery were to be solved at last. 
 
 "Did you say Joseph?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, Professor Horovitz and his nephew, 
 Joseph Horovitz," he answered. "Do you know 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; but the name Joseph made me think 
 of my poor cousin for whom we have searched 
 far and wide. He and his mother disappeared 
 from Dobrzyn and all efforts to find them have 
 proved unsuccessful," she said. 
 
 "Is it not strange that you and I should be in- 
 terested in the name Joseph? for the Joseph I 
 know is my most intimate friend ; but he is quite 
 wealthy, so it can scarcely be your Joseph. I 
 could tell many an interesting story of my Jo- 
 seph. But they would hardly interest you," he 
 said. 
 
 "If they are bad stories," she said smilingly, 
 "they would not interest me." 
 
 "Bad stories!" cried Waldeck, "the stories 
 about my friend are all good stories. I have al- 
 ready mentioned that he is a poet. To this I 
 must add that he is a scientist, a linguist, a phil- 
 osopher and a philanthropist." 
 
 i6i 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Is he all that?" she said, thinking that the 
 Count was exaggerating to olease her. 
 
 **He is all that and more," Waldeck rejoined. 
 *'He haunts the sick wards of the hospitals. His 
 time, his money, and his skill are put at the ser- 
 vice of all Warsaw. It is a privilege to be his 
 friend." 
 
 And as he looked into her upturned face that 
 expressed the intensity with which she was lis- 
 tening, he felt a sudden pain in noting that the 
 interest he desired to concentrate upon himself 
 had by his eloquence been transferred to an- 
 other. 
 
 **And his name is Joseph?" she asked with a 
 tenderness in her voice that augmented his pain. 
 
 "I wish I had not mentioned his name," said 
 Waldeck. 
 
 "Why, pray?" she asked. 
 
 "Because you will grow interested in this Jo- 
 seph to the disadvantage of his friend," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "You are selfish. Count," said Beatrice; "if I 
 had a friend who was as noble as your friend 
 Joseph I should never tire of praising him," she 
 said. 
 
 "If he knew that I was saying as much as I 
 have he would feel hurt, for he is the most mod- 
 est of men. Many of those who live on his 
 bounty do not know the giver. He holds that 
 to put people under an obligation is to sow 
 the seed of hatred in their breasts, for of all 
 burdens the heaviest is that of enforced grati- 
 162 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 tude. Let us ennoble our work, he says, by not 
 exacting any toll for it. Let us lift up mankind 
 by cultivating their love and let us make them 
 grateful to God who feeds the birds and the 
 beasts of the field, and takes care of the creatures 
 His hand has made. Man does not feel gratitude 
 to be a burden when he takes a gift from his 
 Father in heaven. So you will understand. Miss 
 Rosen, that a man like that, thinking as he does, 
 cannot possibly desire open, or indeed any, 
 praise." 
 
 "From what I have heard of my cousin's 
 character," said Beatrice, "I am quite sure that 
 if he had large means, he would live and act as 
 your friend does. And here there is a large for- 
 tune waiting for him if he would only come and 
 take it. Oh, if we could find him !" she said, and 
 her eyes brimmed with tears. 
 
 "I wish I could be of assistance to you, Miss 
 Rosen," cried Waldeck. 
 
 "We have done all that earnest effort and 
 money can possibly do to find them, but they 
 seem lost," she said. 
 
 Waldeck's heart beat furiously ; he felt he was 
 in love with the girl. He gave no heed to the 
 complications that might arise if he declared 
 himself. He was intoxicated by her voice, her 
 beauty, her perfect grace, and he might have 
 spoken then if his mother had not interrupted by 
 asking him to take Beatrice to the table. 
 
 "They are not lost," he whispered as he led 
 her away, "I will find them for you." 
 163 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 She gave him a grateful look. 
 
 Baroness Levanovska, who sat at Waldeck's 
 right, tried to engage him in conversation, but all 
 his thoughts were with the American girl. His 
 preoccupation was not lost upon the Baroness. 
 An affront to Beatrice trembled on her lips. 
 Only respect for the girl's father, who reminded 
 her of Joseph, prevented her. 
 
 At length all was over, — the dinner with its 
 speeches, the music, the theatricals conducted by 
 the village schoolmaster; all the little details 
 connected with an entertainment given by one 
 of the richest Polish magnates in honor of his 
 son — an entertainment which this son in his 
 present condition was in no mind to appreciate; 
 all was at length done with, and the guests re- 
 turned to the great halls that were now arranged 
 for dancing. 
 
 The band played a Mazurka. In a moment 
 dozens of couples, flinging themselves into the 
 spirit of the rhythm, whirled round with a click- 
 ing of heels as they wove the circles of this fas- 
 cinating dance through the brilliantly lighted 
 hall. 
 
 Beatrice and Waldeck, too, danced, but only 
 for a few moments, and then sat down. 
 
 "I would rather not dance. It seems a sin to 
 be gay when my poor aunt and her son may be 
 in trouble," she said. 
 
 "You can do them no good by saddening your- 
 self," he said. 
 
 "I suppose not, and I think you are right, only 
 164 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 I happened to think of them. Well, tell me 
 something about yourself." 
 
 "Myself!" he said. "I have nothing to say 
 about myself. Just now I should best like to 
 talk to you about yourself. Do you believe in 
 spontaneity?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "It depends upon what you mean by the 
 term," she replied. 
 
 "I mean spontaneous affection — love at first 
 sight." 
 
 "I have read of such a thing and have heard it 
 spoken of; but as for having any belief in it, I 
 don't know what to say. It seems to me that 
 people could not love each other unless they had 
 known each other for a long time," she said. 
 
 "I can say nothing from experience either, for 
 I have never been in love. But it seems to me 
 that an intelligent person with quick wits and a 
 great capacity for emotion would know at once 
 if he really loved a woman or " 
 
 "That would be only momentary desire," she 
 broke in. 
 
 "Not necessarily. In love, as in all else, a be- 
 ginning must be made; and passionate natures, 
 seeing a diamond and desiring to possess it, use 
 all their energies to get it." 
 
 "But suppose they find the diamond to be only 
 paste?" she asked. 
 
 "The judgment of the heart is infallible and," 
 he said, taking her hand — they were in a niche 
 shaded by big plants — "I know that I love you." 
 
 "No, no. Count, you must not say such things. 
 
 165 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 You frighten me. I did not think your words 
 pointed to me. Come, let us go." 
 
 Whatever more he might have said to further 
 his suit was hindered by the appearance of the 
 Countess, in whose train was a swarm of young 
 men eager to dance with the beautiful American. 
 Count Radzin boldly extended his arm to 
 Beatrice, and she, glad to get away from a situ- 
 ation that began to be uncomfortable, took the 
 Count's arm and was led away. 
 
 ''How do you like her, my son?" asked the 
 Countess. 
 
 Waldeck made no reply. 
 
 "Waldeck!" 
 
 "Yes, dear," he answered, gazing at Beatrice 
 as she glided past them, the very incarnation of 
 grace and rhythm. 
 
 "My dear son, remember!" 
 
 "I cannot help it, mamma, I love her and I 
 shall love none other," he said. 
 
 "Ah, my poor child, I made you unhappy; 
 alas, you can never marry her, she is a Jewess." 
 
 "If that be all, I shall not trouble; for either 
 she will turn Catholic or I shall take her faith. 
 But is it not strange I never thought of her re- 
 ligion while I spoke to her, and, mother dear, 
 she does not look like a Jewess. She looks, in 
 fact, the image of you." 
 
 "Of me?" cried the Countess. 
 
 At that moment Howard Rosen, Count de Lack 
 and Beatrice approached them. 
 
 i66 
 
At the Ball. 
 
 "You are not going already?" cried the 
 Countess. 
 
 "I am very sorry, but we must go," said Rosen 
 firmly. 
 
 "I wish you would stay here for the night, you 
 and your — the young lady," said Count de Lack. 
 
 Howard Rosen felt as if some one had stuck a 
 knife into him, so keen was the pain he felt from 
 an unaccountable sensation which he could not 
 explain to himself. He wanted to get away. 
 
 Countess de Lack and Waldeck heard the hesi- 
 tation in the Count's words, and while Waldeck 
 was mystified and disturbed, the Countess felt 
 as if an icy fringe of death had touched her 
 heart, and no sooner had the Rosens left than 
 she went to her room. When, an hour after, the 
 Count came in, he found her at the foot of the 
 great silver crucifix, her head bowed low in 
 silent prayer. 
 
 167 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PLOT. 
 
 Baroness Levanovska, who had seen at a 
 glance that Waldeck was in love with the fair 
 American, felt an almost irresistible desire to do 
 her an injury. She herself was not in love with 
 Waldeck, but she hated to think that this for- 
 eigner should come here and conquer all hearts 
 and stand in the way of her ultimate alliance 
 with Joseph. "She is a Jewess, and he will pre- 
 fer her," she said to herself, and thus nursed her 
 hatred till it nearly made her mad. 
 
 "In olden times one could find a knight who 
 would do a woman's bidding," she said to Count 
 Radzin. 
 
 "I will do anything you like," he rejoined. 
 
 "Do not make rash promises. Count. I am 
 very exacting." 
 
 "I accept the challenge," he said. 
 
 "Well, then, come and see me at the Castle," 
 she said. 
 
 "When may I call, chere Baronne?" he asked. 
 
 "Are you going to Plotzk to-night?" 
 
 "No, I shall stay here and leave late in the 
 afternoon to-morrow," he replied. 
 
 "Then you may call on Friday," she said and 
 smiled on him. 
 
 They spent the evening together, and when 
 he saw her to her sleigh he had already declared 
 i68 
 
The Plot. 
 
 his undying love, and as the Baroness had only 
 smiled, he took it for granted that she had ac- 
 cepted his suit. 
 
 On Friday the Count called and he was de- 
 lighted at the friendliness of her reception. 
 
 "I am in great trouble, Count," she said. 
 
 "Pray tell me, and if I can be of any service, 
 command me." 
 
 "If you loved a woman with all the strength 
 of your heart and soul and some one came and 
 desired to take her away from you, what would 
 you do?" she asked. 
 
 "That would be impossible, because no one 
 would dare to attempt such a thing," he an- 
 swered, smiling grimly and showing his teeth ob- 
 stinately set. 
 
 "But if some one should," she persisted. 
 
 "I would have him flogged to death," he said. 
 
 "Let us assume that it were not a woman in 
 question but an estate which you had held in un- 
 disputed possession for many years, when a 
 stranger came and tried to rob you of it. Would 
 you fight for it?" 
 
 "Baroness, I beg you to speak more plainly. 
 I am not an adept in mysteries and if I have to 
 fight a foe I want to see him. I am willing to 
 give my life for you, but I must know for what," 
 he said. 
 
 "Very well, then, listen. Yesterday Zaman- 
 ski, the lawyer from Plotzk, called upon me. He 
 showed me papers which declared that this Jew- 
 ess, Beatrice Rosen, is in fact the Countess Bea- 
 169 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 trice da Paula, my uncle's granddaughter and 
 the rightful heiress to Wysiniaski. He main- 
 tains that she is the only person living that can 
 lay claim to these estates. The thing is a secret. 
 But if it turn out to be the truth, th€ disgrace 
 will kill me. Give up my estates to a Jewess !" 
 she cried. 
 
 ''You shall not," said the Count. 
 
 "How can it be hindered?" she asked. 
 
 "It shall be prevented, if you give me the right 
 to do it," he said. 
 
 "I give it you," she rejoined, giving him her 
 hand. 
 
 "She shall disappear as if she had never ex- 
 isted," he said, kissing her hand. 
 
 "Ah, but her father watches her, and he would 
 sacrifice anything to find her," she put in. 
 
 "It would do him no good ; besides, I will have 
 him sent to Siberia as soon as the girl is done 
 away with. All I desire to know is her manner 
 of living. Does she go out much?" 
 
 "Rarely, but she drives to Castle Lack every 
 Monday." 
 
 "And when you are free of this Jewess?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Then you shall receive your richest reward," 
 she replied. 
 
 "You," he cried, and caught her in his arms. 
 
 She turned deadly pale and bit her lip, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 170 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE BROKER. 
 
 Although Howard Rosen was but little iden- 
 tified with the Jews in Dobrzyn, they took no 
 less keen an interest in his affairs, and talked of 
 him with pride. There were those who criticised 
 his "promiscuous charity" and were of the opin- 
 ion that a Jew must accord all the benefits he 
 had to bestow on none but Jews. There was a 
 serious discussion among the elders of the Syna- 
 gogue whether they should accept his offer to 
 build a new Talmud Academy building. The 
 main objection of some of the severely orthodox 
 was that he had built, furnished and fully en- 
 dowed a home for aged Catholics. The fanatics 
 seemed likely to carry their point when the 
 Rabbi interposed and declared that charity 
 should recognize no difference of race, creed or 
 sex, and that this rich man whom God had sent 
 as a redeemer to the people of Dobrzyn, and who 
 was in the counsel of the mighty in the land, 
 must be considered as an exception to the rule 
 by which other men are judged. 
 
 "I have been Rabbi in this community for 
 more than twenty years and in all these years I 
 have never received more than TEN roubles a 
 week," he cried, emphasizing the word ten. 
 "Now this man has come here and the first thing 
 he did was to raise the status of the officers of 
 171 
 
Children of Fate 
 
 the congregation. I am receiving a princely sal- 
 ary, and even the under-sexton is on a salary. 
 The house to house collection has been abolished, 
 and peace and plenty is with us, therefore let us 
 not offend this man lest we sin against God." 
 
 The Rabbi's speech made a deep impression, 
 Rosen's offer was accepted with thanks and the 
 new Academy was built. 
 
 There was, however, one person in Dobrzyn 
 who had not benefited by Rosen's munificence, 
 although he was poor and his wife frequently 
 told him that he would never amount to any- 
 thing. 
 
 "Everybody in town is getting rich, and all 
 through the American; only you have nothing, 
 and while other women have new hats and new 
 wigs to wear on the Sabbath, I must wear my old 
 things. I wish I had died before I ever married 
 you," she cried and fell to sobbing. 
 
 "But don't you see, Ella dear, that other people 
 are in a business where they can deal with the 
 American, while I am a marriage broker. 
 What shall I do if I cannot find a suitable match 
 for his daughter?" he replied. 
 
 "Have you tried? Everybody says to me, 
 'Well, Mrs. Guilof, your husband is sure to make 
 a fortune one of these days,* and what can I say, 
 can I tell the world that my husband sits over 
 his musty old books all day long and never 
 makes an effort to go near the American ?" 
 
 Mr. Guilof winced under his wife's words and 
 made up his mind to do something toward se- 
 172 
 
The Marriage Broker. 
 
 curing her a new hat and a new wig. He oiled 
 the corkscrew curls that hung on his temples, 
 touched up his long red beard, and put on his 
 satin-lined fur coat and high fur cap. His wife 
 Ella watched all these preparations with silent 
 satisfaction, but let it appear as if she saw noth- 
 ing of what was going on. 
 
 "I am going, Ella," he said. 
 
 "Going where?" she asked. 
 
 "To see Mr. Rosen." 
 
 "But you have no match for his daughter," 
 cried Mrs. Guilof. 
 
 "My dear, you do not understand. I shall 
 offer him the son of Jacob Praski, who has just 
 come back from the Wilna Talmud University 
 and is qualified to be Rabbi. If he says 'yes', 
 then the business is done." 
 
 "But supposing the young man does not want 
 to marry her?" she asked. 
 
 "Not marry her with so much money? Im- 
 possible ! No one ever heard of such a thing." 
 
 "But you have had one experience already; 
 don't you remember Lerko's daughter?" she said. 
 
 "Well, she was a woman; but a man, and a 
 good Jew, is not such a fool. With the help of 
 God I shall succeed.** 
 
 "May God hear your words and let them come 
 true,'' she called after him as he went out. 
 
 Mr. Guilof, however, would not take any 
 chances on the strength of his own eloquence, so 
 he recited several Psalms on the way and prayed 
 God to soften the heart of the American so that 
 
 173 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 — well, he had not finished his prayer when Jan, 
 the erstwhile stage driver, who was now in the 
 service of Rosen, stopped his progress and asked 
 him what he wanted. 
 
 Mr. Guilof looked supremely astonished. 
 
 "Why, I want to see Mr. Rosen, of course," 
 he cried. 
 
 "Then wait, I will see if my master wishes to 
 see you," said the other to his confusion. 
 
 A moment later Jan came back and told the 
 man to follow him. 
 
 As soon as Guilof saw the American he forgot 
 his chagrin. 
 
 "Good morning Mr. Rosen," he said. 
 
 "Good morning Mr. Guilof, what can I do for 
 you?" 
 
 "I have come to do something for you, Mr. 
 Rosen," said Guilof, seating himself and taking 
 a pinch of snuff from a polished horn snuff box. 
 He extended the box to Rosen, assuring him at 
 the same time that it was the best French rapee. 
 
 But Rosen was not dwelling on snuff but upon 
 the events that had happened the night before at 
 the Castle. The match-maker noticed that he was 
 preoccupied and decided to come to the point at 
 once. 
 
 "Mr. Rosen, I am here to propose a brilliant 
 party for your daughter, and it is no less a person 
 than the son of Mr. Jacob Praski, of whose piety 
 and wonderful learning you have heard." 
 
 Howard Rosen appeared to be lost in thought. 
 Then a smile flitted across his face. 
 
 174 
 
The Marriage Broker. 
 
 "If you bring about this aflfair how large a 
 commission do you expect?" 
 
 "If you give your daughter a dower of one 
 hundred thousand roubles, my commission would 
 be, with your kind leave, five roubles per thous- 
 and," he said exultingly. 
 
 "Supposing I did not care to entertain any mar- 
 riage proposition for my daughter?" asked 
 Rosen. 
 
 "Then I should go away and say to myself that 
 I was unfortunate in this business," was the sad 
 reply. 
 
 "Of course there are other match-makers in 
 other cities who are likely to take it up. If they 
 come here would they call on you before they 
 came to see me?" asked the American. 
 
 "Always ; because I have a reputation, sir, far 
 and wide, and they would not think of coming 
 into my territory without first seeing me," he 
 said proudly. 
 
 Rosen seemed lost in thought over the match- 
 maker's rejoinder, then he turned to his safe and 
 took out two hundred and fifty roubles. 
 
 "Take this money, sir, as a gift from me for 
 the present. I shall not entertain the thought of 
 having Mr. Praski's son as a son-in-law, nor any- 
 one else. I also beg of you to make it your busi- 
 ness to tell all marriage brokers that my daughter 
 is not in the market. I shall consider this a ser- 
 vice worth much more than the sum I pay you 
 now. I trust you will excuse me as I have some 
 other business to attend to." 
 
 175 
 
Children or Fate. 
 
 Mr. Guilof, having taken the money, was in a 
 position to take the hint, and, expressing his great 
 appreciation of Rosen's wisdom and Hberality, 
 went away. 
 
 A few moments later the Countess de Lack was 
 announced, and as she entered, Rosen was shock- 
 ed at the haggard expression in her face. 
 
 i;6 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SOLUTION OF A PROBLEM. 
 
 "What has happened, my lady ?" cried Rosen. 
 
 "Everything except death," was the answer. 
 
 "I do not understand; what has caused you 
 trouble?" 
 
 "Beatrice," said the Countess. 
 
 "My daughter?" cried Rosen. 
 
 "There are people who do not believe that 
 Beatrice is your daughter," said the Countess 
 with a laugh that chilled his blood. 
 
 "Who dares?" he cried. 
 
 "The Count, my husband," was the reply. 
 
 Rosen fell back as if struck in the chest. 
 
 "By what right does the Count say this? He 
 must have some strong reason for making this 
 outrageous statement and he must know that he 
 will be held personally responsible," he cried. 
 
 The Countess was silent. 
 
 "I beg you, madam, to tell me all. You could 
 not possibly have come here to torture me. What 
 does the Count say?" 
 
 **He believes Beatrice is my daughter'' said 
 the Countess, and sank down in the chair, sob- 
 bing bitterly. 
 
 Howard Rosen gave a hoarse cry. He stag- 
 gered back and caught at his throat as if he were 
 choking. At last he regained sufficient strength 
 to speak. 
 
 T^77 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "This is terrible, monstrous. This accusation 
 does not only affect you, it affects the fair name 
 of my innocent child. I am going to thrust the 
 lie down your husband's throat," he cried, 
 springing to his feet. 
 
 "Howard Rosen, you w511 not," cried jthe 
 Countess, and ran up to him. "You are my 
 friend, are you not? In this supreme moment of 
 my life I will not delude myself with false pride, 
 I look upon you as my best and only friend, and 
 it is for you to stand by me and help me unravel 
 this mystery." 
 
 "How can I? I am an American. I know 
 very little of affairs here. What I do know is 
 that my wife was a Pole and of noble birth, and 
 that my daughter is heiress to one of the richest 
 estates in Poland." 
 
 "What was your wife's maiden name?" asked 
 the Countess, her excitement increasing. 
 
 "Wanda da Paula." 
 
 "What ?" 
 
 The Countess uttered this one word and then 
 fainted. When she came to herself and realised 
 what had taken place, she burst into tears. 
 
 Rosen was moved at the sight of her grief 
 and rose to hide his sympathy. But the voice of 
 the Countess, with rare sweetness, called him. 
 
 "Howard, do not leave me. Come here, come 
 closer to me. Oh, Howard, you have made me 
 so happy. Howard, Wanda was my sister, I 
 am a da Paula." 
 
 178 
 
The Solution of a Problem. 
 
 It was now Rosen's turn to be stupefied with 
 surprise. 
 
 "I did not know that the connection was on 
 this side," he said and his face lit up with a 
 rare gladness. Suddenly his face clouded. 
 
 "You said, Countess, that the Count suspected 
 you of being the motiher of Beatrice. I have 
 never seen you in my life, although I think that 
 you must be the Martha whose picture I saw at 
 my mother-in-law's house and of whom she 
 spoke affectionately and tearfully. It was only 
 at her death that we found she had a large es- 
 tate and that she was a peeress of the Polish 
 kingdom. With her papers and the titles, I 
 came here at her particular request to establish 
 my daughter's rights. Alas, I wish my poor 
 Wanda had lived, then indeed I should have felt 
 perfect happiness. But if you desire to give me 
 peace of mind, tell me how the Count came to 
 say what he did," he said, pressing her hand. 
 
 The face of the Countess became flushed. 
 
 "Of corrse, you do not know the reason why 
 my mother went to America, but the truth is 
 that my father, the Count de Pauli, being a man 
 of ungovernable temper, became enraged be- 
 cause my mother gave birth to a second daugh- 
 ter when he had hoped for a son. He con- 
 ceived a terrible hatred for my mother. He left 
 her, and, taking me with him, settled in Paris. 
 Notwithstanding every effort on the part of 
 friends and relatives here and in France, he re- 
 fused to go back. After many years, however, 
 179 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 his heart softened, and he went back to Castle 
 Kointza-Gura, but the one he sought was gone. 
 My mother had taken her private funds from the 
 bank and left not a trace as to her whereabouts. 
 No one thought that she would go to America. 
 
 "My father was stricken with remorse, and ere 
 long his health gave away. Before his death he 
 ordered that the estate should be divided between 
 myself and my cousin, who was to hold the 
 property in trust for Wanda and her heirs for 
 a period of ten years after his death, after which 
 it was to be held by my uncle, the Count de 
 Pauli, forever. My father died nine years 
 ago, my uncle was killed in the revolution, and 
 Amanda, his daughter, now has the property. 
 
 "But all this is not to the point of that which 
 you want to know. Well, when I was sixteen 
 years of age I was married to Count de Lack. He 
 was over twenty years my senior, but he was 
 kindness itself. The country was in the throes of 
 conspiracy and revolution at the time, and so my 
 husband took me to Paris where my Waldeck 
 was born. Meanwhile, my husband was called to 
 St. Petersburg, where he remained for nearly two 
 years. 
 
 "The Russian Ambassador to the Court of 
 France visited me often and my father was 
 charmed with his wit and esprit. Occasionally 
 he used to take me for a drive in the Bois de 
 Boulogne, and as my father as a rule accom- 
 panied us, there was no cause for gossip. 
 
 "However, my name was mentioned within the 
 i8o 
 
The Solution of a Problem. 
 
 Ambassador's hearing; a duel was fought and 
 my friend was killed. My father was grieved 
 at the scandal and we left Paris for London. 
 But my traducers did not stop at the murder 
 of the Russian Ambassador, they sent anony- 
 mous letters to the Count in which they spoke 
 of my accouchement in London. He returned 
 to Paris, the slanderer was traced and found, 
 and he fell in the duel that resulted. He was 
 a great personage and had persecuted me with 
 his attentions for a long time. 
 
 "My husband had perfect faith in me until 
 this sudden recognition of a resemblance be- 
 tween the dear child and myself. But God is 
 good, is he not, Howard?" 
 
 "He is most gracious, and here comes the 
 sweet innocent who has caused you and me all 
 this trouble," said Rosen, as Beatrice entered. 
 
 "How did I cause you trouble, papa Howard 
 Rosen ?'^ she asked. 
 
 "By being the niece of this noble lady here 
 without letting her know, and leaving me in the 
 dark about the matter, too." 
 
 Beatrice raised her riding whip. 
 
 "When little children do not behave they are 
 punished," she said threateningly. "What sort 
 of joke is this, Papa Howard Rosen?" 
 
 "No jest at all, darling, your mother was the 
 Countess' sister," he said calmly and evidently 
 enjoying her discomfort. 
 
 But the Countess would not have him tease 
 her any longer. 
 
 i8i 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Sweetheart, your papa tells the truth, he has 
 but a few moments ago told me the second part 
 of my own family history; you are my own 
 niece," said the Countess embracing the girl. 
 
 But the intelligence nearly dazed Beatrice. 
 
 "Was not my mother a Jewess, papa ?" she cried. 
 
 "By faith but not by birth. Both your mother 
 and your grandmother took the Jewish faith a 
 month before I was married." 
 
 The Countess rose to go. 
 
 "I must acquaint the Count with this affair and 
 for the sake of the rare happiness I have found I 
 shall forget what I have suffered," she said as 
 she left them. 
 
 When the Count heard the story he fell on his 
 knees. 
 
 "Can you forgive me, Martha ?"f he cried. 
 "Forgive me, if you can, for the sake of the dear 
 girl." 
 
 "I felt that she was ours," sobbed the Countess. 
 
 "And she shall be. Come, dear, let us go to 
 them," he said. 
 
 The Count and the Countess went to Rosen's 
 house and stayed to dinner, which became a sort 
 of informal celebration of the happy event. 
 
 The news that Beatrice Rosen was a niece of 
 Countess de Lack soon spread and letters of con- 
 gratulation came from all sides, but the mistress 
 of Wysiniaski only smiled. Then she fell on her 
 knees before the little shrine in her boudoir and 
 prayed with eyes aflame that God might speed 
 Count Radzin on his errand of outrage. 
 182 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE WOOING. 
 
 "I am going to Warsaw to make a personal 
 search for our people and also to see the Ameri- 
 can consul, so that we may get the papers 
 served on Baroness Levanovska for the posses- 
 sion of Wysiniaski and the other estate/' said 
 Mr. Rosen to his daughter. 
 
 "But, papa dear, I have no desire to claim any- 
 thing; we have enough without them, I think," 
 Beatrice rejoined. 
 
 "Quite true, my dear ; but I wish to establish 
 your mother's rights and your own title. Be- 
 sides, it will not be a bad place for my aunt and 
 her son to live, and then a certain young lady 
 might go there occasionally — to visit her aunt, 
 of course," he said, putting his finger under her 
 chin. 
 
 Beatrice blushed to the roots of her hair. 
 
 "If you will but find them, papa," she said. 
 
 "I may succeed where others have failed." 
 
 "When do you leave?" 
 
 "To-day, so get ready to come along. Auntie 
 Epstein will be glad to see you."' 
 
 "I shall be ready in an hour." 
 
