A VICTIM OF CONSCIENCE 
 
 by 
 Milton Goldsmith
 
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 o 37 
 

 
 There lay the stiffening body.
 
 A VICTIM OF 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 BY 
 
 MILTON GOLDSMITH 
 
 Author of " Rabbi and Priest," etc. 
 
 1903 
 
 HENRY T. COATES & COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA
 
 COPYRIGHT. 
 
 HENRY T. COAXES & CO. 
 1903.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ENVIRONMENT and sympathy are important 
 factors in an author's selection of a theme. If 
 he has a message to the world, his characters 
 cannot always be of his own choosing, but are 
 determined by a power stronger than caprice. 
 The desire to add to the world's knowledge of a 
 peculiar people, to portray characters but little 
 known and frequently misunderstood, to analyze 
 a creed at variance with the prevailing faith, 
 have influenced the choice of my subject. 
 
 My heroes and heroines are humble folk, with 
 intensely human characteristics, with sterling 
 qualities and corresponding shortcomings, and I 
 introduce them to the reader without praise or 
 apology.
 
 iv Preface. 
 
 In depicting the psychological effects of the 
 crime committed by the principal actor in the 
 story, I have endeavored to adhere to strict 
 probabilities. " Conscience does make cowards 
 of us all," and the vagaries of this conscience- 
 coward, driven by remorse to seek relief in 
 ceaseless activity, in superstition, and even in 
 apostasy, are, I believe, in no wise exaggerated. 
 
 In drawing a distinction between differing 
 creeds, I trust I shall not offend the suscepti- 
 bilities of the devout of either; for I have 
 endeavored to approach a difficult subject with 
 reverent consideration. 
 
 MILTON GOLDSMITH.
 
 A VICTIM OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SHLEMIEL. 
 
 M Alas ! misfortune travels in a train, 
 And oft in life forms one perpetual chain. 
 Fear buries fear, and ills on ills attend, 
 Till life and sorrow meet one common end." Young. 
 
 THERE was a heavy, hesitating step upon the creak- 
 ing staircase. The listening woman hastily turned up 
 the lamp, revealing by its fitful glare the wretched bar- 
 renness of the room, and prepared to meet her husband 
 with a brave smile of welcome. 
 
 " Dear Isaac," she said, taking him by both hands 
 and affectionately kissing him, "I'm so glad you've 
 come back." 
 
 The man's face brightened for a moment, only to 
 be again immersed in gloom, as he gazed upon the evi- 
 dences of poverty around him. He hung his hat upon 
 a nail and sank into a chair, weary and disheartened. 
 
 There was little in the appearance of Isaac Schwartz 
 to proclaim him a Jew. His features were clear cut, 
 the brow high, and surmounted by a mass of wavy
 
 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 black hair. His nose was well shaped, but his mouth 
 was weak and his lips thin, indicative of indecision. 
 The pallor of his face, due to fasting and privation, was 
 heightened by the dark, curly beard which surrounded 
 it. He had been a handsome man, but, as in the case 
 of his wife, bodily suffering had left a deep impress, 
 and his sordid surroundings, and seedy, threadbare 
 attire, seemed to stamp him with the hopeless brand of 
 poverty. 
 
 " Run and kiss papa, Josie," said the woman, to her 
 four-year-old boy. Then she eagerly asked, "What 
 luck, Isaac ? " 
 
 " I have been unfortunate, as usual," returned the 
 husband, moodily. " I have tried everything. I an- 
 swered every advertisement in the papers, but found the 
 situations taken. When the people saw my wretched 
 clothes, they found some excuse to get rid of me. I 
 went to the wharves, but there were five applicants for 
 every vacancy. There is no use to try further. I am 
 at my wit's end." 
 
 The woman longed to cheer him, but her heart was 
 too full of sorrow to speak. There was a painful pause. 
 
 " To think it has come to this," cried Isaac, at length, 
 with quivering lip, " that I should be forced to beg for 
 work upon the wharves ! " 
 
 " There is no shame in that," replied his wife. " If 
 you could only have succeeded in getting work of any 
 kind." 
 
 The man sighed, but did not reply. He was in no 
 mood for conversation. Washing his hands, in obedience 
 to religious precept, he sat down to his meagre supper.
 
 The Shlemiel. 3 
 
 His brow contracted, as a vague recollection of former 
 plenty crossed his mind. Mechanically he broke a 
 piece of bread, and, dipping it into the salt, said a short 
 Hebrew prayer, according to the time-honored custom. 
 His wife peeled a potato and laid it upon his plate ; but 
 he could not eat it; it seemed to choke him. 
 
 " Don't take it so to heart, Isaac," said his wife, try- 
 ing to inspire hope with a smile. " Have you been at 
 the office of the Relief Society ? " 
 
 "Yes; they sent me to a place on Water Street, 
 where a reliable man was wanted." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " When I got there the place was taken." 
 
 " Perhaps they know of another." 
 
 " They know of nothing else. When I told them of 
 my great need, they offered me a couple of dollars. 
 My God ! have I been reduced to the necessity of tak- 
 ing alms I, who have been so lavish in giving to 
 others?" 
 
 Tears of mortification started to the unhappy man's 
 eyes. 
 
 "Decidedly, Isaac," said the woman, between jest 
 and earnest, " you are a Shlemiel." 
 
 " Yes, papa is a Shlemiel," echoed little Joe, catch- 
 ing the familiar word. 
 
 Isaac looked at his wife with an expression of such 
 unutterable grief that she instantly felt sorry for the 
 epithet she had used ; but Joe repeated, in childish 
 glee, " Poor papa is a Shlemiel ! " 
 
 The word " Shlemiel," which has no synonym in our 
 tongue, has a variety of meanings. An individual who,
 
 4 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 through no fault of his own, is generally unfortunate 
 in his undertakings ; a person who is the innocent vic- 
 tim of a succession of mishaps ; a clown, who is clumsy, 
 ungraceful, awkward or careless ; a blunderer, who is 
 deficient in tact or address, and who, in spite of honest 
 endeavors, is doomed to be unsuccessful such a person 
 is a Shlemiel. In short, the word designates him who 
 harvests the thorns by the way, while his more fortu- 
 nate neighbor garners in the fruit'; who is constrained 
 to be content with the skimmed milk of life, while 
 another, perhaps less deserving, enjoys the cream. The 
 word becomes a term of pity, of reproach, of contempt, 
 according to the intonation of the speaker's voice, or the 
 receptive mood of the person addressed. 
 
 Often had Mrs. Schwartz applied the title " Shle- 
 miel " to her unfortunate husband in jest, and as often 
 had he replied, " Yes, I am in hard luck ; but things 
 will change. It cannot always remain so." Then the 
 term seemed but to convey a wife's sympathy, or, at 
 most, a harmless raillery. But to-day, in his fit of 
 dejection, the word had a different significance. It 
 became a humiliating reproach, a stinging rebuke, and 
 the man felt it keenly. He leaned his elbows upon the 
 table, buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a 
 child, while Joe looked up in innocent surprise, and 
 Rose, in her cradle, awoke and cried in unison. 
 
 " Isaac, dear Isaac," said his wife, remorsefully, try- 
 ing to comfort him. "I did not mean to hurt your 
 feelings. It is not your fault that you are unfortunate. 
 I know you are doing the best you can. Come, don't 
 cry, husband."
 
 The Shlemiel. 5 
 
 "Let me weep, Lena/' sobbed the man. "It has 
 been coming on all day. Tears may relieve my break- 
 ing heart." 
 
 Lena continued her supper in silence. After a while 
 he was quieter, but he could eat nothing. He sat in a 
 corner with Joe on his lap, and listened to the child's 
 merry prattle. Then, after the children had gone to 
 sleep, Isaac sat with his face buried in his hands and 
 gave himself over to gloomy reflections. He could not 
 drive that hateful word " Shlemiel " out of his head. 
 His own boy had reproached him with being a poor 
 fool. Would he always be an unfortunate wretch ? 
 Would his first-born grow up to despise him and fling 
 contempt at him ? The lines upon his forehead deep- 
 ened as he realized the wretchedness and hopelessness of 
 his position. 
 
 " Isaac," said his wife, divining his thoughts, " do 
 you not know that it is a sin to deplore our lot ? You 
 remember there is a passage in the. Talmud which de- 
 clares that, at our birth, the Lord decrees for each of us 
 whether we are to be rich or poor. There is no use 
 trying to escape God's decree." 
 
 " So it appears," said Schwartz, gloomily ; " and yet 
 I once thought that I was destined to become rich. 
 Think of the comfort in which we lived in Germany, 
 and contrast it with my present condition poor, friend- 
 less, reduced to beggary ! " 
 
 " Not friendless, Isaac. You have me and the 
 children." 
 
 Lena moved her chair close to her husband's, and 
 they sat hand in hand in the dark (for the lamp had
 
 6 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 spluttered and gone out for the want of oil), and spoke 
 of the past. " A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- 
 bering happier things," says the author of Locksley Hall, 
 and truly there is no greater misery than recalling a 
 happy past, midst the sorrows of a dismal present. 
 
 Ah, the past the joyful, happy, the sad, weary, 
 wretched past ! It was now four years since they had 
 emigrated from Bavaria. Isaac's father, old Meyer 
 
 Schwartz, was a power in his native village of D . 
 
 He was in fair circumstances, and educated as far as 
 education went in those days ; for the Jews, rich and 
 poor alike, were denied the privileges of the village 
 schools, and were limited in their instruction to the 
 teachings of their " Cheders " and the scraps of infor- 
 mation which they could impart one to the other. Old 
 Schwartz was a profound Talmud scholar, and was 
 deemed as wise as he was devout, which was no equivocal 
 compliment, for he was pious indeed. His little fortune 
 had been honestly acquired by merchandising, and his 
 house was known throughout Bavaria for its hospitality. 
 There was a large family of children, of which Isaac 
 was the oldest. It was the father's ambition to make a 
 Rabbi of his first-born, but in spite of his earnest and 
 painstaking instruction, Isaac never got beyond the gen- 
 eral outlines of the law and the Talmud. Buying and 
 selling afforded him more pleasure than poring over 
 parchments, and, after a vain effort to keep him to his 
 studies, old Sclnvartz reluctantly allowed him to follow 
 his own inclinations. Isaac was an intelligent lad, quick 
 at perception, and, like his father, very pious. He pos- 
 sessed grievous faults, however, greatest of which were
 
 The Shlemiel. 7 
 
 lack of decision and an exceedingly morbid sensibility. 
 He was a moral coward, vacillating in his views, mis- 
 trusting his own opinions, and unusually sensitive in 
 regard to adverse criticism. He would make up his 
 mind to a course of action, only to change his intentions 
 on the morrow, and in this indecision we shall find an 
 explanation of his past failures and his future mishaps. 
 
 In those days the Jews in Germany had few rights 
 and many grievances. Harsh measures were devised, 
 stringent laws enacted to drive them out of the country, 
 or at least to restrict their increase. The possession and 
 cultivation of land, the study of a profession, the follow- 
 ing of the fine arts, were all interdicted. Buying and 
 selling, borrowing and lending, were the only channels 
 in which the Israelites were allowed to exercise their 
 ingenuity, and grievous was their condition in conse- 
 quence. Worse still, a Jew was not allowed to marry 
 until some co-religionist hi the community had died or 
 had moved away. 
 
 When, therefore, Isaac fell desperately in love with 
 pretty Lena, and found his prospects of hymeneal hap- 
 piness indefinitely delayed, he conceived a violent dislike 
 to the government which could enact such unnatural 
 laws. Lena was young, however, and agreed to wait 
 until some of the superannuated relicts of the commu- 
 nity should humanely make room for them. They 
 waited, one, two, three years nobody died, and nobody 
 moved. The greatest blessing of a true love is the 
 possibility of uniting the beloved heart with our own, 
 of sharing its joys, of watching over and dispelling its 
 doubts, of bearing its sorrows and burdens. Such a
 
 8 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 love cannot be curbed by the arbitrary rulings of a big- 
 oted government. Like a dammed-up torrent, it will 
 oversweep its confines and force a path to happiness. 
 Isaac was long undecided what course to pursue. 
 Finally he could brook delay no longer. 
 
 " Lena, my beloved," he whispered one day, as they 
 walked through the shaded glen near the village, " let 
 us go to America ! There the Jew is free; there the law 
 will not step in and forbid our happiness. They say it 
 is a land flowing with milk and honey, and fortunes are 
 made in a year. Shall we go, my heart's beloved ? " 
 
 Lena thought of the scenes of her happy childhood, 
 of her sorrowing parents, to whom she would have to bid 
 farewell forever; then, wiping away her tears, she looked 
 bravely into the eyes of her betrothed and answered : 
 
 " I am ready, Isaac dear ; let us go." 
 
 So it came to pass that in spite of old Schwartz's 
 feeble remonstrances, and in spite of the short-lived ob- 
 jections of Lena's parents, Isaac and his bride packed 
 up a modest outfit, were secretly married by the Rabbi, 
 and, bidding their friends farewell, set sail for America. 
 
 A father's blessing, some well-meant advice, and a few 
 hundred thalers of the old man's hard-earned and care- 
 fully saved money, accompanied the happy couple on 
 their momentous journey. Four long years had passed 
 since then. The money was dissipated, the blessing had 
 failed to influence the wanderers' destinies, nought re- 
 mained but the recollection of the father's advice, and a 
 firm adherence to the minutest ceremonial of Judaism. 
 
 On their arrival in America, Isaac discovered that his 
 German was of little benefit to him, while his superfi-
 
 The Shlemiel. 9 
 
 cial acquaintance with the Hebrew lore was absolutely 
 useless. The few hundred thalers, however, were of 
 inestimable value. They enabled him to furnish a room 
 for his wife and to purchase a stock of merchandise, and 
 following the example of other Jewish emigrants, he 
 went peddling through the country. Alas! ill-luck 
 attended him from the very outset. The miserable ac- 
 commodations in the thinly populated regions through 
 which lay his route were not adapted to orthodox piety, 
 to a strict observance of the dietary laws imposed upon 
 the Jews by their religion. Rather than break one of 
 the multitudinous commands concerning the clean and 
 the unclean, the permitted and the forbidden in the mat- 
 ter of food, the poor wanderer, whose physique had never 
 been robust, under-nourished while he overworked his 
 body. A long and dangerous malady, and a forcible 
 detention at a hospitable farm-house, were the result, 
 while Lena, ignorant of the cause of his long absence, 
 pined away at home. A month later, Isaac, pale and 
 weak, set out upon his homeward trip. Then, as though 
 fate had not been sufficiently cruel, the unfortunate ped- 
 dler was waylaid by footpads upon the highway, and 
 unceremoniously relieved of his pack and money. A 
 sorrowful return was that of poor Isaac. His wife 
 scarcely recognized, in the haggard and miserable appa- 
 rition, her luckless husband. Misfortune pursued him 
 unrelentingly. 
 
 Four dreary years rolled by, years of poverty, of 
 unrequited struggles, and while the poor man's family 
 increased, his means, his strength and his courage 
 steadily diminished. To-day, after a wearisome search
 
 10 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 for employment to-day Isaac felt, as he had never felt 
 before, the hopeless misery of his condition. That word 
 "Shlemiel" harassed him beyond measure. It implied 
 what he had often told himself, that he was a shiftless, 
 good-for-nothing, unfortunate being, a fool, who could 
 not make a living for wife and children, a creature for 
 whom the world had nought but contempt. 
 
 Lena tried to cheer him. She whispered words of 
 encouragement and consolation. 
 
 " To-morrow will bring new hope," she said. " Per- 
 haps Mr. Blumen may know of something. At all 
 events, you must not despair. It is a sin to doubt the 
 goodness of God." 
 
 "I will try again to-morrow," was the husband's 
 tearful reply. " But it is of no use, no use ! " He 
 sighed miserably, and leaning his head upon his wife's 
 shoulder, broke into a paroxysm of tears. 
 
 The afflicted couple retired for the night, and before 
 long Isaac knew by Lena's peaceful breathing that she 
 was beyond sorrow in the blessed land of dreams. Isaac 
 could not sleep. His well-earned title, "Shlemiel," 
 kept him awake. Tears came to his eyes whenever he 
 muttered the word tears of shame at his deplorable 
 condition, tears of grief at his wasted opportunities. 
 He tried to recognize a blessing in his sufferings, but 
 failed dismally in the attempt. That some natures 
 might become fond of poverty and take it voluntarily 
 for a bride, he knew; for Jewish as well as ancient 
 history were full of such instances. Did not Diogenes 
 discard all comforts and conveniences of life, and make 
 his home in a cask ? Did not Epaminondas refuse the
 
 The Shlemiel. 11 
 
 adulation of a nation, the proffered wealth of a grateful 
 people, and voluntarily lead a life of self-denial and 
 want? And the great Rabbis in Israel their name 
 was legion did they not prefer the acquisition of learn- 
 ing to the accumulation of wealth, and lead for the 
 most part the simple life of ascetics, voluntarily espous- 
 ing poverty as the means of more surely leading a life 
 of purity? Such abnegation, such a sacrifice of bodily 
 comfort for spiritual welfare, found no sympathy in 
 Isaac's heart. His nature craved after the material. 
 The fortunes of his fellow-Israelites, many of them less 
 generously endowed with mental advantages than him- 
 self, threw his own misery into greater relief. He 
 yearned for comfort for his wife and babes. He felt 
 within himself the ability to conquer adversity if he 
 had but a chance. His ability, his talents, were not 
 appreciated. His shabby attire, out at elbows and 
 at toes, were to most people an indication of his 
 worthlessness. No one believed in him, no one 
 extended a helping hand. Hope itself was well nigh 
 extinct. 
 
 Suddenly he sat bolt upright in bed. Hope revived ! 
 An idea a monstrous, wild, silly idea had entered 
 his head. At first he rejected it; but the more he 
 reflected, the more reasonable it became. All night 
 long he debated with himself, viewing the matter in 
 every conceivable light, impartially weighing the pros 
 and cons ; and when morning dawned his mind was 
 fully made up. Away with indecision ! He would 
 carry out the plan. He would be a " Shlemiel " no 
 longer.
 
 12 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Lena, are you awake?" he cried, when at length 
 day dawned. 
 
 "Yes; what is it?" 
 
 " I have an inspiration. My fortune is made." 
 
 Lena looked at her husband somewhat skeptically. 
 
 " I am going out \Yest to California to dig for gold." 
 
 " Isaac, are you crazy ?" 
 
 " No. I have come to my senses at last. Sam John- 
 son, our neighbor, came back from California last month 
 a rich man. Since then the gold fever has been grow- 
 ing every day. Twenty men left the city last Monday 
 for the gold-fields, and while I was down town yester- 
 day I heard of another party of dissatisfied men who 
 are going out next week to try their luck. I shall 
 join them, and not come back until my fortune is 
 made. We shall be rich, Lena we shall be rich !" 
 
 Isaac hugged his wife in a transport of happiness, 
 and poured into her eager but incredulous ear all his 
 wonderful and Utopian schemes for amassing wealth. 
 Failure seemed impossible. 
 
 " And what will become of me and the children in 
 the meantime?" asked Lena, when her husband had 
 exhausted his eloquence. 
 
 Isaac's face fell. In his imaginary search for gold 
 he had not once thought of his wife and babes neglected 
 at home. His glorious illusions faded before his eyes. 
 There was no escaping fate. He would remain a 
 " Shlemiel " to the end of the chapter. 
 
 But Lena had by this time become infected with her 
 husband's enthusiasm. This was the year of 1850, 
 shortly after America had been inflamed by the won-
 
 The Shlemiel. 13 
 
 derful reports of exhaustless gold mines in California. 
 Hundreds of hardy pioneers had sought that far-off 
 El Dorado, and hundreds of others were on their way 
 to the land where, according to report, the rich, shining 
 metal cropped invitingly out of every rock. In her 
 mind's eye Lena saw her husband returning, tottering 
 under the weight of a huge sack of gold. While Isaac 
 had unfolded his wonderful ideas, the wretched room in 
 which they lay appeared to brighten and to shine re- 
 splendently under the influence of their auriferous dream. 
 
 " I will not leave you, my wife !" cried Isaac, pas- 
 sionately. " I will remain with you I" 
 
 It was now Lena's turn to plead. 
 
 " It was a great idea, a true inspiration, my dear," 
 she said. "God does not give wise counsels for us to 
 reject them. Go out West and try your luck. It will 
 be hard for me and the children, but we will bear it, 
 with God's help." 
 
 " But you would starve in the meantime." 
 
 " No ; I will make my living. Perhaps I shall go 
 over to Mrs. Franzman. She is busy in her shop all 
 day, and needs some one to do her housework. She 
 told me so yesterday. I am not afraid of work, and 
 the room which is large enough for me will also hold 
 Joe and Rose." 
 
 "And the money for the trip !" Isaac exclaimed. 
 
 Again the faces of the unfortunate couple fell. 
 
 "I had forgotten about that. It will cost quite a 
 fortune to go out West." 
 
 "Go to Rabbi Kauffman. Perhaps he can get the 
 money for you."
 
 14 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Lena, you have a great mind. Rabbi Kanffman 
 was a friend of father's, and I know he will do what 
 he can for me." 
 
 Isaac arose and made his toilet. His hands trembled 
 so with excitement that he could hardly dress, and when 
 he began to put on his phylacteries, without which no 
 pious Hebrew says his morning prayers, he got them 
 hopelessly tangled about his arm. At length they were 
 satisfactorily adjusted, and facing the east, he chanted a 
 prayer in a sing-song voice. " Lead us back to Pales- 
 tine, the promised land," was the burden of his chant ; 
 but, though he looked towards the East, his thoughts 
 were in the far, unknown West, and while his lips 
 muttered the talismanic word, "Jerusalem," his spirit 
 smilingly surveyed the golden hills of California*
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FUND. 
 
 " From the prayer of want and plaint of woe, 
 
 Oh, never, never turn away thine ear ! 
 Forlorn in this bleak wilderness below, 
 Ah, what were man, should heaven refuse to hear !" 
 
 Beatti. 
 
 As EAELY as was consistent with social etiquette (that 
 much-abused term), Isaac called on the Rabbi, Israel 
 Kauffrnan. He found that worthy gentleman at break- 
 fast with his wife and seven children, ranging in age 
 from ten years down to the baby in a high chair. 
 
 "Sholem olekem" (peace to you), cried the Rabbi, 
 hospitably, when his visitor appeared at the door. 
 " Come right in." 
 
 It was a modest room into which Isaac entered, but 
 what a delightful contrast to his own bleak apartment ! 
 Here all was cheerful, and the very wall paper, with its 
 large, old-fashioned garlands of impossible flowers, 
 breathed contentment. The furniture was old and 
 scanty, and there were no curtains at the windows, but 
 a few pictures of religious subjects, such as a fanciful 
 restoration of Solomon's Temple and a fine bust por- 
 trait of Moses, formed out of the words of Genesis, in 
 Hebrew, gave a quaint charm to the walls. A turkey 
 red cover over the dining-table brightened the place 
 
 15
 
 16 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 wonderfully, and on the sideboard stood an abundance 
 of old silver, heirlooms of the Rabbi's family, which at 
 once lifted the owner out of any suspicion of poverty 
 and gave him a certain standing in the community as a 
 man of tangible means. The Rabbi himself deserves 
 more than a passing notice. He was a tall, thin man, 
 of impressive appearance, whose hair and long beard 
 were beginning to turn gray with the bleaching influence 
 of time. There was little suggestive of the Hebrew in 
 his face ; no distinctly rabbinical lines. His nose was 
 inclined to be aquiline ; his eyes beamed with good 
 humor, and his well-shaped lips were rarely without a 
 benignant smile. In the old country Mr. Kauffman 
 had been a Rabbi in a small and uninfl uential town, and, 
 realizing the growing importance of America as a 
 refuge for persecuted Judaism, he had wisely transferred 
 his family and his allegiance to the new world. 
 
 His opinions, while inclining to orthodoxy, were 
 tolerant. He believed in deed as superior to creed, and 
 in his daily intercourse with the world endeavored to 
 hold up the Jew as a man worthy of the world's 
 respect. 
 
 His wife was an estimable, matronly little woman, 
 indefatigable in doing good, the embodiment of charity, 
 and an ardent admirer of her husband's every word 
 and action. 
 
 " Pardon, if I interrupt ! " said Schwartz, nervously, 
 speaking in German, as was his wont with his fellow 
 Israelites ; " but I wanted " 
 
 " Have you breakfasted yet ? " interrupted the Rabbi, 
 noting the other's half-starved appearance.
 
 The Fund. 17 
 
 "Yes; that is to say " 
 
 " Even if you have broken your fust, a cup of coffee 
 will not be amiss. Come and join us." 
 
 " Norah," called Mrs. Kauffman to the servant in 
 the kitchen, " bring a plate and a cup and saucer. Ben, 
 move up and bring a chair. There, Mr. Schwartz, sit 
 down, and don't be bashful." 
 
 When a plate appeared, it was generously filled with 
 edibles, and for fifteen minutes Schwartz was so con- 
 genially occupied that he forgot the immediate object 
 of his visit. 
 
 " My, don't he eat a lot!" said Ben, with a chuckle, 
 to his brother Sol. 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered his father ; and, as if to eradi- 
 cate the painful impression of the remark, he said to 
 his guest, " You seem to enjoy the cake. Let me help 
 you to another portion. My wife is an expert at bak- 
 ing. She hasn't her equaL" 
 
 " Perhaps your wife would like a piece," said Mrs. 
 Kauffman, who knew how seldom dainties found their 
 way into the Schwartz household. " Ben, get a piece 
 of paper." 
 
 And, while Ben rummaged the cupboard for an old 
 newspaper, Mrs. Kauffman cut the cake in half, and 
 supplemented the slice with a half-dozen apples from 
 the sideboard. Isaac's eyes were filled with tears of 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Thank you ! " he said. " Lena and the children 
 will enjoy it." 
 
 After the meal had ended the Rabbi conducted his 
 guest to the parlor. It was a small room, as old-fash- 
 2
 
 18 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 ioned as was the dining-room. One wall was com- 
 pletely covered with an array of old books and parch- 
 ments, black with age and assiduous handling. The 
 morning sun shone in through the daintily-hung cur- 
 tains, and the old furniture glowed with cheer. 
 
 " Sit down, Schwartz," said the Rabbi, moving a red- 
 covered easy-chair to the table for his guest, while he 
 took a seat opposite. " What can I do for you ? " 
 
 A good meal at the outset of his quest appeared to 
 Schwartz as an excellent augury, and he lost no time in 
 acquainting the Rabbi with his projects, becoming elo- 
 quent as he dwelt upon the certainty of success. 
 
 The latter said not a word, but stroked his beard 
 thoughtfully until his guest had quite finished. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of it ? " asked Isaac, with 
 some trepidation. 
 
 " Do you want my candid opinion ? Well, then, I 
 do not believe you are the man for that sort of thing." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because innumerable hardships will beset you. It 
 is a life which requires a robust constitution, steady 
 nerves and indomitable will-power, and I am afraid 
 you do not possess these attributes." 
 
 u I see you, too, consider me a Shlemiel," cried the 
 poor fellow, despondently, his eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. There is no such thing as a 
 Shlemiel. You are in momentary hard luck, but when 
 Opportunity knocks at your door, I believe she will find 
 you ready to admit her." 
 
 " Well, then, this is my opportunity ! " Schwartz 
 arose, with a feeling akin to exaltation, as he spoke.
 
 The Fund. 19 
 
 " I will be a Shlemiel no longer. I may be physically 
 weak, but I have a stout heart, and the recollection of 
 my starving wife and babies will spur me on." 
 
 " But think of the dangers and hardships." 
 
 " Slow starvation is harder." 
 
 " Suppose you find no gold ? " 
 
 " Then I am no worse off than at present. Am I 
 not reduced to beggary ? There is gold in abundance 
 out there, and I will find it." 
 
 " But the money for the trip ? " cried the Rabbi, see- 
 ing that further remonstrance was useless. 
 
 " Ah ! there's the difficulty. That is what I came 
 to see you about." 
 
 " But, my dear Schwartz, I can't afford to " 
 
 " No, of course not," interrupted Schwartz ; " but 
 you might go to the prominent Jews in town and collect 
 money enough to send me to California. I cannot ask 
 them myself; it would seem too much like begging. See, 
 Rabbi, I was once as well off as any of these men, and 
 it cuts me to the heart to ask them for money. Will 
 you do it for me ? They will never lose a penny of it. 
 It is a loan which I will repay tenfold." 
 
 "It is a thankless job, but I will try," said Mr. 
 Kauffman, reluctantly. 
 
 " Thank you ! "Will you do it at once ? The matter 
 is urgent. A party of prospectors will leave here next 
 Tuesday, and I should like to go with them." 
 
 The Rabbi promised, and Isaac in his joy kissed the 
 good man's hand. 
 
 " Don't forget the cake for your wife," he cried, good 
 humoredly, " and come this evening for your answer."
 
 20 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 After Schwartz had gone, the Rabbi put on his hat, a 
 tall, silk chimney-pot, invariably brushed against the 
 grain, without which the pastor was never seen upon his 
 errands of mercy, and hastened to Cedar Street to tempt 
 fortune in Schwartz's behalf. 
 
 Thither we will accompany him and incidentally be- 
 come acquainted with half a dozen of the most import- 
 ant members of his flock. And here the chronicler pauses 
 to impress upon the reader the fact that he will not be 
 led into palaces of gilded splendor or gardens of bril- 
 liant hue. He will not mingle with lords of lofty line- 
 age, or with bejeweled ladies of stately mien. Were my 
 characters of my own choosing, I would select the most 
 unexceptional heroes and heroines to carry out my plans, 
 endow them with every grace and virtue, and create an 
 environment so perfect that this workaday world of ours 
 would blush at its surroundings in comparison. I must 
 be satisfied, alas, to relate a simple story about simple 
 folk in a simple manner, and if the characters are coarse 
 and the details commonplace, they are none the less a 
 reflection of actualities ungilded by the glamor of an 
 exalted imagination. 
 
 My brush must be content to paint a picture 
 of unassuming people, with faults and virtues, serious 
 shortcomings and sterling qualities, people who live, 
 breathe and exercise their influence in this world, and 
 whom, though the world may misunderstand, it must 
 perforce honor for their pure and charitable lives and 
 their lofty ideals. 
 
 Do not imagine, however, that these simple folk lack 
 a noble ancestry.
 
 The Fund. 21 
 
 Many of them have a pedigree which would dim the 
 lustre of the proudest descendant of May Flower Pil- 
 grims, for it goes back to the great King David, the 
 Anointed of God. Here is a gray-bearded patriarch, 
 who, in spite of his poverty, blesses his co-religionists in 
 the synagogue every festival, and who can trace his an- 
 cestry back in an unbroken line to Aaron ; the first High 
 Priest, whose family God ordained to be priests forever 
 in the house of Israel. But he is not conceited on that 
 account, though he is a little proud of his family ties. 
 Some philosopher has wisely said that a man who boasts 
 of his ancestors, and lays his claims for consideration on 
 their deeds, is like a growing potato the best of him is 
 under ground. 
 
 The stream of Jewish immigration to this country in 
 1850 had not yet assumed the importance it acquired in 
 later years. A small number of Hebrews had settled 
 in America long before the Revolution, and were com- 
 fortably endowed with the world's goods and even prom- 
 inent in commercial affairs. 
 
 There were prosperous colonies of Sephardim (Jews 
 of Spanish descent) in nearly all of the eastern cities at 
 the beginning of the century. It was not, however, until 
 1830 that considerable numbers of German Jews, driven 
 from their native land by bigotry and intolerance, came 
 to America to seek a haven of rest and security. The 
 revolution of 1848, with its attendant excesses, drove 
 still more Jews from Germany's borders, and at the 
 time our story opens there were numerous thrifty, indus- 
 trious and intelligent Israelites in all of the principal 
 towns of the new world Israelites who, coming here
 
 22 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 for the most part poor, friendless and ignorant of the 
 language, strove pluckily onward until they became 
 leaders in the world of commerce and of finance, a bless- 
 ing to the land of their adoption. 
 
 The town of B numbered about eight hundred 
 
 Jews at this period. Of these perhaps a fourth were 
 Sephardim, who viewed with disfavor the advent of 
 BO many uncultured and barbaric Ashkanazim. Proud 
 of their aristocratic descent from the martyrs of the 
 Spanish Inquisition, these Sephardim held aloof from the 
 unpcdigrced newcomers, who differed from them in 
 many ways. They scarcely admitted that these German 
 emigrants were Jews, for did not their ritual, their be- 
 liefs, yea, their very pronunciation of the Holy Tongue, 
 differ from their own? 
 
 But the newcomers, undaunted by the frigid recep- 
 tion on the part of their co-religionists, pushed manfully 
 to the front. They grew in numbers, in culture, in 
 power, and before long compelled the Sephardim to 
 admit that " All Israel is one family." 
 