 Beatrice went to her room and ordered her 
 things to be packed, and in less than an hour she 
 was seated in the carriage waiting for her 
 father to join her. She was still waiting when 
 
 183 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 her father appeared and told her to start with- 
 out him, as he had just received a despatch that 
 required his presence in town for at least two 
 hours longer. He would not let her wait for 
 him, he said, as he had telegraphed to Epstein 
 and they would meet the train at the station. He 
 would send the maid with her as far as Vlotzla- 
 vek, and Jan and the lackey were quite enough 
 to take care of them. Beatrice did not demur at 
 the arrangement and soon the carriage was on 
 it way to Vlotzlavek. 
 
 As a matter of fact, however, Rosen had re- 
 ceived only a card sent by Waldeck, who asked 
 for an interview, and Rosen was eager that he 
 should not meet Beatrice. Scarcely ten min- 
 utes had passed since Beatrice had gone when 
 Waldeck rode up to Rosen's house; he was in 
 a happy mood and threw a handful of coins to 
 the urchins in the street. "Let all the world be 
 happy for I am! going to see my love," he 
 hummed. A few moments later he grasped the 
 hand of Rosen. 
 
 "I came to salute you and my beautiful cousin," 
 he said. 
 
 "If you had come a few minutes sooner you 
 would have found her ; she has gone to Vlotzla- 
 vek and thence she goes to Warsaw," said Rosen. 
 
 Waldeck started, but recovering himself in- 
 stantly seized what he felt was almost a provi- 
 dential chance. Beatrice was gone so he was all 
 the freer to ask her father for her hand. 
 
 184 
 
The Wooing. 
 
 "I love Beatrice and would ask your consent," 
 he said simply. 
 
 "You ask what I cannot possibly grant," said 
 Rosen. 
 
 *'What objection have you?" cried Waldeck. 
 
 "I must be open with you, Waldeck. There 
 is a chasm between us which even our relation- 
 ship cannot bridge, and that is the difference in 
 religion." 
 
 "Why, that is nothing, Beatrice can be bap- 
 tized before we get married," said the young 
 man. 
 
 "If you knew my daughter's character you 
 would not say that," the other said quietly. "But 
 you have not told me whether she reciprocates 
 your feelings. Have you spoken to her?" 
 
 "I have," said Waldeck. "But while she did 
 not encourage me, I am led to believe that if you 
 permitted me to pay my respects to her I might 
 win her." 
 
 "It would be in vain, for my daughter loves 
 another." 
 
 "In America?" asked Waldeck, and there was 
 a ring of gladness in his voice. He felt that he 
 could cope with an American rival. In his mind 
 rang the cynical lines: 
 
 Woman doomed to constant fretting 
 For a lover far away, 
 . Falls a victim to — forgetting 
 When another comes her way. 
 
 If Rosen's answer was what he hoped, his 
 
 i8S 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 mind would be easy. But Rosen was silent and 
 each moment increased Waldeck's despair. 
 
 "Do you mean, sir, to shatter all my hopes?" 
 he cried. 
 
 "No; but I cannot discuss this question at 
 present. My daughter's thoughts are centred in 
 her cousin and his mother. It is possible that 
 when she comes face to face with him her feeling 
 will prove to be purely sisterly. Whatever she 
 then decides shall be done. I only live to make 
 her happy. She is grieving because we have 
 been unable to find our relatives. My dear boy," 
 said Rosen, putting his hand on Waldeck's shoul- 
 der, "try to help us. Who knows what may hap- 
 pen? But you see clearly that her mind is set 
 upon one thing; try to do what you can to help 
 us." 
 
 "I will help in the search, uncle," said Waldeck, 
 taking Rosen's hand, "and I shall not rest until 
 I have found them." 
 
 "God bless your efforts," said Rosen. 
 
 Waldeck bade him adieu and quickly left the 
 room. He threw himself on his horse and rode 
 rapidly on the road to Plotzk. He needed a 
 good ride to clear his brain and still the turbu- 
 lence of his heart. 
 
 As he skirted the forest and turned to the road 
 to Vielga, he saw two men with carbines over 
 their shoulders and a third leading a horse. He 
 thought they were forest guards and paid no 
 further attention to them. 
 
 i86 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE REWARD. 
 
 The three men Waldeck had vSeen were two 
 Tartars and Count Radzin, of whom it would 
 perhaps be incorrect to say that he was on the 
 Baroness* mission. He was in fact on his own 
 mission. He wanted the Jewess, and although 
 his plans were not fully laid as to what he would 
 do with her, he intended to make a double coup 
 and get both the Baroness and Beatrice into 
 his power. He and his menials had been waiting 
 for hours in a little roadside inn, watching the 
 road to Castle Lack, when at last a peasant came 
 into the inn and asked for a measure of vutki, "a 
 whole measure, nothing less," he cried. 
 
 "As I love God," cried the inn keeper, "it is 
 Gorshaleck and he wants a whole measure of 
 vutki, and has the money, too. By the Holy 
 Mother of Tchenstochova, Gorshaleck, you shall 
 pay first for the measure you owe or at least 
 tell me how you came by all this good money." 
 
 Gorshaleck appeared unaffected by the inn 
 keeper^s speech. 
 
 "I was working to-day for the great Pan 
 Rosen and I always get my money at once. I 
 helped Janushek in the stables, for the young lady 
 was going to Plotzk, and as Jan drove her I 
 went home," the peasant replied. 
 
 t87 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "You are moving in fine society, Gorshaleclc, 
 and I suppose the young lady, Panna Rosen, 
 told you that she was going to Plotzk?" said 
 the inn keeper. 
 
 "No, I asked Jan, and he said, 'maybe, Gor- 
 shaleck, we are going to Plotzk', is not that 
 enough ?'* 
 
 Radzin and his companions, who had listened 
 intently, for they did not understand much 
 Polish, learned enough to know that Beatrice 
 had gone to Plotzk. They hastily left the inn 
 and went rapidly toward the forest. At the 
 other end of the road they made careful in- 
 quiries and to their chagrin learned that neither 
 sleigh nor carriage had passed on the road to 
 Plotzk that day. Radzin was furious. He and 
 his companions retraced their steps and met a 
 Jewish pedlar on his way to Wysiniaski. Of 
 him Radzin asked whether the Rosens were in 
 the town. 
 
 "They have gone to Vlotzlavek," said the ped- 
 lar. 
 
 Radzin cut at him with his whip. 
 
 "Tell the truth, you dog,'' he cried. 
 
 "I am telling the truth, your mighty wor- 
 ship," was the trembling rejoinder. 
 
 He received another cut. 
 
 "Stop whining, you idiot. How long are they 
 to stay away?" he asked raising his whip once 
 more. 
 
 "Only one day: to-morrow they will be back. 
 They will surely be back to-morrow !" 
 i88 
 
The Reward. 
 
 "Are you' telling the truth?" cried Radzin 
 threateningly. 
 
 "I am, I am, mighty lord, I am/' the pedlar 
 asseverated with fear and trembling. 
 
 Radzin took a handful of coins and threw it 
 at the man, gave him a kick, and told him to go. 
 The poor man gathered up the coins as fast as he 
 could, at the same time casting furtive glances 
 at his tormentor, and then ran. But the Count 
 must have his extra joke at the Jew's expense, 
 and taking one of the carbines he fired it into 
 the air. The pedlar collapsed as if shot, amid 
 shouts of laughter from Radzin and his men, 
 who at length left him alone. 
 
 The Count did not at once report his ill suc- 
 cess to the Baroness. He went back to Plotzk ; 
 and, two days later, mounted upon a fine horse 
 he had bought on the strength of his prospec- 
 tive good fortune, he rode into the grounds of 
 Castle Wysiniaski. 
 
 The Baroness received him without any par- 
 ticular show of enthusiasm. He had failed, 
 that was all she knew, and all she cared to know. 
 If she listened to his fairy stories of pursuits and 
 escapes, it was onlv to torture herself. She 
 wished to get keyed up to a state of temper 
 that would rob her of thei sense of responsibility. 
 She despised this low Tartar whom she knew 
 to be after her money, and, much as she hated 
 Beatrice, she was glad that she had escaped and 
 so she herself had no need to keep her word to 
 Radzin, and she told him so. 
 189 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Ah, my little dove, you are mine with or 
 without the conditions; the Jewess will not es- 
 cape ; but I must get one bird at a time," he said. 
 
 The Baroness shuddered at the thought that 
 she would have to yield to him ; yield to a man 
 who confessedly did not love her and in her very 
 presence was planning to secure "the other bird". 
 If looks could have killed, the Count's career 
 would have been cut short there and then. 
 
 "You may have better luck next time, and if 
 not I may go to law and defeat her in the courts. 
 I am in possession and she is not," she said. 
 
 "And I am in possession of you," he cried, tak- 
 ing her in his arms. 
 
 "Not quite," she said, trying to disengage her- 
 self. 
 
 "Yes you are, fully and irredeemably. I hold 
 you and no power on earth can take you from 
 me," he cried, crushing her to his breast, and 
 kissing her lips, her eyes, her throat in the mad- 
 ness of his passion. 
 
 She ceased to struggle ; a shudder ran through 
 her body; she seemed as if hypnotized by his 
 brute passion. 
 
 "You shall be mine — mine," he cried. 
 
 His words roused her, and with a quick move- 
 ment -she managed tb free herself from Kis 
 grasp. 
 
 "You pretend to love me honourably and 
 would dishonour me," she said. 
 
 His eyes gleamed ; he looked at her wolfishly. 
 
 "I want you ; you are mine," he cried. 
 190 
 
The Reward. 
 
 "Not yet, and I warn you against a second at- 
 tempt," she said, moving so that a table came 
 between them. "If I do not call the servants it 
 is on your account, not on mine." 
 
 "Yield," he cried. 
 
 "Never — you will gain nothing by force," 
 she said. 
 
 He was intelligent enough to see that he 
 could never hope to get her money if he per- 
 mitted his passion to master him. 
 
 "I was a fool. Baroness; I did wrong and 
 beg you to forgive me. A saint would have 
 fallen victim to your matchless charms. I 
 pledge you my honour that I will do nothing 
 more to offend you," he said. 
 
 If she was not deceived by his pretended con- 
 trition, she took care not to let him know it. 
 
 "I am glad that you have come to your senses," 
 she said. 
 
 "Will you forgive me?" he asked. ' 
 
 "On one condition." ' 
 
 "Name it." 
 
 "That you return at once to Plotzk and that 
 you will not call here until I send you word." 
 
 "You have named two conditions. I am wil- 
 ling to comply with the first but not with the 
 second. You have promised yourself to me and 
 I have a right to see you." 
 
 "Gentlemen do not insist on suchi rights ; they 
 look upon them as privileges which are always 
 granted. But I want time to think, and in my 
 
 lf>i 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 present state of mind I can think of nothing 
 save the Jewess and her outrageous claim." 
 
 "I will answer for the Jewess, I swear to 
 you; but I want my reward. The Jewess can- 
 not escape me," he said. 
 
 The Baroness smiled. He had been stupid 
 enough to tell her about the Jew whom he had 
 maltreated on the road, so she knew that Rosen 
 would be warned. The events of the past few 
 moments also convinced her that it was infi- 
 nitely better, if need be, to lose her estates to 
 the Jewess, who was of her own blood, than be 
 ruined by this monster who so flagrantly laid 
 bare his purpose of getting possession of her 
 wealth. There even came into her mind the 
 possibility of an amicable arrangement with the 
 Rosens ; far better that, than to be associated with 
 a Tartar who was an enemy of her people. 
 
 Radzin misconstrued her smile and thought 
 that she was pleased by his promise to "answer 
 for the Jewess". He, therefore, considered the 
 broken bridge mended, his assault forgiven and 
 forgotten. He was so certain that he was going 
 to be the master at Castle Wysiniaski that he 
 grew jovial. ' • '"^"^ 
 
 "Well, sweetheart, if I must go into exile I 
 shall go quickly so as to end it quickly ; but be- 
 fore I go let me have a drink; it is bitter cold 
 outside." 
 
 "Certainly; with pleasure," she said and rose. 
 
 "Do not trouble, I beg of you. The last time 
 I was here I remember you regaled me with 
 192 
 
The Reward. 
 
 Scotch whiskey which you kept in this cup- 
 board," he said and turned toward a massive old 
 cabinet. 
 
 A strange look came into the eyes of the Bar- 
 oness. 
 
 In the right hand portion of the cabinet stood 
 a number of bottles that contained finely dis- 
 tilled opiates which Baron Levanovski, a dilet- 
 tante scientist, had prepared for experimenta- 
 tion, only to fall a victim to their dangerous 
 power. 
 
 Radzin opened this cupboard and took out a 
 bottle filled with a clear yellow liquid. He 
 poured some of it into a glass, smelled it, and 
 then tossed the liquid down his throat. 
 
 The Baroness uttered a cry. 
 
 Radzin looked at her and smiled. 
 
 "We Russians do not drink whiskey like 
 women; Hut I must say this is pretty strong 
 stuflF." 
 
 The Baroness made no reply; she turned 
 ghastly pale ; fate was avenging the bitter shame 
 to which the Russian had put her. 
 
 But the opiate appeared to have no effect on 
 his iron constitution. 
 
 "I am obedient to your will and shall bid you 
 good-bye," he said. 
 
 He walked up to her and l>efore she could 
 elude him he had her again in his arms. 
 
 "You will kiss me, sweetheart, before I go, 
 will you not? 
 
 193 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "No ; leave me. You have promised ; go," she 
 said. 
 
 But the touch of her rekindled his passion. 
 
 "I shall not go ; you are mine and you shall be 
 wholly mine before I go." 
 
 "I hate you," she cried, struggling in vain to 
 free herself. 
 
 "You do not hate me, only you want to be 
 conquered and I shall conquer you. After that 
 you will be mine forever." 
 
 His kisses burned her lips and made her 
 senses swim. Her cries for help maddened him. 
 He caught her up and carried her to the lounge. 
 
 "Joseph, help!" 
 
 The cry rang through the immense room. 
 H)er eyes were shut, her limbs trembled. 
 
 Suddenly she felt his hold relax and as she 
 was thrown on to the lounge Radzin's body fell 
 crashing against the screen and the plants that 
 were between the lounge and the table. 
 
 She opened her eyes ; one look at the prostrate 
 form told her that she was safe. 
 
 In a moment she was up and having arranged 
 her dress and hair she rang the bell. 
 
 "Call Matcheck," she commanded, and when 
 the coachman had entered she said, 
 
 "Take the closed carriage and drive him to 
 the inn. Let them take care of him and of his 
 horse. When you get back arrange the high 
 sleigh ; I shall go to Plotzk and thence to War^ 
 
 194 
 
The Reward. 
 
 Matcheck took the big man like a sack of 
 wheat upon his back and carried him out. 
 
 "I will go to Warsaw, but you shall not be 
 warned," said the Baroness. "You who would 
 rob me of all, you may die, we may both die. 
 But if I see you, my Joseph, then I shall ask for 
 nothing more on earth. To be near you, only to 
 be near you !" 
 
 195 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A REVELATION. 
 
 Baroness Levanovska awoke unrefreshed, and 
 although she had given positive orders for the 
 journey to Warsaw, felt little inclination to 
 travel. She was so wretched that she felt as if 
 she could abandon herself to her fate. 
 
 Then the events of the past few days — nay, of 
 the past few years — were marshaled before her 
 mind's eye and she felt a new determination. 
 
 "I will not give up without a struggle," she 
 said and rang for her maid. 
 
 When she was dressed, she opened the win- 
 dow and the crisp cold air rushing in revived 
 and calmed her. 
 
 It was a beautiful winter morning, clear and 
 bright, but bitterly cold. The frost glittered in 
 the sunlight like millions of tiny points ; the dry 
 snow crackled under the tread of the servants. 
 As she gazed at the scene whose contrast seemed 
 to make it a fit setting to her own cruel fate, 
 a sigh that was almost a sob escaped her. 
 She closed the window. Suddenly her eye fell 
 on the little book of Heine's poems. Her eyes 
 lit as she took up the book, and as she opened 
 it where a marker lay, the lines that met her 
 sight seemed to stab her to the heart. 
 
 196 
 
A Revelation. 
 
 *Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 
 Und welken wieder ab, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wieder, 
 
 So geht es bis ans Grab/ 
 
 "Ah, Joseph, when you read these lines to me 
 1 liiought only of you and pity and love for you 
 filled my heart. Now I know what it is to see 
 one's wishes bloom and wither away. Be mer- 
 ciful, Father in heaven. I am a weak and sin- 
 ful woman, but by his side I would be good. 
 Hear my prayer, oh God, and let me see him 
 again." 
 
 And as she thus prayed the agitation in her 
 mind gradually calmed and her eyes softened. 
 
 "I am going to you, Joseph, I shall see you, 
 I feel it," she whispered, her face radiant with 
 love. 
 
 An hour later she was on her way to Plotzk. 
 As soon as she reached there she sent a despatch 
 to Rachel, and soon afterwards she and Rachel 
 were in each other's arms. 
 
 "What a sweet surprise, Amanda," Rachel 
 cried. "I hope you have come for a long stay." 
 
 "I cannot tellJ It all depends on circum- 
 stances. How do you spend your time, Ra- 
 chelka?" 
 
 "Since auntie's death, I am most of the time 
 in the hospitals. If it were not that this activity 
 gives me an opportunity of doing some good, I 
 should long ago have retired to the convent," 
 said Rachel. 
 
 197 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Oh, do not have such thoughts, Rachelka. 
 You must stay in the world. It is a good wt>rld, 
 and that reminds me that I am awfully hungry," 
 the Baroness said with a laugh. 
 
 They were soon seated at table and after the 
 meal the Baroness, being very tired, went to her 
 room. The next morning, fresh from her toilet 
 and elegantly dressed, she looked so beautiful 
 that Rachel gazed at her in amazement. 
 
 "There is nobody like you in all the world, so 
 beautiful, so beautiful," cried Rachel. 
 
 The Baroness kissed her on the mouth. 
 
 "You must not say such things or you will be- 
 witch me," she said with a laugh. 
 
 Soon the steaming samovar was on the table 
 and over their morning tea the friends conversed. 
 Rachel's mood was rather sad, but the Baroness 
 spoke bitterly and at times even defiantly. 
 
 "I have suffered; but God is gracious, my 
 work compensates me for everything," said 
 Rachel. 
 
 "For all?" cried Amanda. "There are suffer- 
 ings which cannot be forgotten and for which 
 nothing in the world can compensate." 
 
 "Do not say that, dear. I have suffered much, 
 yet I have found peace in ministering to the 
 wants of others. I think love and sorrow and 
 suffering purify the soul," said Rachel. 
 
 "Suffering only makes me harder, more re- 
 bellious. Why should I suffer? Why should 
 I be meek when nature has given me pride? 
 Why should I forego my desires when I have 
 198 
 
A Revelation. 
 
 the means to gratify them and the taste to appre- 
 ciate what is beautiful in the world?" 
 
 "Amanda, dear, you are speaking of earthly 
 things." 
 
 "Anything else is not worth speaking of. Peo- 
 ple of our class have no time to think of other 
 things. The saints arei in heaven," said the 
 Baroness, and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "There are some on earth too," said Rachel. 
 
 "Yourself, for example," the Baroness put in. 
 
 "No, I am a weak, sinful creature, and fate 
 drove me to a line of work which I hated. I did 
 not want to live in the world. The little work 
 I did amongst the poor gave me no satisfaction, 
 for when I went among them wearing the rich 
 garments that my position forced on me, I felt 
 that I made hearts envious and caused them to 
 ask God why I should be rich and they poor. It 
 was natural that I should long to wear a garb 
 that would be a symbol of simplicity and resig- 
 nation. But my aunt would not hear of it. Then, 
 too, there was no system in my work and I found 
 afterward but little satisfaction in it. One day 
 I met a man, or rather an angel from heaven, and 
 he taught me to work so as to gain peace and 
 comfort " 
 
 "And whom you love, of course; I am glad 
 that you have come to your senses," said the 
 Baroness. 
 
 "Amanda, you misunderstand me, because you 
 do not know the circumstances," Rachel cried. 
 
 "What need is there for details? The quality 
 
 199 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 of the sentiment I can understand. I have gone 
 through the same experience/' 
 
 "You, too, my dear?" said Rachel, and put 
 her arm around her friend's waist. 
 
 "And why not, pray? Only my love has 
 left a sting, a painful sting," said the Baroness. 
 
 "We can not fathom the mysteries of life. Who 
 can say why God sent this man to bless my 
 life? What would this world be without such 
 men? Although I have indeed suffered much, I 
 have much to be thankful for. Once before, 
 when I was in supreme distress, God sent me a 
 saviour, and now I have found one who might 
 be a counterpart of the other, were it not that 
 this one is so wealthy and an infinitely finer 
 man." 
 
 "And he reciprocates your feelings, of course?" 
 asked the Baroness, who had turned very pale. 
 
 "He reciprocate!" cried Rachel, "why, he has 
 never seen my face, as I am always veiled and 
 have never spoken a word to him, although I 
 have often been tempted to ask him if he has 
 relatives in Dobrzyn." 
 
 The Baroness sprang up as if electrified and 
 grasping Rachel's hand she cried, 
 
 "It is Joseph." 
 
 Rachel trembled violently. 
 
 "It is impossible," she said. "This man is the 
 nephew of the famous Professor von Horovitz." 
 
 "It is he," cried Amanda. "He disappeared 
 from Dobrzyn shortly after you had gone to 
 Warsaw. I have hunted for him everywhere." 
 200 
 
A Revelation. 
 
 "You!" said Rachel, and there was such hor- 
 ror in her eyes that the other would have shrank 
 back had she seen it; but the Baroness was too 
 deeply moved to notice anything. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "this Joseph, in whom I be- 
 came interested through you, saved my life and 
 later my soul. And now I want to see him, 
 Rachel, I must see him; he must help me; he 
 is my world, my all, tell me where he is?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Rachel took Amanda's 
 hand and led her to her own room, where, over 
 the bed and facing the door, hung a large pic- 
 ture of a thorn-crowned Christ and by its side 
 a lifelike portrait of Joseph Rosen. 
 
 At the sight of the pictures the Baroness 
 stretched out her hands, her very soul going out 
 toward the image of her beloved, and as she 
 breathed his name she sank upon her knees. 
 
 "Poor Amanda, fate has been cruel to you — 
 and — to me. Oh, it is bitter to love without 
 hope. God pity us," she prayed. 
 
 "I do not want pity, I want love," cried the 
 Baroness, springing to her feet. "Where is he? 
 You have him. You love him. You have made 
 his picture. Tell me where he is ? Why should 
 I be tortured? Let the Jewess have the es- 
 tates, but why deny me this one request, Lord 
 God in heaven? Joseph, my beloved, if you 
 knew what I have suffered, you would surely 
 pity me," she said, and there came a sweet ten- 
 derness into her voice. 
 
 20I 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Poor Amanda, may God grant your wish," 
 Rachel rejoined in all sincerity. 
 
 The Baroness embraced her. 
 
 "Forgive me, Rachelka. There is darkness 
 in my soul ; yours is filled with a holy light and 
 gives you peace. But in my heart is a yearning 
 that robs me of peace. Tell me where I can see 
 him?" ; 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 Love, hope, despair, resignation sounded in 
 that one word. Rachel was very pale but it 
 was with the pallor of peace, of absolute self- 
 denial. The Baroness felt keenly for her, but 
 could find no words. At last she rose, and, 
 folding her hands, stood before the image of 
 Joseph as if in prayer. 
 
 "Oh, if I but knew what to do," she said, 
 turning to Rachel. "Advise me, Rachelka, what 
 am I to do." 
 
 "I do not know, dear, how to advise you, but 
 my own future is plain. I will tell you frankly 
 that I never loved him as you do. In him I only 
 saw my master, my guide, one by whose example 
 I desired to live and prepare my soul for the 
 future. All this has come to an end now. It 
 would be a sin for me to stay in the world. I 
 should stand in your way. It might have been 
 beautiful to bask in the sunshine of one so full 
 of grace, but I shall find peace in prayer. To- 
 morrow our paths separate. This is the closing 
 scene of my life. May you be happy. But, 
 
 202 
 
A Revelation. 
 
 listen, you must listen : Joseph is destined for no 
 woman." 
 
 Standing erect, her beautiful face pale and 
 drawn with emotion, she seemed like a prophet- 
 ess announcing the doom of an earthly existence. 
 Her words sounded like a death knell to Amanda 
 who, uttering a heart-rending cry, sank down 
 upon the bed. 
 
 Rachel bent down and kissed her, and without 
 a word, left the room. 
 
 203 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 ON THE BRINK OF THE GRAVa 
 
 For some time after Rachel had gone, the 
 Baroness remained in the same position, her 
 body shaken by fitful sobs. Then she raised her 
 head and looked around the room in a bewild- 
 ered manner. Suddenly her glance fell on the 
 picture of Joseph, and she sat up. Her eyes 
 cleared, her lips slightly parted, as she gazed 
 at the features she so adored. 
 
 "Why did you come into my life?" she mur- 
 mured. "I was happy until you came." 
 
 Suddenly her features clouded. 
 
 "But why did you come ? Why ? Why ? You, 
 you ! Who are you, for whose sake I am so tor- 
 tured? What are you? A Jew! One of those 
 whom our nobles rule as they rule their serfs, 
 their dogs! And you have revenged your low- 
 born kind by casting a spell over me. I will 
 break the spell. I will blot you out of existence," 
 she cried, and springing from the bed she 
 snatched a chair, leaped upon it, and tore the pic- 
 ture from the wall. 
 
 "I will crush you, I will shatter your image 
 and my soul will be free," she cried, her eyes 
 gleaming and her bosom heaving. 
 
 She raised the picture to dash it to the ground, 
 when the fury of her wild emotion suddenly sub- 
 204 
 
On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 sided, her nervous tension relaxed, and the hand 
 holding the picture sank down slowly. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot do it," she said. "I cannot des- 
 ecrate your sweet image, my dear love," she mur- 
 mured, pressing the picture to her breast. "Alas, 
 heaven has abandoned me, or you would not 
 turn from me ; you would at least pi1[jr me. For- 
 give me, beloved. How could I be^ngry with 
 you ? How dared I raise my hand against you ? 
 I love you, I love you! I love you more than 
 life. I loved you when you were poor and I love 
 you now. I will come to you and you will have 
 pity on me, my dear one," she said, looking with 
 streaming eyes at the pictured face, whose eyes 
 seemed to look back at her full of mercy and 
 love, while the lips seemed to say, "Be patient, 
 Amanda, I will not forsake you, for I pity all 
 who are sad and sorrow laden ; thy loving heart 
 shall find its reward." 
 
 As she gazed at the likeness peace came back 
 to her. She kissed the picture again and again. 
 
 "You are devoted to deeds of mercy; so shall 
 I be. My fortune is great enough to help many 
 who suffer and I shall spend it as you direct. 
 Then you will take me to your heart even as I 
 now take this dear image of your sweet self," 
 she said, holding the picture to her bosom. 
 After putting the picture back in its place, she 
 sprang from the chair and arranging her dis- 
 heveled hair, went to the sitting room. 
 
 Rachel, seated at her writing desk, looked up 
 in surprise at Amanda's happy face. "She car- 
 205 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 ries lightly her burden of love and sorrow. Those 
 that cry loudest do not always feel deepest," she 
 said to herself. 
 
 "Are you better, dear ?" she asked. 
 
 "I feel much better, thank you. I am going 
 out/' said the Baroness. 
 
 "If you can wait a few minutes, dear, I shall 
 go with you. I am going to my banker and 
 thence if you will to the hospital." 
 
 "It was my intention to go straight to the 
 hospital," said the Baroness, "but I will go wher- 
 ever you like." 
 
 "Thank you, dearest, I shall be ready in a 
 few minutes," said Rachel. 
 
 Amanda walked up to her, and, putting her 
 arms round her neck, asked. 
 
 "Is your resolve irrevocable?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "Take time to consider, Rachelka dear; you 
 can do a great deal of good without immuring 
 yourself within convent walls." 
 