 Cedar and Pearl Streets were the principal thorough- 
 fares in which the German Jews of B had settled. 
 
 Cedar Street ran parallel with the river and was the 
 commercial artery of the town. It was the street of 
 shops, one adjoining the other, as though to accentuate 
 the ties that bound these wanderers together. Above 
 many of the stores lived the proprietors with their fami- 
 lies, and from early morning until late at night the traffic 
 surged uninterruptedly. Enterprising fathers stood 
 before their merchandise-littered doors and persuaded 
 the wary passers-by to enter. Stout mothers, energetic
 
 The Fund. 23 
 
 sons and buxom daughters stood on the inside and 
 temptingly displayed such wares as in their opinion 
 would interest the prospective customer. When the 
 business outgrew its narrow quarters, the entire house 
 was converted into an " Emporium of Fashion." Com- 
 petent clerks succeeded to wife and children, and the 
 family, rising in the social scale as it rose in affluence, 
 moved into Pearl Street, where more commodious dwell- 
 ings housed them. 
 
 There were half a dozen minor streets in which 
 Israelites dwelt, but to be in business on Cedar Street 
 and to reside on Pearl Street was in itself a title to dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 The indigent Jews, of whom, like our poor Isaac 
 Schwartz, there were a dozen or more families, lived with 
 their equally poor Christian brethren several blocks far- 
 ther south, on Oak' Street. Here bare and dismal quar- 
 ters, in tottering and insalubrious buildings, could be 
 rented for a trifle, and here poverty stalked by day and 
 misery watched by night, and joy was a stranger to the 
 inhabitants. On Charlotte Street, around the corner 
 from Pearl, stood the Ashkanazim Synagogue, an un- 
 pretentious structure, formerly used as a warehouse, but 
 remodeled by the aid of a stucco front and painted win- 
 dows into a very respectable-looking house of worship. 
 Rabbi Kauffman lived in a dwelling immediately ad- 
 joining. He was the spiritual adviser of the German 
 colony, and while not a man of profound erudition or 
 special eloquence, he was beloved and revered by his 
 congregation. 
 
 The Sephardim, or, as they preferred to call them-
 
 24 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 selves, the "Portuguese Jews," had their own syna- 
 gogue in a more aristocratic section of the town. 
 
 In spite of the early hour, the streets were teeming 
 with people, for it was market day, and the surrounding 
 country had sent its quota of traffic. As the Rabbi 
 passed along the street he was greeted by salutations 
 from every door, for every man, woman and child knew 
 and loved the old gentleman. He declined all over- 
 tures to come in and talk until he reached the store 
 of Chaim Rosenheira, and there he entered. 
 
 As Parnass (president) of the congregation and a 
 prominent merchant, Mr. Rosenheim was a man of 
 great importance in the community. The first charac- 
 teristic which struck one in the gentleman's face was its 
 air of good humor ajad contentment. A stout, globe- 
 like head, surmounting a stouter body, the whole sup- 
 ported by short and sturdy legs ; such was his person- 
 ality. His nose was perhaps the jolliest feature of his 
 face, and peeped merrily from between two twinkling 
 blue eyes, whose utility was reinforced by a pair of 
 heavy-rimmed gold spectacles. His hair was gray, 
 almost white, and his face was innocent of beard, except 
 for an inch of white whisker on each ruddy cheek. His 
 position as president and his standing as a well-to-do 
 clothing dealer gave him a certain sense of dignity, 
 wjiich he endeavored to display in his attitude and 
 bearing. From an educational standpoint he was sadly 
 deficient. He had not drunk deep at the Pierian spring. 
 His English, while fairly accurate grammatically, was 
 by no means perfect ; but of this he remained in bliss- 
 ful ignorance. He had never succeeded in adapting his
 
 The Fund. 25 
 
 Teutonic tongue to the pronunciation of the " th," which 
 he usually pronounced hard, and his " w " partook of 
 the nature of " v." His important utterances usually 
 began with " I tell you vot it is," and most arguments 
 were clinched by a quotation, more or less accurate, 
 from the Talmud. 
 
 He was a whole-souled, energetic, charitable man, 
 who by sheer force of will power had risen from pov- 
 erty to affluence, from obscurity to influence. 
 
 Mr. Rosenheim was waiting on a customer, a wea- 
 zened little Irish woman, holding an overgrown boy of 
 twelve by the hand. 
 
 " Dis is a boutiful suit, madam," he said, surveying 
 it fondly, " and yust de fit." 
 
 " Phat's the price of it?" 
 
 " It ought to bring ten dollars, but you can have it 
 for six." 
 
 "Do yez t'iuk Oi'm a millionaire?" exclaimed the 
 lady, indignantly. "Show me a suit for about foor 
 dollars." 
 
 Mr. Rosenheim was sorely pressed to find a suit at 
 this price. He rummaged through innumerable shelves, 
 until he finally discovered a combination of coat, pants 
 and vest, which had long reposed, unwept, unhon- 
 ored and unsung, in a corner. It was a cheap suit, 
 printed in an ugly mixture of green, yellow and black, 
 faded in streaks, and its garishness toned down by a 
 generous sprinkling of dust. Time was when this suit 
 would have commanded at least eight dollars; but, 
 having outlived its pristine glory, Mr. Rosenheim re- 
 luctantly resigned himself to selling it as a bargain.
 
 26 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Here is someding dot vill please you," he said, 
 trying the coat on the boy. The sleeves were a little 
 short, but that could be remedied. 
 
 "Oi loike the color av thot," said the lady, in whom 
 the green awakened patriotic sentiments; "but Oi'm 
 afeard th' moths '11 get inter th' goods." 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am !" responded Rosenheim, with an 
 emphatic gesture of negation. " If any moths get in 
 dot suit, dey starve to death !" 
 
 11 Is thot so ?" asked the lady, but half convinced. 
 
 " It's true, ma'am. Besides, dot green color is Paris 
 green, and is warranted to kill any moths vot ain't 
 already starved. If you find any moths, yust bring 
 back dot suit and get your money again." 
 
 " How mooch did you say ?" 
 
 " Four dollars, ma'am," responded Rosenheim, rub- 
 bing his hands in -expectation. 
 
 " Oi'll give yez foor an' a half, an' not a cint more," 
 replied the lady, with an assumption of stern inflexi- 
 bility. 
 
 "Vy, I only asked you four dollars, ma'am," said 
 the merchant, so surprised that for a moment he lost 
 sight of his advantage. 
 
 " Aw ! was it foor dollars yez said ? Will thin Oi'll 
 give yez t'ree an' a half, an' thot's th' best." 
 
 But Rosenheim was obdurate and won the day. The 
 lady slowly produced four dollars, which he hastily put 
 into the money-drawer, as though fearing a reconsidera- 
 tion of the transaction ; and while Izzy, his son, a 
 promising young man of nineteen, wrapped up the 
 bundle, Rosenheim turned to the amused Rabbi.
 
 The Fund. 27 
 
 " How are you ?" he asked, shaking his visitor's hand 
 vigorously. 
 
 " Well, thank you," answered the Eabbi. " It must 
 tax your ingenuity considerably to sell clothing." 
 
 " Oh, I should t'ink so !" cried the merchant, sitting 
 on a counter and waving the Rabbi to a stool. " You 
 t'ink maybe you have trouble in writing dose sermons 
 you make on a ' Shabbos,' eh ? Yell, I tell you vot it is : 
 it takes more ingenooidy to sell a suit of clothes den it 
 does to write a speech. And den it takes twice de 
 trouble to collect de money after you trust out de 
 goods." 
 
 " I thought you didn't trust," said the Rabbi, point- 
 ing to several large signs adorning the walls, which 
 bore such legends as " Old Trust is dead ; poor pay 
 killed him," " We trust in God and sell for cash," etc. 
 
 "Dot's all talk. If I didn't trust, Jake Bergthal 
 vould do all de business. Vot does de Talmud say ? 
 Hay&m Katzer dober. Veil, vot's de difference vot de 
 Talmud says? It means, 'Time is money.' Dot is de 
 reason so many people buy on time, I suppose." 
 
 Mr. Rosenheim's knowledge of the Talmud was 
 fragmentary, yet he constantly quoted such scraps as 
 occurred to his memory, usually getting as far as the 
 first two or three words, and then continuing in a 
 damaged vernacular. He handed the Rabbi a cigar 
 and lit one himself. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Kauffman," he said, at length, " vot can 
 I do for you ?" 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Kauffman explained his errand, while 
 the merchant listened incredulously.
 
 28 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Vot!" he cried, at length; "Schwartz go to Cali- 
 fornia to find gold ? Dot's a good joke ! Some men 
 are not satisfied to stay at de foot of de ladder, but dey 
 want to go down still lower." 
 
 " Poor Schwartz is so badly off that he can't get any 
 lower," said the Rabbi, in a tone of genuine commisera- 
 tion. 
 
 " He is ' Meshugga ' ( crazy). Vot does he know 
 about California ? Vy, it dakes a gold mine to get out 
 dere. It must be nearly a thousand miles. I tell you 
 vot it is : de fool-killer is getting so far behind in his 
 vork dot he vill have to vork on 'Shabbos' to catch 
 up." 
 
 " I thought as you did at first," replied the Rabbi ; 
 " but unless we do this for Schwartz, he and his family 
 are apt to become a charge on the congregation. He 
 may come back a rich man." And the Rabbi, who was 
 now thoroughly imbued with the practicability of the 
 plan, continued to argue until Rosenheim finally ad- 
 mitted : 
 
 "Dere is nodding more uncertain den a doubtful 
 t'ing, und maybe it is a good idea, after all." 
 
 " And how much will you give ? Only as a loan, 
 you know." 
 
 " How mooch vill it take ? " 
 
 " It may take a hundred dollars," said the Rabbi, 
 whose own ideas on the subject were indefinite. 
 
 " Veil, put me down for one of de noughts," and 
 Rosenheim laughed at his own sense of humor. 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked the Rabbi, disappointed. 
 
 " No ; put a one in front of it. Here are ten dollars
 
 The Fund. 29 
 
 never mind de t'anks ! Come around to see us soon. 
 My wife was complaining of your lack of sociability." 
 
 And he bowed the Rabbi out. 
 
 Mr. Kauffman next called on Mr. Solomon Basch, 
 who kept a dry goods and notion store, three doors far- 
 ther down the street. In spite of the chilly atmosphere, 
 Mr. Basch stood on the pavement in his shirt-sleeves, 
 alert to grasp a chance customer. He deferentially 
 escorted the Rabbi in-doors. Mrs. Basch was sitting 
 within the shop, knitting a wool bed-cover of aggressively 
 inharmonious colors. She was a little, wrinkled, sallow- 
 faced woman, with a nose that might have hailed from 
 the Emerald Isle instead of a Bavarian Ghetto, and a 
 smile that displayed an elaborate set of sparkling teeth, 
 at a time when such teeth were a comparative luxury and 
 rather expensive. She wore a coal-black, highly-polished 
 " shekel," or wig, which, with orthodox Jewesses, is a 
 badge of wifely loyalty and virtuous fealty to matri- 
 monial ties. She was an energetic little woman, with a 
 quick temper, a wonderful talent for business, and a 
 mania for knitting. Stockings, quilts, cushions, covers, 
 jackets, and a host of equally useful articles, of all 
 shades and combinations of hues, grew under her tire- 
 less fingers and found a ready sale ; for, at that epoch, 
 machine-made commodities had not as yet demoralized 
 the tastes and demands of discriminating customers. 
 
 Her husband was a tall, thin, angular individual, 
 with a physiognomy whose typical features more than 
 compensated Judaism for the apostacy of his wife's 
 countenance. He lacked his wife's ability, and looked 
 up to her spiritually, even while his superior height
 
 30 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 enabled him to look down upon her physically. He 
 stood very much in awe of his wife's tongue, and she 
 made no secret of her contempt for his lack of energy. 
 
 " Good day, Rabbi," said Mrs. Basch, in German ; 
 for, in spite of their five years' sojourn in America, 
 neither husband nor wife spoke English. " What's the 
 news ? " 
 
 " Very little news, Mrs. Basch," replied the Rabbi, 
 taking a chair. " Busy, as usual, I see." 
 
 " There's always work to do. Isn't it pretty ? " 
 
 " Gorgeous ! " replied the Rabbi, truthfully. " How 
 came you to knit so many colors together ? " 
 
 " I bought the wool at an auction sale, and got it for 
 a bargain." Then, turning to her husband, she asked, 
 sharply, " What's all that noise in the basement, Solo- 
 mon?" 
 
 " Mrs. Schneefelder's boys are playing hide-and-seek 
 in a lot of packing boxes," replied Solomon, scenting 
 trouble. 
 
 " Who told them they might ? Did you ? " 
 
 " Well er they asked me whether Reuben and Abe 
 were down stairs, and I told them to go and see." 
 
 " You fool ! We haven't noise enough of our own, 
 eh ? I just sent Reuben and Abe over to Schnee- 
 felder's, in order to get rid of them. Go down and 
 tell those boys to go home at once ; and if they won't 
 go, put them out," 
 
 Solomon meekly did as he was requested. There 
 was a sound of a scuffle in the cellar, and soon two 
 begrimed urchins were led up the cellar stairs by Mr. 
 Basch, who held persistently to an ear of each, and
 
 The Fund. 31 
 
 were unceremoniously ejected into the street, where they 
 vented their indignant anger in howls and jeers. 
 
 " Of course their mother will come along directly 
 and make a fuss/' said Mrs. Basch, addressing her 
 guest ; " but what do I care ! I have children enough 
 of my own, without having the whole neighborhood in 
 my cellar. Am I not right ? " 
 
 The peace-loving Rabbi admitted that she probably 
 was, and, without much circumlocution, stated his 
 errand. 
 
 " Now," he said, in conclusion, " Mr. Basch, how 
 much will you contribute toward sending Schwartz to 
 California?" 
 
 It was merely a delicate compliment on the Rabbi's 
 part to appeal to the husband. Basch was so surprised 
 in being considered in a matter requiring judgment, that 
 he stood dumbfounded for an instant ; then he meekly 
 said, " Ask my wife." 
 
 " Not a cent ! " cried Mrs. Basch, in indignation. 
 " Let the ' Shnorrer ' go to work." 
 
 " Pardon me ; it is to avoid becoming a ' Shnorrer ' 
 that Schwartz wished to undertake this difficult trip. 
 After all, we are all ' Shnorrers/ inasmuch as we are 
 all dependent on the bounty of the Most High, and it 
 is our duty to help those less fortunate than ourselves." 
 
 " Well, well, perhaps you are right ; but what can 
 such a fellow do in California? Find gold, indeed !" 
 
 " Gold don't always bring happiness," said Basch, 
 meekly glancing at his wife. 
 
 " No ; but it has one advantage over poverty. It 
 doesn't prevent happiness," replied the Rabbi. "Come,
 
 32 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 contribute something. When Schwartz comes back a 
 rich man, you will be happy to know you helped him 
 to success. Perhaps some day you will be glad to have 
 his son lead your daughter under the * chuppa ' (wed- 
 ding canopy)." 
 
 Mrs. Basch found numerous objections, but finally 
 relented, and, going to the cash-drawer behind the 
 counter, brought out a dollar in small specie, which she 
 counted slowly and effectively into the Rabbi's hand. 
 
 " May God requite your kindness, and may Schwartz 
 some day be in a position to repay it," said the minis- 
 ter, putting the money into his pocket. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Schneefelder walked into the 
 store. She carried a wicker basket, and was on her 
 way to do her marketing. She, too, wore a " sheitel " 
 of dark brown, beneath which a few straggling gray 
 locks peeped. Her English, like that of Mrs. Basch's, 
 was too elementary for use, and the ladies conversed in 
 German, picturesquely interlarded with Hebrew words. 
 
 " I hope you ain't l broges ' (angry)," said Mrs. 
 Basch, who thought she detected a scowl of ire on her 
 friend's face. 
 
 " Why should I be ' broges ' ? " replied the other, 
 unsuspectingly. 
 
 " Because I just threw your two sons out of my 
 house." 
 
 " Well, that's all right. I just threw your Reuben 
 and Abe out of my back-yard. They were making 
 * shtuss ' (nonsense) with the cat, and I couldn't stand 
 the noise any longer." 
 
 " Well, then we are even," replied Mrs. Basch, with
 
 The Fund. 33 
 
 suppressed resentment, evidently not at all pleased at 
 the summary treatment accorded her own offspring. 
 
 " Your Abe is a very bad boy," said Mrs. Schneefel- 
 der, with the air of positive conviction on so important 
 a subject. 
 
 " He ain't a bit worse than your Ikey," retorted Mrs. 
 Basch, with a tug at her " sheitel," a gesture which usu- 
 ally betokened an incipient storm. 
 
 Here the Rabbi, fearing to be the witness of a verbal 
 duel, waged in defence of the respective merits of the 
 children, took his hat and his leave. 
 
 Solomon Basch accompanied him to the street and 
 whispered, when he was safely outside, " Tell Schwartz 
 that I envy him ; I wish I could go with him." 
 
 " And leave your wife ? " asked the Rabbi, amused. 
 
 Basch nodded affirmatively, and stroked his beard 
 meditatively. 
 
 " Yes ! " he said, at length. " That woman's lips are 
 a rose, but her tongue is a thorn." 
 
 The Rabbi smiled. 
 
 " It is difficult to understand women," he said, pacifi- 
 cally. 
 
 " That's so ! Only a fool thinks he can understand 
 women, and the only way to argue with one is to go 
 away and not argue at all. Some one said that woman 
 is the weaker sex. He was an idiot. My wife can 
 strike a harder blow with her tongue than I can with 
 my fist." 
 
 Poor Basch glanced furtively in the direction of the 
 door, started to say more, but suddenly relapsed into 
 silence; while the Rabbi resumed his visits to other 
 3
 
 34 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 members of his flock. He met with varying success, 
 receiving, however, more liberal responses than refusals. 
 He spent some time in the store of Louis Ehrlich a 
 different type of merchant from those whose acquaint- 
 ance we have just made. 
 
 Ehrlich was a young man of prepossessing appearance 
 and address. He had been suspected of taking an active 
 part in the revolutionary movement in Berlin in 1848, 
 and had been given a quiet hint by the authorities that 
 his room was more desirable than his company; so he 
 emigrated to America. There his liberty-loving in- 
 stincts found a fertile field. He had brought nothing 
 with him but his willing hands, a clear head and a fair 
 amount of learning, and in less than two years found 
 himself the possessor of a thriving shop and on the road 
 to a competency. His first self-imposed task was to 
 master an English education, and for this purpose he 
 diligently frequented night-school and associated with 
 cultured Americans. In appearance Ehrlich was a 
 broad-chested, muscular fellow of twenty-eight, nearly 
 six feet in height, with the erect dignity and bearing of 
 a soldier. His brown hair, reddish moustache, blue eyes, 
 straight nose and small features conspired to make him 
 totally unlike the typical Hebrews of Cedar Street. He 
 was by no means an Antinous, but when he smiled he 
 displayed the beauty which belongs to an honest, good- 
 humored, intelligent face. He dressed neatly, was gen- 
 erous, yet thrifty, and was thoroughly imbued with the 
 necessity of progress in all things scientific, educational 
 and religious. He was a representative of a class of 
 Jews of whom thousands came to this country at that
 
 The Fund. 35 
 
 epoch, and whose names have since become synonymous 
 with honesty, integrity and thrift. He and the Rabbi 
 were staunch friends, each appreciating the good qualities 
 of the other. 
 
 " I have taken the liberty to mention your name as 
 a new board member of the synagogue," said Mr. 
 Kauifman, after the first salutation had passed. "I 
 hope you will not refuse the honor." 
 
 " No; I shall be glad to serve, not as an honor, but as 
 a duty. I have no idea, however, that I shall be elected. 
 Rosenheim, Blum en, and the rest of the board are too 
 well acquainted with my radical views. I'm afraid the 
 innovations I would propose in the general conduct of 
 the synagogue affairs would shock their sense of the 
 eternal fitness of things." 
 
 " On account of that very fact, I shall do my utmost 
 to have you elected. Israel is fast becoming a valley of 
 dry bones, and it requires a new prophet to clothe these 
 bones with tissue and revive them." 
 
 " I admit the necessity," said Ehrlich. " My father 
 was a pupil of Moses Mendelssohn, and I have been a 
 personal friend of Geiger and Einhorn, so that it is not 
 strange that some reform ideas should cling to me. I yearn 
 for the time when the excrescences clinging to Israel's 
 faith shall have been ,, stripped away, and I believe 
 America is the field in which Judaism will be rejuvenated." 
 
 " Be careful, my friend. Don't go to extremes. I 
 myself believe many reforms are possible, nay desirable ; 
 but in cutting away dead flesh one is apt to cut into the 
 living tissue and leave a wound through which the 
 patient bleeds to death."
 
 36 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Never fear," replied Ehrlich. " I shall not go too 
 far. Let me but get on the board, and I shall gradually 
 try to pave the way to a clearer understanding of Israel's 
 ideals." 
 
 " And what changes would you suggest ? " asked the 
 pastor. 
 
 " I would first purge the ritual of obsolete and anti- 
 quated prayers that have outgrown their usefulness. 
 Why should a man storm the doors of heaven for a 
 speedy return to Jerusalem, when he is happy and pros- 
 perous in America ? It is unpatriotic. I would next 
 introduce a number of prayers in German or English, 
 so that the younger generation, whose knowledge of 
 Hebrew is limited, may pray knowingly." 
 
 " So far I agree with you," said the Rabbi. 
 
 " I would make the services attractive to the old and 
 young by introducing an organ and choral music." 
 
 The Rabbi held up his hands in horror. 
 
 " I would then," continued the young man, " make 
 the worshipers more comfortable by removing their hats, 
 the men more contented by allowing them to sit next to 
 their wives and sweethearts." 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " cried the Rabbi, with a mixed senti- 
 ment of amusement and alarm. " Do you want to do 
 away with everything that is sacred ? " 
 
 Ehrlich laughed. "Did I frighten you?" he said. 
 "Only wait; these things will come quickly. The 
 synagogue wants new blood and new ideas. Yes, count 
 on me as a board member ! " And he added, with a 
 smile, " If I am elected." 
 
 The Rabbi started to leave.
 
 The Fund. 37 
 
 " Oh, by the way," said the Rabbi, " I had quite for- 
 gotten the object of my visit." And he proceeded to 
 relate the story of his protege". 
 
 Ehrlich listened, amused. " Schwartz has the proper 
 spirit. Rather be a mine-owner in the West than a 
 pauper in the East. I admire the man's pluck. Here 
 is my contribution towards the voyage," he said, hand- 
 ing the Rabbi a generous sum. " May he spread the 
 name of Israel through the Occident and prosper." 
 
 " "With such men as Ehrlich in the fold, the name of 
 Israel will never be degraded," said the Rabbi, when he 
 again found himself on the sidewalk. " I hope he will 
 succeed in imbuing the pillars of my congregation with 
 his views and his enthusiasm." 
 
 Not far away was Jacob Bergthal's clothing store. 
 This was but half the size of Rosenheim's, but in the 
 opinion of its proprietor was greater in every respect. 
 The sign read, " Bergthal's Mammoth Clothing Empo- 
 rium," and the printed business cards declared it to be 
 the largest clothing house in America. This was but 
 Oriental hyperbole; nevertheless, Bergthal endeavored 
 to live up to his boast by outdoing his rival, Rosen- 
 heim, whenever possible. Even in the matter of lan- 
 guage his errors were conspicuously greater than those 
 of his competitor. When Bergthal spoke English, the 
 ground was fairly strewn with disjointed parts of 
 speech. He was an undersized, wiry little man, with 
 prematurely gray hair, a closely-cropped beard, a high, 
 strident voice and a quick, nervous manner. He was 
 always carefully, even dandily dressed, and disproved 
 by his appearance the prevalent belief that clothiers
 
 38 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 need necessarily wear poor clothes. He and Rosen- 
 heim were not on speaking terms. Time was when 
 they were fast friends, but even Damon and Pythias 
 would have fallen out had they been competitors in 
 the clothing business. Rosenheim, with his generous 
 nature and with the magnanimity of the greater man, 
 harbored no ill will ; but Bergthal, excitable and sus- 
 picious, saw in every act of his rival a personal affront, 
 and resented it accordingly. 
 
 As Rabbi Kauffman entered, after carefully stepping 
 over a sleeping dog that lay on the threshold, he found 
 Bergthal in the heat of an argument with a customer 
 a negative customer one who had brought back an 
 unsatisfactory garment. He was a chocolate-colored 
 gentleman, of frayed appearance, and was very delib- 
 erate in his speech. 
 
 " Yas, sah," he cried, "jis' as I don' tole you I don' 
 bought dis yer triangle suit hyar las' Chusday, an' when 
 I got it hum, my wife, she sez, sez she, ' I 'clar' to gra- 
 cious dis yer suit am full of moths !' Now look a-hyar, 
 boss, I don' want no moths in my close nohow." 
 
 Bergthal put a jaunty pair of eye-glasses on his nose 
 and inspected the suit perfunctorily. 
 
 Finally he cried, in his high-pitched accents : 
 
 " Mine frient, you didn't bot dot suit here." 
 
 "Yas, I did, sho 'nuf, boss. I bot it right hyar las' 
 Chusday." 
 
 " Un' you say it is full of moths ?" 
 
 "Yas, sah dey's several holes in it." 
 
 " Mine frient, you didn't bot dot suit from me ; you 
 bot it from Mr. Rosenheim, down der street. He keeps
 
 The Fund. 39 
 
 his moths in his diagonal suits ; I keep mine always in 
 my corduroy pantaloons. Everypody knows his own 
 bissness best, don'd it ?" 
 
 "Yas, sah, I s'pose dey does." 
 
 " How much you pay for dem close ?" 
 
 " Eight dollars and t'ree levies, boss." 
 
 " Veil, dot vas cheap enough. Vot vas you kicking 
 aboud, anyvay? Rosenheim didn't charge you nod- 
 ding for der moths. Go home once and your shtars 
 t'ank id didn't cost you ten dollars." And hurriedly 
 wrapping up the suit, he bowed the astonished customer 
 out. 
 
 " How are you, Mr. Kauffman ?" said Bergthal, when 
 the coast was clear. 
 
 "Very well, thank you. How's business?" 
 
 "Bissness? I'll tell you. If bissness vasn't any 
 better next veek as it vill be last veek, I vas ' me- 
 chulla ' (bankrupt). Daf s vat I hope." 
 
 This enigmatic reply rather amused the Rabbi, who 
 broke into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "Is it as bad as that? Why, I was just in at 
 Rosenheim's, and he assured me that he was rushed 
 with trade, and was doing the biggest business in the 
 city." 
 
 "Rosenheim tole you dot, hey? He tole you a lie. 
 I done twice so much bissness as Rosenheim last month, 
 und I can prove it. Rosenheim is a * shauta ' (fool). 
 He has a swelled head. You can tole him I said so. 
 Vat can I do for you, Mr. Kauffman ?" 
 
 " I came for money," said the Rabbi. 
 
 " Sh ! Not so sudden. Bad news like dot is like an
 
 40 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 egg vot's soft-boiled. It must be broke gentle. Vot's 
 der trouble now ?" 
 
 Mr. Kauffman told of Schwartz's plans. 
 
 " I'll gif nod a cent !" said Bergthal, before the other 
 had quite finished explaining. 
 
 " That's what Mr. Eosenheim said ; but he finally 
 gave me quite a contribution." 
 
 " Is dot so ?" said Bergthal, thoughtfully. " Rosen- 
 heim vas alvays a bluffer. How much he gave ?" 
 
 " Ten dollars." 
 
 Bergthal winced ; but he was not to be outdone by 
 his hated rival. 
 
 " Mr. Kauffman," he said, pulling a plethoric wallet 
 from the inside pocket of his coat, " here is ten dollars 
 und a heluf. Please put my name down on der list 
 before Rosenheim's. Bergthal's Mammoth Clothing 
 Emporium don't vas going to shtand behind dot miser- 
 able establishment down der street. No, sir-ee !" 
 
 " The Lord loves a cheerful giver," said the Rabbi. 
 
 "Yell, I guess I vas so cheerful aboud it as Rosen- 
 heim. My, dot man vas so mean dot he vould sold a 
 pair of stockings for a cardigan jacket, if peebles vould 
 be so foolish as to pelieve him ! Must you go alretty ? 
 Veil, good-by, Rabbi ! Coom soon again, ven you don'd 
 vant noddings." 
 
 Left alone, Bergthal rubbed his hands in glee to 
 think how he had outdone his rival. At heart he was 
 a generous man, and had often pitied Schwartz's con- 
 trary luck. Suddenly he had an inspiration. Bare- 
 headed and excited, he ran into the street and called the 
 Rabbi back.
 
 The Fund. 41 
 
 "Mr. Kauffman," tie said, "has Schwartz a decend 
 suit of cloding got alretty to travel in ?" 
 
 " I think not," the other said. " When I saw him 
 this morning he looked rather seedy." 
 
 "Aha!" Bergthal stood for a moment, as it were, 
 'twixt love and duty, swayed by the contending spirits 
 of parsimony and charity. Then he said : " Just tell 
 Schwartz around here to come und get a suit of cloding. 
 I got a suit, just a little faded, vot I gif him for a 
 bresend. Mit dot suit he vill have 'massel and 
 broche' (luck and blessing) in der Vest. I don'd 
 allow dot rascal Rosenheim to got ahead of me alretty 
 aind it ? No, sir-ee !" 
 
 And, with sundry nods and smiles of satisfaction at 
 having a second time outwitted his competitor, he re- 
 entered the store. 
 
 When Schwartz called at the Kauffman dwelling that 
 evening, he was put in possession of a sum sufficient to 
 take him, if not to California, at least to a point in the 
 West from which he would have little difficulty in 
 working his way to the desired El Dorado. 
 
 The day for departure came. Lena and the children 
 found a cordial welcome at Mrs. Franzman's. Arrayed 
 in Bergthal's shop-worn suit, his money securely strapped 
 in a belt around his waist, and accompanied by Messrs. 
 Kauffman, Rosenheim, Ehrlich, Bergthal, Blumen and 
 other prominent Israelites to -the limits of the town, 
 Isaac Schwartz departed, with a dozen other venture- 
 some men, to the wild and unknown West.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CRIME. 
 
 "O, cursed lust of gold ! when for thy sake 
 The fool throws up his interest in both worlds ; 
 First starved in this, then damned in that to come." Blair. 
 
 LIFE in the gold diggings was not exactly what 
 Schwartz had pictured it. His star was not yet in 
 the ascendant, and the Shlemiel remained a luckless 
 wight abroad, as he had been at home. After innumera- 
 ble privations and hardships, the little band of pioneers 
 reached St. Joseph four weeks after setting out. 
 Isaac's money was by this time exhausted, and he 
 lacked the means to continue his journey to the coast. 
 By doing sundry jobs about town, however, he endeav- 
 ored to earn enough to carry him onward. He remained 
 here for a month, at the end of which time he joined 
 another party of gold seekers, bound for the far-off El 
 Dorado. It was after reaching the gold fields that the 
 real hardships began, and the next few months of our 
 friend's life were the unhappiest he had ever known. 
 His physical debility, his extreme sensitiveness, his 
 obtrusive piety, his Jewish characteristics, united to 
 make his lot particularly miserable. He had Angli- 
 cized his name to Ike Black, but his rough and unsym- 
 pathetic companions had, early in their association, dub- 
 bed him " Sheeny Ike," and the poor fellow, too frail 
 
 42
 
 The Crime. 43 
 
 and too ingenuous to resent their pleasantries, became 
 the butt of their uncouth jokes. 
 
 His adherence to the quaint rites of his religion, 
 which he insisted on following in spite of all obstacles, 
 did much to excite their grim humor. They would 
 hurl their unseemly jests at him when he was employed 
 in his matutinal devotions ; would steal away his little 
 Hebrew prayer-book a cherished gift from his old 
 father and delighted in forcing pieces of forbidden 
 pork between his teeth. Isaac bore it meekly ; it would 
 have been folly to rebel ; but the tears of mortification 
 flooded his eyes when he was alone, and it was only the 
 thought of his wife and little ones, and the recollection 
 of the poverty which had been his share at home, that 
 fanned the faint spark of hope and courage within him. 
 
 He sought solace in hard work. There was suffi- 
 cient of that on hand. The neighborhood in which the 
 men had encamped seemed a promising one at first, and 
 they decided to make themselves as comfortable as cir- 
 cumstances permitted. Trees were cleared away, rude 
 log cabins were hastily constructed, and a road was 
 formed over the hills to the little village, six miles dis- 
 tant. All this required earnest labor, and Isaac, in 
 spite of his ailments and the difficulties which were con- 
 stantly thrown in his way, contributed his full share. 
 