 "I could not live in the world and retain the 
 grace of God ; I am only a woman." 
 
 "Ah, poor dear, life puts hardships upon us, 
 but then we ought to be strong enough to bear 
 them and fight under the burden." 
 
 "I cannot fight, I have borne a heavy burden 
 in the world, now I prefer to bear the burden of 
 the Cross ; and — Amanda, dear, I cannot serve 
 two masters," Rachel said. "I have divided my 
 fortune into two equal parts; one goes to the 
 Church, and the other toward the building of a 
 206 
 
• On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 home for unfortunate women. They need a 
 home and protection when the heavy hand of 
 fate is upon them and man despises them." 
 
 "You are a saint, Rachelka," said the Baroness, 
 as she embraced her friend. "I cannot match 
 my soul with yours. I am worldly ; I want love, 
 I want happiness, and I am going to fight for it." 
 
 "God grant that you be victorious," said 
 Rachel, and they kissed each other. 
 
 They went out. From the bank they were 
 driven to the city hospital. They walked through 
 the various wards and both gave lavishly what 
 help they could toward the comfort of the sick ; 
 but they themselves found but little comfort, for 
 he whom they sought was not there either that 
 day or the day following. 
 
 The Baroness was not distressed, however, for 
 she knew that it was only a question of time. 
 
 On the third day, just as Rachel had ordered 
 the carriage and while the Baroness was in her 
 room getting ready to go out, the servant an- 
 nounced Count Radzin. 
 
 To Rachel the name implied nothing, and as 
 she did not receive visitors, she told the maid to 
 convey her regrets. 
 
 The maid soon reappeared and stated that the 
 Count desired to see the Baroness Levanovska. 
 
 "Bid the Count enter and inform the Bar- 
 oness," said Rachel, and left the room. 
 
 "Ask the Count's name," said the Baroness, 
 surprised that any one should call on her in War- 
 saw when she had so far maintained a strict in- 
 207 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 cognito. Before she could get a reply the door 
 opened and Count Radzin stood in the entrance. 
 
 Consternation and disgust overcame her. The 
 color in her face came and went. Involuntarily 
 she put her hand to her heart. 
 
 "Will you not be seated, chere Baronnef" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Who showed you in here?" she cried. 
 
 "A discreet maid who was not averse to ac- 
 cepting five roubles to show me the way to the 
 woman who is soon to be my wife," he said with 
 a leer. 
 
 The Baroness did not seem to hear the re- 
 mark. At length she mastered herself suffi- 
 ciently to cope with the new situation. 
 
 "Let us go into the reception room," she said. 
 
 "I prefer to stay here, we shall remain undis- 
 turbed," he rejoined. 
 
 "What do you wish?" 
 
 "Will you not be seated, Mre Baronne?" he 
 said. 
 
 The Baroness sat down: she was as one in a 
 dream. 
 
 "I might not have found you had I not visited 
 a sick soldier in the hospital and got a glimpse 
 of you through the window as you entered the 
 carriage with your friend," he said. 
 
 "I am glad that you succeeded in finding me ; 
 now will you be good enough to tell me what 
 you want of me?" she said. 
 
 "I have come to tell you that I have carried 
 out my part of our compact and would ask you, 
 208 
 
On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 chere Baronne, to carry out yours/' he answered. 
 
 "I have not the least idea what you mean/' 
 she said, Hghtly. 
 
 "No? Then you do not remember suggesting 
 the abduction of the Jewess?" he said. 
 
 "Your threats have no effect on me, sir. If 
 you have carried off the Jewess, keep her," said 
 the Baroness. 
 
 This bold move on her part staggered him 
 considerably. But he was a Russian. He had 
 not come to parley, but to punish her. She had 
 insulted him. She had caused him to be 
 laughed at by her servants who, he knew, had 
 carried him to the inn. He had not slept for 
 twenty-four hours, as the Baroness thought he 
 would, but a little over sixteen hours. When he 
 awoke and found himself in the inn, he crossed 
 himself, thinking he was in a dream. But the 
 smell of sauerkraut and the loud talk of the inn 
 keeper left no doubt in his mind that he was 
 awake and that he was in the filthy inn and on 
 the filthy peasant bed. He sprang up and taking 
 an old chair sent it crashing through the window. 
 
 The inn keeper rushed out, saw the damage, 
 and went toward the room where the Count was. 
 
 "Come in here, you rogue," cried the Count. 
 
 "I am your lordship's servant and will cut off 
 my head for your lordship if it can be of serv- 
 ice." said the trembling inn keeper. 
 
 "You shall tell me the truth and nothing will 
 happen to you ; but remember, you rogue, the 
 truth," said the Count. 
 
 209 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "As I love the blood of Christ, I will tell the 
 truth, my lord, only ask, my lord." 
 
 "How did I come here?" 
 
 "You were brought here in a carriage by 
 Matcheck and the young lackey Grizek, who 
 waits on her ladyship the Baroness Levanovska." 
 
 "At what hour?" 
 
 "Near sundown, my lord." 
 
 "And my horse?" 
 
 "Is in my stable, warm and well fed. I at- 
 tended to him like a baby." 
 
 "It is well; brush him down, saddle him and 
 bring him around," he said, giving the inn keeper 
 a handful of coins. 
 
 A few minutes later he was riding at break- 
 neck speed toward Wysiniaski, and arrived there 
 only to learn that the Baroness had that morn- 
 ing gone to Warsaw. 
 
 He turned at once and rode to Plotzk. Hav- 
 ing asked the Governor for permission to go to 
 Warsaw, he set out at once with his two Tar- 
 tars and they, keener than bloodhounds, reported 
 to him within two hours of his arrival that the 
 Baroness was not in any of the hotels. 
 
 It was by the merest accident that he had seen 
 the Baroness. One of his Tartars having got 
 into a brawl with some labourers, was badly cut 
 and taken to the hospital, and he had gone to see 
 him. But for the fact that he was in the opera- 
 ting room, he and the Baroness might have met 
 face to face in the hospital. 
 
 The bold stand she took with him now shook 
 2IO 
 
On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 his resolve for a moment. When he left Plotzk 
 he had made up his mind what to do and it was 
 not his intention to deviate from this plan. 
 
 "I did not come here to threaten you, I came 
 to punish you," he said slowly. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha," she laughed, "and I suppose 
 you have your little punishment ready to mete 
 out. May I know what form your wrath will 
 take?" 
 
 "We shall first get married before a magistrate, 
 then we shall see ; I may flog you or I may have 
 you sent to Siberia," he said, looking at her with 
 his deep, black eyes in a manner that made her 
 believe he would do it if he could. But she 
 was not afraid of this Tartar; her family was 
 powerful, and she could defy him. 
 
 "Is that all, your lordship ?" she asked. 
 
 "Perhaps not; first you shall amuse me," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Enough, sir," cried the Baroness. "You shall 
 answer for this to the Count de Lack, who will 
 have you chastised as you deserve. Now leave 
 me. 
 
 "And shall I go back to the inn where you 
 had me taken after you drugged me?" he asked. 
 
 "You must be dreaming! I drugged you? 
 That is another fairy tale like that of the abduc- 
 tion of the Jewess, who is in Warsaw," she 
 said. 
 
 "Then you knew that she was here and you 
 concocted a scheme to fool me and then drugged 
 me to complete your work. Confess that you 
 
 211 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 drugged me," he cried, springing at her and put- 
 ting his heavy hand on her shoulder. 
 
 For a moment she was too much startled to 
 speak, then she made a quick movement and 
 freeing herself from his grasp, seized the bell 
 rope. 
 
 ''Leave the room instantly or I will call the 
 servants," she said. 
 
 "Your servants would be cut down by my 
 Tartars who are in the hall and only await my 
 signal,'' he said. 
 
 This bow drawn at a venture was success- 
 ful in frightening her. She trembled at the 
 thought of bringing ruin upon Rachel, for she 
 knew what these wolves were who for years had 
 their fangs in the flesh of the Poles and to whom 
 nothing was sacred. 
 
 "What do you want of me?" she asked, un- 
 able to keep the tears from her eyes now that 
 she was at the mercy of this savage. 
 
 "I want you to go through the mock cere- 
 mony of a marriage so that I can have your for- 
 tune and revenge myself on you," he said grin- 
 ning savagely. 
 
 "Will nothing buy me my freedom ?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Then give me time to think, at least." 
 
 "Not a minute; you must decide now." 
 
 She raised her eyes and as she glanced through 
 the window saw Rachel stepping into her car- 
 riage. Her expression changed. 
 
 "I have decided," she said. 
 
 212 
 
On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 "How?" he asked. 
 
 "That I would rather die than be the wife of 
 a Russian brute. The servants may take care 
 of themselves, but I will call them," she said, and 
 gave a strong pull at the bell. 
 
 "Then die!" he cried, and quick as a flash 
 drew a revolver and fired at her. 
 
 She uttered a cry and fell. As she fell he fired 
 another shot at her, and then put the pistol to 
 his own forehead and fired. 
 
 The shots brought all the servants to the 
 room, and the shrieks of Anna, the Baroness' 
 maid, caused a crowd of people to gather in 
 front of the house. Soon the police made their 
 way to the room, and one of the officers exam- 
 ined the contents of the Count's pockets to as- 
 certain the identity of the man, who was quite 
 dead. 
 
 Meanwhile Rachel, to whom the servants had 
 carried the news of the tragedy, summoned doc- 
 tors, and simultaneously with their arrival came 
 a military escort ; the dead Count was taken away, 
 and the chief officer took down an ante-mortem 
 statement of the Baroness, who was still con- 
 scious. 
 
 Only one shot had taken effect, but the bullet 
 had passed through her body and was found 
 imbedded in the wall. The doctors made a care- 
 ful examination and decided that she had but a 
 short time to live as they feared internal hem- 
 orrhage. At the suggestion that a priest should 
 
 213 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 be sent for to administer the last sacrament, the 
 Baroness shook her head. 
 
 "Do you not desire it ?" asked Rachel, her eyes 
 streaming with tears. 
 
 "Call him," she breathed. 
 
 "I will at once, dearest," Rachel replied, and 
 bespeaking the utmost care fori her stricken 
 friend, she left the room and soon the house. 
 
 She did not know whither to direct her steps. 
 For a moment she thought of going to the Pro- 
 fessor's house ; then she remembered that Joseph 
 might be at the city hospital, so she went there. 
 On her way she recalled what Amanda had 
 said about Joseph Rosen's disappearance from 
 Dobrzyn and her conviction that this Joseph 
 and the other were identical. But why should 
 he change his name? How did he come to be 
 so wealthy? She was sadly perplexed when 
 suddenly she heard a voice say: 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Rachel, is it really you?" 
 
 She looked up and before her stood Joseph, 
 whose voice convinced her beyond a doubt that 
 it was Joseph Rosen. 
 
 "Thank God! I was on my way to find you 
 and to beg you to come and see my friend, the 
 Baroness Levanovska, who was to-day shot and 
 mortally wounded." 
 
 Joseph started ; the awful news terrified him. 
 
 "The Baroness here and mortally wounded? 
 How did it happen ?" he asked. 
 
 "She was shot by a Count Radzin, who, so 
 the servant told me, has been a persistent suitor 
 214 
 
On the Brink of the Geiave. 
 
 of hers. But she did not love him and came to 
 Warsaw to — to — well, she loved another. I 
 learned it by accident and at the same time I 
 learned of your identity. I did not know that 
 you were the same Joseph that I used to know." 
 
 "I am the same. Are you, Rachel ?" he asked, 
 looking at her with eyes that were full of kind- 
 ness. 
 
 "I have tried to be as good as a weak human 
 being can be in the sight of God." 
 
 "I have never seen you among those I serve on 
 the lower Nalevki and on the farther side of the 
 Vistula, but then you may have your own cir- 
 cle where you work," he said kindly. 
 
 "You have seen me often, as I have seen you ; 
 perhaps you would not have recognized me to- 
 day had I been veiled as usual," she said, her 
 face flushing a deep red. 
 
 "Ah, then you are the veiled lady ! God bless 
 you. It is well. But the Baroness? You have, 
 of course, good surgeons. What good can I 
 do? She needs the priest nowi, and absolute 
 quiet," he said. 
 
 "She loves you, Joseph, she loves you; come 
 and ease her last moments.'* 
 
 Rachel's words amazed him. The Baroness 
 loved him and had told Rachel. Then that scene 
 at the Castle was not a momentary caprice, and 
 she had nursed this love for many years, and he 
 who had been scorched as by a blast, had tried to 
 live down this pain and this longing, had never 
 even thought of the possibility that she remem- 
 
 215 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 bered him. And when he had reached a station 
 in Hfe that made him almost her equal he still 
 forebore. He considered himself an emancipated 
 slave, that was all. Now that she was dying a 
 voice said to him, "she loves you". She was not 
 ashamed to love him. It seemed hard and cruel, 
 and for a moment his soul rebelled. Then he 
 mastered himself and, putting his hand on 
 Rachel's arm, said, 
 
 "Come, God will be merciful." 
 
 The doctors who were in the room when 
 Joseph entered saluted him cordially. 
 
 "How is the patient?" he asked. 
 
 "The end is near; nothing can be done," one 
 of them replied. 
 
 "I crave your pardon, gentlemen, when the 
 end is only near and has not come something 
 may always be done, — even a miracle," he said, 
 and went into the sick room. 
 
 Unable to speak, Joseph looked at the Bar- 
 oness with his great tender eyes. She under- 
 stood him as completely as if he had spoken. 
 
 "Joseph, beloved, do not let me die ; not now, 
 not now; save me." Her accents were scarcely 
 audible, but he heard them as clearly as if every 
 word were a stroke of a great bell. 
 
 He bent down to kiss her hand, but before 
 he could say a word she, with a supreme ef- 
 fort, threw her arms around his neck and their 
 lips met. 
 
 As Joseph raised himself great tears fell from 
 his eyes. His face flushed, and falling on one 
 
 2l6 
 
On the Brink of the Grave. 
 
 knee he kissed her hand again and again. Then 
 he rose and, putting her hand on the bed, said, 
 
 "Be brave, my friend, and patient. God will 
 not forsake you." 
 
 "Do not permit them to give me the sacrament ; 
 I shall die if they do. Oh, save me, beloved, 
 save me," she breathed. "I do not want to die." 
 
 "You will not die," he said. 
 
 At this the nurses shook their heads, for they 
 knew there was no hope. 
 
 Joseph begged Rachel to call in the doctors 
 and suggested to them an operation. They 
 looked amazed. But he repeated his suggestion ; 
 the injury being intestinal he thought an opera- 
 tion would save her life. 
 
 "We thought of that, but decided that it was 
 impossible; we feared she would not survive the 
 shock," said one of the surgeons. 
 
 "She will survive the shock, gentlemen; fear 
 nothing," said Joseph. 
 
 The earnestness of his words impressed the 
 doctors. They held a whispered consultation. 
 At length they agreed to operate on the patient 
 and forthwith proceeded to make the necessary 
 arrangemients. The Baroness, who still held 
 Joseph's hand, begged him to stay and not for- 
 sake her. He felt sorely tried for he had not the 
 heart to witness the operation. Bending down he 
 whispered, 
 
 "Be brave, my friend, I shall pray for you and 
 God will be merciful." 
 
 "God bless you," she breathed with a happy 
 
 «i7 
 
Children o^ Fate. 
 
 smile. A few minutes later she was under the 
 influence of the anaesthetic and under the knife 
 of the surgeon. 
 
 For weeks afterwards her life hung on a very 
 slender thread; constant care, however, worked 
 the miracle that had seemed necessary for her 
 recovery. After three months she was able to sit 
 up for a few moments at a time. 
 
 About the middle of April it was evident that 
 she would get quite well, provided, so the doc- 
 tors said, she would go to Switzerland or to 
 the south of France. But she would not hear of 
 it, despite the fact that she had received official 
 notice that Beatrice Rosen, titular Countess da 
 Paula had relinquished her claims to the es- 
 tates left her by her grandfather, the Count de 
 Pauli. She refused at first to leave the city 
 where Joseph lived. 
 
 But if she rebelled against the commands of 
 the physicians, she yielded to the arguments of 
 Rachel and to the least word uttered by Joseph. 
 
 *'You once told me, Amanda,'* said Rachel, 
 "that one must be strong to work, and I was 
 trying to run away from myself then ; now you 
 are entering a new life in which you wish to keep 
 up the battle for your love. It is certainly neces- 
 sary that you should get strong.'* 
 
 "Do you think he will ever love me?" sighed 
 the Baroness. 
 
 "I cannot tell; but his delicacy of manner is 
 so rare that he must have the kindest feelings for 
 you. During your illness he sent the choicest 
 218 
 
On THE Brink OF THE Grave. 
 
 flowers; not a day passed that he did not come 
 and inquire, often twice a day. I know that it is 
 his earnest wish that you should go to Switzer- 
 land," said Rachel. 
 
 "Will you go with me?" asked the Baroness. 
 
 "My dear Amanda, my days in the outer 
 world are numbered. As soon as you leave I 
 shall take the veil," said Rachel. 
 
 "Does he know it?" 
 
 "He does, and though he does not quite ap- 
 prove of it, he does not forbid," said Rachel. 
 
 That afternoon came a note from Joseph, also 
 a letter from the de Lacks, inviting Amanda to 
 go with them to Switzerland. 
 
 "My Dear Friend (Joseph wrote), 
 
 "I cannot leave Warsaw without a word to 
 you regarding your health, which is precious 
 to me. I firmly believe that you ought to go to a 
 more congenial climate than ours. Go to the 
 pure air of Switzerland, as the doctors suggest. 
 I am going to Bialestock, where an epidemic of 
 cholera has broken out. I desire to study the 
 subject carefully and prepare myself for an 
 emergency. I cannot tell how long I shall stay in 
 the infected district. Meanwhile I beg of you 
 to leave Poland at once. I hope to see you in 
 the near future and to find you strong in body 
 and in soul. That God's blessing may go with 
 vou is the earnest wish of 
 
 Joseph Rosbn-Horovitz." 
 
 2ig 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Amanda pressed the note to her heart, and 
 kissed it again and again. 
 
 "I shall do your bidding, Joseph. It may be 
 that God will have mercy on my poor heart," 
 she said. 
 
 At the end of the month the Baroness joined 
 the Count and Countess de Lack at the city of 
 Thorn, whence they started for Switzerland. A 
 few days later Rachel took the veil and entered 
 the convent of the Carmelites. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
 220 
 
*'Es Ziehen die hrausenden Wellen 
 
 Wohl nach dem Strand ; 
 Sie schwellen und zerschellen 
 
 Wohl auf dem Sand.'' 
 
 (Heine.) 
 
 **See, my love, the stars are beaming 
 
 Passion's fire in ev'ry ray 
 And each star is fondly dreaming 
 
 Of a star-love far away." 
 
 (Datuiger*) 
 
BOOK THIRD. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JEAN MERAU, ARTIST. 
 
 Professor Daniel von Horovitz was reading 
 the "Daily Courier" when a loud voice suddenly 
 disturbed him. He knew the voice and the 
 person, and he loved both. 
 
 "Dear Jean," he murmured, "obstreperous as 
 ever." 
 
 Meanwhile this "dear Jean" continued to ex- 
 plode and rage at the supposed culpability of 
 Vladislav, the Professor's body servant, who evi- 
 dently knew his man, for he grinned and an- 
 swered with a semi-submissive "Yes, sir". 
 
 "Ye gods, what does this mean, Vladislav, to 
 leave your master indoors when he ought to be 
 in the Lazienki Park?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I will cut off your ears if it happens again." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Here, take off my overcoat." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Now can't you get me off with my coat faster 
 than that, or shall I help you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir — no, sir." 
 
 "See here, I will skin you alive," he cried, and 
 both laughed. 
 
 22^ 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I beg your lordship's pardon," said Vladislav 
 and took off the guest's overshoes, but too slowly, 
 apparently, for that person's patience, for he 
 again gave vent to a loud and voluble protest. 
 
 The Professor laid down his paper, went to 
 the door and threw it wide open. 
 
 "Well, Jean, I am glad to see you," he said. 
 
 "Glad to see Jean Merau, are you? And I 
 suppose you want Jean Merau to believe it," he 
 cried, grasping the Professor's hand. "Your lit- 
 tle Jean is an infidel in these matters. If you 
 were glad to see him you would not hide yourself 
 like a beaver in his hole and lie low until little 
 Jean came to smoke you out." 
 
 "Take a cigar, that will calm your temper and 
 then we shall see," said the Professor. 
 
 "The devil take it, but I know you, papa Dan- 
 iel ; if I sit down and smoke one of your weeds, 
 which, by the gods, are not half bad, I shall be a 
 prisoner here the rest of the forenoon and then — 
 good-bye sunshine, good-bye flowers and beauty 
 for the rest of this fine day," he said, taking the 
 proffered cigar and throwing his gigantic body 
 into a large arm-chair. 
 
 "I can promise you that we shall go out or 
 rather drive out, for as you have seen fit to put 
 on overshoes it is apparently not good walking," 
 said the Professor. 
 
 "It IS beastly walking. The month of May 
 
 means the transition period of the heaven-given 
 
 snow into unpoetic mud ; but the sun is fine and 
 
 the Lazienki has a few spots fit for human beings 
 
 224 
 
Jean Merau, Artist. 
 
 to breathe in, to see and to be seen," said Merau. 
 
 "I see by LE MATIN that your picture got the 
 prize in the Salon,*' said the Professor. 
 
 "I do not feel very proud of that prize. What 
 is a landscape? Nothing! What is a tower? 
 Nothing ! An honest man does not value a prize 
 if he thinks his work does not deserve it." 
 
 "Why, little Jean, I am surprised to hear you 
 talk that way. If I remember correctly you were 
 very enthusiastic about this particular picture," 
 the Professor remarked. 
 
 "Stuff! I was a fool. I was enthusiastic be- 
 cause there was a woman in the case. I wanted 
 to please her; she was a pretty creature that 
 heated my fancy and made the months I spent 
 in the little town pleasant. She tortured me with 
 her love and her jealousies, and her husband tor- 
 tured me with his jealousy and his bad food, for 
 he was chef and hotelier in one ; still I did some 
 fine sketching." 
 
 "And did not the hotelier make an attempt to 
 poison you?" asked the Professor. "It would 
 have given color to the romance," he added. 
 
 "He tried hard enough to poison me with 
 pretty bad wine, but I managed to have the mad- 
 ame lead the way to the old cellar, and there, 
 ye gods, what wine worshippers these French 
 are ! The bottles reposed in their dusty little cof- 
 fins like antediluvian babies. Well, I managed 
 to counteract the poison, but in lucid moments I 
 was thoroughly dissatisfied with my work. I 
 wanted a human being for my canvas and tried 
 225 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 to paint several of the people with whom I came 
 in daily contact. But there was not a mother's 
 son of them that could inspire one's art. What 
 else could I do but make love to my landlady or 
 to a pretty seamstress, and devote the balance of 
 my time to the painting of dead things?'* 
 
 "The gods were at least gracious to you in 
 matters of love, and that is a gain in this cold and 
 prosaic world," said the Professor with a Smile. 
 "But confess, little Jean, this is a fortune or mis- 
 fortune which one like you might bear with equa- 
 nimity, so long as he could turn out work such 
 as you have turned out in that tower picture." 
 
 "Hush, Daniel, do not remind me of that pic- 
 ture. I tell you I was never satisfied with it, 
 and on the day it was finished I drank two bot- 
 tles of Vouvray, a bottle of Vermouth, and to- 
 gether with the petit justice (as they called my 
 drinking companion), we emptied several bot- 
 tles of good rich Burgundy and a quantity of 
 champagne. I remember the incident clearly 
 because I took offense at something or other, and 
 then let fly at the hotelier and evervbody in gen- 
 eral, so that I had a good sized bill to pay, and 
 all on account of that damned landscape," said 
 Merau, puffing away at his cigar. 
 
 "Was it really the landscape or was it the wo- 
 man?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "Perhaps it was the woman. But I did not 
 come here to talk all this nonsense." 
 
 "Well, what is it? Speak out, little Jean." 
 
 226 
 
Jean Merau, Artist. 
 
 "I came to tell you that my life is a failure," 
 said the artist. 
 
 "Take another cigar, little Jean. I hope you 
 don't let matters of finance trouble you. You 
 may sign my cheque any time you desire." 
 
 "The devil take your cheque, I>aniel; I have 
 more money than I can hope to spend ; but I am 
 a failure as an artist." 
 
 The Professor rose and felt his friend's pulse, 
 then he looked him in the eyes. 
 
 "No, it is not that," he said. "Stick out your 
 tongue, little Jean, maybe your stomach is out 
 of order." 
 
 "Do not be hocus-pocussing about my diges- 
 tion ; it is all right. And what I said is the truth," 
 said the artist earnestly. 
 
 "Then what is it, Jean? Out with it. If you 
 cannot talk plainly to your best friend, leave me 
 to my papers and go to the Lazienki," the Profes- 
 sor said curtly ; but there was a gleam in his eyes 
 that told how he loved the giant and wanted to 
 help him. 
 
 "Well, Daniel, I want to paint Joseph as the 
 Christ. It has become a passion with me and I 
 wish your help," the artist pleaded. 
 
 "My dear Jean, you have touched a subject 
 that is beyond me. I cannot help you, for I have 
 not the heart to request anything that might be 
 repugnant to him." 
 
 "I know ; I am just as big a coward. I asked 
 him once and he looked at me, and I never asked 
 again. Where is he now?" 
 227 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I hope he is asleep. He arrived this morning 
 from Bialestock, where he spent two weeks 
 among the cholera-stricken people." 
 
 "Let me have a peep at him, Daniel," cried 
 Merau, springing to his feet. 
 
 But the Professor looked so aghast at the sug- 
 gestion that Merau sat down subdued. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Daniel, it was only an im- 
 pulse. But promise me that you will make no 
 objection if he gives me permission to make a 
 sketch of him." 
 
 "Brother Jean, you ought not to exact such a 
 promise from me; you know that I would do 
 much to help you in your art ; but I will not de- 
 ceive him whom I honour as I honour no one on 
 earth. I have never forgiven myself for letting my 
 vanity run away with me as it did when I adopt- 
 ed him and let him matriculate at the university 
 under the name of Horovitz. He hates falsehood. 
 My sister tells me that from the day he began to 
 speak he has filled her heart with gladness and 
 her soul with awe; and if you could see how 
 gentle he is with her ! It is beautiful." 
 
 "Are you speaking of Joseph?" said Mrs. 
 Rosen, who had come into the room. 
 
 "Yes, sister." 
 
 Merau sprang up and kissed the woman's 
 hand. 
 
 "I beg to salute you," he said. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Merau?" she asked. 
 
 "As bad as ever, except when I am asking 
 after your dear son," he said. 
 
Jean Merau, Artist. 
 
 "He has but this moment left the house and 
 asked me to make his excuses to you, Daniel. 
 He has not seen his poor people for two weeks 
 and is anxious to know how they are get^ng 
 on." 
 
 When Mrs. Rosen had gone the friends looked 
 at each other in silence, then the Professor said 
 almost gaily: 
 
 "Come, little Jean, we may meet him some- 
 where." 
 
 229 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE INNER VOICE. 
 
 Professor Horovitz and his friend drove to 
 the Lazienki Park. Nature was like a beautiful 
 maiden, awakened smiling from a long sleep. 
 
 "Look at this, you sinner, and tell me if the 
 picture is not worthy the best efforts of your 
 brush," said the Professor. 
 
 "I do not deny it ; but the knowledge that all 
 this beauty must pass away, that it is born with 
 the germ of death in it, saddens me and does not 
 inspire my soul. I want the redeeming feature, 
 the life promising life," the artist replied. 
 
 "And does not nature promise a reawakening 
 even at the moment when it is sepulchred in snow 
 and ice?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "So it does; but so do the rags gathered by 
 the ragman promise that some day we shall 
 write our sweetest or bitterest sentiments on the 
 paper that the rags yield," said the artist. 
 
 "Not badly put," the Professor remarked. 
 