 Marvelously picturesque was the spot in which these 
 rough, isolated men had settled a spot since become 
 famous through the advertisements of a trans-continental 
 railway, but then almost inaccessible to Caucasian ex- 
 plorers. It lay in a dent of the Sierras, amidst the 
 most luxuriant savagery. High up, on either hand,
 
 44 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 rose huge, conical masses of turreted and rock-bound 
 hills giant pyramids set by nature as sentinels to 
 guard the treasures concealed in the valley between. 
 Range after range stretched in perspective towards the 
 north and south, until, from sombre, weather-beaten 
 crags, they seemed to change into mounds of bluish 
 mystery. A mountain torrent roared between, shaking 
 its sides with pent-up rage, foaming with eager impa- 
 tience as it dashed on over glittering rocks, over aurifer- 
 ous sand, losing itself finally in the darkness of a 
 primeval forest of gigantic redwood trees, which 
 stretched in an unbroken wall along the west. No 
 bright patches of cultivated fields, no evidences of 
 man's dominion were there, but everywhere wild, un- 
 tamed, mysterious nature; rocks and crags, cascades 
 and torrents, river and forest, grandeur and majesty. 
 Schwartz's love for the beautiful in nature was strongly 
 developed. He detected a charm in the most ordinary 
 view or trivial phenomenon, a picture in a tree or a 
 sunset. To him the rugged scenery would have 
 brought untold delight, had it not been coupled with 
 such mental suffering, such intolerable humiliation. 
 Before many weeks this majestic spot filled him with 
 loathing and disgust. 
 
 There was one man in the gang with which Schwartz 
 had, through force of circumstances, associated himself 
 who wielded a sinister influence over him. This was 
 Dick Sweeny, a burly desperado. The entire company 
 stood in awe of Sweeny, who exercised his self-insti- 
 tuted authority with no gentle hand. Sweeny was a 
 coarse, red-headed fellow, of uncouth speech and brutal
 
 The Crime. 45 
 
 aspect. He had joined the party on the road from St. 
 Joseph, and, from his casual knowledge of the territory, 
 made himself useful to the little baud of pioneers. Of 
 his past nothing definite was known, except what he 
 himself would reveal during his drunken spells. Then 
 he would relate, with thrilling braggadocio, how he had 
 been under sentence for murdering a man in St. Louis ; 
 how he had broken jail, escaped from his pursuers, and 
 come out West to seek his fortune. This fellow, 
 although tyrannical, was harmless enough when sober ; 
 but when intoxicated he became a fiend, hesitating at 
 no crime, and capable of any excess. He was drunk 
 often enough to become a terror to the camp. Towards 
 Isaac his attitude was peculiar. When sober, he took 
 the poor Hebrew under his protection against the other 
 members of the party. 
 
 " If any of you dog-goned fellows hurts a hair of 
 Sheeny Ike's head, I'll shoot him quicker'n he can say 
 Jack Robinson ! " he would declare, when Isaac appealed 
 to him for help. 
 
 When intoxicated, however, his sympathies under- 
 went a mysterious change. Then he would antagonize 
 our friend as thoroughly as he had patronized him 
 before. He devised and perpetrated the most heartless 
 annoyances upon his unoffending victim. 
 
 On one occasion he came drunk into Isaac's cabin, 
 just as the latter was winding his phylacteries prepara- 
 tory to saying his prayers. Sweeny tore the phylac- 
 teries from the trembling man's hands, and, throwing 
 him to the floor, bound his arms together with the 
 leather thongs and fastened him to a post in the wall.
 
 46 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Now, Jew," he cried, in his heavy speech, " see 
 whether Jehovah will help you get loose ! " 
 
 Then he ran out into the camp and brought back a 
 half-dozen of his comrades to witness Ike's plight, and 
 to laugh and jeer at his piteous appeals for help. 
 
 It was a rough life, a rough company, a rough expe- 
 rience for Isaac ; but he bore it unflinchingly. If he 
 could only find gold ! He could not go back to Lena 
 without the wealth he had promised her. 
 
 The search for gold was very disappointing. In spite 
 of Sweeny's assertions that they were right in the midst 
 of the most prolific fields, the yellow metal failed to 
 materialize in paying quantity. They were anxious 
 days for the entire gang. At times a miner would 
 strike a rich pocket, and the excitement rose to fever 
 heat; but then weeks would elapse without another 
 find of value. There was always a small quantity of 
 gold-dust to be obtained by washing the sand from the 
 river. This, while it did not enrich anybody, and 
 scarcely repaid the labor bestowed upon it, served to 
 keep the men in the locality, and their explorations did 
 not extend far from where they had originally pitched 
 their camp. Our friend found little to console him in 
 his harsh surroundings. The hovel on Oak Street, 
 wretched though it was, bore at least the semblance of 
 a home, and was hallowed by the presence of a wife 
 and children. Here all was desolation and disappoint- 
 ment. He could not escape the conviction that he was 
 still a Shlemiel. The religious teaching, that God does 
 all things for the best, was not convincing to his impatient 
 soul. The fortitude, courage and industry he displayed
 
 The Crime. 47 
 
 had not as yet led to any tangible results. Exposed to 
 the ribald sport of the miners, deprived of the society 
 of kindred spirits, distrusting his ability, his luck, his 
 very self, his was an unfortunate experience, and often, 
 as he strolled silently along the rugged banks of the 
 swift-flowing river, vague thoughts of suicide formed in 
 his brain. 
 
 After the lapse of several months his position be- 
 came more bearable. The uncouth miners discovered 
 in the meek Jew an understanding, an intellect superior 
 to their own. His peculiarities and foreign mannerisms 
 were in a measure forgotten, and, seated around the fire 
 on a dull evening, they would listen -by the hour to his 
 stories about Germany, or hear him relate anecdotes 
 from the Talmud, a book of which not one of them 
 had ever heard before. 
 
 "Ike is not such a fool as he looks," one would 
 say, shaking his head and winking at his comrades. 
 " He knows a dern sight more than any of us." 
 
 "Them stories of his'n about the Tallmood sound 
 kinder like our stories in the Testament, with Jesus 
 left out/' said another. "What's your belief, anyhow, 
 Ike?" 
 
 Then Isaac, not sorry to vent his knowledge, ex- 
 pounded the beauties of his monotheistic belief to his 
 own satisfaction, if not to that of his hearers. 
 
 " Well, pard," cried one of the rough fellows, shaking 
 Ike by the hand, " if them 'ere are your beliefs, you 
 can't be a very bad man. No one with them senti- 
 ments could go very far wrong." 
 
 These discussions on religion, which became of fre-
 
 48 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 quent occurrence, had a perceptible influence upon the 
 miners, and while they still vented their rough humor 
 upon the Jew, they treated him with greater considera- 
 tion than before. 
 
 Often, as they whiled away the long winter evenings, 
 they spoke of their relatives at home of their mothers, 
 wives and sisters ; for each of these reckless men had 
 left a portion of his heart in the distant Orient. At 
 such times Isaac would not say a word, but the tears 
 forced themselves through his lashes, and he sent up a 
 silent prayer for the welfare of his beloved ones. On 
 one such occasion a digger went over to Ike and shook 
 him roughly out of his revery. 
 
 " Say, Sheeny Ike, ain't you got no relations in the 
 East?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; a wife and two babies." 
 
 ""Well, why the deuce don't you tell us about them?" 
 
 Isaac hesitated awhile before dragging the names of 
 his dear ones into the conversation ; but there was no 
 escape, and in his quaint way he told them the simple 
 story of his life of his sufferings, of his emigration to 
 this country to avoid persecution. He followed up this 
 narrative w r ith such an eulogy upon his wife's virtues 
 that the entire company was moved to tears. 
 
 " Gol-darn it, Ike, you've had a hard time of it, now, 
 for a fact. You deserve a better fate," was the opinion 
 of one of the listeners ; and the others echoed it. 
 
 So the Jew gradually found his way into the affec- 
 tions of his associates, and before he had been three 
 months in their society their jeers and gibes had given 
 way to something like respect, and Sheeny Ike was
 
 The Crime. 49 
 
 allowed to follow his own ideas in matters of diet and 
 religion. 
 
 Sweeny usually kept away from these evening gather- 
 ings. He preferred roaming over the hills or riding 
 over to rival camps, where he could better indulge his 
 appetite for liquor. He had no time to waste on relig- 
 ious conversations. All the spirituality he had ever 
 possessed had been imbibed from the whisky bottle. 
 Conversations about wife and children had no attraction 
 for him, either. Rumor had it that he had deserted 
 his wife, years ago, for a disreputable person, and that 
 the murder for which he had been imprisoned was indi- 
 rectly caused by this desertion. Sweeny still continued 
 a desperate character in camp. The gang stood in 
 terror of him, and, knowing his fierce vindictiveness, 
 were careful not to antagonize him unnecessarily. Ike 
 had grown accustomed to him, and, while he trembled 
 before his fierce glance, he feared him less than for- 
 merly. 
 
 Winter passed drearily enough. "With the advent of 
 spring, hope revived ; but spring ripened into summer, 
 and still the gold the ardently desired gold remained 
 undiscovered. The company divided into sections and 
 explored the country in different directions. Sweeny 
 was loud in his assertions that he could lay his hand 
 upon unlimited wealth, and his assurance had the effect 
 of keeping a number of men about him ; but his mag- 
 nificent promises were never realized. Finally, early 
 in the month of July, it was decided to abandon the 
 camp altogether and seek for the precious metal farther 
 north. 
 4
 
 50 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Look here, Ike," whispered Sweeny to him, one 
 evening; "I want to talk to you. Come out to the 
 ravine, where the fellers can't hear us." 
 
 With a secret apprehension of coming mischief, Isaac 
 accompanied his dreaded guide to the designated place. 
 
 "You needn't pack up your duds, Ike," said the 
 bully, when they were beyond ear-shot. "You're not 
 going to travel with them fellers." 
 
 "Yes, I am, Dick," returned Isaac, timidly. "I'm 
 tired of working for nothing." 
 
 " You're not going with the boys, I say ; and you 
 know me. When I say a thing I mean it." 
 
 Isaac cowered before Sweeny's threatening eyes. He 
 feared to reply. 
 
 " You're out here to get rich, ain't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just it," he replied. "We've been out 
 here for seven months, and haven't struck it yet. I'm 
 anxious to get back to my wife, and want to find some- 
 thing to take along with me." 
 
 " Egs-actly," said Sweeny, with provoking slowness ; 
 " and that's why I'm talking to you. See here ; I've 
 taken a fancy to you from the first, and want to help 
 you. Them fellers are a-goin' to a place that's worked 
 to death, while this place right here is richer than any 
 of them." 
 
 " It don't seem so to me," answered Ike, impatiently. 
 
 "It don't, eh? Well, look at this. What do you 
 say now?" 
 
 Sweeny put his hand into the pocket of his ragged, 
 mud-stained trousers, and brought out a nugget of 
 shining gold. How it glistened in the moonlight ! It
 
 The Crime. 51 
 
 dazzled Schwartz's eyes, and he took it in his hand and 
 mentally calculated its weight. 
 
 "Great heavens!" he ejaculated, scarcely crediting 
 his senses ; " that must be worth a hundred dollars." 
 
 "Yes, twice that," said Dick, carefully putting the 
 treasure back into his pocket. 
 
 " Where did you get it, Dick? " 
 
 " In a fissure, right across the creek. There's lots 
 more where that came from. I knew of it months ago, 
 but I did not want the gang to get on to it. Now listen 
 to me. Let them fellers go to the devil, if they like ! 
 They haven't got no love for me, and I haven't got 
 none for them. Me and you will stay right here, and 
 go halves in these diggin's. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " You mean that I am to remain here with you, and 
 share the gold ? " 
 
 " That's it, my boy. What a comprehension for a 
 Sheeny ! You are not particularly strong, and hard 
 work don't agree with you. Consequently we'll arrange 
 for you to stay to home, and do the cooking and such 
 work about the mansion " and he jerked his thumb 
 towards the rickety log cabin " while I work the dig- 
 gin's. You can carry out your blamed Jewish ideas 
 to your heart's content ; cook your milk and your meat 
 together, or separate, and go through all the jugglery 
 you like, to get it the way holy Moses commanded it. 
 I'll not interfere. All I want is three square meals a 
 day, while I go out and scoop in the yellow." 
 
 " And are we to share alike ? " eagerly asked Isaac, 
 whose desire for wealth began to outweigh the dislike 
 he bore Sweeny.
 
 52 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Ain't that what I said ? And did you ever know 
 Dick Sweeny to go back on his word ? At the end of 
 three months we will divide, and you can go home to 
 your wife worth half a million." 
 
 Isaac's head began to swim. His mind's eye spanned 
 the three months like a flash, and beheld the rapturous 
 reunion with wife and children. It was too good to be 
 true. Suddenly he thought of his comrades. 
 
 " Why don't you tell the gang about your find ? " he 
 asked. " There is certainly enough for all." 
 
 " Gol-darn your Hebrew soul !" cried Sweeny, alarmed 
 at the idea ; " if you open your mouth about it, I'll fill 
 you so full of holes that your wife can use you for an 
 ash-sieve ! " 
 
 And the bully flourished his revolver, as an earnest 
 of his threat. 
 
 " For God's sake, Dick, put it away ! I'll not say a 
 word." 
 
 Sweeny put his weapon back into his pocket. 
 
 " There are several reasons why I want you," he said, 
 sullenly. " I might have picked out one of the gang 
 who is strong enough to help me dig ; but I don't trust 
 none of them. After I had collected a couple of 
 thousand, they'd run off with it and leave me in the 
 hole. Now, I trust you. With all your heathenish 
 notions about the Talmutt, or whatever you call it, and 
 about your not believing in the Holy Ghost and the 
 blessed Virgin, I believe you're honest. I need some 
 one to look after me when I'm drunk, and you've got 
 more patience than all the rest of the fellers put 
 together. Now, Ike Black, we're going to be million-
 
 The Crime. 53 
 
 aires, and you ought to be proud at being elected to fill 
 the office." 
 
 Isaac's enthusiasm had somewhat subsided while 
 Sweeny spoke. He muttered something about hoping 
 that the thing would turn out well ; and while Sweeny 
 depicted, in glowing colors and ungrammatical English, 
 the brilliant prospects of untold wealth, they returned 
 to the camp. 
 
 Isaac slept little that night. He did not relish being 
 the sole companion of an irresponsible brute like 
 Sweeny. He had had enough opportunities of becom- 
 ing acquainted with his terrible anger and senseless pas- 
 sion. On the other hand, it would have been dangerous 
 for him to refuse, after becoming the custodian of the 
 man's secret. Moreover, the desire for wealth was 
 growing with him. As the days rolled by, he yearned 
 to be reunited with his Lena. Here was the long- 
 sought opportunity to achieve success. The night was 
 spent in sleepless indecision ; but when morning dawned 
 his resolution was firmly taken he would remain with 
 Dick, for better or for worse. That Sweeny meant 
 treachery; that he had other motives for keeping the 
 Jew with him, never entered Isaac's unsuspecting 
 head. 
 
 On the following day the gang separated, Sweeny and 
 Schwartz alone remaining behind. 
 
 For some time these diametrically opposite characters 
 got along very well together. Sweeny tried to keep 
 sober, and worked with a vim. When he came home at 
 night, Isaac would ask : 
 
 u Well, Dick, what luck ? "
 
 54 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 And Dick would display a little canvas bag, filled 
 with gold-dust, and occasionally a good-sized nugget. 
 
 "How's that, Ike?" 
 
 " Immense ! Our little pile is growing. We will 
 soon be rich." 
 
 " What did I tell you ? In three months we will 
 divide, and Ike Black Sheeny Ike will be a million- 
 aire." 
 
 The gold was placed in a larger sack, which was care- 
 fully hidden in a cave near the house. This was in turn 
 closed by a boulder, and the treasure was safe from pry- 
 ing intruders. Isaac's duties were not very arduous. 
 He attended to the home labors. There was a village 
 some six miles away, and to this Isaac walked daily in 
 search of provisions. When his labors in the cabin 
 were accomplished, he would go down to the gorge to 
 help Dick. Thanks to the invigorating climate, he was 
 becoming robust and quite handy with the tools, and 
 whenever he struck a nugget, however small, his joy at 
 having added to the common treasure was almost in- 
 fantile. At washing for gold, too, he was becoming an 
 expert, and, on the whole, contributed as much to the 
 common welfare as did his blustering and swearing 
 partner. 
 
 He was, as we know, of a morbidly religious nature, 
 and could now give his piety full sway. Whatever was 
 placed on his table was prepared as nearly as possible 
 according to Talmudic regulations. Meat and milk 
 were kept religiously apart. He applied his phylacter- 
 ies and said his prayers with unfailing regularity. He 
 had even nailed to the door-posts of his log cabin a
 
 The Crime. 55 
 
 little " Messussa," which he had brought from home, 
 and without which no Jewish dwelling is complete. He 
 was as orthodox in all his ceremonies as was possible 
 under the peculiar circumstances, and in the midst of a 
 wilderness, with a Gentile outcast for a companion, Isaac 
 established an orthodox household. He kept the Jew- 
 ish Sabbath, doing only the most necessary work, and 
 Sweeny, to humor his partner, forbore to labor on that 
 day, and worked on Sunday instead. In spite of the 
 anomaly of his position, therefore, Isaac was compara- 
 tively cheerful. He had the consolation of knowing 
 that he was laying in a store of wealth for his family. 
 
 This condition of affairs lasted about two months. 
 Then came a terrible reaction. Sweeny, who had, for 
 reasons best known to himself, remained tolerably sober, 
 came home one day in a state of beastly intoxication. 
 There was a wicked gleam in his gray eyes, as he stag- 
 gered into the room. 
 
 "Here, you Christ-killer!" he shouted to Isaac. 
 " Take off my boots, and be quick about it." 
 
 Isaac shook with fright. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Dick ? " he stammered. 
 " Are you sick ? " 
 
 " Sick, nothing ! Never felt better in my life. But 
 
 I'm d ' tired of doing all the hard work and having 
 
 you sit around at home and taking it easy. Do you 
 hear me ? I'm tired of it." 
 
 " Well, Dick," answered Isaac, pacifically, " it was 
 your own suggestion. I do all I can. I'm willing to 
 go out and help you with your work. Just say the 
 word."
 
 56 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Ike's meekness had an irritating effect upon the be- 
 sotted miner. 
 
 " All you're good for is to stay at home and say your 
 prayers," he cried, with an accompaniment of select oaths. 
 
 " I'm tired of your d religion. It brings me bad 
 
 luck. Here's another of your mummeries," he cried, 
 striding to the door and tearing down the " Messussa." 
 " I don't want my house hoodooed by any of your 
 blanked nonsense ! " And Sweeny threw the obnox- 
 ious thing into the fire. 
 
 Isaac, trembling in every limb, moved to the door. 
 
 " I'll be back again when you are more reasonable, 
 Dick," he said. 
 
 " Dern your soul ! " cried Sweeny, enraged at the pos- 
 sible escape of his victim, "you don't move a step with- 
 out my permission." And pulling out his revolver, he 
 sent a ball whizzing past Isaac's ear. Had he been less 
 intoxicated, the bullet would have hit the mark, and 
 Isaac's existence have come to an untimely end. 
 
 "All right, Dick," cried the poor fellow, a prey to 
 terror. " Put up your revolver. I was only in fun. 
 I'll stay with you." 
 
 " You'd better, if you know what's good for you." 
 
 For a while Sweeny sulked about the cabin, venting 
 his spleen upon the furniture and utensils, which he 
 kicked unceremoniously about the room. Then he went 
 for poor Ike again. The Jew's religion was a special 
 annoyance to this brute during his drunken moments, 
 and he became vehement in his denunciation of Christ- 
 killers in general, and of this one in particular. Isaac 
 nervously went on with his work, without replying. He
 
 The Crime. 57 
 
 feared to say a word which might prove his undoing. 
 This stoical silence angered Sweeny more and more, and 
 he fumed in uncontrollable rage. Suddenly his frenzy 
 took a different turn. 
 
 " How do I know," he muttered, " that you will not 
 rob me some night while I'm asleep, and go off with 
 the gold?" 
 
 "You know I wouldn't do it, Dick," stammered 
 Schwartz. 
 
 " I don't know anything of the kind. I don't trust 
 you. I don't trust no Jew. Dern it, if I thought you'd 
 take the gold, I'd blow daylight through you ! " 
 
 Dick made a significant move towards his hip pocket. 
 
 "Don't shoot, Dick," cried the terrified man. "I 
 wouldn't do anything dishonest." And he cowered in a 
 corner of the cabin, watching the other's every move 
 like a sparrow fascinated by a serpent. 
 
 Sweeny strode up and down the room for a while, 
 muttering to himself. 
 
 " I guess I'll secure you, anyway," he said, with an 
 oath. " It will be safer." Taking a long lariat from 
 the wall, he threw it over Ike's head, and before the 
 latter could realize what had happened, he found him- 
 self upon the floor, with the brute kneeling over him. 
 With a few turns of the rope, Sweeny tied the poor 
 fellow's arms and legs together, so that motion was 
 almost impossible. 
 
 " Now, I guess you're safe," he said ; and, bestowing a 
 parting kick upon the helpless body, he left the cabin, 
 and repaired to the village for more liquor. 
 
 Isaac listened to the retreating footsteps with fast-
 
 58 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 beating heart. By twisting and turning, he gradually 
 managed to loosen the poorly-tied bonds and rose to his 
 feet. He was considerably bruised, however, and could 
 stand only with difficulty. His first care was to burn 
 the lariat, to prevent a repetition of the outrage. Then 
 a thousand plans as to his future conduct coursed through 
 his mind. Should he remain with this fellow at the risk 
 of losing his life, or return to his wife as poor as he had 
 gone away ? Rather return home a beggar, than pur- 
 chase wealth at such a price. But, alas ! he could not go. 
 He feared Sweeny's influence, even at a distance, and 
 knew how hopeless was the prospect of flight. 
 
 Sweeny's sprees became uncomfortably frequent, but 
 Isaac usually saw the premonitory symptoms, and would 
 on such occasions make a surreptitious trip to the vil- 
 lage, and remain in seclusion until Dick had sobered up. 
 It was when he was drunk that Isaac had just cause to 
 fear him. 
 
 Whatever feelings poor Schwartz may have originally 
 harbored toward Sweeny, but one sentiment remained, 
 and that was intense hatred. There is no hatred com- 
 parable to that rooted in fear and nourished by a sense 
 of isolation and helplessness. Doomed to silence by the 
 loneliness of his position, his broodings encouraged vin- 
 dictiveness, and often vague thoughts of freeing himself 
 from his mortal enemy shot through his brain. His 
 mingled rage and hatred found vent in strange schemes 
 of vengeance, and these ideas filled him with terror at 
 himself, even while they promised him escape from 
 slavery. At times he hoped that Providence might 
 come to the rescue. What if Sweeny were found
 
 The Crime. 59 
 
 drowned in the river ? What if, on returning from the 
 village in a drunken state, he stumbled and met death 
 over a precipice. He longed ardently for some such 
 lucky accident to rid him of his curse. His brain gradu- 
 ally became so busy with this one absorbing idea, that 
 he began to fear for his own sanity. How easy it would 
 have been to kill Sweeny as he lay in a sodden stupor, 
 and not a soul would be the wiser ! Such a suggestion 
 had presented itself at times insidiously and treacher- 
 ously to Isaac's mind, but he repelled it with horror. 
 No, thank God, he was no murderer ! A Jew abhors the 
 thought of shedding blood, and Isaac could not have 
 willfully hurt a dumb brute. Side by side with the 
 phantom of Sweeny's cruelty stalked a still more 
 hideous phantom fear of himself; and he beheld them, 
 these grim spectres, with terror-stricken brain, and tried 
 to exorcise them with what little religion and philos- 
 ophy he could still command. Prayer by day and by 
 night was his most effective weapon prayer that he 
 might be relieved from his tormentor's presence, prayer 
 that he might be relieved from the danger of doing evil. 
 
 And then when his desperation hinted at a possible 
 violence to Sweeny, he would invoke the features of his 
 wife, he would endeavor to picture her horror at any 
 wickedness he might commit ; and, trembling like a leaf 
 at the very thought of incurring her scorn, he would 
 relapse into a state of quiescent suffering, and leave his 
 fate in the hands of God. 
 
 They were cruel days of fierce temptation, of titanic 
 struggle, of heroic restraint. 
 
 One night Ike heard his partner rise from his cot, and
 
 60 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 after carefully assuring himself that the Jew had his 
 eyes closed, he took a lantern and his pick and spade, 
 and left the cabin. Isaac did not. dare to move, but 
 wondering what this new manoeuvre might signify, he 
 lay quietly under the covers and listened. He could 
 hear Sweeny dig in the clump of trees near the cabin. 
 A strange thought shot through the poor fellow's mind. 
 Was Sweeny digging a grave in which to bury him? 
 He trembled with fear. There was nothing to do, how- 
 ever, but to remain quiet and await developments. 
 Sweeny worked for an hour before he returned. After 
 satisfying himself that Isaac was still asleep, he mut- 
 terred something, and, throwing himself upon his bed, 
 was soon snoring. His hapless comrade slept little that 
 night, but with all his heart wished himself at home in 
 the East. In the morning Isaac found a deep hole dug 
 near the hut, carefully hidden by twigs and earth. 
 
 During all his vicissitudes, the Jew kept a correct 
 reckoning of time. September had come, and with it 
 the Jewish New Year, which he observed religiously in 
 the seclusion of his cabin. The little Hebrew prayer 
 book was brought into requisition, and Isaac's thoughts 
 were divided between God in heaven and his beloved 
 ones at home. Then came the Day of Atonement, the 
 greatest of all Jewish holidays. This, too, would have 
 been duly observed but for a serious incident ; Sweeny 
 came home drunk, offensively drunk. 
 
 It was Yom Kippur eve. Isaac had eaten his supper 
 in solitude, for his partner had not yet put in an appear- 
 ance. The primitive tin dishes had been washed and 
 put away, the tallow candles lit, and Isaac had made
 
 The Crime. 61 
 
 peace with the world. He had adorned his shoulders 
 with a snow white praying scarf with a black border 
 and with long fringes (Tallith), one of his father's gifts. 
 With covered head and with a contrite heart, he stood 
 facing the East, engaged in earnest prayer. His eyes 
 swam at the thought of the wretchedness of his situa- 
 tion, of his complete isolation from the world. He 
 thought of his brethren, his co-religionists in their 
 various synagogues, praying to Jehovah for atonement. 
 He, too, had much to pray for, many a boon to ask 
 of his Heavenly Father, and he prayed long and fer- 
 vently. 
 
 The prayer, most earnestly offered, was one of devout 
 thankfulness that he had preserved his innocence, and, 
 in spite of temptation and provocation, had not stained 
 his hands with crime. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, and Sweeny appeared upon 
 the threshold, staggering under a load of " tanglefoot." 
 He carried his pick with him, and stood it upright 
 against the table. 
 
 "Hullo, what's this?" he shouted, in his maudlin 
 voice, as he caught sight of the Jew, picturesquely 
 arrayed in his Tallith. " A masquerade ? " 
 
 Isaac did not reply. 
 
 " Saying prayers again, eh ? Some more of your d 
 
 religion. Take that rag off. I've got enough of this 
 nonsense." Pulling the scarf from Ike's shoulders, he 
 vented his anger upon it by tearing it into strips. 
 
 " There, that will make a fine lot of bandages," he 
 cried, with a hoarse laugh. 
 
 Isaac's blood surged wildly through his veins at this
 
 62 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 new indignity, but discretion taught him to keep his 
 mouth closed. 
 
 "Now get me my supper, you confounded heaven- 
 stormer." 
 
 " I won't, Dick ! This is the Day of Atonement. I'll 
 do no work." 
 
 " You won't, eh ? Day of Atonement, is it ? I don't 
 care if it's the Day of Resurrection. I want my supper. 
 You think I ought to do all the digging and hard work, 
 while you stay at home and say your prayers. I sup- 
 pose you'll want some of my gold next." 
 
 " That's it exactly," cried Isaac, goaded to despera- 
 tion. " Dick Sweeny, our three months are up. I'm 
 tired of being your slave. I've stood it as long as I 
 could, but my patience has given out. Give me my 
 half of the gold, and let me go home to my wife." 
 
 An unexpected change came over the drunkard. His 
 eyes bleared fiendishly, and his fingers twitched as 
 though he contemplated taking Isaac by the throat. 
 
 " Give you your half of the gold," he repeated. " Ha, 
 ha ! I'll see you in hell first !" 
 
 He strode over to Isaac and seized him by the wrist. 
 
 " So you thought you were to have half the gold for 
 the little cooking you did, you groveling idiot ! I kept 
 you with me because you were too big a fool to be dan- 
 gerous. When I have no more use for you, you can go 
 to the devil, if you like. But the gold is mine. Do 
 you hear me ? If you lay your fingers on it, I'll let 
 daylight through your Jewish carcass !" 
 
 The drunken brute had given Isaac a glimpse of his 
 true purpose ; his perfidy was apparent. For a moment
 
 The Crime. 63 
 
 the poor fellow stood speechless with surprise and mor- 
 tification. His dream of wealth was at an end. For 
 months he had toiled and slaved for this tyrant, and 
 submitted to his insults, buoyed up solely by the hope 
 of becoming rich, and now he saw his hope destroyed, 
 his life irretrievably wasted. 
 
 As he gazed into the besotted face of the miner, who 
 still held him firmly by the wrist, rage and despair 
 supplanted the meekness which had so long character- 
 ized him. He was conscious of but one thought 
 namely, that he stood face to face with a mortal enemy. 
 
 " You devil !" he hissed, trying to break loose from 
 the fellow's grasp. " You false, lying, deceitful devil !" 
 
 All his passion seemed to go out in his speech. 
 Sweeny put his hand to his pistol. 
 
 " Say that again, you miserable dog, and I'll " 
 
 But he did not finish his sentence. Mad with fear 
 and rage, Isaac had seized the pick and swung it with 
 all the force of despair at Sweeny's head. The aim 
 was true, and, with a stifled curse, the miner fell to the 
 floor. A stream of blood issued from a gash in his 
 temple where the pick had struck. 
 
 Isaac gazed at the fallen man in a stupid way, with- 
 out at first realizing what he had done. His anger had 
 vented itself in that one blow, and a moment later he 
 felt remorse at his hasty and unpremeditated deed. 
 
 "Dick," he cried, sinking on his knees beside the 
 bleeding man, " I didn't mean to hurt you. Come, get 
 up, and say you'll forgive me." 
 
 Sweeny did not move, but lay stiff and inert upon the 
 ground,
 
 64 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Good God, he is dead!" shrieked Isaac, tearing 
 open his victim's shirt and feeling for his heart. " I 
 have killed him ! I am his murderer ! My God, what 
 will become of me ?" 
 
 For awhile he knelt by the side of the unconscious 
 clay, too dazed for rational thought. Then he sprang 
 to his feet, with a cry of despair. 
 
 " They will hang me for his murder !" he groaned. 
 "Oh, what have I done? I didn't mean to kill him 
 God knows I didn't mean to do that ! Lena !" he cried, 
 in despair " what will become of Lena and the chil- 
 dren if I am hung as a murderer ?" 
 
 The thought drove him to frenzy. 
 
 " I did it in self-defence," he murmured ; " but no 
 one would believe me. They daren't find me here ; I 
 shall run away before they come. But the gold ! I'll 
 take that with me ; I worked faithfully for it. I shall 
 have my pay for the time I served this man." 
 
 "With a shuddering look at the body, Isaac hurried 
 out into the dark night and went straight to the cave in 
 which the treasure had been concealed. With feverish 
 excitement he tugged at the heavy stone and pulled it 
 from its place. He put his hand into the opening.' 
 Good heavens ! the sack of gold had disappeared the 
 cave was empty! There was now no doubt left of 
 Sweeny's treachery. He had surreptitiously removed 
 the gold, for fear that Isaac might make off with it. 
 
 " Curse him curse him !" muttered Isaac, as hot 
 tears coursed down his cheeks. 
 
 Suddenly he remembered that Sweeny had dug the 
 pit behind the cabin. Perhaps he had formed a new
 
 The Crime. 65 
 
 hiding-place for the treasure. Isaac hastily retraced 
 his steps, and groped his way to the clump of trees 
 behind the house. He sought for the spot in which 
 the sack might have been concealed, but it was dark 
 and he could see nothing. He would have to go back 
 to the cabin and get a lantern. He opened the door 
 slowly, in superstitious awe, and shuddered as his eyes 
 fell upon the corpse. The blood was still trickling 
 down the stony face. It was a fearful aspect. Isaac 
 felt faint at the sight of it Instinctively he thought 
 of staunching the wound. Ha, the praying scarf ! He 
 seized one of the strips from the floor, and taking 
 Dick's head upon his lap, he bound it tightly about 
 the bleeding forehead. Sweeny was right; the Tal- 
 lith made an excellent bandage. Then he left the 
 head sink slowly to the floor, mechanically lit the 
 lantern, and slunk out in a stupor of fear and re- 
 morse. 
 