 "Only I don't care to be reminded of the rags 
 when I am using the white sheet of paper," Me- 
 rau continued, "and I am always being reminded 
 of it. A life such as I desire to put on canvas 
 would always recall the beautiful life that it por- 
 trayed ; man would see it and love it." 
 
 "Vanity, thy name is Little Jean. But come, 
 230 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 let us get out. Send the carriage home and let us 
 go into the Saxon Gardens," said the Professor. 
 
 "Agreed," cried Merau, and when the carriage 
 had stopped he jumped out nimbly and assisted 
 his friend to alight. 
 
 They had walked in silence for some minutes, 
 when Merau grabbed the Professor's arm. 
 
 "There he is. Look at him. By St. George, 
 he is the only typical Christ living !" he cried. 
 
 Both stood still and watched Joseph who, book 
 in hand, was coming toward them. Frequently 
 he stopped to read, then he would continue on 
 his way. Suddenly he stopped, looked up to the 
 sky, gazed into the distance and extended one 
 arm as if he were going to address some one. 
 The pose, though unconsciously artistic, was too 
 much for Merau. 
 
 "Daniel," he cried, "I am going to ask him 
 point blank to sit for me." And taking the Pro- 
 fessor's arm they went quickly up to Joseph. 
 
 As soon as he saw them a glad look came into 
 his eyes. 
 
 "How are you, gentlemen?" he cried. 
 
 "Reading when walking is an invitation to 
 myopia," said the Professor. 
 
 "I have made a discovery which is the safest 
 cure against it," Joseph replied. 
 
 "And that is ?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "This," said Joseph, holding out a copy of the 
 New Testament. 
 
 "Bah ! it may be a discovery for you, since you 
 never read it ; but for us it is ein ueberumndener 
 231 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Standpunkt We are neither for it nor against 
 it. We manage to live on in culpable indiffer- 
 ence, and if at times we feel the need of some 
 such reading, our predilection is for Voltaire," 
 said the Professor. 
 
 "Voltaire was a thief and an habitual liar," 
 cried Joseph. 
 
 *Toets and merchants are addicted to the same 
 habits; if the former lie for pleasure and the 
 latter for gain, why should not the philosopher 
 practice the golden mean and take a bit of both?" 
 the Professor replied, and putting his hand on 
 Joseph's shoulder, added, "Well, after all, you 
 might spend your time and money on far worse 
 things." 
 
 "I did not spend a grosh on this ; but I do not 
 subscribe to your idea that Voltaire is preferable 
 to the Christ story," Joseph responded. 
 
 "That is not quite my idea," said the Profes- 
 sor; "what I really intended to say is that I 
 prefer the strong intellectuality of the French- 
 man to the weak sentimentality of the Galilean." 
 
 "You call the censor of the Sadducean priest- 
 hood in Jerusalem weak? The man who lashed 
 the Pharisees, weak !" cried Joseph, and his form 
 appeared to grow as he spoke. "I cannot im- 
 agine a stronger personality; the cynicism of 
 Voltaire pales by the side of this wonderful man 
 of old." 
 
 Merau listened to Joseph as if magnetised. At 
 length he roused himself. 
 
 "Are you, then, a Christian?" he asked. 
 232 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 "I !'* cried Joseph. **Why should I be a Chris- 
 tian ? What is a Christian ? You do not, I sup- 
 pose, mean the people who go to the fine 
 churches in the city of Warsaw, who bow before 
 the cross and then live only for frivolity? Or 
 do you mean those that ride in gilded carriages, 
 wear fine clothes and splendid jewels, are sur- 
 rounded by troops of servants and live in luxury ? 
 Or do you mean the poor wretches who get 
 drunk, beat their wives, and pull the beards of 
 the poor Jew pedlars? No, I am not a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 The Professor felt something like awe before 
 the majesty of Joseph's speech ; Merau looked at 
 him open-mouthed, he could not grasp the power 
 that lay in this bolt of accusation that had been 
 so calrnly hurled. 
 
 The Professor was the first to regain his hab- 
 itually calm and sarcastic manner. 
 
 **You are a quick reader, Joseph, and you 
 readily absorb the thoughts that are presented to 
 you; but, believe me, the Christ story is neither 
 new nor interesting, and above all it does not 
 aid the digestion," he said. 
 
 "Stuff!" cried Merau; "I wish he would read 
 this story daily for an hour in my studio." 
 
 "I will do so if it will please you," Joseph re- 
 plied. 
 
 Merau threw his arms around Joseph's neck 
 and kissed him on the cheek. 
 
 "Come now," he cried. "I want to catch 
 your expression." 
 
 233 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 As they walked on, a band of little bareheaded 
 urchins in tattered clothes turned somersaults 
 and played all sorts of antics in front of them 
 to get a few pennies. 
 
 Joseph gave them some coppers. 
 
 "Suffer the little children to come unto me, 
 for of such is the kingdom of heaven," quoted 
 Merau, looking at Joseph with sparkling eyes. 
 Taking a handful of coins from his pocket, he 
 threw them amongst the little ones, who scram- 
 bled for their prize. 
 
 Merau was beside himself with joy. He could 
 scarcely believe in his good fortune, and he was 
 not happy until Joseph was in his studio. A 
 prominent object in the studio was an easel on 
 which stood a large picture covered with a cloth. 
 Merau took off the cloth and displayed the por- 
 trait of a woman. 
 
 Joseph uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 "Whose portrait is that?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "A relative of the Epsteins," said Merau. 
 
 Joseph turned quickly. 
 
 "A relative of the Epsteins !" he cried. "Why, 
 this is " 
 
 "An American girl," said Merau, who had not 
 noticed the bearing of Joseph's exclamation, and 
 continued to prepare a canvas for his work. 
 
 Joseph stood before the picture in an attitude 
 of adoration. The wonderful likeness of the 
 features to those he carried in his soul — the 
 strange coincidence that brought these features 
 before him so real, so vivid, so speaking, that it 
 
 234 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 seemed as if the lips would move and address 
 him as they once did with soul-stirring passion — 
 all this appeared to him like the mysterious 
 working of Providence. 
 
 He was fighting against the devouring passion 
 that consumed him. He was battling with him- 
 self as he had battled when Amanda told him 
 she was willing to proclaim her love for him be- 
 fore all the world, and that she would die if he 
 forced her to go away from him. 
 
 "I love you," she said, "and when a woman 
 loves she is braver than a man. I defy the 
 world ; I never cared much for my family ; you 
 are all the world to me." 
 
 But he said, "You must go, and if it be God's 
 will, you shall reap a reward. When the time 
 comes, you will be by my side, but now you must 
 go." 
 
 He had then irrevocably decided to engage in 
 the great work among the sick and poor of War- 
 saw. He had seen the futility of a life of love 
 such as Providence or circumstances offered him. 
 He could not marry a Christian woman and live 
 a life of strife and protest against all the world. 
 The story of love and suffering, as he had heard 
 it from the mouth of his uncle, was always in his 
 memory. The days he had spent among the 
 cholera-stricken people of Bialestock strength- 
 ened his resolve to forego the personal happiness 
 that a union with Amanda promised. He was 
 unlike other men. The desire of self-abnegation 
 grew in proportion as the charm of worldly hap- 
 
 235 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 piness was offered him, and once he had per- 
 suaded Amanda to go abroad, temptation was 
 practically removed. He was tranquil, and in a 
 measure happy. 
 
 Now suddenly a vision of the adorable face 
 had appeared before his eyes, and, as he gazed 
 upon it, tears dimmed his sight. He had never 
 before been really conscious that he was in the 
 grip of a strange and marvelous power. What 
 was it? He was bewildered. He wanted to ana- 
 lyze his feelings, to get a clear, comprehensive 
 view of his own condition and of the force that 
 held him. A voice seemed to call to him from 
 his inner consciousness. 
 
 "You are helpless before the force you have 
 encountered ; you neither can conquer nor evade 
 it ; analysis of your motives is futile." 
 
 "But who are you that would put yourself be- 
 tween me and the work to which I desire to de- 
 vote my life?" he mutely asked. 
 
 And the voice answered: "I am as a pebble 
 on the shore of life. . . Cast upon the placid 
 waters I turn into a ripple and expand over 
 their entire surface ... I am the water that laps 
 the distant shore. . . I am the universe wherein 
 the earth revolves. . . I am the force that holds 
 the constellations together. . . I am the fire of 
 the sun. . . I am the light of day. . . I am the 
 darkness of night. . . I am the calm and the 
 storm. . . I am the east and the west, the north 
 and the south. . . I am above and below. . . I am 
 the pivot of the world. 
 
 236 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 "I am the glory of nations, the ambition of 
 man. . . I am the spirit of courage and the fear 
 of the coward. . . I am the wisdom of the sage 
 and the folly of the thoughtless. . . 
 
 "I am the fancy of the poet, the vision of the 
 dreamer, the smile of the tender, the force of 
 the brutal, the sweetness of the gentle. 
 
 "I am good and evil, joy and sorrow, hope and 
 despair, sin and saintliness. . . 
 
 "I am the aspiration of the living, the regret 
 of the dying ... the tranquillity of the saint, 
 the unrest of the sinner ... the prodigality of 
 the spendthrift and the greed of the miser. . . 
 
 "I am the chilled steel of the mind and the 
 molten lead of the heart. . . I am kindness and 
 cruelty. . . I am relentless and yielding. . . I am 
 compassionate and cold. . . I am the head and 
 the heart, the leaping blood and the brilliant 
 tear. . . I am the power that moves all beings, 
 that prompts every action, that penetrates the 
 deepest deep of all that lives. . . I was in the 
 beginning ; I was through aeons of time ; I shall 
 be forever. . . 
 
 "I play with creatures at my pleasure. . . 
 
 "I humble the proud, raise the lowly, and 
 beatify the fallen. . . I make the cruel tender and 
 the tender cruel, the strong weak and the weak 
 strong. . . I make the simple-minded wise and 
 the wise foolish. . . 
 
 "I am the power that multiplies all creatures. 
 . . . I am the source and cause of all life. . . 
 
 237 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I am the essence of thought, the soul of de- 
 sire. . . 
 
 "King and peasant, philosopher and priest, all 
 are my slaves, and all that lives is in my service. 
 . . . Without me nothing can exist; I am the 
 bond that holds humanity together, and while 
 man lives he cannot escape from me, who am his 
 essence and the only power by which all things 
 exist in time and in space. . . Even though he 
 die, he escapes me not, for he but serves to prop- 
 agate existences that are subject tO' the eternal 
 law, the law of which I am the beginning and the 
 end. . . 
 
 "I slumber not, nor do I sleep, and at the given 
 hour and at the appointed place I call forth com- 
 mands that must be obeyed. . . 
 
 "And whatever man does for himself or for 
 others it is ever done at my behest. . . His wor- 
 ship or his jeers, his desires or his denials, his 
 greed or his gifts, his war or his peace, his joy 
 or his sorrow, his smiles or his frowns, his tears 
 or his laughter, all, all comes from me. . . " 
 
 Joseph was terrified at the resistless surge of 
 his thoughts. "And must I pass through the 
 same gate of experience as others?" 
 
 "You have passed the gates long ago — at the 
 time when you read the poet's passion to the sad- 
 hearted woman who once pleaded with you for 
 my sake." 
 
 A tremor ran through Joseph's body ; then he 
 braced himself. 
 
 "I shall conquer," he said to himself. 
 238 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 "We shall see," the voice replied, and soon 
 Joseph's vision cleared ... he was ready for 
 the fight. 
 
 Merau, who knew nothing of what was going 
 on in Joseph's mind, perceived only the outward 
 effect, which suited his artistic fancy. It was 
 this very expression that he desired; it inspired 
 him, and he worked with a fervor that reddened 
 his great, round face and till drops of perspira- 
 tion fell on to his palette. 
 
 At length Joseph's eyes, so human and yet so 
 divine, looked from the canvas, and then the mas- 
 ter stopped. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, laying down the palette 
 and brush. 
 
 The Professor looked at Merau's work with 
 undisguised admiration. 
 
 "There is something, after all, in that fancy 
 of yours, Jean; or is it the Christ story?" he 
 said. 
 
 "No, it is the woman," whispered the artist. 
 
 The Professor glanced at Joseph, who was 
 looking at some of Merau's paintings. 
 
 "Let us hope that you are right," he said in an 
 undertone. Aloud, he added: "I cannot see 
 what the world admires in the person of Christ. 
 Men as noble as He lived before Him and after 
 Him ; some were tortured and killed. A sad face 
 is not necessarily an object of admiration." 
 
 "I am an artist and admire whatever appears 
 to me to be beautiful. What do you think of it, 
 Joseph?" cried Merau. 
 
 239 
 
• " Children of Fate. 
 
 "I ?'' said Joseph, and he passed his hand over 
 his eyes ; "I do not know, but I should think that 
 the God-Hke in mankind is the most appealing 
 thing there is, and touches our souls most 
 nearly." 
 
 "Ideals," murmured the Professor. 
 
 "And unattainable," suggested Merau. 
 
 "All the more reason why we ought to strive 
 after them," said Joseph, looking at one of the 
 landscapes that represented the source of the Vis- 
 tula. 
 
 "The attempt is more than foolish — it is crim- 
 inal," the Professor rather warmly rejoined. 
 
 "That may be true of earthly efforts directed 
 by motives of mere selfishness, but it cannot be 
 true of our duty to humanity, which is the 
 noblest attempt at the realization of an ideal. 
 What is our mercy other than an attempt to imi- 
 tate the Being whom we call All-Merciful, and 
 what is human love, human fellowship, but an ef- 
 fort to live up to a divine ideal?" 
 
 "'Hitch your wagon to a star, as the American 
 philosopher Emerson puts it," said Merau. 
 
 "We need not go to America, Pan Jean, for a 
 proof of my assertion. Think how beautifully 
 Lessing puts it, 'If God, the Father, held Truth 
 in His rig^ht hand and in H'is left hand He held 
 but the Desire for Truth, and he spake to me, 
 'Son, choose!' I would humbly sink at His feet 
 and say, 'Father, give me the Desire for the 
 Truth, since Truth herself is for Thee alone.' 
 What, then, is left to mortal man other than the 
 240 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 striving, the effort, the attempt to do as much 
 as we can for those who suffer?" cried Joseph, 
 his face flushing. 
 
 "Look to your laurels, Daniel," said Merau; 
 "Joseph's idealism is more rational than your 
 materialism." 
 
 "His inexperience is great; his enthusiasm 
 has the lambency of youth untried in the furnace 
 of passion; he is unselfish because he has not 
 been asked to deny himself a strong desire of 
 the heart," said the Professor. 
 
 Joseph turned pale. His uncle's words cut 
 him like a knife; he felt a pain at his heart. 
 How could he tell them of the battle he had 
 waged, that his very unselfishness was begotten 
 bv his love, that every act of his life now was 
 like a spark from the wonderful passion that 
 burned in his soul? 
 
 And as he looked upon the picture of the girl 
 who bore so marvelous a resemblance to 
 Amanda, he asked himself again and again if it 
 miVht not be better to tell them all and to throw 
 self-denial to the winds. 
 
 But something within him, something whicH 
 had guided his life ere the spirit of love had 
 spoken, something equally notent and over 
 which he had no control, told him to keep silence. 
 As soon as he saw his duty clearly, he grew 
 calmer; he saw that he must at all costs gain 
 strength to resist under all conditions and cir- 
 cumstances. A kind of cynicism came over him ; 
 he, who fought against love's power, would ex- 
 241 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 plain its meaning; he felt the desire to play 
 upon his own heartstrings, and a chance remark 
 of the painter's gave him opportunity. 
 
 "I do not believe that love necessarily begets 
 selfishness/* said Merau. 
 
 "It does not, Pan Jean," said Joseph. "Love 
 is a bell made vibrant by contact with a fore- 
 ordained personality ; it is the light that gladdens 
 the seeing eye, the power that sustains the re- 
 sponsive heart and sentient soul ; it is the infini- 
 tesimal seed that in time grows to a beautiful 
 pearl; it feeds on life, and in its turn gives in- 
 finite pleasure; it loses itself in its own being, 
 and becomes a great active force. Love is the 
 law of God, and by that law man must seek his 
 own and other people's happiness ; for man was 
 made for happiness, not for grief ; for smiles, not 
 for tears ; and both grief and tears are incidental, 
 only incidental." 
 
 He spoke rapidly, and with each word pierced 
 his own heart till it bled. Sighing deeply, he 
 turned to his spellbound listeners, and added : 
 
 "Still, to reach the highest, love must not yield 
 to the sweets of life ; it must devote its being to 
 comfort those in misery." 
 
 "As Christ did?" asked Merau. 
 
 "As all great souls did," said Joseph. 
 
 "And give away all one has to the poor?" the 
 Professor asked, with a sneer. 
 
 "As much as one can conscientiously give 
 without impoverishing himself and leaving his 
 dear ones destitute. Love, the great law of God, 
 242 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 should make a man thus unselfish, it seems to 
 me/' said Joseph. 
 
 "By St. George," cried Merau, "both ideas are 
 excellent. A man who is wedded to gold and 
 lacks the sentiments essential to noble living, or 
 to an appreciation of the beautiful, is fit only for 
 the dogs — and even they would turn tail and 
 scurry away from his flesh, for it would have a 
 metallic taste. But the idea that love is the law 
 of God and has nothing to do with animal pas- 
 sion, strikes me as fine. Love is the poetry of 
 life. Here you have a block of marble; there 
 the finished figure. Here a piece of canvas and 
 a pot of paint — there the speaking image. Yes, 
 it is love that does it," cried Merau. 
 
 "Dreams, dreams," said the Professor. "If 
 love be the law of God, then H*e ought to care 
 for those eager to obey His law. There was 
 none more eager to obey that law than I. Yet 
 think of the sepulchre that holds all that this 
 dreamer calls the law of God." 
 
 "That does not prove that the law of God is 
 wrong; it merely proves that conditions are 
 wrong, and no one ought to take advantage of 
 conditions, right or wrong, to the injury of an- 
 other or of one's self," said Joseph slowly. 
 
 "I do not understand," said the professor. 
 
 "One might be called upon to defend acts such 
 as yours would have been had you been willing 
 to do a certain thing — had the princess lived and 
 you had married her." 
 
 243 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "You mean I should have been in ill repute 
 with the Jews?" 
 
 "No, with the Christians ; no one would have 
 forgiven a Jew who had captured a princess, 
 even if the Jew had foresworn the faith of his 
 fathers ; he would always be thought of as a JeW 
 who had tricked a Christian lady into marrying 
 him; a wizard, who deserved burning at the 
 stake," said Joseph. 
 
 "And with these ideas you still work among 
 the poor regardless of creed, you still act the 
 Christ on the lower Nalevki !" cried Merau. 
 
 "If, as you say. Pan Jean, I am acting the 
 Christ on the lower Nalevki, I beg you to re- 
 member that I am acting a legitimate part. 
 Christ was a Jew; I must, therefore, do all the 
 good I can for the Jews, but as the others ac- 
 cepted Him as their own, I naturally owe some- 
 thing to them also," he answered with a smile. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Merau's ser- 
 vant ehtered and announced Mr. Epstein, who 
 stood in the door breathing stertorously and 
 wiping his face with a red silk handkerchief. 
 
 "Come in," cried Merau and went to greet the 
 newcomer. 
 
 Mr. Epstein entered the studio followed by 
 his daughter and Beatrice. One look sufficed to 
 show that Beatrice was the original of Merau's 
 painting. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, Mr. Epstein," said 
 Merau, shaking hands with the banker. 
 
 "Glad to see me!" the other cried; "a fine 
 244 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 time we had getting here; climbing five flights 
 of stairs is no joke, and Miss New York is 
 nearly dead. Out there in America they have 
 lifts, but here ! Ah, how do you do, Professor ? 
 And young gentleman? Glad to see you. Why 
 so strange, young gentleman?" he said, shaking 
 hands with Joseph. 
 
 The latter bowed; he was ghastly pale and 
 found it impossible to utter a word ; his heart 
 seemed to stand still, and he felt as if the 
 ground were giving way under him. He was 
 not prepared for the shock that the sight of the 
 American girl gave him and he heaved a sigh 
 of relief when the banker turned his attention 
 to the others. 
 
 "Artists, like eagles, perch high; eh, Mr. Me- 
 rau?" 
 
 "They are forced to, Mr. Epstein; they find 
 nothing to eat down below ; there are too many 
 vultures about," laughed the artist. 
 
 "Good, good," cried the banker. "Oh, I beg 
 your pardon. Professor. Let me introduce you 
 to this young Republican, Professor von Horo- 
 vitz, Miss Beatrice Rosen ; Mr. Joseph Horovitz, 
 Miss Rosen." 
 
 Joseph bowed to the girl, whose face crim- 
 soned as she looked at the man who appeared to 
 have stepped out of her dream to greet her. But 
 she was puzzled. His name was Horovitz, so 
 he could not be the one she longed to meet, and 
 yet — her intuition was strong, and she yielded 
 to the magnetism of the personality before her. 
 
 245 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 The colour in her face came and went ; her eyes, 
 slightly humid, seemed to be searching for some 
 suggestion that the man who stood before her 
 was the one whose image she cherished in her 
 soul. She hoped he would come to her assist- 
 ance, but he showed no signs of offering an ex- 
 planation. He was bewildered, awed into speech- 
 lessness. He was afraid of the web into which 
 fate was drawing him. 
 
 Ella Epstein, with a woman's instinct, had di- 
 vined what accident had brought about, and tried 
 to bridge over the gap between these two beings. 
 
 "Mr. Hlorovitz used to call on us occasionally 
 with Count Waldeck," she said, "but he has no 
 desire to cultivate people other than those who 
 are in hospitals or in the slums. You see, Mr. 
 Horovitz, your work is not unknown to me." 
 
 He felt relieved. 
 
 "I sincerely hope I have not established a 
 reputation for repugnance to polite society. Miss 
 Epstein," he said. 
 
 Beatrice closed her eyes and listened to his 
 voice, which intoxicated her. 
 
 "I would not go so far as to say that, but you 
 might have looked us up. Miss Rosen's inclina- 
 tions are not unlike your own, and you might be 
 able to direct her efforts." 
 
 "I am afraid I can teach Miss Rosen little 
 about dispensing charity. A woman is generally 
 more apt at that work than a man, " he replied. 
 
 "Gome girls, we mustn't stay," cried Mr. Ep- 
 stein. 
 
 246 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 Ella and Beatrice rose and Joseph with them. 
 
 "Come and see us, Mr. Horovitz," said Ella. 
 
 Beatrice looked at him with pleading eyes. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Epstein," he replied, "I 
 will call as soon as I find an opportunity." 
 
 "Make the opportunity," she rejoined, 
 
 "If I cannot make it, I will certainly make use 
 of it when it presents itself," he said, and smiled. 
 
 "Let us hope that Dame Opportunity will pre- 
 sent herself very, very soon," said Ella. 
 
 Joseph was strangely moved by the smile that 
 broke over Beatrice's face at her friend's words. 
 Amanda had rarely smiled. The scenes with her 
 were always sad, because he was unyielding, 
 always fighting against his own passion. Now 
 he could imagine what bliss there would be in 
 Amanda's smile; he longed with all his soul to 
 see it. For a moment he had believed that this 
 American girl was in reality none other than 
 Amanda, who had followed him to plead her 
 cause. He could not think that Beatrice appeared 
 to others as she did to him, and thus, moment by 
 moment, he yielded to her, and with this yielding 
 there came great happiness into his heart. 
 
 "I am sure the opportunity will come sooner 
 than you think. Miss Epstein," he said. 
 
 "Mark my words, sir," broke in the banker's 
 voice, "the big Prussian will get as good as he 
 gives, and France is the country to do it; the 
 third Napoleon may have short legs, but he has 
 a long head and a good army. He will rap Bis- 
 marck on the knuckles." 
 247 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "If it comes to a war between Prussia and 
 France there will be an end of Napoleon," said 
 the Professor. 
 
 "Well, come away, children," said the banker ; 
 "and, young gentleman, don't look so strange. 
 Au revoirj cher Professeur; remember what I 
 told you about Bismarck. Au revoir, Merau; 
 splendid picture; only you live too high. In 
 America they have lifts, yes ; but here, well " 
 
 The broken sentences and the sound of his 
 great voice that rose to a falsetto and fell to a 
 growl, gradually died away as he stamped down 
 the stairs. 
 
 When they had gone, Merau looked at Joseph 
 and whistled. He had seen at once the effect die 
 sight of the American girl had upon his young 
 friend. 
 
 "He is caught. Papa Daniel, caught like a but- 
 terfly in the net of the beautiful American fairy," 
 he cried. 
 
 The Professor showed no surprise ; he put his 
 hand on Joseph's shoulder. 
 
 "Is it true?" he asked tenderly. 
 
 Joseph started. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, uncle?" 
 
 "I asked if the girl had really made an impres- 
 sion on you. At your age one usually knows this 
 at once. Go ahead, my boy, and count on my 
 support. It has always been my ambition to aid 
 lovers," he said smilingly. 
 
 "Thank you, uncle ; but it would be love's la- 
 bour lost. I will not go so far as to say that it is 
 248 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 infinitely easier to commit an error than to cor- 
 rect one," he said with a fine smile. 
 
 "What error can you possibly commit by fall- 
 ing in love with this beautiful girl? What are 
 your objections?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "Why are you assuming that I have objec- 
 tions?" was the counter question. 
 
 "You spoke as if you would not care to culti- 
 vate her acquaintance," said the Professor. 
 
 "You read more into my words than I meant," 
 Joseph rejoined. 
 
 "But you would not seek her in marriage?" 
 asked his uncle. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you have a reason, I suppose?" 
 
 "A most potent one." 
 
 "May I know it?" 
 
 "She does not look like a Jewess." 
 
 "What?" cried the Professor and Merau with 
 one voice. ':!:;• - 
 
 "My explanation might prove as strange to you 
 as my statement, still I shall make it in the hope 
 that you may be satisfied and not attempt to lead 
 me into further temptation," he said with a smile. 
 
 "It all depends whether you have objections 
 to matrimony in general, in which case your ex- 
 planation would not have the force of convic- 
 tion," said Merau. 
 
 "I have no objection to matrimony; I will even 
 admit that a Jew might marry a Gentile and ex- 
 pect a reasonable amount of happiness, provided 
 they lived in a country where there is no preju- 
 249 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 dice against the Jew. Even the Jews themselves 
 might condone an alliance of this sort under cer- 
 tain conditions. But think of a Jewess who looks 
 like a Gentile, is beautiful as a goddess, and has 
 the inconvenience of a Jewish husband. It 
 would be tantamount to inciting all the officers 
 of the garrison in Warsaw and Praga to cut each 
 other's throats and incidentally that of the hus- 
 band. You know that Russian officers consider 
 a Jewish woman public property and a beautiful 
 Jewess their own particular property. Now, 
 gentlemen, have you still the heart to urge me to 
 follow this beautiful girl of malice prepense? 
 Would you be so cruel as to wish her and me 
 such dire disaster ?" he concluded with a laugh. 
 
 It was obvious to Merau and the Professor 
 that this was not the real reason. The latter was 
 genuinely distressed by the manifestation of this 
 new phase in his nephew's character. Who and 
 what had caused this evident bitterness, this new 
 cynicism that coloured Joseph's words? He 
 could think of no reason for it. He was certain 
 that it was not Ella Epstein. He was equally 
 certain that Joseph had no entanglement of 
 which he would be ashamed. Even if he had, 
 Professor Horovitz had been sufficiently tried in 
 the fire of misfortune not to blame his nephew. 
 He would have stood by him at all hazards. 
 
 "I said, Joseph, that you can count on my sup- 
 port, and I meant it; there is nothing in the 
 world that you may do or may have done that 
 will not find sympathy in my heart," said he. 
 
 250 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 "Thank you, dear uncle," said Joseph, grasp- 
 ing his uncle's hand. "But you need not worry, 
 I have not the least desire to entangle myself." 
 
 "I sincerely wish you would — in this case," the 
 Professor rejoined. 
 
 "I cannot, dear uncle," said Joseph. 
 
 "But can you give a solid reason? You know 
 what this would mean to me and to your mother," 
 urged the Professor. 
 
 Joseph's heart beat violently. He saw that he 
 could not remain silent in the face of such an ap- 
 peal without deeply hurting his uncle, whom he 
 dearly loved. The mention of his mother dis- 
 tressed him, too. His life was one long chain of 
 devotion to her. But he knew her soul, he knew 
 that when the time came for him to say to her, 
 "Mother, I must do this thing," she would put 
 her arms around his neck and say to him, "Son, 
 you know best," even though she wept as she 
 said it. 
 
 Yet he owed it to his uncle to explain, and if 
 he could not tell the secret that lay deep in his 
 heart, he could at least tell part of it. 
 
 "To give you a reason for my present action 
 would be to court argument, and of that my case 
 does not admit, because my desire is to bear 
 lightly a duty which to most men would appear 
 quite irrational. I want to be happy and light 
 of heart in my work. I am declining to run after 
 a life of love and luxury because I deem my oc- 
 cupation infinitely sweeter and more potent to 
 give me true happiness. You might argue that 
 
 251 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 a man need not cease to be an active ag-ent in the 
 cause of humanity because he makes a home for 
 himself. That I would not deny. But I deny 
 anyone's right to lessen the full measure of my 
 happiness, and if I find the full measure of hap- 
 piness in my work, why should I curtail it by 
 other things and other duties ? 
 
 "However, let me leave argument alone and 
 try to give you a plain statement of my case. It 
 was the dream of my life to be in some degree a 
 help to others. During the early years of my 
 life this feeling was wholly centred in my mother. 
 The time came when I saw my dream realised, 
 and my mother well and happy. Then the larger 
 problem presented itself, and as the desire of a 
 lifetime cannot be satisfied when only one-half of 
 it is accomplished, I took up my present work 
 not only with pleasure, but with passion. In time 
 also I came to see that this passion was the pas- 
 sion of the very greatest men that ever lived ; 
 Moses, Isaiah, Buddha, and Christ were moved 
 by this desire, by this passion. You may say I 
 am presumptuous, but since I can afford to sat- 
 isfy my desire, why deny myself the pleasure? 
 You, dear uncle, have it in your power to curb 
 my passion by withdrawing from me the means. 
 That would not, however, extinguish my passion ; 
 I should then do what I could and in all proba- 
 bility die of grief that I could not do more." 
 
 His tones had sunk to a whisper. Both Merau 
 and the Professor were profoundly moved and 
 the former turned away to hide his emotion. 
 
 252 
 
The Inner Voice. 
 
 The Professor had turned deadly pale and trem- 
 bled in every limb. He had followed Joseph's 
 words with keen attention and a feeling of dis- 
 may. He saw all his plans swept away, all his 
 hopes annihilated. He knew that he was power- 
 less to battle against this gentle yet inflexible re- 
 solve. He did not penetrate the wall behind 
 which was hidden the real cause, although Joseph 
 had almost recklessly exposed it; nor could he 
 conceive that his nephew had a secret. 
 
 At length he composed himself sufficiently to 
 say: 
 
 "I hope you will change your mind. At least 
 give yourself a chance. I am not pleading for 
 myself, although I shall not deny that it would 
 please me much to see you happy in the way I 
 think of happiness. I confess that I am not 
 gifted with the noble passion that prompts self- 
 sacrifice." 
 
 "You are," said Joseph, "you sacrificed the 
 best the world could give you for an idea " 
 
 "Which, I regret to say, was foolish, criminal," 
 the Professor rejoined. 
 
 "But you would do it again," said Joseph. 
 
 The Professor was silent. 
 
 "And you would be right," Joseph added. 
 
 "I think it was and would be extremely 
 wrong," cried Merau; "I argued with him then 
 as he argues with you now. One ought not to 
 run away from, happiness for the sake of a chi- 
 mera, and you ought not, Yushu." 
 
 "I can promise you I shall not run away, at 
 
 253 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 least not from this girl who pleases me very 
 much; but, then — ^well, gentlemen," he cried al- 
 most gaily, "I see by my watch, for your clock, 
 Pan Jean, has stopped, that I am remiss in my 
 duty ; I beg you will excuse me, I must go." 
 
 "Will you not stay and lunch with me ?" asked 
 Merau. 
 
 "Not to-day, thank you," said Joseph, and, 
 shaking hands with them, he left the room. 
 
 As he descended the stairs, sigh after sigh es- 
 caj>ed his lips. 
 
 "You shall never know, dear love, what it costs 
 me to keep your life from the misery of being 
 chained to mine." 
 
 He had unconsciously spoken aloud, and the 
 sound of his words frightened him. He ran down 
 the stairs and felt a sort of relief as the fresh air 
 blew in his face. 
 
 254 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AFTER THE DUEL. 
 
 Shortly after Joseph had gone, the Professor, 
 too, went away. It was his intention to talk seri- 
 ously to Joseph. He thought it wrong to be 
 silent in the face of such obstinacy ; for he con- 
 sidered Joseph's attitude nothing more or less 
 than a symptom of a disordered mind, and he be- 
 lieved it his duty to cure the malady, or at least 
 oppose Joseph's resolution with all his might. 
 
 Joseph was nowhere to be seen. The Professor 
 went to the hospital and he learned that Joseph 
 had been there, but had left. He was forced to 
 go home and wait for his nephew. He was 
 greatly perturbed and had a strong foreboding of 
 evil. 
 
 "At times one has to cut away a limb to save 
 a life ; I shall speak to him even if I have to of- 
 fend him," he murmured. 
 
 But the word sounded harsh to him. 
 
 "Offend ! I could never do such a thing ; but I 
 shall plead with him." 
 
 "Whom will you plead with, Daniel?" asked 
 Mrs. Rosen, putting her arm around the Pro- 
 fessor's neck. 
 
 "With Joseph," he replied. 
 
 "Why? What for? What has happened?" 
 cried Mrs. Rosen. 
 
 255 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "I want him to marry." 
 
 ''Marry ! Is there a woman in this world good 
 enough for my son?" she said, and the truth 
 sounded even clearer in her maternal pride. 
 
 ''I met an American girl at Merau's studio 
 who, I think, would be the ideal wife for him. 
 She is beautiful, distinguished, and of evident re- 
 finement." 
 
 "A Jewess?" 
 
 "Yes ; by the way, she is a namesake of yours, 
 Beatrice Rosen." 
 
 "Americans, Rosen! I wonder if it is our 
 Rosen. Why did you not find out?" asked Mrs. 
 Rosen. 
 
 "My dear, what with the claims of the effer- 
 vescent Epstein and dear old Jean, and the atten- 
 tion I paid to the pretty girl as she conversed 
 with Joseph, there was no time to find out any- 
 thing; but I understand that she is a relative of 
 the banker. When she had gone Joseoh was like 
 a man in a dream; she had evidently made an 
 impression on him. But I am afraid of his ideas. 
 If I only had him here now I would give him a 
 good talking to." 
 
 At that moment, however, Joseph was not 
 even in Warsaw. Instead of Joseph there came 
 a note in which he stated that he had been called 
 to Praga and would not be home until late. 
 
 The Professor sighed deeply. 
 
 "One might battle against a crude, brutal 
 force," he said, "but I confess my inability to 
 
 256 
 
 € 
 
After the Duel. 
 
 cope with this mysterious and subtle power of 
 his." 
 
 "Do not worry, dear," Mrs. Rosen rejoined, 
 "he knows best." 
 
 "I do not understand you, sister ; do you mean 
 that you would encourage him in his irrational 
 surrender of the best this world affords? He 
 owes something to you, to me, to the world in 
 which he lives," he cried with trembling voice. 
 "You have lost the greater part of your life ; I 
 lost the best years of mine in misery, in sorrow, 
 and in sadness, and now that we have the chance 
 to see the latter part of our lives lightened by a 
 gleam of happiness, this young man, this strange 
 reproduction of an ancient and fabled person- 
 ality, wants to envelop us both in the gloom of 
 self-abnegation and to burden me with the curse 
 of outliving him. It is horrible, sister, horrible !" 
 he cried. 
 
 "Daniel, dear, do not give way to such 
 thoughts. If it be the will of God, then Joseph 
 will fulfill your dearest wishes ; if not, we must 
 be obedient. I have never opposed my will to 
 that of my dear son and all has gone well. Let 
 us be patient." 
 
 Her gentle words and her evident fortitude 
 calmed the Professor; he was half ashamed of 
 his own unbelief, and as he led his sister to the 
 dining-room he inwardly promised himself to 
 mend his ways and try to attain to something of 
 that faith which appeared to make the weak 
 
 257 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 strong and inspire the gentle of heart with cour- 
 age to bear misfortune calmly. 
 
 When dinner was over he went to the library, 
 lit a cigar, and took up a book. He repeated over 
 and over again the words of his sister, "I have 
 never opposed my will to that of my dear son 
 and all has gone well." **My dear boy," he mur- 
 mured, "I will not fall short of that faith, come 
 what may." 
 
 There was a knock at the door and Vladislav 
 announced Count Waldeck de Lack. 
 
 The Professor greeted Waldeck cordially, but 
 was surprised to note his haggard appearance. 
 
 "The festivities in the country have had a bad 
 effect on your lordship," he said with a smile. 
 
 "I came here to ask your advice and assistance 
 in a serious affair." 
 
 "A duel, I suppose." 
 
 "A duel." 
 
 "Fought?" 
 
 "Fought this afternoon." 
 
 "Then your antagonist is either dead or in bed 
 — in either case you are the better of the two. 
 Who was your antagonist?" 
 
 "Colonel Vladimir de Prussnitzki of the Pul- 
 tava regiment." 
 
 The Professor started. 
 
 "This is a serious affair," he said. 
 
 "I appreciate its gravity, but would care little 
 were it not that it involves Joseph." 
 
 The Professor sprang to his feet. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he cried. 
 258 
 
After the Duel. 
 
 "Joseph was arrested and taken to Praga." 
 
 The Professor sank into the chair as if struck 
 down. A moment later he sprang up again, his 
 eyes flashing. 
 
 "How did it happen? What has my boy in 
 common with you, with your savage brawls? 
 How dared you involve him? Speak!" 
 
 "I swear to you that he is innocent and knew 
 nothing of my action until he unfortunately ar- 
 rived upon the scene," said Waldeck. 
 
 "And then ?" asked the Professor less harshly. 
 
 "There was an accident." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "My antagonist cried, The Jew', and before I 
 knew it I had run him through. For a moment 
 he stood like one transfixed, then he fell. I 
 turned and saw Joseph. I was so unnerved at 
 the sight of him that I trembled in every limb. 
 He at once examined the wounded man and told 
 me to get a carriage. I hastened away and when 
 I returned both had disappeared. The park 
 watchman told me that a number of officers 
 riding by had ordered the policeman to take Jo- 
 seph and the wounded man to Praga. I am will- 
 ing to deliver myself into the hands of the com- 
 mandant." 
 
 Professor Horovitz heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "The affair is less dangerous than it at first ap- 
 peared," he said. "You had seconds, of course." 
 
 "No; I struck the Colonel, we at once retired 
 to the little birch wood in the Lazienki and 
 fought." 
 
 259 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "That makes the matter more serious. What 
 caused the trouble? A woman, I suppose." 
 
 "I avenged an insult to one," Waldeck some- 
 what coldly replied. 
 
 "Any particular woman?" 
 
 "My cousin, Miss Beatrice Rosen." 
 
 "The American girl who visits the Epsteins?" 
 cried the Professor excitedly. 
 
 "The same ; I am glad to know that you have 
 the honour of her acquaintance," said Waldeck. 
 
 But the Professor appeared not to have heard 
 the remark. His brow was clouded, a great sad- 
 ness had suddenly come ov^r him. 
 
 "What new troubles are in store for us?" he 
 murmured. 
 
 Waldeck, who thought only of his immediate 
 trouble, could not conceive that anyone beside 
 himself could possibly be involved in this matter. 
 
 "They cannot possibly hold Joseph responsible 
 for an act in which he had not the least concern, 
 and I am willing to bear the consequences. Come, 
 my carriage is at the door, let us drive to 
 Praga," he said. 
 
 The Professor made no response ; he took his 
 hat and cane and followed Waldeck to the car- 
 riage. 
 
 260 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 The Commandant, a fat, bearded, jolly-faced 
 Russian, was taking his after dinner vutki in 
 company with several officers, but when the Pro- 
 fessor's card was handed to him he excused him- 
 self to his guests and went into the adjoining 
 room where Waldeck and the Professor awaited 
 him. He greeted the latter cordially. 
 
 "You are in time to have a quiet glass with a 
 few earth born Russians," he said. 
 
 "A thousand times obliged, my Commandant ; 
 but I beg you to excuse me for to-night. I came 
 here to plead for my young friend, the Count de 
 Lack, and to get my nephew out of your 
 clutches." 
 
 "Nothing would have given me greater pleas- 
 ure than to keep your nephew here ; for though 
 I could not induce him to take dinner with me, 
 I had at least the benefit of a talk with him. It 
 was all a mistake. The officers were under the 
 impression that the Colonel had been attacked by 
 your nephew, and arrested him. He explained 
 and I sent him away with regret." 
 
 "I thank you," said the Professor, taking the 
 Commandant's hand. "Let me hope you will be 
 equally gracious with my young friend here." 
 
 "As he has you for an advocate, the Count is 
 at liberty to follow up his gallant affair; but I 
 261 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 should warn his lordship against another attack 
 upon a Russian officer, for such we must con- 
 sider it in view of the fact that the duel was 
 fought without seconds. I do not care to have 
 our officers brought to the alternative of commit- 
 ting suicide or quitting the army for fighting ir- 
 regular duels. I have prepared a statement for 
 the 'Daily Courier' which will anticipate any dis- 
 agreeable talk and I trust the noble Count will 
 in the future be less eager to fight." 
 
 Waldeck found but little satisfaction in the 
 Commandant's words. He recognised that he 
 had escaped actual disgrace only through the 
 powerful influence of the Professor. Three 
 things were obvious to him: He had accom- 
 plished nothing in the way of finding Beatrice's 
 cousin; he had caused his friend great incon- 
 venience, and he had barely missed making the 
 woman he loved notorious. 
 
 He went back to his hotel with the firm inten- 
 tion of leaving Poland the very next day and 
 joining his parents at Interlaken, where they and 
 the Baroness Levanovska were staying. 
 
 When he got to his room he found two notes 
 awaiting him. One was from Joseph ; he opened 
 it at once, and read : 
 
 "I have no reproaches for a man who protects 
 a woman's honour. De Prussnitzki will live and, 
 I hope, repent. I have asked permission to visit 
 him. You must do the same. Joseph." 
 
 "He has the heart of a hero and the soul of a 
 
 262 
 
' Jealousy. ' 
 
 saint," he murmured, and opened the second note. 
 It was from his mother : 
 
 "Dushki : 
 
 "We are coming home as fast as the train will 
 take us. I am half sorry to go back to Poland 
 at this time of the season, but Amanda is ill and 
 wants to be at home. We cannot let her travel 
 alone. Please engage apartments at the Hotel 
 de TEurope. 
 
 "A million kisses from Your 
 
 *'Mamma." 
 
 "Well, fate decrees that I shall not escape ex- 
 planations, so I shall stay in Warsaw, devote my- 
 self to my beautiful cousin, visit my sick antago- 
 nist and be as miserable as a man can be who 
 loves hopelessly. I do not wish this cousin of hers, 
 Joseph (who may be a myth), any harm, but 
 I wish he would come forth to disillusion Bea- 
 trice," he said to himself, and rang for his valet. 
 
 "Take a drushki, drive to Professor Horo- 
 vitz's house, and request Mr. Joseph Horovitz to 
 meet me at the club to-morrow between ten and 
 eleven in the forenoon." 
 
 Joseph was not at home, the valet reported, and 
 the Professor's servant could not tell when he 
 would be back. 
 
 On the following morning Waldeck again sent 
 to the Professor's house and received the same 
 reply. Then he went out to hunt for Joseph, but 
 failed to find him. "He left only a few minutes 
 ago," was the answer he received at all the places 
 263 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 where as a rule he was certain to find him. In 
 the evening he sent a note to Joseph, but on hear- 
 ing that Joseph was still "not at home" a terrible 
 fury seized him. 
 
 *'You are stupid," he cried to his servant. 
 "Can't you find out when he will be at home ?" 
 
 Of a sudden it struck him that Joseph might 
 desire to avoid him ; but he called himself stupid 
 for the thought. 
 
 "Why, he is my best friend," he reflected. 
 "But do not forget that you met him once in 
 the Lazienki with Beatrice and Ella," said the 
 little demon that was torturing his soul. 
 
 "That argues absolutely nothing; he is a man 
 and a gentleman and it would only require a 
 
 word from me " 
 
 "The eloquence of a Demosthenes would fail 
 to argue passion out of a human heart ; and the 
 more of a man and a gentleman one is, the more 
 intense is the passion when it once has taken 
 possession of the heart," the harrowing demon 
 continued. 
 
 "Bah, he is a saint with a mind bent on charity, 
 on the sick and the poor." 
 
 "Very true," the torturer suggested, giving a 
 deeper dig, "but he is a very handsome saint; 
 women go mad over that sort of saint, they yield 
 their virtue and their honour to such men ; they 
 become either angels or devils for the sake of 
 such saints. Then, too, he is very clever, very 
 eloquent, highly connected, and he and she are of 
 
 the same faith and " 
 
 264 
 
Jealousy. 
 
 "Be silent, I say! A thousand devils!" he 
 cried, springing to his feet. 
 
 His eyes gleamed wildly, his tortured soul was 
 filled with madness. Forgotten was his promise 
 to Howard Rosen, forgotten also was his love 
 for his friend ; all he thought of was the woman 
 he loved, and that another might take her from 
 him, had possibly taken her already. Obsessed 
 by this idea, he ran up and down the room like a 
 caged beast. He tore his hair, he cried and 
 moaned by turns ; he stood still and glared va- 
 cantly, then ran as if all the furies were after 
 him. He was love-mad, he had made himself 
 mad by his super-sensitiveness. He was, after 
 all, young, proud, rich, and an aristocrat. In 
 him at that moment flamed fiercely the tempera- 
 ment of his race, a race that for centuries fought 
 and defeated the Asiatic hordes ; that fell, but 
 rose again, always fighting, never resting, hoping 
 against hope. At that moment, too, he recalled 
 that his rival was a Jew, a man of a race that 
 his forefathers had treated like savages, whom 
 they slaughtered without mercy, without com- 
 punction, a race considered at one time too low 
 to be regarded as human: one of this race tried 
 to take from him the best thing in the world! 
 The fire of pride and passion blazed within him, 
 and with a cry that but faintly expressed his dis- 
 tress, he threw himself down and hid his head 
 in his hands. 
 
 265 
 
! CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HEART OF THE BANKER. 
 
 "Did you ever hear of such a thing?" cried 
 Mr. Epstein. "To fight a duel in a pubhc park !" 
 
 "Who fought it, papa?" asked Ella, sipping 
 her morning coffee. 
 
 "Who but this young lady's dear cousin, Count 
 Waldeck, and Colonel de Prussnitzki ! Here it is, 
 black on white, in the Courier," he replied. 
 "Don't let Mamma know it, she is not well and 
 I do not want her to get excited on account of 
 all this foolishness," he added. 
 
 Beatrice and Ella looked at each other, the 
 former blushing, the latter smiling. 
 
 "Let us see the paper, papa," said Ella. 
 
 "Never mind the paper. You youngsters eat 
 your breakfast and get out for a ride or a drive," 
 he cried. 
 
 "Now we shall not stir if you do not give us 
 the paper or read the whole story to us ; shall we, 
 Beatrice?" said Ella. 
 
 "Wha-what, rebellion! By the beard of a 
 Tartar, rebellion in my own house! And you. 
 Miss New York, do you dare to tacitly encour- 
 age this little rebel ?" 
 
 "Well, you might read the story, uncle Ep- 
 stein, and prevent rebellion and a possible 
 change in the administration,'* Beatrice rejoined. 
 266 
 
The Heart of the Banker. 
 
 "A wise man knows when to submit," said the 
 banker. "Now, listen : 
 
 " The DAILY COURIER was honoured with 
 authoritative information concerning a duel that 
 took place yesterday afternoon at the Lazienki 
 between the noble lord of Vielga, Count Waldeck 
 de Lack, son and heir to the Count Cassimir de 
 Lack, Imperial Councillor to His Imperial Maj- 
 esty the Czar, and the Colonel Vladimir de 
 Prussnitzki of the Pultava regiment stationed at 
 the fortress of Praga " 
 
 "Get your breath, uncle Epstein, if there is 
 more of that sentence," cried Beatrice, for the 
 moment forgetting her interest in the story in 
 her amusement at the formality and length of 
 the introduction to a simple statement of fact. 
 
 "I suppose they have a different way of saying 
 things over there in New York," said the banker 
 slowly. 
 
 "Yes, very different; but I do beg your par- 
 don, uncle Epstein, for the interruption," said 
 Beatrice, holding out her hand. 
 
 "Granted, Miss New York," said Ella, imita- 
 ting her father. "Now continue with the story, 
 father dear, and don't laugh your two selves into 
 hysterics." 
 
 Beatrice and Epstein were laughing heartily at 
 Ella's imitation of her father. At last the banker 
 composed himself and read : 
 
 " The Colonel was seriously but not danger- 
 ously wounded, and is now confined to his bed in 
 his apartment at Praga. The seconds, so the in- 
 267 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 formation is given out, were Mr. Joseph Horo- 
 vitz, nephew of our famous townsman, Professor 
 Baron von Horovitz, and one of the Park watch- 
 men. We do not permit ourselves to make any 
 comment on the affair, but we shall await devel- 
 opments and give the news to the public as soon 
 as we are permitted to do so." 
 
 "You do not mean that the editor actually 
 wrote that?" asked Beatrice. 
 
 "Wrote what?" 
 
 "That he would give the news to the public as 
 soon as he were permitted to do so !" 
 
 "Of course he wrote it, and meant it, too. If 
 he did otherwise his paper would be confiscated 
 and he himself marched off to Siberia," said the 
 banker. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot that this is not America," said 
 Beatrice. 
 
 "No, this is not America," said Epstein, "and 
 people here must be very careful what they say, 
 unless," he added with a sigh, "they have as 
 much money as your father or stand as high as 
 the Count de Lack, then they can do as they 
 please." 
 
 "But my papa does what is right and he surely 
 does not need to be afraid of anybody," Beatrice 
 rejoined. 
 
 "The Government may be of a different opin- 
 ion," said the banker. 
 
 "How?" asked Beatrice. 
 
 "The Government may not desire the humble 
 
 268 
 
The Heart of the Banker. 
 
 folk in the country to know too much. Your 
 father builds schools " 
 
 "He does with the consent of the Governor of 
 Plotzk," interrupted Beatrice. 
 
 "Certainly, certainly; and he gives right and 
 left and makes it easy for the tax gatherers to 
 get their money from the people, and has estab- 
 lished a newspaper agency in Dobrzyn ; he does 
 all this with the consent of the Governor, cer- 
 tainly, but if he had not so much money he could 
 not get the consent of the Governor," said the 
 banker. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that the Government 
 would have any objection to a man giving money 
 to the people to better their condition?" cried 
 Beatrice. 
 
 "That is precisely what I do mean. The Gov- 
 ernment undertakes to direct all the activity of 
 its subjects in this country. It says that there 
 shall be an orphan asylum in Plotzk, a home for 
 the aged in Vlotzlavek, an industrial school in 
 Warsaw. Your father has built these institutions 
 in Dobrzyn. He has virtually acted against the 
 will and the intent of the Government. In an or- 
 dinary case the Government would say, 'You de- 
 sire to spend a million roubles in endowments of 
 this kind; you will please to hand over this sum 
 to the authorities, and if they deem it advisable 
 to employ the funds as you suggest, well and 
 good ; if not, they may spend it in the paving of 
 streets or the buying of guns, because a paternal 
 
 269 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Government knows, or it thinks it knows, what is 
 best for its country/ " 
 
 Beatrice was bewildered. 
 
 "But this is horrible/' she cried. 
 
 "You think so?'' asked the banker. 
 
 "I do ; I think people ought to have the right 
 to spend their money as they please," she re- 
 joined. 
 
 "So they have. A man may gamble away his 
 fortune, he may even throw it away, and the 
 Government will not say a word ; but when he 
 presumes to the right to act as a little Providence 
 in the life of a people every individual of which 
 is a subject, body and soul, of the Emperor of 
 Russia, that man must have the consent of the 
 master of the land. It is as if a man were to 
 come to my house and tell me to feed my servants 
 on plovers' eggs and spring chickens, and offered 
 me the money to do so. I should very probably 
 tell him to go to Jericho or to leave the money in 
 my hands for me to do what I pleased with it. It 
 is very simple," the banker said and smiled sar- 
 castically at Beatrice. 
 
 "It may be very simple, but I do not subscribe 
 to it and I am glad that papa can do as he 
 pleases," was the rejoinder. 
 
 "Money is a mighty agent in any country ; in 
 Russia it is all powerful. Now, take this affair 
 of the duel. Any person other than Count Wal- 
 deck de Lack would have paid dearly for fight- 
 ing in a public park. But here is the great Count 
 on one side and a high Russian officer on the 
 270 
 
The Heart of the Banker. 
 
 other side, and the matter not only is not con- 
 sidered in the light of an offense, but I'll wager 
 that the Commandant himself or the Governor 
 General gave the information to the Courier," 
 said the banker, putting on his glasses to read his 
 paper. 
 
 Suddenly he uttered a cry, his face turned 
 purple. 
 
 "What is this?" he cried. "Is this true? Tell 
 me, Ella, is it true?" 
 
 He handed the paper over to his daughter and 
 as she read, her face paled. 
 
 " 'Later and equally reliable information shows 
 that the cause of the trouble between the Count 
 and the Colonel was the daughter of a Jewish 
 banker whose persistent efforts to invade the 
 field of our aristocracy are evidently nearing 
 their desired end, considering that he has found 
 so noble a champion as the Count de Lack. We 
 assume that the noble lord of Vielga was a little 
 too hasty, as the Colonel de Prussnitzki is too 
 gallant an officer to publicly insult even a 
 Jewess.' 
 
 "The postscript is false in every detail," she 
 said, handing back the paper. "I was not insult- 
 ed and neither Beatrice nor I saw the Count yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Well, something must be true in this notice ; 
 what is it?" he cried. 
 
 Ella looked questioningly at Beatrice, and as 
 the latter inclined her head affirmatively, Ella 
 said: 
 
 271 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "The innocent cause of all the trouble, that is, 
 between Beatrice and the officer, was Mr. Horo- 
 vitz." 
 
 "Mr. Horovitz!" cried the Banker, gasping. 
 "Impossible! Why, I would stake my fortune 
 on that young man's honour. How did he come 
 to cause trouble?" 
 
 "He never said a word that was not absolutely 
 correct; although what took place between him 
 and the Colonel ought to have induced the latter 
 to fight with Mr. Horovitz and not with Count 
 Waldeck, as he was not even upon the scene," 
 said Ella. 
 
 "That does not explain anything. I asked how 
 the trouble originated and why," cried Epstein. 
 
 "Well, we were near the Casino, directly be- 
 hind the botanical garden, when we saw Mr. 
 Horovitz coming toward us." 
 
 "Please excuse me," said Beatrice, and, rising, 
 she went from the room. 
 
 "The trouble evidently lies there," said the 
 Banker in an undertone. 
 
 "I am certain she is in love with him." 
 
 "With whom?" cried Epstein. 
 
 "With Joseph— Mr. Horovitz." 
 
 The banker heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "I thought you meant with the Count," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, no ; she looks upon him merely as a rela- 
 tion. But Mr. Hbrovitz — well, when he ap- 
 proached she turned red and pale by turns. Then 
 she said, 'Do you know, Ella, it seems to me as if 
 272 
 
The Heart of the Banker. 
 