 His search was rewarded, after a few moments, by 
 finding the spot. There was a freshly-made elevation, 
 with loose earth around it. It looked like a new grave. 
 It must be here that Sweeny had buried the treasure. 
 Isaac tore at the earth with his fingers. Down, further 
 down, he burrowed with the energy of a madman. At 
 last he grasped something yielding; it was the sack. 
 He tugged at it with both hands with remarkable 
 strength until he had torn it from its concealment. He 
 opened the bag feverishly. Perhaps he was mistaken, 
 after all. No, it was the gold the treasure was safe. 
 
 " I have it !" he cried, wiping his perspiring face on 
 his sleeve. " Lena and the children will be wealthy. 
 5
 
 66 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 I'll be a Shlemiel no longer. But oh, my God, what a 
 price I have paid for it !" 
 
 He swung the sack upon his shoulder. It was un- 
 comfortably heavy, but Isaac seemed to have acquired 
 herculean strength. Now he would flee flee to a place 
 of safety to his home. He staggered down the road 
 toward the village with his precious burden. No, he 
 could not go thus. He must return to the cabin for 
 his trinkets. 
 
 Dropping his sack in the narrow road, he crept, rather 
 than walked, back to the hut. He hesitated with fear 
 before entering ; then, with an effort, opened the door. 
 
 There lay the stiffening body, with the dim light of 
 the candle casting its rays across the ghastly features. 
 It seemed as though the body had changed its position. 
 Isaac crawled along, holding to the chair, to the table, 
 to the wall for support. He could not tear his horrified 
 gaze from the corpse ; he trembled in every limb. Pull- 
 ing himself together with an effort, he went to his little 
 chest in the corner. There was not much he wanted 
 only his phylacteries and his prayer book, the compan- 
 ions of his happier days. All the rest might remain 
 with the corpse. Isaac crept back to the door. Once 
 it appeared as though the body moved slightly. Isaac 
 stood with bated breath and haggard face. It must 
 have been a delusion ; the man apparently lay still in 
 death. The walls, the furniture, the corpse seemed to 
 cry out, " Assassin ! assassin I" 
 
 Isaac could bear it no longer. Putting his relics into 
 his pocket, he went out of the cabin into the dark and 
 friendly night.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 " Where is the one who hath not had 
 Some anguish-trial, long gone by, 
 Steal, spectre-like, all dark and sad, 
 On busy thought? Cook. 
 
 MRS. FRANZMAN, widow, was sole proprietor of a 
 notions, dry goods and millinery store on Cedar Street. 
 An enterprising, thrifty little woman was Mrs. Fran/- 
 man, with an undeniable talent for business and for 
 making friends. When Mr. Franzman died, he left a 
 little shop, heavily burdened with debts. He left, more- 
 over, three small children, whose cries for bread could 
 not be stifled, and Mrs. Franzman saw herself obliged 
 to continue the business which her defunct husband had 
 started, but which had been a losing speculation from 
 the first. 
 
 With remarkable energy she had applied herself to 
 her task, and succeeded, at the end of a few years, in 
 removing every vestige of debt and of placing her 
 establishment upon a paying basis. It was now the best 
 patronized shop on the street, the rendezvous of all the 
 Jewish women in the city, and of many Christians as 
 well, who bought her bonnets because they were 
 stylish and of moderate price, and because Mrs. Franz- 
 man had the happy faculty of pleasing them in every 
 
 67
 
 C8 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 particular. One touch of the milliner's fingers makes 
 all womankind kin. The place was the neatest one 
 could imagine. The floor and the counters, the shelves 
 and the show windows, were as clean as indefatigable 
 scrubbing, scouring and painting could make them. 
 The little room behind the shop contained three pretty 
 milliner girls, all dressed in neat white aprons. They 
 were as cheerful as the gaudy bonnets which were being 
 trimmed by their nimble fingers. Mrs. Franzman was 
 a woman in a thousand, and it is a pleasure for her 
 biographer to chronicle her excellent qualities. 
 
 In appearance Mrs. Franzman was an impressive 
 woman, who had no doubt been considered handsome 
 in her youth. Her figure was still slim and graceful ; 
 her face, with its black hair and dark eyes, was some- 
 what emaciated from her ceaseless and energetic toil ; 
 but a look of ineffable kindness pervaded her features, 
 just as goodness pervaded all her acts. She and her 
 husband had migrated from Hanover ten years before. 
 They had enjoyed a good education, and had quickly 
 adopted American speech and manners. 
 
 It was at the house of this estimable lady that Lena 
 had found a home ; and such a home ! She never neg- 
 lected to thank God in her prayers for having led her 
 to so friendly a refuge. Lena proudly occupied the posi- 
 tion of cook, of nurse, of housekeeper, of companion. 
 She early evinced her worthiness of her protector's con- 
 fidence, and if she was grateful for the favors shown 
 her, Mrs. Franzman was no less thankful for having 
 secured a helper on whom she could implicitly rely, and 
 who would relieve her of the cares of her house and
 
 The Return. 69 
 
 children, while she devoted her entire time to the con- 
 stantly growing business. 
 
 The little Franzmans, the oldest of whom was a boy 
 of ten, loved Aunt Lena, as they called her, and she 
 understood perfectly the art of winning their young 
 hearts. 
 
 We will intrude upon the privacy of their happy 
 home, and visit them this quiet October evening. The 
 children had just been put to bed Davie, Ray and 
 Henry in one room, and Josie and Rose in an adjoining 
 apartment, in which stood Lena's bed. Joe had grown 
 immensely since we saw him last. His cheeks were 
 chubbier, and there was in his face an undeniable 
 resemblance to his father. Little Rose, too, had become 
 quite a lady ; she had cut all her teeth, could toddle 
 about gracefully, and could speak with astonishing dis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 " Say your prayers, Josie, dear," said his mother. 
 
 Joe folded his hands and repeated his evening prayer. 
 Its conclusion was, as it had been daily for a year, 
 " Oh, God, bring back papa soon again ! Amen." 
 
 And his mother's eyes, as usual, filled with tears as 
 her heart echoed the request. Then Lena kissed the 
 little ones, tucked them under the warm guilts, and went 
 down to Mrs. Franzrnan in the shop. 
 
 Mr. Rosenheim, who had just closed up his store and 
 was on his way home, stopped in for a moment to pass 
 the time of day. He frequently called to see how Lena 
 was getting on ; for, since his munificent contribution to 
 Schwartz's traveling fund, he considered himself in 
 some degree obligated to see after the wife's welfare.
 
 70 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " My vife expects you and Mrs. Schwartz to de house 
 Monday evening, to play klopfen (a game of cards)," 
 he said to Mrs. Franzman. 
 
 " Thank you," said that lady ; " we will be glad to 
 come." 
 
 " Yell, Mrs. Schwartz, vot do you hear from your 
 hoosband ? " he asked, with a visible eifort to cheer her 
 up. " I guess dot man has only two objects in life 
 one is to get rich, and de oder is to get richer." 
 
 " I haven't heard from him for some time," replied 
 Lena, wistfully ; " but I hope he is well and happy." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; he is happy if he finds lots of gold. I 
 tell you vot it is. Happiness is not having all you 
 vant, but in being able to get more. Yen a man has 
 so mooch money dot he don't know how to spend it all, 
 dot kind of ignorance is bliss. Yot does de Talmud 
 say ? ' Kol devorim tluim.' Yell, vot's de difference 
 vot de Talmud says ? It means, ' Dere may be some 
 t'ings dot are better dan money ; but it takes money to 
 buy dem.' Yell, I hope he vill soon come home for 
 your sake. I vill be one of de first to shake his hand 
 and say ' Massel-tof/ Good night. Cheer up ! I 
 must go home now ; my vife is vaiting. Now, be sure 
 and come on Monday evening." 
 
 And Mr. Rosenheim, with sundry nods and winks 
 indicative of good will, left the ladies to their work. 
 
 The widow was busy at this particular season. Her 
 bonnets' were in great demand, and her little force of 
 milliners were often kept at their work till late at night. 
 She dismissed her tired helpers and sat down with 
 Lena to finish an important order.
 
 The Keturn. 71 
 
 " Do you know, Lena," said Mrs. Franzman, holcU 
 ing up a bonnet upon which she was bestowing the fin- 
 ishing touches, and examining it critically from all 
 sides, " do you know that I am tired of my business, 
 and think seriously of retiring." 
 
 " Why, Pauline, you cannot be in earnest ! Give up 
 this business, which is more prosperous than ever it 
 was!" 
 
 " That is just the difficulty it is too prosperous. I 
 have neither the energy nor the physical force necessary 
 to conduct it. I go to bed harassed by business cares, 
 and I arise with them in the morning. I have too much 
 upon my shoulders as much as most men could bear. 
 And my children ; why, I have hardly spoken to them 
 for three days. If it were not for the Sabbath, I would 
 scarcely get time to speak to them at all." 
 
 " That is certainly unfortunate," Lena assented. 
 
 " I don't know what I should do without you, my 
 dear," continued Mrs. Franzman. "You have been a 
 second mother to them, and I know they love you 
 almost as much as they do me." 
 
 "And I love them. Both you and they are very 
 dear to me. Oh, Pauline, what would have become of 
 me without your aid ? " 
 
 " Something else would have presented itself. God 
 does not desert his children." 
 
 Both women were working while they conversed. 
 
 " But the store," exclaimed Lena, after a pause. 
 " You surely do not mean to dispose of that ?" 
 
 "Yes, if I can find a good purchaser for it. It is 
 well established, and should bring a fair price. I could
 
 72 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 then live comfortably on my savings, bring up my chil- 
 dren as good Israelites, and make up for them in love 
 the neglect of the last few years. Ah, if my husband 
 were still alive, how proud he would be of this business 
 which he founded, but whose success he did not live to 
 see !" 
 
 Lena sighed, from the bottom of her heart. 
 
 "Apropos, have you had no news from your hus- 
 band ?" asked Mrs. Franzman, who divined the mean- 
 ing of that sigh. 
 
 " None whatever. It is three months since I last 
 heard from him. At that time he was very despondent. 
 Something unfortunate must have happened to him. 
 Oh, Pauline, I cannot tell you how heavy my heart is ! 
 I know I shall appear ungrateful. I have a good 
 home, but I would prefer poverty, even starvation, at 
 his side, to riches and luxury without him." 
 
 Pauline took up a bonnet and held it to the light. 
 The movement effectually concealed a tear which 
 dimmed her eye. 
 
 " Perhaps he is on his way home." 
 
 " I wish I could think so. It is not likely, however, 
 for he would have prepared me/' 
 
 "You should not despair, my dear; he will come 
 back in good time." 
 
 There was a pause, during which the willing fingers 
 flew over their work, while active brains were busy 
 with troublesome reflections. Lena's thoughts resem- 
 bled the circlets of waves in a pond, set into motion by 
 a stone thrown into the glassy waters. The impulse 
 which stirred these wavelets was the ever-recurring
 
 The Return. 73 
 
 figure of her husband, and doubt, fear, uneasiness fol- 
 lowed each other through ever varying circles and 
 degrees of intensity. She was very unhappy, and scald- 
 ing tears blinded her eyes, and falling, almost ruined 
 the delicate ribbon on which she was working. 
 
 Hark ! A ring at the door-bell ; perhaps a belated 
 customer. Lena ran to open the door, and stood for a 
 moment confronting a man in the passage. 
 
 " Lena ! Lena dear Lena ! don't you know me ?" 
 
 " Isaac, my husband !" Lena fairly shrieked, in her 
 glad surprise ; and the lovers lay in each other's arms, 
 oblivious to all but their long-delayed happiness. 
 
 Pauline had run out at the noise, and stood a silent 
 witness of the ecstatic scene. Tears ran unhindered 
 down her cheeks tears of joy and sympathy. 
 
 " Ah," she sighed, fervently, " if my husband could 
 but come back, too !" 
 
 Never was there such a reunion. A thousand times 
 they told each other of their happiness and love. They 
 could find words for nothing else. Mrs. Franzman 
 wisely left them to themselves, until the first transports 
 of bliss were over. Then Lena led the way to her 
 little room, and Joe and Rose were taken forcibly from 
 their cots and fairly smothered with kisses before they 
 were half awake. 
 
 " Josie, God has heard your prayers ; papa has come 
 back!" 
 
 Lena could not contain her joy, but, sinking on her 
 knees, poured out her gratitude to the Father in heaven. 
 Then there were more kisses, and Rose had to display 
 her beautiful teeth, and toddled around in her white
 
 74 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 night-gown to show papa how she could walk ; while 
 Joe danced about the room in a transport of childish 
 glee. 
 
 Then Mrs. Franzman came in for her share of the 
 rejoicing. Lena told her husband in a few, affectionate 
 words how kind Pauline had been to her, how she 
 owed all of her happiness during the past year to her 
 dear friend, who was more than sister to all of which 
 Mrs. Frauzmau put in a modest disclaimer. The con- 
 versation ended with more kisses and more tears of joy 
 and more expressions of fervent gratitude. 
 
 The children were reluctantly put to bed again, and 
 Mrs. Franzman accompanied the happy couple to the 
 little sewing-room behind the shop, and now for the 
 first time Isaac and Lena began really to look at each 
 other to see what changes time had wrought. Lena 
 had altered for the better. Her face had rounded, her 
 form had become more robust under the influence of the 
 quiet life she had led, and her old-time beauty was 
 gradually returning. Isaac, too, had changed wonder- 
 fully. 
 
 " I might have passed you on the street without 
 knowing you," said his wife. 
 
 His once frail and sickly physique had expanded ; 
 his face was sunburnt and swarthy from exposure. His 
 English had greatly improved, and although he retained 
 many of the rugged expressions common to miners, he 
 spoke like a thorough American. He was improved 
 in every way. There was something, however, which 
 changed him more than all else, and that was the pecu- 
 liar expression of his eyes. There was a vague and
 
 The Return. 75 
 
 indefinable something in them which made an unfavor- 
 able impression on the beholder. They wore a hunted 
 and anxious look, like those of a stag brought to bay. 
 Those eyes, once so frank and straightforward, were 
 now nervously cast down when one looked into them, 
 as though fearful that the soul might through them 
 betray its secret. Mrs. Franzman observed it, and 
 ascribed it to a natural nervousness caused by excite- 
 ment. Lena observed it, and attributed it to the months 
 of toil and privation in the Western wilderness. As 
 his wife looked at him with indescribable tenderness 
 and affection, Isaac averted his eyes, and a guilty flush 
 mantled his face and neck. 
 
 " If she knew my God, if she knew !" he thought. 
 
 Lena knew nothing and observed nothing. She was 
 alive only to the bliss of the moment. Her long-lost 
 husband was with her again. 
 
 Isaac was soon at ease, and after partaking of a 
 hastily-prepared supper, he consented to tell the story 
 of his adventures. The women listened attentively, 
 commiseratingly, while he related, in all its minute 
 details, his experiences. He spoke of the taunts he had 
 endured, of the abuse he had received, of the fruitless 
 search after gold, of the vexatious disappointments and 
 deluded hopes which formed a part of his existence. 
 He spoke of his yearnings to return home, of his de- 
 termination to succeed. He told his story with feverish 
 rapidity. Certain portions seemed to affect him strangely. 
 He uttered Sweeny's name but once, and then it seemed 
 to choke him, and he had to pause and gasp for breath. 
 Every now and then his wife would interrupt him to
 
 76 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 ask a question, or to express sympathy. The latter 
 part of his adventures, the incidents of the three months 
 during which he lived with Sweeny, Isaac scarcely 
 touched upon, except to relate, in a hasty and general 
 way, that his search for gold had finally been crowned 
 with success. 
 
 "And did you bring back a fortune?" inquired Mrs. 
 Franzrnan, eagerly. 
 
 " Not a fortune," replied Isaac ; " but I bring back 
 twenty thousand dollars as my profit in the enterprise." 
 
 " Twenty thousand dollars !" cried Lena, in amaze- 
 ment. " Why, it is more than a fortune. What will we 
 do with so much money?" 
 
 Isaac sat uneasily in his chair. The mention of the 
 money seemed to unnerve him. 
 
 " But, my dear," continued his wife, " you wrote 
 nothing about it in your last letter. Why did you not 
 cheer my despondency by telling me of your luck ? " 
 
 " Because," stammered Isaac, his voice becoming 
 fainter, " I wanted to surprise you. In fact, we had 
 not found the gold when I wrote to you." 
 