 I had known him all my life/ Then, for the first 
 time I had the idea that she might be in love with 
 him. 'Don't be a goose/ I said, 'why, you have 
 seen him only once.' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said she, and he is the most glorious 
 man I have ever seen.' 
 
 " 'He is certainly a splendid man, but by the 
 way you speak of him one would think you were 
 in love with him,' I answered. 
 
 "She put her hand on my mouth, and before I 
 could say another word he stood before us." 
 
 "Gracious me, daughter, don't give me a novel 
 in three volumes ; tell me quickly what hap- 
 pened," cried her father. 
 
 "Don't be so impatient, papa. I have my own 
 way of telling the story and you must listen. 
 Well, he looked like a different man from the one 
 we used to know. He smiled so beautifully that 
 I almost fell in love with him myself. However, 
 I bethought me quickly that nothing- short of an 
 artistocrat would do for my father's daughter, so 
 I smothered my feelings, looked at him meekly 
 and enjoyed the sunshine of his smile." 
 
 "Then what happened?" asked the banker. 
 
 "What then happened appears more strange 
 to me now, as I think of it, than when it actually 
 took place. The Colonel came out from the 
 flower house with a big bunch of La France roses 
 in his hand. When he saw us he stopped; then 
 he walked up to us, and touching Mr. Horovitz 
 with the hilt of his sword, said : 
 
 " 'Do we meet again, Jew ?' 
 
 273 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "Mr. Horovitz looked at him calmly. 
 
 " 'Yes, Colonel,' he said. 
 
 "Is this blonde another of the women you are 
 leading away from evil?' 
 
 " *If you intend to stay here. Colonel,' was the 
 answer. 
 
 "The Colonel pushed Joseph away and pre- 
 sented the flowers to Beatrice; but she refused 
 them, and taking my arm tried to cross the road. 
 He kept pace with us. Beatrice looked in the 
 direction of Joseph, who was following, and 
 when the Colonel took hold of her arm and said, 
 'Beautiful Jewess, take the flowers,' she cried 
 out, 'Mr. Horovitz!' He was with us in a mo- 
 ment and taking the Colonel by tHe shoulders he 
 spun him around like a top. I almost pitied the 
 Colonel as he lay sprawling in the dust. Mr. 
 Horovitz hurried us away and, hailing a passing 
 drushki, put us into it. 
 
 " 'Come with us, Mr. Hbrovitz, he will kill 
 you,' Beatrice cried. 
 
 " 'He will not ; he does not kill men,' he said 
 and smiled. 
 
 "I know she loves him, papa, and — and — they 
 are so well matched," she said and burst out 
 crying. 
 
 Something in the heart of the banker stirred ; 
 he laid his hand on his daughter's arm. 
 
 "My dear child," he said, "there is nothing in 
 
 this world that I would deny you if it were in my 
 
 power to give ; I would even forego my own long 
 
 cherished ambition if thereby I might secure 
 
 274 
 
The Heart of the Banker. 
 
 your happiness. But reflect that if Beatrice loves 
 him and he loves her, nothing can possibly be 
 done, and, dearest EUinka," he said, stroking her 
 hair, "I never imagined — if I had only known — " 
 
 Ella sobbed ; her father's gentleness, the fact 
 that he was willing to sacrifice his fancy for her 
 happiness, touched her most deeply. 
 
 "Don't cry, Ellinka," he continued, and the 
 tears stole into his eyes. "Don't break your 
 father's heart; be my own brave lass. We all 
 have our wishes and desires, but we must be 
 brave when we are forced to deny ourselves. 
 Your father may have had desires and wishes of 
 his own which he could not realize ; be brave, my 
 own little girl." 
 
 Ella sprang up and, smiling through her tears, 
 put her hands on her father's cheeks. 
 
 "You dear, darling old papa, don't worry, I'll 
 be good," she said and, kissing him on the fore- 
 head, ran from the room. 
 
 275 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MISTAKEN IDENTITY. 
 
 Beatrice had gone to her room to hide her 
 emotion. 
 
 A great weight burdened her heart. 
 
 The new life that she had so suddenly entered 
 appeared, to have as many thorns as it had roses. 
 
 Something like a sense of treason to a former 
 ideal insinuated itself and caused her a little 
 compunction, but only a very little. While a man 
 may beguile himself with the idea that he loves 
 and may tell a woman so even after he has 
 ceased to love her, a woman is quicker to show 
 by word and deed that she has transferred her 
 favour to other quarters. No man could ever 
 hope to be so decided in his fiickleness, so frank 
 and outspoken as a woman can be when her 
 fancy, butterfly-like, lights on a fresh flower. 
 
 Beatrice's emotion, therefore, did not flow 
 from a heart surcharged with grief at the disap- 
 pearance of the vision that for years had dwelt in 
 her soul ; nor did she feel any sense of shame at 
 being detected in an act of imagined "faithless- 
 ness". She had talked so much to Ella Epstein 
 about that mysterious and wonderful cousin, that 
 Ella had said : 
 
 "I think, Beatrice, that you are a little bit in 
 love with your cousin." 
 
 276 
 
Mistaken Identity. 
 
 "Hush, Ellinka! How can anyone be in love 
 with a person one has never seen ?" Beatrice said. 
 
 "Really you are innocent," said Ella. "As 
 Mitchkievich has sung: 
 
 "If thou wert not a dream to me, 
 
 Vd press my burning lips to thine. 
 And life were sweet to live for thee. 
 Thou dream-begotten love of mine.' " 
 
 The new ideal had put Ella's suggestion com- 
 pletely out of Beatrice's mind. She had not now 
 the remotest idea why her friend should so 
 charmingly insist that she should be true to her 
 former ideal. The tangibility of the one she be- 
 held was too potent to leave thought or feeling 
 for any other. She felt herself bound hand and 
 foot, heart and soul. Analysis of her feelings 
 seemed impossible. She was not even mistress 
 of her thoughts. All she knew was that she 
 must yield to that gentle force that tugged at her 
 heart-strings. The publicity caused by the inci- 
 dent with the Colonel in the Park dismayed her, 
 but Epstein's vehement assertion of his faith in 
 Joseph pleased and touched her. Still, the discus- 
 sion that forced an explanation from Ella and 
 was bound to reveal her secret to the banker, 
 filled her with shame. She had left the room not 
 to weep in remorse, but to think how she might 
 act to bring about the result she desired. She 
 felt that she ought to act, but how? 
 
 "You ought to seek his closer acquaintance and 
 277 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 gradually show him that you love him/' said her 
 conscience. 
 
 "If it were not so utterly unbecoming I would 
 invite him to come here/' she murmured, and was 
 startled at her own words. 
 
 "That is exactly what you ought to do/* said 
 conscience. "There is a splendid pretext for it. 
 You might easily desire to know how he came 
 to be one of the seconds in the duel between 
 Count Waldeck and the Colonel. The quarrel 
 was on your account and you have a right to 
 know." 
 
 "I will/' said Beatrice to herself, and the blood 
 iTLYiied to her face at the words; she felt that 
 she must not yield to the impulse. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she cried, and tears came 
 to her eyes at the utter helplessness in which she 
 found herself. 
 
 "I will write to papa," she said and sat down 
 at the little desk. 
 
 A knock at the door was followed by the en- 
 trance of Ella. 
 
 "What are you doing, Dushka?" Ella cried, 
 putting her arms around Beatrice's neck. 
 
 "Oh, Ella, I am so miserable," said Beatrice, 
 and hid her face on her friend's bosom. 
 
 Ella lulled her with maternal gentleness. 
 
 "Don't worry, sweetheart. You ought to be 
 very happy. I know that he loves you," she said. 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Beatrice, and turned 
 up her face to her friend. Joy struggling with 
 doubt shone through her tears. 
 278 
 
Mistaken Identity. 
 
 "I am certain/' the other repHed, and her voice 
 trembled as she spoke. 
 
 "Why, Ella, what is the matter? You are 
 trembling. Was your papa very severe?" Bea- 
 trice asked. 
 
 "Papa is the dearest, kindest man on earth, 
 but all these explanations are too much for me. 
 Come, let us take a drive in the Park and leave 
 to chance what is beyond our control. You know 
 these matters cannot be forced," said E^la. 
 
 Beatrice burst out laughing. 
 
 "To hear you speak, one would think that you 
 were an old woman with a wonderful amount of 
 experience," she said. 
 
 "Love makes one wise," the other responded. 
 
 "Are you in love ?" 
 
 "I ? Oh, no ; but one learns by observation." 
 
 "That is unkind of you, Ella; you ought to 
 confide in me as I am confiding in you," said 
 Beatrice, little thinking that she had in fact con- 
 fided nothing and that it was Ella's suggestion 
 rather than her own statement which let the other 
 into the secret of her thoughts. 
 
 "My dear," said Ella, "there is nothing to con- 
 fide. I am not a fairy princess like you. My 
 father is not an Aladdin like yours. I am made 
 of ordinary clay, without the least bit of romance 
 in my composition. Your father is an American, 
 a republican, and does not care for an alliance 
 with the nobility. My father does, and I must 
 live up to his wishes. When he has found the 
 right person he will let me know and then I shall 
 279 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 try to cultivate the acquaintance of my future 
 husband. It has been drilled into me ever since 
 I came from the convent. To act contrary to my 
 father's plans would break his heart, and that I 
 would never do. You know what a dear he is ; 
 so I say nothing, I live and take things as they 
 come and await the inevitable." 
 
 Beatrice had listened with bated breath. It 
 sounded so strange to her, so utterly at variance 
 with what she felt and thought, that she but 
 slowly comprehended the burden of misery that 
 pressed down the soul of this sweet girl. Then 
 she recognised that her friend was sacrificing 
 herself for a chimera, for something that had no 
 value and not only could not bring happiness, but 
 might become unspeakable agony if she did not 
 marry the right man. Her soul went out to 
 Ella. 
 
 "Ellinka," she cried, *'you ought not to yield 
 to such folly. Your father has no right to sell 
 you to satisfy his vanity." 
 
 "Hush, Beatrice, he does nothing of the sort 
 and never will. I shall have my choice and most 
 certainly shall have my bit of love making. But 
 I shall marry none but an aristocrat, and that for 
 two reasons. There is no Jew in our class with 
 whom my father would care to form an alliance, 
 and papa expects to be raised to the nobility. If 
 the Russian Emperor has made a Baron of a 
 trader at whose shop our servants used to buy 
 brooms, why should he not make a Baron or 
 Count of a first class banker who has done a con- 
 280 
 
Mistaken Identity. 
 
 siderable amount for commerce and the com- 
 munity? But come, we have wasted enough 
 time; the beautiful morning will slip away, and 
 then it will be too hot to go out," said Ella. 
 
 As they were about to leave, Epstein called to 
 them. 
 
 "Here, you little butterflies, here is some good 
 news for you," he said. 
 
 "What is it, papa? Tell us quickly, we are 
 starving for a bit of good news." 
 
 "There will be a public reception next Monday 
 at the house of Professor Horovitz, in honor of 
 the twenty-fifth anniversary of his doctorate. On 
 Sunday he will give a dinner to a few friends. 
 Mamma, you, and I are invited, and Miss New 
 York is not — ^ah, hem — " he said, looking at Bea- 
 trice, "to stay away under any consideration," he 
 added, enjoying the confusion he caused her. 
 
 "If you are so tantalising, you naughty papa, 
 I shall go to the lower Nalevki and fall in love 
 with the first young Talmud Jew I see," said 
 Ella. 
 
 It was, of course, only a jest, but the face of the 
 banker turned pale, and then Beatrice under- 
 stood how deeply rooted was the prejudice of 
 this Jew against his own kind. 
 
 In reality, however, it was less the prejudice 
 against his people than the fear of being remind- 
 ed of his own plebeian origin; and the feeling 
 was perfectly justifiable in one seeking associa- 
 tion with the Polish nobility, which, like their 
 German kind, does not much love the newly 
 281 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 baked Jewish noble, baptised or not, and at his 
 appearance is wont to say: 
 
 "Do you know whence the odor of onions and 
 garHc comes?" 
 
 "Noble onions," one would say. 
 
 "Noble garlic," another. 
 
 Epstein knew all this, and yet he was keen on 
 the quest for the coveted patent of nobility, and 
 spent his money lavishly to that end. 
 
 "With your ideas, Ella," he said, "you ought 
 to live in America." 
 
 "When Beatrice goes back to New York I shall 
 take bag and baggage and go with her; mean- 
 while, au revoir," Ella cried and drew Beatrice 
 after her. 
 
 "One word, Ellinka," said Epstein. 
 
 "What is it, papa? Say it quickly, we are 
 late," she said laughingly. 
 
 "The de Lacks are at the Hotel de TEurope," he 
 whispered, "Waldeck and his father will prob- 
 ably be at the bank at noon ; it would do no harm 
 if you could be thereabouts about that time." 
 
 "It would not harm me, although it might hurt 
 the bank ; the Count might not desire to do busi- 
 ness at a bank that is overrun by females," she 
 said and stepped into the carriage. 
 
 Epstein gazed at the fast disappearing vehicle 
 and thought how clever his daughter was, and 
 what a fine Countess she would make, and how 
 his own chances for the successful realisation of 
 his dream would be enhanced if that were so. He 
 gave no thought to the possibility that Waldeck 
 282 
 
Mistaken Identity. 
 
 might already be in love with another woman 
 and that woman the very girl who, he was happy 
 in the thought, was in love with the Professor's 
 nephew. 
 
 He ordered his carriage and was soon on his 
 way to the bank. 
 
 As his carriage turned a corner he saw an 
 open barouche in which four persons were 
 seated. They were the Count and Countess de 
 Lack, Waldeck, and a very beautiful woman. 
 
 The sight so affected him that the cigar nearly 
 fell from his lips; in the beautiful woman he 
 thought he recognised none other than Beatrice 
 Rosen. 
 
 Hie barely managed to get into his private 
 office. Then he sank down in one of the big 
 leather-covered chairs, overcome with bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 283 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A REVELATION. 
 
 It must be borne in mind that Epstein was a 
 nervous man. His cares were great and grow- 
 ing, and under these conditions nerves wear out 
 and the whole system becomes affected. Epstein 
 had worn out his nerves, and when overcome by 
 excitement neither saw nor thought as clearly as 
 he used. He did not stop to think that it was 
 physically impossible for Beatrice to be in the 
 carriage that had passed him ; and his sight was 
 equally at fault, for, catching only a momentary 
 glimpse, he did not see that it was the Baroness 
 Levanovska, and not Beatrice, who was with 
 Waldeck. The chances are that, had he realised 
 who it was, it would have distressed him just 
 as much ; but it would have seemed to him more 
 rational and more explicable. He was angry, 
 too. He thought he had seen Beatrice lean back 
 in the carriage and laugh. As a matter of fact, 
 the Baroness Levanovska had burst out laughing 
 at Epstein's comic look of bewilderment, and that 
 was what he had seen. 
 
 The Baroness was looking more beautiful than 
 ever, and people with sharper eyesight than 
 Banker Epstein might well have made his mis- 
 take in taking her for Beatrice Rosen. 
 
 Her health was completely restored ; her desire 
 to return to Warsaw was the sole reason of her 
 284 
 
"They Would Not Condemn Me?" 
 
 feigning an illness that induced her relatives to 
 accompany her to Poland. No sooner was she 
 on Polish soil and in the city of Warsaw than she 
 appeared to have recovered her health as if by 
 magic. The Countess cautioned her to be care- 
 ful, but Amanda only laughed. 
 
 "The best remedy for a Pole is Poland," she 
 said ; "I feel so strong that I cannot believe I was 
 ever ill." 
 
 She was in a happy mood and as the carriage 
 rolled along she threw silver coins to the beggars. 
 
 Of a sudden her mood changed. 
 
 "Let us go back to the hotel ; I feel tired/' she 
 said. 
 
 "Very well, my dear," said the Countess. 
 "Your uncle and I want to do some shopping; 
 Waldeck, dear, try and entertain Amanda." 
 
 "I shall try, but with what success I cannot 
 tell ; women are capricious," he said. 
 
 "What has made you cynical ?" Amanda asked. 
 
 "You, by spoiling our delightful drive," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, is that all?" Amanda retorted. 
 
 "You little heathen, you have not even a grain 
 of compunction about the matter," he cried. 
 
 "If by the matter you mean yourself, I have 
 none ; like bachelors all the world over, you are 
 exceedingly selfish where women are concerned," 
 said Amanda. 
 
 "Man must try to imitate his Maker," said 
 Waldeck. 
 
 "You mean?" she cried. 
 
 28s 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "That with the Maker woman was an after- 
 thought," he retorted with a laugh. 
 
 "Ah, see, our dear Commandant," cried the old 
 Count, "he is coming to salute us." 
 
 The fat Commandant, leaving his companions, 
 rode rapidly toward the carriage. 
 
 "Good day, your lordship ; I kiss your hand. 
 Countess," he said. 
 
 "Baroness Levanovska, permit me to introduce 
 our dear Commandant, General Count de Fatoff," 
 said the old Count. 
 
 The Baroness bowed. 
 
 "Your antagonist has asked for you, Count 
 Waldeck ; your friend has spent nearly two days 
 with him. Well, I bid you good-day," he said 
 and rode away. 
 
 "What has happened?" cried the Countess ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "Really, Dushka, you are as agitated as if this 
 were my first affair. De Prussnitzki insulted 
 cousin Beatrice and I fought him," was the calm 
 reply. His words sounded to Amanda like the 
 sweetest music. "They love each other," she 
 thought; "thank God, she has no influence over 
 Joseph." 
 
 "Why did you not tell us ?" asked the Countess. 
 
 "I thought there was no hurry," said Waldeck. 
 
 "I think Waldeck did right," Amanda put in. 
 
 "Well, get out, you two," cried the Count, as 
 
 the carriage halted in front of the hotel, "we will 
 
 drive to the Lazienki ; I want to consider what 
 
 sort of punishment a young gentleman deserves 
 
 286 
 
"They Would Not Condemn Me?" 
 
 who keqjs his parents in the dark about his af- 
 fairs." 
 
 The words were accompanied with a tender 
 smile, and as the carriage rolled away he threw 
 a kiss to the son who filled him with a pride for 
 which he had no words. 
 
 As soon as they had reached her apartments 
 Amanda subjected Waldeck to a strict examina- 
 tion on every detail of the duel, and he, forgetting 
 the agonies he had suffered from his jealousy, 
 spoke in glowing terms of Joseph's goodness. 
 
 "Few people have better proof of that than I,'* 
 said Amanda in a low voice as if speaking to her- 
 self. "He is as unassuming now as he was when 
 a poor lad in Dobrzyn." 
 
 "In Dobrzyn ?'* cried Waldeck. 
 
 "Yes; I knew him there. Hie was in some 
 slight measure identified with our movement," 
 she answered. 
 
 "Do you know the importance of the revelation 
 you have made to me ?" cried Waldeck. 
 
 "I can see nothing particularly important in 
 it," she said. 
 
 "Why, it means that Joseph is the long lost 
 cousin of the Rosens," he cried. 
 
 "I knew it the moment I saw him in Warsaw," 
 she rejoined. 
 
 "But neither Joseph nor Beatrice are aware 
 of their relationship,'* he said. 
 
 "You love her, do you not, Waldeck?" asked 
 Amanda almost pleadingly. 
 
 "Madly," he responded. 
 287 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "And she?" asked the Baroness, and a pang 
 shot through her heart. 
 
 "I do not know. Who can tell anything about 
 a girl like her? But I love her, Amanda, I love 
 her," he cried. 
 
 "I wish from the bottom of my heart that you 
 may win her. I was not always favourably in- 
 clined toward her; first came the affair with the 
 estate, then — well, no matter, since you love her, 
 count on me to help you." 
 
 "How can you help me?" he asked dejectedly. 
 
 "Let me tell her ; it will bring us more closely 
 together. By the way, De Prussnitzki met Jo- 
 seph in Dobrzyn, and, I believe, cordially hates 
 him. Joseph once spoiled an amour for him. 
 You remember Dr. Lerko? He had a daughter 
 whom De Prussnitki ruined. Now she is in a 
 convent." 
 
 "Good God !" cried Waldeck. "Now I under- 
 stand why he was so shocked at Joseph's appear- 
 ance. I saw the beginning of the affair from one 
 of the upper windows of the flower house. Now 
 that I think of it, I fancy the way Joseph spun 
 him around was sufficient punishment. However, 
 I was so maddened at the affront to Beatrice, that 
 I thought only of chastising the offender. When 
 I got down, Joseph and the ladies had disap- 
 peared and De Prussnitzki was dusting his 
 clothes with his handkerchief. Joseph had put 
 the girls in a passing drushki and returned — it is 
 unbelievable — to beg De Prussnitzki's pardon." 
 
 "Waldeck, dear, tell me, they would not con- 
 288 
 
"They Would Not Condem^ Me?" 
 
 demn me, would they?'* she asked, laying both 
 hands on his arm. 
 
 "Amanda, you !" he cried, and as the 
 
 knowledge dawned on him his face reddened 
 with delight. "I cannot tell you how happy this 
 makes me. Condemn you! Most certainly not. 
 I do not think a soul in this city regards him as 
 a Jew. Only about a year ago the Prince de- 
 sired to have the Professor created hereditary 
 Baron if Joseph would take the title after him, 
 but he refused." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Baroness, pressing his 
 hand. 
 
 "I shall at once go to the Epsteins and tell 
 Beatrice," cried Waldeck. 
 
 "Please do not. Let us go there to-morrow 
 and both enjoy the effect of the surprise," said 
 the Baroness. 
 
 However, in the morning came an invitation 
 to the de Lacks to dine at the Professor's house, 
 so the plot had to be deferred until Sunday. 
 
 Amanda went to her room to muse over her 
 happiness ; a great gladness filled her heart. 
 
 "I shall love her for the love she bears Wal- 
 deck," she said, "and he, my Joseph, will bless 
 me for it." 
 
 Meanwhile Waldeck directed his steps to Ep- 
 stein's bank, where he expected to meet his 
 father. At the door he was met by the banker 
 himself who, evidently ill, was going home. 
 
 "What is the trouble, Mr. Epstein? You do 
 not look well," said Waldeck. 
 
Children OF Fate. 
 
 "I am rather poorly ; I feel the heat very much. 
 Is there anything I can do for your lordship?" 
 
 "Nothing in particular ; I thought I might find 
 my parents here, but I suppose they will be here 
 later in the day, so I will call again. By the way, 
 Mr. Epstein, the Baroness Levanovska and I 
 hope to have the pleasure of calling on you to- 
 morrow; she is very desirous of seeing Miss 
 Rosen, whom she met at Dobrzyn. You know 
 they are really relations, and look enough alike 
 to pass for sisters," said Waldeck. 
 
 Epstein felt as if he had received a sudden 
 blow. In a moment he saw his mistake of the 
 morning, and with the knowledge his pulses be- 
 gan to throb. 
 
 "Then it was the Baroness who was with you 
 this morning?" he cried. 
 
 Waldeck, thinking that the banker had noticed 
 Amanda's outburst of laughter, rather diffidently 
 affirmed the fact. Epstein, on his part, took 
 Waldeck's manner for indifference to his cousin 
 Amanda, and felt so happy that he could have 
 embraced "the dear Count". He bade Waldeck 
 au revoir and went home. He was but little put 
 out by the fact that Ella had not come to the 
 bank as he had suggested and mentally prepared 
 a lecture for her on the subject of "Lost C^por- 
 tunities". 
 
 When he arrived at home his wife told him 
 that Ella had sent word that she and Beatrice 
 had gone to Professor Horovitz's house. 
 
 290 
 
"They Would Not Condemn Me?" 
 
 "To the Professor's house!" he cried, "and I 
 told that little, that little " 
 
 "Please, Alphonse, don't excite yourself. Let 
 them go there, they are quite safe," said Mrs. Ep- 
 stein. 
 
 "But this is downright rebellion ! These mod- 
 ern young women are hard to manage; I must 
 have a serious talk with our dear daughter." 
 
 At that moment the door opened and Ella 
 rushed in. Her eyes were red from weeping and, 
 throwing herself on her father's breast, she 
 burst out crying. 
 
 "What is the matter? Where is Beatrice?" 
 cried both. 
 
 "At the Professor's house. A cart ran into 
 our carriage at the corner of Moscow Street and 
 Beatrice was hurt," Ella sobbed. 
 
 For a moment Epstein was too dazed to speak, 
 then he rang the bell and ordered his carriage. 
 
 "To Professor Horovitz," he cried. 
 
 291 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A MIRACLE. 
 
 "By St. George, I am a lucky man. Ten min- 
 utes ago I saw the most beautiful girl in Poland 
 and now I meet the best man on earth," cried 
 Merau, taking Joseph's arm. 
 
 "I shall not question your taste in matters of 
 beauty, but as to the other, I think your emotion 
 masters your judgment," Joseph rejoined. 
 
 "He who does the most good is the best man," 
 said Merau sententiously. 
 
 "Provided the good done springs from pure 
 motives and that the doer is not otherwise weak. 
 Who is there that could stand in perfect right- 
 eousness before the all-seeing eye of God ?" said 
 Joseph. 
 
 "I know one such ; but can you guess who was 
 the woman to whom I had the pleasure of show- 
 ing your picture?" 
 
 "Miss Rosen?" 
 
 "Exactly; and just think of it, she told me 
 that it does not do the original justice," said 
 Merau. 
 
 "Pan Jean, I want to ask a great favor, and 
 although the request may seem presumptuous, the 
 desire that you may grant it is so keen that I 
 will make it," said Joseph. 
 
 "Speak, I will do your bidding, no matter at 
 what cost," said Merau. 
 
 292 
 
A Miracle. 
 
 "Let no one see my portrait while I am alive." 
 
 "Do you know what the granting of this re- 
 quest means to me?" asked the artist with trem- 
 bling lips. "It is the best work I have done or 
 am capable of doing. Do you know what this 
 means to an artist?" 
 
 "It means the sacrifice of vainglory. It can- 
 not mean the sacrifice of your artistic life. Like 
 everyone you think that you are encouraged by 
 public praise. That is the small side of the ar- 
 tist. The large and imperishable side of the artist 
 is his pure love for art; when praise or blame 
 come from within; when he does his work to 
 please his soul and to give expression to the intri- 
 cate and delicate workings of his mind. I lately 
 was looking at some paintings by Velasquez; 
 there was an artist who did not consider what 
 people might think of his work! Every subject 
 that seemed to his fancy to be worthy of his brush 
 was portrayed by him with the same love for art, 
 the same fineness of conception and the same deli- 
 cate shading. The results are marvelous. Such 
 work, so conceived and executed, makes man- 
 kind happier," said Joseph. 
 
 "But is not the artist bound to expose his work 
 to the eye of the world if he would have the 
 world benefit by it ?" asked Merau. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, and I do not ask you to hide 
 your work for all time; only while I live, Pan 
 Jean, only while I live." 
 
 "You will outlive me by half a century I" 
 
 293 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 "It is possible ; but men have died younger than 
 I." 
 
 '*But what possible harm can it do to anyone 
 or to you, if people see your picture?" asked 
 Merau. 
 
 "Harm!" said Joseph in response, "I was not 
 thinking of that; but my uncle spoke about the 
 picture to my mother and she did not care for 
 the subject that it represented, and I must do 
 nothing that might offend my mother's feelings. 
 I know you will do nothing to hurt either her 
 feelings or mine." 
 
 "Never!" cried Merau, grasping Joseph's 
 hand. "Look, look ! The stupid, the idiot ! if he 
 does not make a sharp turn he will run into that 
 carriage. Ah, I thought so." 
 
 Even as the artist spoke there was a crash and 
 a shriek, the horses went down, kicking, and 
 in a moment a crowd surrounded the scene of the 
 accident. 
 
 "Come, Pan Jean, we may be able to lend 
 assistance," said Joseph, and both strode rapidly 
 toward the scene. 
 
 The crowd stood like a solid wall around the 
 men who were trying to unharness the fallen 
 horses. 
 
 Merau called out in his big voice to make way 
 for the doctor, but as the crowd was unyielding, 
 Joseph cried: 
 
 "Through them. Pan Jean." 
 
 They heaved their shoulders against the mass 
 of humanity and then the people fell back. 
 294 
 
A Miracle. 
 
 In a moment Joseph was by the carriage. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Horovitz, help us," cried Ella. 
 
 "Be calm. Miss Epstein, we will do our best. 
 Are you hurt?" he asked. 
 
 !*No ; but I think Beatrice is. She has fainted." 
 
 "Put a few drops of this on your handkerchief 
 and hold it to her nostrils, it will revive her," he 
 said, giving her a small phial. "Here, Pan Jean, 
 let us push back the carriage." 
 
 When the carriage was free from the strug- 
 gling horses, Joseph took Beatrice in his arms and 
 carried her to a drushki that Merau had hailed 
 and told the coachman to drive to the Professor's 
 house. ! 
 
 Having placed Ella by Joseph's side, Merau 
 sprang onto the box and away they went. 
 
 Beatrice, who had regained consciousness, lay 
 in Joseph's arms like a tired child. Now and then 
 a groan escaped her lips, but she suppressed the 
 pain in the delicious feeling that filled her heart. 
 
 Joseph's thoughts were not with her. He was 
 thinking of the time when another woman, a wo- 
 man who had taught him the first lesson of his 
 great love, lay in his arms. How like she was 
 to this girl, yet how different ! What the differ- 
 ence was he did not know, nor did he care to 
 analyse; he knew that, holding this one close to 
 his heart, he would have given all in the world 
 if he could have held the other there instead. 
 
 Ella interrupted his thoughts. 
 
 "Papa will die of fright," she sobbed. 
 
 "When we get to the house, send a note that 
 
 295 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 you and Miss Rosen are with us; later on you 
 can explain/' he rejoined. 
 
 The Professor's excitement was almost as 
 great as Ella's. He had begun to think that 
 Providence had sent this beautiful girl as a mate 
 for Joseph and the injury to her unnerved him 
 for a moment. However, he soon recovered and 
 became quite cheerful when upon examination he 
 found that she had only broken her arm. 
 
 "You have had great luck," he said. "A frac- 
 ture of the left forearm is really nothing; and 
 if you have no objection Joseph will put a plaster 
 coat on your arm — to keep it warm," he added 
 with a smile. 
 
 Beatrice smiled; despite her pain she was 
 deeply grateful to the Professor for permitting 
 Joseph to treat her. A little later, at Joseph's 
 mere suggestion, she turned her face to the wall 
 and went to sleep. 
 
 When Epstein came to the house he was sur- 
 prised to find everyone in apparent calm and the 
 Professor and Merau in the library having a 
 quiet smoke. 
 
 "Why, gentlemen, you appear as if nothing 
 terrible had happened," he cried, and sank into a 
 chair. 
 
 "There is no need for alarm. A fractured arm 
 is not a serious matter," said the Professor. "She 
 is under the best of care and will be about in 
 a few days." 
 
 "Are you sure that she is not otherwise hurt?" 
 asked the banker. 
 
 296 
 
A Miracle. 
 
 "Quite sure," the Professor replied with a smile. 
 "Now try to calm yourself," he added as the 
 banker uttered groan after groan, wiping big 
 beads of perspiration from his forehead. 
 
 "How can I, how can I? She was left in my 
 care and now — and now " 
 
 "It will all come right, Mr. Epstein," said 
 Merau, rising. "If you will allow me I will ac- 
 company you ; I am going your way." 
 
 Epstein felt grateful to Merau and leaned 
 heavily on his arm as he descended the stairs. 
 
 297 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COUSINS. 
 
 The news of the accident appeared in all the 
 evening papers and on the following day many 
 people left their cards at the Professor's house. 
 Among those who called were the de Lacks and 
 the Baroness, but no one was permitted to see the 
 patient. Fever had set in toward noon on 
 Sunday, and by the evening she was delirious. 
 The entire panorama of events of the past few 
 years moved before her fevered fancy, and 
 through it ran the constant longing for tie lost 
 relatives. 
 
 "We must find them, papa, we must. They are 
 so poor and we are so rich. Let us find them, 
 papa, and give them all, all." 
 
 At midnight her temperature had reached an 
 alarming height ; the Professor and Joseph stood 
 at the bedside, the former exceedingly grave, the 
 latter gazing into vacancy, his lips moving as if 
 he were communing with unseen beings. 
 
 Then the Professor put his hand on his arm 
 and he turned with a start. 
 
 "If this fever continues it will be best to let 
 Epstein telegraph for her father. She is not 
 strong enough to stand this temperature," said 
 the Professor. 
 
 Joseph shut his eyes for a moment. 
 
 298 . i 
 
The Cousins. 
 
 "Tell them to boil some milk and bring it here," 
 he said. 
 
 "Milk, in a fever !" cried his uncle, and looked 
 keenly at Joseph. He thought the voung man 
 has gone mad. 
 
 "Yes, uncle, milk and a big bowl full," said 
 Joseph calmly. 
 
 It was brought and Joseph administered a tea- 
 spoonful. 
 
 At first Beatrice demurred. 
 
 "Take it," said Joseph, and she obeyed. 
 
 One after another, teaspoonfuls of milk were 
 taken, and then she drank from the bowl, quickly, 
 eagerly, her burning hand resting on Joseph's 
 arm ; then she sank down on the pillow. 
 
 Joseph covered her with a feather coverlet. A 
 few minutes later she broke into a profound per- 
 spiration and then fell asleep. 
 
 Half an hour later the Professor felt her pulse. 
 
 "A miracle, not the milk, has saved her life," 
 he said in an undertone. 
 
 But Joseph appeared not to have heard. He 
 stood by the bedside and with eyes shut and 
 hands folded seemed to be in profound prayer. 
 
 The Professor felt something like awe before 
 the power of this man who seemed to work mir- 
 acles in defiance of all medical rules, and as he 
 went from the room he felt for the first time in 
 many years that he wanted to pray. 
 
 Joseph did not move from Beatrice's bedside. 
 Once, during the vigil of that long night, he 
 went to a comer of the room and, as in years gone 
 299 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 by, he prayed — prayed fervently that the young 
 Hfe might be spared. 
 
 Toward morning his mother entered and was 
 surprised at the gladness that shone in his eyes. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "I have made a great dis- 
 covery. She is one of us." 
 
 "My dear son," said Mrs. Rosen, misunder- 
 standing his meaning, "I did not for a moment 
 think she was a Gentile." 
 
 "No, dear mother, but she is our relation ; she 
 is uncle Max's granddaughter ; her father's name 
 is Howard and he now lives in Dobrzyn," he 
 said. "She disclosed it in her delirium." 
 
 His mother was astonished beyond words. She 
 took a step forward and looked at the sleeping 
 girl, whose regular breathing was evidence of 
 sound healthful rest. 
 
 "God grant that your words be true," said Mrs. 
 Rosen. She also had come to the conclusion that 
 the American girl had been sent by Providence 
 as a wife for her son. "Let us pray that she 
 may get well," she added. 
 
 At that moment Beatrice stirred, opened her 
 eyes, and looked at Joseph, whose face was lit up 
 by the morning light that streamed in at the win- 
 dow. 
 
 Suddenly her cheeks began to glow. 
 
 "Joseph, cousin," she cried, "I knew I would 
 find you. You are Joseph Rosen, are you not?" 
 
 "I am Joseph," he answered. 
 
 "Ah, we have been searching everywhere for 
 you. Papa will be so glad. How did you know 
 300 
 
The Cousins. 
 
 I was here? Where do you live?" 
 
 "You met with an accident and I came in time 
 to assist you; you are in my uncle's house," he 
 replied. 
 
 In a moment the scene of the accident was 
 clear before her mind. Simultaneously also she 
 knew the identity of this Joseph with the one 
 she loved. The recognition nearly robbed her of 
 her senses and she shut her eyes to recover the 
 entire chain of wonderful incidents by which she 
 had been led to know him and to love him. 
 
 I\lrs. Rosen, thinking that Beatrice had lost 
 consciousness, went to the bedside and put her 
 hand gently on the girl's forehead. A deep sigh 
 escaped Beatrice's lips and as she opened her eyes 
 they were full of tears. 
 
 "Keep very quiet, my dear child," said Mrs. 
 Rosen. 
 
 "And you are his mother ?" asked Beatrice. 
 
 "Yes, dear ; he is my own dear son," the other 
 said in an undertone. 
 
 Beatrice took the woman's hand and kissed it. 
 
 "Don't do that," said Mrs. Rosen, bending 
 down and kissing the girl's forehead. "Get well 
 and strong and we shall all be very, very happy." 
 
 "Joseph !" cried Beatrice. 
 
 "Yes," he said, hastening to her side. 
 
 "You know, Baroness Levanovska and I are 
 cousins." 
 
 "I know," he replied, and a great pain shot 
 through his heart. 
 
 "I hope she will like you," said Beatrice. 
 301 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 Joseph breathed easier. She evidently knew 
 nothing and was only concerned that her aristo- 
 cratic relative should not behave amiss to this 
 illustrious cousin. 
 
 "She is very proud and did not like me at first. 
 Do you know her?" 
 
 "I know her," he said. 
 
 Further questions were prevented by the en- 
 trance of Professor Horovitz. He guessed that 
 some kind of explanation had taken place. 
 
 "The cousins appear to understand each other," 
 he said. 
 
 "Then you learnt it in the same manner as I 
 did?" said Joseph. 
 
 "Yes, if you heard it from Waldeck, which is 
 not likely, as you did not leave this room and 
 he was not here last night," was his uncle's reply. 
 
 "Waldeck!" exclaimed Joseph. "How did he 
 know?" 
 
 "From the Baroness Levanovska." 
 
 "I wish papa were here," said Beatrice. 
 
 "He has telegraphed that he will be here this 
 afternoon; he saw Saturday's 'Courier' this 
 morning, and I am glad of it; and now, if his 
 daughter is very good and goes to sleep again, 
 he will find her fit to receive him," said the Pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 Beatrice smiled and, obeying the suggestion, 
 was soon asleep. 
 
 In the afternoon Rosen was by his daughter's 
 bedside, and the very first words Beatrice spoke, 
 after they had greeted one another, were in refer- 
 302 
 
The Cousins. 
 
 ence to the identity of Joseph and his mother. 
 
 Rosen turned quickly and looked at them, then 
 he went up to Mrs. Rosen. 
 
 "Then you are Aunt Bilah and this is your 
 son Joseph?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, dear," was Mrs. Rosen's trembling reply. 
 
 "My dear, dear aunt, can you forgive us and 
 the dead?" he cried, sinking on his knees. 
 
 "Please don't, my dear," said Mrs. Rosen, sob- 
 bing. "The past is forgotten." 
 
 "America has conquered us," said a voice. 
 "Can we come in?" 
 
 "How are you, Waldeck, and you, Mr. Merau?" 
 cried Rosen, stretching forth both hands. 
 
 At this point the Professor came in and pe- 
 remptorily ordered them all into the next room. 
 
 "This little lady needs quiet," he said. 
 
 Howard Rosen's face beamed. He could not 
 find words nor did he attempt to express his 
 admiration for his cousin Joseph ; and, short as 
 the conversation was that followed on their leav- 
 ing the sick room, it was long enough for him to 
 make up his mind that Joseph and none other 
 should marry his daughter. 
 
 Waldeck, who instinctively felt what was going 
 on in the mind of the American, could scarcely 
 conceal his bitterness, and the longer he stayed 
 there the more he suffered. At length, unable to 
 bear it any longer, he rose to go. He looked 
 quite haggard and his voice trembled as he said, 
 
 "Good-bye, Uncle Howard, I must go. I am 
 
 303 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 glad to have been of some service to my dear 
 cousin." 
 
 "You have my deepest and most lasting grati- 
 tude, Waldeck," said Rosen, shaking the young 
 man's hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Joseph ; I am off to Italy or China 
 or the Antipodes; it does not matter whither," 
 said Waldeck. 
 
 A few moments later he and Merau were gone. 
 
 "Waldeck looks ill," said the Professor. 
 
 "He loves Beatrice," Joseph rejoined. 
 
 "Do not think of such a thing," cried Rosen. 
 
 "He fought a duel for her sake," said Joseph. 
 
 "He is her cousin and, believe me, Beatrice's 
 accident affected him," said Rosen. 
 
 "I do not believe in accident when I see the 
 work of Providence. I should be a bad friend if 
 I were to let Waldeck go away full of grief," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 "But he is a Gentile," cried Rosen. 
 
 Joseph had already left the room, and Rosen's 
 words, in which there was a note of despair, were 
 answered by the Professor, who advised him not 
 to take that line of argument with Joseph. 
 
 "He has argued us out of the field long ago." 
 
 "Then you have discussed it with him?" asked 
 Rosen. 
 
 "Thoroughly; sister dear, go and speak to 
 him," said the Professor. 
 
 Hbward Rosen sat and gazed in a dazed way at 
 the door when his aunt had gone. He could not 
 grasp the strange phase of character with which 
 
 304 
 
The Cousins. 
 
 he had now been brought into contact. He pitied 
 Joseph, his mother, the Professor, himself, and 
 above all his own daughter, who appeared to 
 have a love for this Joseph that bordered on 
 worship. Did she also feel that the man she loved 
 rejected her? 
 
 The question suddenly leaped up in Rosen's 
 mind. He rose, and without a word went into 
 the adjoining room. 
 
 When Beatrice saw his pale face she felt that 
 the past few minutes had wrought a change in 
 her life. 
 
 "Joseph says that Waldeck loves you," was all 
 he said. 
 
 Beatrice answered with a sob. 
 
 3«>5 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Vladislav, hurry after Count de Lack and 
 ask him to return; I want to see him/' said 
 Joseph, and he went into the library where he 
 found his mother. 
 
 A few minutes later Waldeck joined them. 
 
 "You wish to see me?'* he asked. 
 
 "On a matter of importance. Ah, mother dear, 
 leave us; I will be with you in a few minutes," 
 said Joseph, and putting his hands on her shoul- 
 ders he bent down and kissed her. 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck and began 
 to cry. 
 
 "Little mother, do not cry. You have been my 
 strength all my life, be so now," he said. 
 
 "My dear, dear son," she sobbed. 
 
 "Be brave, dear mother," he said, and led her 
 to the door. 
 
 She gave him a long, beseeching look, and 
 then went away. 
 
 "Waldeck, you love Beatrice," said Joseph. 
 
 "I did love her; but that is all passed," Wal- 
 deck replied, looking down. 
 
 "You cherish the idea that if I were not in the 
 
 way you would gladly recall the past and try to 
 
 win my cousin, I ought to say, your cousin, for 
 
 your relationship is closer than mine. At all 
 
 306 
 
Waldeck's Resolve. 
 
 events you would not leave the field so ignomin- 
 iously," said Joseph, looking Waldeck straight in 
 the face. 
 
 "If it were only your love for her, Joseph, I am 
 free to confess that I would not leave the field; 
 but she loves you and no man can defeat a wo- 
 man's love ; there would be no honour in the con- 
 quest." 
 
 "You are almost a Jew in your manner of 
 yielding to suffering," said Joseph with a smile. 
 
 "I am yielding to logic. I am yielding, with 
 an ill grace, to a fact which I am powerless to 
 change. You are the ideal of Beatrice's dreams ; 
 she loved you long before she knew me. Then, 
 too, she is a Jewess, and for this reason alone I 
 must give up all thoughts of an alliance with 
 her," said Waldeck, his lips quivering as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy 
 neighbour nor against thyself," said Joseph. 
 
 "Do not torture me," cried Waldeck, and sink- 
 ing into a chair he covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 "Torture you?" said Joseph, putting his hand 
 on his friend's shoulder. "Teach you, you should 
 have said. Can you not conceive, my dear Wal- 
 deck, that I may have as much selfishness in my 
 composition as the rest of my fellow creatures? 
 Can you not conceive that I may desire to enjoy 
 an unspoilt bachelorhood ?" 
 
 "I can imagine nothing of the sort. Whoever 
 heard of a man trying to reason himself away 
 
 307 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 from a treasure for the possession of which men 
 would give their lives ?" cried Waldeck. 
 
 "Whoever heard of a man trying hard to al- 
 low another to take the very treasure which he 
 himself is dying to possess ?" was the reply. 
 
 "Beatrice loves you," said Waldeck. 
 
 "You love Beatrice." 
 
 "Against the wish of every one who has or 
 cares to have a voice in the matter. There are 
 a thousand difficulties in my way ; there is not one 
 in yours," said Waldeck. 
 
 Joseph was silent. Notwithstanding the love 
 he bore Waldeck, he could not bring himself to 
 disclose to him the secret that his heart held. 
 In him dwelt the spirit of his race, the strong, 
 passionate spirit that prompts men to die for 
 their love; but with it went the diffidence be- 
 gotten by that mixture of pride and fear which 
 constitutes the real secret why the Jews have sur- 
 vived stronger and braver races. The pliant is a 
 greater power than the unbending; one may 
 defy and break, the other yields and recovers. 
 If Joseph told him that he loved Amanda, Wal- 
 deck might embrace him and wish him luck, but 
 it was also possible that he might look at him and 
 coldly say, "You mean the Baroness Levanov- 
 ska!" It was this that he dreaded. 
 
 Waldeck for his part was under the impres- 
 sion that Joseph was considering the advisability 
 of yielding to him, and taking as his wife the 
 girl who appeared so well fitted. Joseph, he 
 thought, could not fail to see the advantage of 
 308 
 
Waldeck's Resolve. 
 
 such a union. But although he had pleaded with 
 Joseph as he did, the thought of what it would 
 mean to him caused him the keenest pain. 
 
 "Well, I must go; I — I shall try to seek for- 
 getfulness in travel," he said, rising. 
 
 Joseph started. 
 
 **Do not go ; do not travel. It would serve no 
 purpose; neither yours nor mine," said he. 
 
 Waldeck heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 "You must stay," Joseph continued, "for many 
 reasons ; principally to help me out of an un- 
 comfortable rituation. My affection for Beatrice 
 does not exceed that of a relation. You tell 
 me that I am a callous person not to appreciate so 
 beautiful and good a woman as she is, I will 
 reply that each man loves the woman with whom 
 he is in keenest sympathy, and that, though I do 
 not love Beatrice Rosen, it is not impossible that 
 I may love another equally worthy. However, 
 /en if I loved as passionately as you do, I must 
 not yield to the sweetness of it. I must not en- 
 tertain any thoughts of love or marriage, for 
 I am even now preparing for a great struggle 
 with a dreadful enemy. Before this month is 
 over cholera will be raging here. Symptoms of 
 it have already appeared in the lower part of 
 the town, and my work lies there ; my life must 
 be devoted to nothing else. Beatrice will be 
 well in a week ; take her away and may you find 
 the happiness you deserve." 
 
 He stretched forth his hand to Waldeck with a 
 grace that was irresistible. 
 
 309 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 However, a great revolution of feeling had 
 taken place in Waldeck's heart while Joseph 
 spoke. He appeared to himself a weak, senti- 
 mental creature by the side of this strangely 
 strong man. 
 
 "I will stay," he cried, grasping Joseph's hand, 
 "but not to woo and win Beatrice; if God will 
 spare our lives there will be time enough for that. 
 I will stay to be by your side. There are no hor- 
 rors so great that I would not brave them with 
 you. If there is work, let me share it; if there 
 be dangers, let me face them." 
 
 "It is well, brother," said Joseph, shaking 
 hands with his friend. "By the way, how is the 
 Baroness Levanovska?" 
 
 Waldeck started violently. He suddenly re- 
 called what Amanda had told him. His heart 
 gave a leap. Now he understood why Joseph 
 refused to feign love for Beatrice. 
 
 "She is very anxious to see you," he said, 
 scarcely able to suppress his exultation. "You are 
 old friends, I understand." 
 
 "The Baroness has honoured me; I hope she 
 will go away. Tell her that there is danger," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 "She will stay," was Waldeck's reply. A mo- 
 ment later he had gone and Mrs. Rosen came into 
 the room. 
 
 "How is Beatrice?" Joseph asked almost joy- 
 ously. 
 
 "I trust nothing will happen to cause a re- 
 lapse," his mother replied. 
 310 
 
Waldeck's Resolve. 
 
 "Our strength comes from God. Now I must 
 go and see some of my poor patients. I will see 
 our cousin in the evening," he said. 
 
 He embraced his mother and went away. 
 
 311 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 Mrs. Rosen sighed deeply. 
 
 "Father in heaven, save him from harm," she 
 murmured, and as she rocked herself in the chair 
 the tears streamed from her eyes. 
 
 "What is the matter, sister?" asked the Pro- 
 fessor who had come in unobserved. 
 
 "Oh, Daniel, my heart is heavy," she sobbed. 
 
 "What is the trouble?" he asked, stroking her 
 hair. 
 
 "I did hope Joseph would marry, but his mind 
 is only set on the poor and the sick from morning 
 till night," she said. 
 
 "Let us hope for the best. I think this Ameri- 
 can girl will make him to forget everything ex- 
 cept her wishes," said the Professor with a laugh, 
 but there was no gladness in his voice. 
 
 Meanwhile Howard Rosen was discussing the 
 same subject with his daughter. 
 
 "What new trials are in store for us ?" he said. 
 "By your letters I judged that he loved you." 
 
 "So he does ; I knew it the moment I saw him 
 in Mr. Merau's studio. Our souls belong to each 
 other," she said with infinite sweetness. 
 
 "Then what did he mean by what he said about 
 Waldeck ? What is this new turn of affairs ? Am 
 I so worldly that I cannot grasp the greatness of 
 312 
 
The Dream. 
 
 this young man's character, or is the whole thing 
 an outcome of a deranged mind, fanaticised by 
 its environments, driven by cruel conditions into 
 a self-abnegation that seems like madness ? I can 
 scarcely believe my ears. Where shall I find one 
 who so fulfils the prophetic vision of my father ?" 
 cried Howard Rosen. 
 
 "There is none like him in all the world," said 
 Beatrice. "But come what may, I will do as he 
 bids me.'* 
 
 Howard Rosen felt like one in a dream, so 
 unreal did it all appear to him. Was this to be 
 the fulfillment of his daughter's fate? Was 
 she to fall a victim to the illusions of a dreamer ? 
 He was not the man to shirk a duty, and it 
 seemed to him that he must fight for his daugh- 
 ter's happiness at whatever cost, at whatever 
 sacrifice. 
 
 However, he saw no way to attack the enemy. 
 Joseph could not be bribed. His uncle's vast 
 fortune was at his disposal; the millions of the 
 American would be no temptation to a man of 
 Joseph's character. 
 
 "What shall I do ? What power shall I employ 
 to avert this awful misfortune?" he cried. 
 
 "We must trust to God to show us the way, 
 papa," said Beatrice with tears in her eyes. 
 
 "My God, what have I done to merit all this ?" 
 cried her father. 
 
 "You have talked too much to this little girl," 
 said the Professor who had overheard his last 
 words on entering. "She needs quiet. Go to 
 
 313 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 your aunt whom you will find in the library, and 
 I will stay with this naughty patient who has dis- 
 obeyed orders." 
 
 Rosen kissed his daughter and left the room. 
 
 "My dear child," said the Professor, "you 
 will have to fight for your happiness and for the 
 happiness of us all. You must therefore try and 
 get well. No excitement, no tears. Take this 
 and go to sleep." 
 
 As he gave her the medicine she pressed his 
 
 hand. ...i^uisiJBiaail 
 
 "Watch over him," she whispered. 
 
 "He is watched over by a power higher than 
 ours. Now try to sleep," he said, placing his 
 hand gently on her forehead. Under its soft 
 caress she closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. 
 
 And sleeping she dreamed. 
 
 It seemed to her that she was in a vast hall, 
 lighted by great, gleaming jewels suspended 
 from the vaulted ceiling. 
 
 She saw the tall, majestic form of her grand- 
 father, and by his side her mother, an angel of 
 wondrous fairness, long tresses of hair falling 
 over her shoulders and her eyes filled with 
 sparkling tears. 
 
 On the floor lay a shrouded form around which 
 played a halo of light. 
 
 The shrouded form arose and looked at her, 
 and she saw that it was Joseph. 
 
 He pointed to a great throng of people who 
 were in the background and said : 
 
 "These are my charge." ' 
 
 314 
 
The Dream. 
 
 And from amidst the throng stepped forth one 
 whose face was radiant with light and in whom 
 she recognised Waldeck. 
 
 Walking by Waldeck's side was a woman love- 
 ly to behold, on whom her grandfather and her 
 mother smiled benignly. Beatrice saw that it 
 was Amanda Levanovska, who meekly and hum- 
 bly knelt before Joseph. 
 
 Then she heard Waldeck's voice saying, 
 
 "Cast her not off, my Lord ; she loveth thee." 
 
 And from the farthest ends of the great hall 
 there came back the echo, "she loveth thee, she 
 loveth thee." 
 
 At this a great pain seized the heart of Beatrice 
 and she cried out, "Mercy !" But the hand of her 
 mother was laid caressingly on her shoulder and 
 the voice of her grandfather said, "Peace !" 
 
 Joseph laid his hand on the head of Amanda 
 and said, 
 
 "Verily, so great a love have I not found in 
 all the world as thine, and I have chosen thee 
 from the midst of all the creatures on this earth 
 to be by my side forever. Follow me, for I love 
 thee." 
 
 And then he bent down and kissed her fore- 
 head. 
 
 At this the face of Amanda shone as in a great 
 glory, and looking up to Joseph, she cried : 
 
 "I will follow thee, my Lord, my Redeemer." 
 
 Then Joseph turned to Beatrice and to her He 
 said, 
 
 "I love tfie pure In Heart. Be obedient to the 
 
 315 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 law of God, which is love, and let Waldeck be 
 thy guide through this earthly life." 
 
 Joseph raised up the kneeling form of Amanda 
 and led her away and the dream picture vanished. 
 
 When Beatrice opened her eyes and saw her 
 father, she said, 
 
 "Be kind to him ; he is to be my guide through 
 this life." 
 
 "Who?" cried her father. 
 
 "Waldeck,** was the reply. 
 
 Rosen was thoroughly bewildered; he could 
 not grasp the threads of this mystery. 
 
 316 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 . . ! 
 
 "l HAVE BUT ONE LIFE TO LOSE." 
 
 The great city of Warsaw was overcast with 
 gloom. What Joseph had foreseen had come 
 to pass. The cholera was raging in all its ma- 
 lignant fierceness. 
 
 Deserted streets, empty houses, locked doors, 
 and barred windows told a gruesome tale of 
 calamity. 
 
 The church bells at first rang out their plain- 
 tive appeal for some souls that were passing to 
 their last home ; soon, however, even these sounds 
 ceased. There were no sextons to toll the bells 
 and but few priests to read the service ; most of 
 them had fled for their lives. 
 
 The cholera was there; death was stalking in 
 the streets. At times the Destroyer cut with his 
 scythe a wide swath and hundreds fell in a mo- 
 ment. At times he picked off his victims one by 
 one. Some the grim shadow seemed to catch by 
 the neck and to choke by degrees. Then they 
 writhed and swelled and turned black and g^ve 
 up their lives with a shriek. 
 
 The rich, forsaken by their servants, ran into 
 the street wild-eyed, begging a stray passer-by 
 for help, for a doctor. 
 
 The passer-by uttered a cry of horror and ran, 
 
 317 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 leaving the other to writhe on the ground, only to 
 be overtaken himself a few paces farther on. 
 
 A man, decked as for a fete, rushed up to a 
 cab driver and, throwing a handful of gold into 
 the man's hat, begged to be driven out of the 
 town. But while he had one foot on the car- 
 riage step he was suddenly caught by the invis- 
 ible enemy; he uttered a cry and fell. 
 
 The driver threw away the gold, sprang upon 
 his seat and raced off. At the next corner he 
 fell from the seat and the horse ran on with 
 the carriage until it dashed into a granite monu- 
 ment and was killed. 
 
 Women of all ranks, pressing their infants to 
 their bosoms, ran wildly through the streets cry- 
 ing for help, and fell with cries of agony. 
 
 In every street, in every square, were the 
 dead; some lying on their backs, stretched 
 straight on the ground , their lifeless eyes staring 
 up to the merciless sky. Others, doubled up, 
 their heads between their knees; others leaning 
 against a wall or a tree or a crucifix, seeming as 
 if they had been transfixed. 
 
 The streets were like a battlefield where men 
 and women had fallen fighting an invisible and 
 cruel foe. 
 
 In the Sigismund Square, whither many had 
 gone because of its cleanliness and elevation, the 
 sight of the stricken and frightened people was 
 pitiful in the extreme. They begged for help, 
 crawling on their knees and following "the 
 
 318 
 
"I Have But One Life to Lose." 
 
 White Brigade," as the few devoted helpers in 
 this terrible disaster were called. 
 
 "The White Brigade" had been organized by 
 Joseph. It was bound by no rules or regula- 
 tions ; it had not even assumed a name. Its title 
 was bestowed by the people whom the wonder- 
 ful powers of the leader had saved from death. 
 
 No one really knew who the helpers were, and 
 no one cared. The few that thought and spoke 
 of the matter, vowed that they had seen the 
 Saviour in person. 
 
 The Helper, like the little band that accom- 
 panied him, was cloaked in white. He but rarely 
 spoke. He acted. At times he directed the dif- 
 ferent members of the band, calling out a name 
 and pointing to a certain case to which the one 
 or the other would give particular attention. The 
 Band needed but little direction. Each member 
 was working with the intelligence and the in- 
 spiration that fitted him or her for the great, 
 self-sacrificing work. Here was Waldeck carry- 
 ing a man to the temporary hospital ; there De 
 Prussnitzki, pale and haggard, was giving medi- 
 cine to an old man. Ella Epstein, Beatrice and 
 her father, the Professor and Baroness Levanov- 
 ska and others who followed in the wake of the 
 illustrious young leader, were working enthusi- 
 astically and diligently against the terrible 
 enemy. 
 
 A sHort distance from the Sigismund monu- 
 ment lay a man whose face and hands were dis- 
 figured by frightful sores, and his body was 
 
 319 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 swollen to a horrible size. His head had fallen 
 back and his breathing was stertorous. The flies 
 had settled on his face and a woman, the Baron- 
 ess Levanovska, was bending over him and fan- 
 ning them away. 
 
 Suddenly the voice of the Professor called out, 
 
 "Away, move off quickly ; this man is leprous." 
 
 "Beatrice and you, Amanda, go home to rest," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 Howard Rosen at once led away his daughter, 
 but Amanda made no move to go. 
 
 Joseph took her arm and led her away from 
 the contaminated spot. 
 
 "You are not very strong and it were best that 
 you go to our house and rest," he said. 
 
 "Oh, do not drive me away, Joseph ; I have 
 but one life to lose and if something should hap- 
 pen to you I must be by your side," she said, 
 tears streaming down her cheeks. 
 
 Joseph pressed her hand. 
 
 "May God bless you," he said and turned to 
 lend assistance to one of the distressed. 
 
 "God has blessed me already, my dear love, 
 for He has turned your great good heart to me," 
 she whispered, and went to work as if she had 
 been endowed with new strength. 
 
 Although the work of mercy went on, still 
 Death reaped a rich harvest, and as the days 
 passed it seemed as if the entire population would 
 fall by the unseen sword. 
 
 Jews and Christians offered up fervent prayers 
 to God in their various houses of worship; the 
 320 
 
'1 Have But One Life to Lose." 
 
 Christians prayed that God stay the hand of 
 Death and ihe Jews prayed that God might keep 
 the plague from them; the latter curiously 
 enough, had so far been spared, a fact that did 
 not remain unnoticed and which excited the 
 fear-stricken and superstitious people to mad- 
 ness. 
 
 321 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 In front of the great cathedral that faces the 
 Saxon Square a large number of people were 
 gathered. Some were kneeling and counting 
 their beads, while others held large crosses, cruci- 
 fixes and such processional church paraphernalia 
 as the Bishop had ordered. 
 
 They were forming into a long line ; for it was 
 to be the greatest procession the city had ever 
 seen, and a liberal sprinkling of holy water was 
 promised. 
 
 "No doubt holy water will do good," said 
 one of a group of sullen-faced men, "but if 
 we could rid the city of the accursed Jews it 
 would be better; they brought the plague upon 
 us. Hey, Carolu, did not the Jews bring the 
 plague upon us?" he cried. 
 
 "Don't ask him, he is the coachman of the 
 Jewish doctor and he is half a Jew himself," said 
 another. 
 
 "As I love God, Mat Grabovski, you are an 
 ungrateful dog; my young master saved your 
 wife's life and paid your rent when Bednarski, 
 the smith, wanted to throw you out of your 
 hovel," said the coachman. 
 
 "You are a liar if you say that it was your 
 master, whom I do not know and whom the 
 322 
 
"The Greater Calamity Has Come." 
 
 saints confound; I know that it was the Pan 
 Christ himself who came to our house last Christ- 
 mas and cured my wife and gave us money," 
 Grabovski retorted. 
 
 "Mat speaks the truth; what Jew would give 
 a Catholic money and save his life ? We ought to 
 rid the city of the Jews and the plague at the 
 same time and the Pan Christ will help us." 
 
 "True words. We ought to pay them back for 
 what they did to our Lord." 
 
 "As I love God, brothers, let us do it to- 
 night," whispered Grabovski. 
 
 At this moment a bell was sounded and the 
 Bishop in the gorgeous vestments of his sacer- 
 dotal office, holding aloft with both hands a 
 golden crucifix, made his appearance. He was 
 followed by the sacristan with golden staff and 
 by priests and acolites in red and white. 
 
 At the sight of the Bishop the people fell on 
 their knees. The sacristan intoned a hymn, the 
 bells tolled and the procession moved on. 
 
 Grabovski and his friends kept up a lively con- 
 versation planning a massacre of the Jews and a 
 division of the spoils that were certain to fall into 
 their hands. 
 
 Suddenly Grabovski took hold of his compan- 
 ion's arm. 
 
 "Blood of Christ ! Look, there is a Jew, stand- 
 ing in front of his house, and mocking us. See, 
 he has not removed his filthy cap in the presence 
 of the Sanctuary. At him, brothers ; let us pull 
 out his filthy beard." 
 
 323 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 They made a dash for the Jew. Hfd was 
 knocked over, beaten, kicked to death under their 
 feet. The act was Hke the smell of blood to a 
 ravenous beast and in a moment the erstwhile 
 worshippers became a yelling mob of savages, 
 that pressed forward to the Jewish quarter. 
 
 The Bishop attempted to restore order, he com- 
 manded the priests to speak to the people, but 
 they had become uncontrollable, they were no 
 longer like human beings. 
 
 Meanwhile, Carolu, the Professor's coachman, 
 had rushed home and in short, halting speech 
 told the professor of what he had overheard and 
 what he feared. 
 
 "Where are they now?" asked the Professor. 
 
 "They are just forming in line and will march 
 through the New Town," said Carolu. 
 
 "Call Vladislav," ordered the professor and 
 hastily wrote a few words on a sheet of paper. 
 
 "Ride as fast as you can and give this note 
 to the Commandant at Praga," he said to Vladi- 
 slav. 
 
 The latter bowed and went out. In the hall 
 he was met by Joseph who asked for the news of 
 the day. 
 
 "Bad news, master, there is an attack upon 
 the Jews." 
 
 "Now?" asked Joseph. 
 
 "It may be now," said Vladislav and hastened 
 away. 
 
 "The greater calamity has come," said Joseph 
 as he entered his uncle's room. 
 
 324 
 
"The Greater Calamity Has Come." 
 
 "De Prussnitzki's Cossacks will wipe them 
 out," said the Professor grimly. 
 
 "One ought not to employ such means," 
 Joseph rejoined. 
 
 "They are mad beasts and must be treated as 
 such," said the Professor. 
 
 "Misery has made them mad, uncle; they are 
 ill and need help ; let us do what we can for both," 
 said Joseph and he went to his own room whence 
 he soon emerged clad in a long gray mantle. 
 
 "You do not mean to go among these infuri- 
 ated animals?" cried the Professor. 
 
 "Do not fear for me, uncle. This is only an- 
 other kind of epidemic, and I must not shirk the 
 work," he said and went away. 
 
 Joseph crossed the Sigismund Square and was 
 turning into a narrow street when he was hailed 
 by Waldeck who ran up to him in evident excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "An attack upon the Jews," he cried. 
 
 "I know it. Come," said Joseph, calmly. 
 
 "What will you do?" his friend asked. 
 
 "Save those that are more grievously stricken 
 than by the cholera," was the reply. 
 
 "Ah, the poor Jews!" said Waldeck, as he 
 walked by Joseph's side. 
 
 "Say not the poor Jews — rather say the poor, 
 deluded, ignorant Christians — ah, the heart bleeds 
 to call them by that respectable name — ; but we 
 must try to save them, Waldeck." 
 
 "But how? What can we, singlehanded, do 
 
 325 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 against a mob gone mad through superstitious 
 fear?" asked Waldeck. 
 
 "It will not be much of an effort to calm them," 
 said Joseph, "but those inclined upon bloodshed 
 and pillage from motives of gain, will be harder 
 to manage. However, we must not shirk the 
 task. Behold, there they are." 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon ; many of the Jew- 
 ish people were in the synagogue attending a dis- 
 course being delivered by the Rabbi, while many 
 of the young people of both sexes were prom- 
 enading the street. They had no premonition of 
 evil until the mob came rushing into the Nalevki. 
 In a moment there were collisions, blows were 
 struck and returned and ere long Jews and Jew- 
 esses were down, wounded and screaming for help. 
 Several of the more courageous young Jews 
 rushed into their houses whence they soon 
 emerged with miscellaneous weapons. Knives, 
 axes, sticks and stones were used by assailants 
 and defendants alike and there were many of 
 both creeds that sank down never to rise again. 
 
 But the attacking mob steadily increased and 
 the majority of the fearstricken Jews sought shel- 
 ter either in their houses, which they barred, or 
 in the synagogue where in their agony they 
 prayed loudly for help from God. 
 
 Meanwhile, the battle in the street was going 
 on. A stout ruffian grabbed an old Jew by the 
 beard and clubbed him. Waldeck drew his rapier 
 and wanted to rush at the fellow. 
 
 Joseph held him back. 
 
 326 
 
"The Greater Calamity Has Come.'* 
 
 "Thou shalt not kill !" he said. 
 
 Waldeck felt almost annoyed at Joseph's com- 
 posure. He could not understand it. How was 
 it possible at such a supreme moment? But 
 Joseph did not give him time to cavil; he drew 
 him into an alley and walking rapidly they came 
 to the back entrance of the synagogue. 
 
 Joseph knocked loudly at the door, a wicket 
 was shoved aside, a blanched face peered through, 
 then the door opened and both Joseph and Wal- 
 deck slipped in. 
 
 Joseph made his way to the nave of the syna- 
 gogue and going up the chancel he cried loudly 
 to the people to be calm, as a regiment of mili- 
 tary was on the way to disperse the mob. His 
 words might have calmed the people, but for the 
 stones that were hurled through the windows one 
 of which struck the aged Rabbi who sank down 
 with a groan. 
 
 The rioters were equally active at the shut 
 doors and the frequent and combined rushes 
 made it obvious that it was but a question of 
 minutes when the doors would yield, thus deliv- 
 ering the defenseless people to the savagery of 
 the infuriated mob. 
 
 Joseph saw that heroic action was required to 
 save the people. 
 
 "Come," he said to Waldeck, "let us speak to 
 those outside ; it will be easier to* quiet the others 
 than these here." 
 
 Waldeck made no response; he followed the 
 master whom he now served. They pressed 
 327 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 through the crowd and finally got to the front 
 door. But the besieged would not yield. To 
 open the door meant death to all, they said. 
 
 Joseph's earnestness, however, carried weight, 
 and in the end the men yielded. 
 
 Waldeck suddenly pushed the door wide open 
 and Joseph, offering himself as a sacrifice for his 
 people, stepped into the entrance. He raised his 
 hands and, with a voice, powerful in its reson- 
 ance, cried out, 
 
 "In the name of God, brother, let us have 
 peace !" 
 
 The mob fell back, awe-struck at his appear- 
 ance. 
 
 "My God,'* cried several, "it is the Pan 
 Christ!" 
 
 "Go home, good friends ; tend the sick and be 
 merciful to the unfortunate and God will be with 
 you!" said Joseph. 
 
 "At them, brothers," voices from behind cried. 
 "Kill the Jews ! Kill the Jews !" 
 
 They made a sudden rush. A ruffian raised his 
 knife and made a savage lunge at Waldeck, but 
 Joseph pushed his friend aside and in a moment 
 all was confusion. A few moments later a so- 
 tnia of Cossacks came upon the scene and the 
 mob dissappeared as if swept away by a^ cyclone. 
 
 Professor Horovitz had not ventured to keep 
 his nephew back, because there was always that 
 indefinable something in the latter's acts which 
 disarmed criticism and forbade interference; but 
 he regretted that he did not keep him from this 
 328 
 
"The Greater Calamity Has Come." 
 
 dreadful errand. He was sad and full of trepida- 
 tion. How if the man whom he loved as his own 
 life should suffer harm or be killed ! 
 
 He thought of his own past, of the joyless 
 years he had spent until this rare character came 
 to brighten his life. He thought of Joseph, 
 whose soul was so lofty, whose mind so pure, 
 whose acts so full of grace that the vilest be- 
 came chastened by contact with him. He thought 
 of the prodigal De Prussnitzki who had mended 
 his ways and, at Joseph's bidding had risen from 
 a bed of sickness to work with him among the 
 stricken people; and his heart cried out in wild 
 protest against a fate that threatened to crush 
 him now as it had crushed him before and made 
 his life lonely and miserable. 
 
 Then he seemed to hear Joseph's voice that 
 said, 
 
 "Selfish griefs are as sinful as selfish joys. 
 They attest to a weakness of which a man ought 
 to be ashamed." 
 
 This suggestion from an inner consciousness 
 had a calming effect upon him. It was much 
 even to have known such a man as Joseph; he 
 was his own kin, and if Providence would only 
 spare his life then 
 
 There appeared before his mental vision the 
 entire chain of honours that in course of events 
 came to Joseph. There was nothing to hinder his 
 becoming the foremost man in all Russia if not 
 in all Europe. 
 
 Thus the Professor sat for hours, devising, 
 
 329 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 planning and incidentally praying — ^not in words 
 but in sighs — for Joseph, and with each sigh he 
 felt a sense of impending disaster that increased 
 to unbearable acuteness ; there was a whirring in 
 his ears that sounded like rushing waters, like 
 the wail of the despairing, like the fierceness of 
 the storm that blasts and levels all in its path. 
 Suddenly, with a cry that echoed through the 
 room, he sprang to his feet and faced the door. 
 
 It opened wide and some men entered carry- 
 ing a body on a stretcher. The Professor saw 
 at a glance that it was Joseph, then something 
 shot into his brain, all became dark and he sank 
 down. 
 
 "Here, Vladislav," cried Merau, "don't howl 
 like a mad dog, lend a hand and let us carry him 
 on to the sofa." 
 
 The Professor almost at once regained con- 
 sciousness and sprang to his feet 
 
 "What has happened?" he cried. 
 
 "Compose yourself, Daniel; it is nothing se- 
 rious; fliey were struck, he and Waldeck, I 
 think, but it is nothing — no — thing, — Dan " 
 
 Merau could not finish, sobs choked his voice. 
 
 The sight of the other's distress revived the 
 Professor. He ordered Joseph and Waldeck to 
 be taken into the adjoining operating room. 
 
 Waldeck, having come to himself, begged the 
 Professor to attend to Joseph first; and then it 
 was that the Professor drank the cup of bitter- 
 ness to the dregs, for he saw that Joseph's in- 
 juries were fatal ; the knife had almost split his 
 
 330 
 
"The Greater Calamity Has Come." 
 
 heart which was beating feebly and the Hfe blood 
 was draining away slowly. 
 
 "Can nothing be done?" cried Merau. "Oh, 
 Daniel, where is your science?" 
 
 A strange light came into the Professor's eyes. 
 
 "Call in the doctors quickly; I will operate on 
 him; I will sew up his heart; it is one chance 
 against nine hundrdd and ninety-nine, but I 
 shall take this one chance," he said. 
 
 Merau was already gone and a few moments 
 later came back accompanied by the surgeons. 
 
 Joseph was laid on the table and the Pro- 
 fessor himself cut the flesh without a quiver, and 
 when the heart of Joseph was laid bare, the Pro- 
 fessor set his jaws grimly, his whole mind con- 
 centrated on the wonderful work he was doing. 
 The hand that held the needle and drew the 
 thread through the parts between each pulsation 
 was like steel ; it worked with the precision of a 
 delicate mechanism, sensitised by the touch of 
 science. 
 
 When the operation was over his eyes flashed ; 
 the sewn up heart pulsated regularly and with 
 slowly increasing strength. 
 
 "If nothing happens he will live," he said. 
 
 "He will live," said the surgeons in awed re- 
 sponse. 
 
 Professor Horovitz sat in his big arm chair ; in 
 front of him stood Vladislav, who gave a re- 
 port of what he had witnessed, his every word 
 cutting the Professor to the heart, and filling his 
 soul with unspeakable hatred for the bestial 
 
 331 
 
Children of Fate. ' 
 
 creatures, who in all ages have committed mur- 
 der in the name of a religion they did not under- 
 stand, who did not deserve human treatment or 
 liberty, to aid whom was not only a mistake, but 
 a crime. He smiled grimly when Vladislav told 
 how De Prussnitzki's Cossacks had ridden 
 amongst them and trampled them down to the 
 last man, so that this false people might no longer 
 disgrace the name of the ancient Man of his 
 own race. He hated them with a bitter hatred ; 
 for in his heart he feared that Joseph would not 
 survive the shock. 
 
 332 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE APOTHEOSIS. 
 
 Early in the morning after the accident, Vladi- 
 slav entered the Professor's room and announced 
 the Baroness Levanovska. 
 
 Thinking that she had come to see Waldeck, he 
 bade her enter. 
 
 The Baroness was pale and her eyes were red 
 from weeping. 
 
 *T could scarcely wait for daylight," she said. 
 "How is he?" 
 
 "His lordship has but a slight wound and will 
 be about in a day or two," was the rejoinder. 
 
 "I mean Joseph — your nephew," she said. 
 
 "He — " said the Professor sighing deeply, 
 "who can tell?" 
 
 "Let me see him," she said pleadingly. 
 
 "Quite impossible, your ladyship," he rejoined. 
 
 "I must see him," she cried and her voice trem- 
 bled. 
 
 "I am sorry, but no one except the doctors can 
 enter his room," he said coldly. 
 
 "I beg of you — I beg of you — I must see him, 
 my Joseph — or I shall die," she cried and sank 
 down before him. 
 
 The Professor was taken atack. 
 
 "What—?" he cried. 
 
 "He is my life. I have loved him in Dobrzyn ; 
 
 333 
 
Children OF Fate. 
 
 I have loved him through all these years. He Has 
 not thrust me aside; he loves me. My Joseph, 
 my love. I want to see him. I cannot live, I will 
 not live if he dies," she sobbed. 
 
 A sudden light, a sudden recognition of the 
 mystery of Joseph^s words and actions broke 
 upon Dr. Horovitz' consciousness. Now he saw 
 it all clearly, unmistakably; he recognized the 
 full meaning of the tragic life and tragic end of 
 his nephew. It was a fearful whim of fate ; their 
 lives had run on the same lines, with the same 
 incidents, the same results. What a mockery of 
 human happiness ; what a' stigma on the stupid 
 faith that spoke of an eternally wise arrange- 
 ment of human destinies ! He laughed out loud ; 
 but it was not a laugh, it was a cry, and the sad 
 woman at his feet knew that misery wrung it 
 from him and her tears ran faster. Her grief 
 gradually calmed the Professor. He saw that 
 he must not permit misfortune to unman him. 
 It was his duty to protect the poor creature whose 
 love was so strong, so pure, so sorely tried. He 
 put his hand on her head. 
 
 "My poor child; fate is very bitter and cruel 
 and senseless. 
 
 "Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 Und welken wieder ab, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wieder, 
 So geht es bis ans Grab," 
 
 he quoted. 
 
 334 
 
The Apotheosis. 
 
 But the familiar lines wounded Amanda so 
 deeply that she sprang up wildly. 
 
 "Do not say that he will die/' she cried. "Do 
 not say it. Heaven cannot be so cruel!" 
 
 "Be still, my child ; heaven can be very cruel. 
 I have experienced it myself," he said trem- 
 blingly. "Still, let us try to be brave. I would 
 give my life gladly, willingly, if I could restore 
 him to you. Compose yourself and come; you 
 shall see him, but be very quiet." 
 
 He led her to the room where Joseph lay. He 
 appeared to be sleeping. His face was white and 
 looked, indeed, like the image of the Christ who, 
 'tis said, had borne a world's sorrow. 
 
 The Baroness sank down at the bedside. She 
 kissed the coverlet and the pale, slender hand that 
 lay on it. Agony convulsed her body, but she did 
 not shriek; her own face, beautiful in its pallor, 
 appeared stamped with the seal of death. 
 
 The Professor was profoundly moved and no 
 longer made any attempt to keep back his tears. 
 
 At last he laid his hand gently upon Amanda's 
 shoulder and lifting her up, led her into an- 
 other room. There she sank upon her knees in 
 speechless prayer. All day long she remained so. 
 The Professor tried in vain to make her lie down 
 or take some nourishment. 
 
 "Give him back to me, God; give me my 
 Yushu," her lips murmured. 
 
 On the second day Joseph fell into a fever and 
 then the Professor gave up all hope. He allowed 
 Joseph's friends to gather in the adjoining room, 
 
 335 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 where they listened in breathless silence, eager 
 for the least hint from the doctors who passed 
 in and out. 
 
 The Baroness took no notice of the others in 
 the room, not even of Waldeck, who had suffi- 
 ciently recovered and desired to be near Joseph ; 
 she waited. 
 
 About noon on the fourth day of the fever, 
 Joseph became conscious ; his fine constitution ap- 
 peared to have withstood the fearful attack. 
 
 "Let her and the others enter," he whispered 
 to his uncle. 
 
 The latter did not wonder how he knew that 
 anyone was in the adjoining room ; he had long 
 since learnt to be obedient to the gentle com- 
 mands of his nephew. He only ventured to 
 beg him to avoid excitement. 
 
 Mrs. Rosen joined in the prayer, but Joseph, 
 turning his shining eyes on her, said, 
 
 "Sweet mother, I shall soon be well, why de- 
 prive me of my dear friends ?" His voice seemed 
 to gather strength as he spoke. Then turning to 
 his uncle, he continued, "Let her come to my side ; 
 the mystery is solved " 
 
 The Professor nodded and went into the ad- 
 joining room. 
 
 "He wants to see you, my child," he whispered 
 into Amanda's ear. 
 
 She sprang up as if electrified. 
 
 "Come," he said to the others and all went into 
 the room. 
 
 The Professor led Amanda to the bedside. 
 336 
 
The Apotheosis. 
 
 "Amanda," Joseph breathed. 
 
 "Joseph, dear love," she whispered and knelt 
 down. 
 
 There was not the least doubt in the minds of 
 those present that this was Joseph's farewell to 
 his friends ; but Professor Horovitz, even at that 
 moment, would not give up hope, and begged 
 Joseph not to speak much. 
 
 "Dear uncle," said Joseph, "I must say all I 
 have to say now. 
 
 "Mother, you have been my honour and my 
 strength. Do not weep for me, for I shall be by 
 your side always. Your honour will be my 
 honour in heaven. 
 
 "Uncle Daniel, I pray you to be stronger than 
 your misfortune and do not permit any one to 
 wear any outward sign of mourning for me. 
 Keep up the stipends to my impecunious stu- 
 dents and continue my allowances to the poor. 
 At the end of each week let food be given to 
 the poor regardless of creed." 
 
 There was incessant sobbing, but Amanda did 
 not weep, grief had robbed her of tears ; she lis- 
 tened spellbound. 
 
 "Cousin Howard, you have a clear under- 
 standing of what is right and best for all ; work 
 on bravely, and may you be blessed. 
 
 "Beatrice, Waldeck loves you. He is worthy 
 the best your heart can give ; love him. 
 
 "Jean Merau, you were a friend. In your 
 soul dwells love for the pure and the beautiful ; 
 
 337 
 
Children of Fate. 
 
 may you be blessed. Keep guard over youi 
 friend and brighten his hours." 
 
 "Master, Master!" cried the artist and sank 
 down on his knees ; he was sobbing like a child. 
 
 "Waldeck, I love you," said Joseph with in- 
 finite sweetness. 
 
 "I know, I know," the other cried, "you raised 
 your hand to shield me." 
 
 "That you might live to shield the woman God 
 sent you," he said and a beautiful smile played 
 on his face. 
 
 "Rest, Joseph, I beg of you," cried the Profes- 
 sor. 
 
 "I shall rest soon. I have but this one life on 
 earth. Ah, who said that? It was you, Amanda. 
 You would not yield; you would not leave the 
 poor and the sick whom to serve you came down 
 from your high station," he said and his hand was 
 laid gently on hers. She took it, covered it with 
 kisses and held it, her head reclining on the bed. 
 
 "Ah! how much there is to your credit, 
 Amanda! Rachel and Yushu — and — ^Yushu," 
 he whispered. 
 
 Amanda's soul seemed to expire and there was 
 such a weight upon her heart that she cried out : 
 
 "Do not die, my love ; do not die !" 
 
 "Those that love do not die," he said and his 
 eyes shone with a wonderful light. Then the 
 light gave way to a look of profound sadness. 
 
 "Which poem shall I read? Anyone I like? 
 Well, then, this : 
 
 338 
 
The Apotheosis. 
 
 "Die holden Wuensche bluehen 
 Und welken wieder ab, 
 Und blueh'n und welken wieder, 
 So geht es bis ans Grab." 
 
 The words were uttered with touching pathos ; 
 the dulcet melody of his voice rose and fell with 
 the same thrilling rhythm as when, years before, 
 he had read to the Baroness at Castle Wysiniaski ; 
 that scene was passing before his mind's eye, and 
 the last words passed from his lips like a pro- 
 longed trembling sigh. 
 
 Then a greyish pallor swept over his face, the 
 hand that held Amanda's contracted, he opened 
 his great luminous eyes once, then the lids fell 
 as if in slumber. 
 
 339 
 
u'ENVOY. 
 
 (Extract from a letter from Ella to Beatrice.) 
 "I can scarcely believe that it is nearly a year 
 since Joseph and poor Amanda were laid to rest. 
 Mr. Merau has at last consented to allow his 
 work, both the portrait of Joseph and the death- 
 scene, hung in the Art Gallery. I saw both pic- 
 tures yesterday. Joseph is beautiful as the Christ, 
 but the other made me shudder. I can never for- 
 get the horror I felt when it was found that 
 Amanda had died almost at the same moment as 
 Joseph. The picture is called, THE APO- 
 THEOSIS.' 
 
 "As the de Lacks, yourself and your father are 
 expected here the day after to-morrow for the 
 anniversary of Joseph's death I might have 
 waited and let you find out a piece of news that 
 I have for you, but I have not the heart to let you 
 wait, so I must tell you that I have at last ful- 
 filled the long cherished hopes of my father and 
 am about to marry an aristocrat and — please do 
 not start — it is none other than Colonel de 
 Prussnitzki, and I really think I love him. He 
 has developed a splendid character and has won 
 the affection of our dear Professor Horovitz and 
 your aunt. Papa is quite happy. He really does 
 not grudge you Waldeck, now that his daughter 
 is going to a Count. You know I never grudged 
 you your good fortune, and your happiness is 
 my own. Au revoir, 
 
 "Ella." 
 [finis.] 
 
 340 
 
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