 Lena looked wonderingly at her husband. Why was 
 his manner so agitated ? Why did his eyes wear such 
 a frightened expression ? For a moment he caught his 
 wife's searching glance and quailed before it. He 
 thought he detected mistrust, suspicion, horror in her 
 look, as though her lips had formed the words, " Mur- 
 derer ! thief ! " 
 
 He was mistaken. His unsuspicious wife turned to 
 receive the congratulations of Pauline. 
 
 " Twenty thousand dollars ! " cried Mrs. Franzman,
 
 The Eeturn. 77 
 
 with a radiant face. " What a stroke of good luck ! 
 What a vast amount of good one can accomplish with 
 that sum of money ! " 
 
 " And to think that Isaac should have made it all by 
 hard work ; by digging and toiling in that frightful 
 country," exclaimed Lena, with a proud smile of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "Ah, therein lies the blessing of wealth," replied 
 Pauline. " The consciousness of having acquired it 
 honestly makes the possession of money truly blessed." 
 
 " I should not want to possess the advantages of 
 money, unless it was honestly earned," said Lena, with 
 decision. " I should prefer to live in poverty. How 
 delightful it will be, in years to come, to contrast our 
 former misery with our present prosperity, and to know 
 that our wealth is the result of self-denial, courage and 
 honest labor." 
 
 Isaac writhed in mental torture as the women spoke. 
 Did they suspect? Were their words but a flimsy veneer 
 to conceal their true sentiments? He sprang from his 
 chair in a state of nervous tension. There was a wild 
 delirium in his eye, and great beads of perspiration 
 stood upon his forehead. 
 
 " It was honestly gained, I tell you ! " he cried, ges- 
 ticulating like a drunken man. " I toiled and I worked 
 for it. It was mine by all rights of justice. God, how 
 I stood abuse and wrong and became a slave, that I 
 might bring home to Lena the wealth I promised her ! 
 Yes, it is mine, and no one shall take it from me." 
 
 After a few incoherent exclamations he gradually 
 recovered his self-possession and fell into a chair, pant-
 
 78 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 ing from utter weakness. Lena, frightened at such un- 
 called-for vehemence, ran to his side and took his hand 
 in hers. 
 
 " Isaac, dear Isaac, what is the matter ? Are you 
 unwell?" 
 
 " Yes," replied her husband, languidly, " I am sick. 
 It is some trouble left over from my life of exposure in 
 camp. It makes me excited and passionate. Now that 
 I am home again with you, it will soon pass away. Did 
 I frighten you, Lena ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little. But never mind ; let us be happy 
 to-night, after so long a separation." 
 
 The subject was dismissed and the remainder of the 
 evening passed uneventfully. Isaac was more com- 
 posed, and listened with evident interest to Lena's 
 account of her life during his absence. It was long 
 after midnight when they retired, and the returned wan- 
 derer, exhausted by the day's emotions, dropped off 
 into a sound and refreshing sleep.
 
 ' Jt was an inspiration from on high," he said.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RECEPTION. 
 
 " What though success will not attend on all, 
 Who bravely dares, must sometimes risk a fall." 
 
 Smollett. 
 
 THE news of Isaac's return spread quickly through 
 the town, and the commotion it caused was indescriba- 
 ble. Exaggerated reports of his wealth were handed 
 from mouth to mouth, growing with each repetition, 
 until the erstwhile Shlemiel had blossomed into a 
 Croesus ; and good, pious burghers, who a year ago 
 would have disdained to touch the poor man's garment, 
 now flocked to kiss the rich man's hand. 
 
 The Rabbi was the first to greet his proteg6, and his 
 joy at the safe and prosperous return was unspeakably 
 great. 
 
 " It was truly an inspiration from on high," he said, 
 at length. 
 
 " But without your help and that of your congrega- 
 tion, the inspiration would have gone for nought," 
 replied Schwartz. 
 
 " Thank God that I was able to be of some assist- 
 ance. I only fear that all the poor fellows in town will 
 now besiege us for money to go West. Come to my 
 house, with your family, this evening, and we will cele- 
 brate your return in a befitting manner." 
 
 79
 
 80 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 A memorable gathering met at Mr. Kauffman's house 
 in the evening, to welcome the successful prospector. 
 There were, first of all, the original contributors to the 
 fund which sent Schwartz to California, each brimful of 
 conscious pride at having assisted in such a successful 
 venture. They came, with their wives and children, to 
 touch the modern Midas and to hear from his own lips 
 the marvelous story of his escapades. 
 
 There was also quite a number of men who had not 
 contributed, under the mistaken notion that it would be 
 money thrown away, and that Schwartz might do vastly 
 better by seeking work at home. These came to wel- 
 come the hero, secretly deploring their short-sightedness, 
 but willing to admit their error and share in the general 
 rejoicing at the successful outcome of the experiment. 
 There was, furthermore, a generous sprinkling of 
 Sephardim, who, though they had no love for Schwartz 
 or his " landsleut " (fellow countrymen), could not over- 
 come a natural curiosity to hear what the new arrival 
 had to say ; for such resplendent reports of his vast 
 wealth reached their ears that they felt instinctively he 
 would henceforth be an important factor in the com- 
 munity. 
 
 By eight o'clock the Rabbi's house was so densely 
 packed that Mr. Rosenheim, in his capacity of presi- 
 dent, with a show of much importance and an appro- 
 priate passage from the Talmud, suggested transplanting 
 the meeting into the adjoining synagogue, and the plan 
 met with unanimous approval. 
 
 Isaac and Lena, modestly arrayed for they had not 
 yet had an opportunity to obtain raiment befitting their
 
 The Reception. 81 
 
 new station in life stood near the altar and distributed 
 their smiles, nods and hand-shakes impartially. Rosen- 
 heim, as president, stood on the right, and evinced as 
 much interest in the proceedings as though he were the 
 hero. The fact that he had been the first to recognize 
 the feasibility of Mr. Schwartz's scheme and to con- 
 tribute thereto, and the unflagging interest he had 
 evinced in the case since his departure, all qualified 
 him to speak authoritatively on the subject. He had 
 learned the story of Isaac's adventures by heart that 
 is to say, as much as Isaac had chosen to communicate 
 to him, and retailed it to interested groups when the 
 chief actor was otherwise occupied. 
 
 " Yes," he would say. " I tell you vot it is ! De Vest 
 is a fine country a place of milk and honey, like de 
 promised land. For vot do de children of Israel vant 
 to go back to Jerusalem? Vy don't dey go to Cali- 
 fornia and settle dere ? It is mooch more sensible, ain't 
 it? Vot does de Talmud say? 'Hakol baruch.' Veil, 
 vot's de difference vot de Talmud says? It means, 
 ' More good tings vill come to him dat hustles dan to 
 him dat sits down and vaits.' " Having delivered him- 
 self of this oracular utterance, he turned to greet the 
 next arrival, with an equally effective speech on the 
 marvelous conditions in the Far West. 
 
 At Rosenheirn's side, and listening with rapt attention 
 and unwavering admiration to every word he uttered, 
 stood his wife, a very diminutive specimen of humanity, 
 who contrasted oddly with her bulky husband. Philos- 
 ophers who argue that husband and wife grow to resem- 
 ble each other with advancing years, found nothing in 
 6
 
 82 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 this strangely assorted pair to sustain their theories. No 
 greater difference could be imagined than existed be- 
 tween these two loving souls. He was tall, stout, florid 
 and vivacious; she was small, thin, pale and silent. 
 His features were large and generous; hers were 
 pinched and meagre. But spiritually no couple were 
 better mated, for they mutually adored each other. 
 Rosenheim placed his wife on such a pedestal of love 
 that her physical discrepancies were not apparent to 
 him, and she considered him, with all his faults, the em- 
 bodiment of perfection. 
 
 As Mrs. Rosenheim stood listening with a comprehen- 
 sive smile of satisfaction to her husband, who for the 
 twentieth time was relating the story of Isaac Schwartz's 
 wanderings and commenting thereon, a casual observer 
 would have surmised that the clothing merchant, and 
 not Schwartz, was the hero of these strange adventures. 
 
 Mr. Louis Ehrlich was one of the most interested of 
 the visitors. With his characteristic progressiveness, he 
 looked upon the question of Schwartz's explorations 
 from an impersonal standpoint, and endeavored to learn 
 something of practical utility. 
 
 He asked numerous questions concerning the climate, 
 the resources and the mode of transportation in the new 
 territory, and evinced a keen interest in everything Mr. 
 Schwartz had to say. He would have monopolized the 
 conversation indefinitely had not the Rabbi drawn him 
 away to discuss some improvement in the conduct of the 
 religious schools. Standing in that little synagogue, 
 Mr. Ehrlich might well be proud of the improvements 
 that had been effected in the short time since he became
 
 The Reception. 83 
 
 a member of the board. New hangings had been pro- 
 vided, the standing desks had made room for sensible 
 and comfortable seats, and mirabile dictu, a small 
 melodeon stood in one corner near the ark, and on 
 the Sabbath added its plaintive voice to the chant 
 of the Chazzan. These innovations had been strenu- 
 ously opposed by Messrs. Rosenheim, Blumen, and 
 other dignitaries of the congregation, but the im- 
 petuous zeal of the younger man eventually prevailed. 
 Now that the novelty of the improvements had worn 
 off, their erstwhile opponents reluctantly admitted 
 their desirability, but just as strenuously objected to 
 any new improvements that Mr. Ehrlich saw fit to 
 suggest. 
 
 Not the least of the assembled guests was Mr. Solo- 
 mon Basch, whose wife, thanks to a bad cold, could not 
 accompany him. Such a stroke of luck had not befallen 
 the good man in years, and he was not slow in taking 
 advantage of it. Basch usually developed into a " free- 
 thinker " when away from his wife. He was as lively 
 as a school-boy on a vacation. 
 
 He, in the person of his wife, had contributed a dollar 
 to the California fund, and he felt justified in standing 
 proudly next to Schwartz and participating in the gen- 
 eral jubilation. Indeed, what would the fund have been 
 without his mite ? 
 
 " You will never believe," he said in German, with 
 his usual admixture of " Loshan Hokodash " (holy 
 tongue), " how much l kinne-sinne ' (envy) I felt when 
 you went away. If it had not been for my wife, by my 
 soul, I would have gone along." He might have truth-
 
 84 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 fully added that if it had not been for his wife, he would 
 have had no desire to go along. 
 
 " Where is your wife ? " Schwartz politely asked. 
 
 " She had a cold and insisted in talking, and so got 
 hoarse. You can't stop a woman's talk. She calls 
 German her mother tongue, probably because the father 
 don't get a chance to use it. She took some goose-grease 
 and honey, and now, 'unbeschricn,' she can't talk at all. 
 I think I will buy a gallon of the mixture. It's a good 
 thing to have in the house." 
 
 Schwartz smiled. " You would have enjoyed Califor- 
 nia," he said ; " there are no women there." 
 
 " Shema benai ! " ejaculated Basch, with an ecstatic 
 glance, " what a paradise ! Much gold and no women." 
 
 "Yet I find that, after all, there is no place like 
 home," said Schwartz. 
 
 "That's so," murmured the poor, down-trodden 
 martyr. " There is no place like home. Men ought 
 to be happy there, isn't ? " 
 
 Mr. Basch, having exhausted his questions concerning 
 California, went over to shake hands with Mr. Fuld- 
 heim, who had recently married, and gave him some 
 excellent advice about the proper training of a wife. 
 
 A number of peddlers were among the visitors, stal- 
 wart young fellows but lately arrived from Germany, 
 who, with a heavy pack on their shoulders, or, if their 
 means allowed, with horse and wagon, wandered through 
 the State, hawking a varied assortment of merchandise, 
 and seeking to master the American tongue while they 
 accumulated American dollars. It was a hard experi- 
 ence, but a salutary one. For the pious Jews, peddling
 
 The Reception. 85 
 
 meant untold privations, a total abstinence of all food 
 except eggs and such "Kosher" dried meats as they 
 could carry with them. It meant a weary trudging 
 through unfamiliar villages, over stony roads, amid 
 hostile surroundings, from Sunday morning until Friday 
 evening, and a short rest on the Sabbath in some syna- 
 gogue town. 
 
 It was a career which might well have daunted the 
 most enterprising youth, and yet thousands of "green- 
 horns " adopted it, thrived at it, became wealthy through 
 it. It was not considered degrading in those pioneer 
 days, but eminently proper for a new arrival. 
 
 A little group of these young men edged their way to 
 where Mr. Schwartz stood, and eagerly asked scores of 
 questions concerning the El Dorado and the prospects 
 of success. 
 
 " I have a notion," said one, after listening to 
 Schwartz, " to throw away my pack and join the first 
 caravan going West. Peddling is too slow for me. 
 What do you think of it, Mr. Schwartz ?" 
 
 Isaac sighed heavily. He thought of the days when 
 he was a poor wanderer, with a ravenous appetite and 
 a clear conscience. 
 
 " I believe," he said, " I should have been happier 
 had I remained a peddler." 
 
 " Yes ; but the drudgery and toil ! They rob one of 
 one's self-respect." 
 
 " They are but a fraction of the drudgery and the 
 toil you will experience in the West. There are thou- 
 sands of shattered and starving fellows in California who 
 would be glad to exchange their prospects for your own."
 
 86 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 And Schwartz related to the intensely interested lis- 
 teners some of his own dismal experiences. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bergthal were among the first to arrive 
 and the last to leave. Mr. Bergthal had a kind word, 
 in broken English, for every one except Rosenheim, 
 whom he treated with a disdain befitting a despised 
 rival. He took great pains to dwell, in Rosenheim's 
 hearing, upon the wonderful increase in his sales during 
 the past week, and to swear that "nodding on earth 
 alretty could indooce him his cloding piziness to gif up 
 und go to dose gold fields of California." 
 
 " Did dot suit I gif you vore veil ?" he asked of 
 Schwartz. 
 
 " Indeed it did," replied the latter. " I wore it during 
 my entire stay in the West. I couldn't wear it out." 
 
 "Aha!" cried Bergthal, joyfully. "Vot did I told 
 you ? Dot suit vos der finest all-voll cassimere I had 
 in der store. It costed me eight dollars und fifty cents, 
 und vos a bargain. Rosenheim nefer had any goods 
 like dot" 
 
 Mr. Bergthal suddenly interrupted his eulogistic 
 speech, which might have been continued indefinitely. 
 His nervous glance had for a moment rested on a corner 
 beneath the gallery, and had there espied, sitting com- 
 fortably side by side, his daughter Emma and Izzy, the 
 son of Rosenheim. They were chatting like old friends, 
 utterly regardless of the animosity which existed between 
 their respective fathers. Emma was a pretty girl of 
 eighteen, very blonde and very animated. Izzy was a 
 rubicund young man of twenty, with a face and form 
 closely resembling his father's, a bright, healthy nature,
 
 The Reception. 87 
 
 with a decided penchant for the lively girl with whom he 
 sat, in utter unconsciousness of the approaching storm. 
 
 "Oxcuse me a moment," said Jacob Bergthal to Mr. 
 Schwartz. " I vant to spheak mit my daughter a vord." 
 
 He pushed his way through the throng of guests to 
 where his daughter sat and seized her arm. 
 
 " So ! Dot's der vay you behind my back act, eh ? 
 Have I not told you alretty I don't vant none of my 
 family mit Rosenheim's family to have any t'ing to do ? 
 Young man, mind your own bissness, und don't bodcter 
 your head about Bergthal's Mammoth Cloding Empor- 
 ium, or his daughter, eeder. Emma, come mit me 
 along. If I keteh you again mit dot feller talking, I 
 keep you locked up in der house on bread and vater." 
 
 Emma looked at Izzy in consternation and embar- 
 rassment ; but Izzy only laughed. He was accustomed 
 to Bergthal's eccentricities. 
 
 " Never mind, Emma," he said ; " don't take it to 
 heart." And then he added, in a whisper, "I'll see 
 you later in the vestry." 
 
 But Emma found no opportunity for visiting the 
 vestry, for her father kept her under strict surveillance 
 during the rest of the evening, and confined his conver- 
 sation with her to a severe berating of all that bore the 
 name of Rosenheim. 
 
 Mr. Blumen, the treasurer of the synagogue, and a 
 well-to-do manufacturer of mantillas, stood quite a long 
 time in conversation with the returned hero, and patron- 
 izingly asked his views concerning the future prospects 
 of the Western territory. He was a pompous, portly 
 old man, and it cost Schwartz quite an effort to talk
 
 88 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 with him when he remembered how often he had 
 appealed to him in vain for work or encouragement in 
 the days of his poverty. Indeed, Schwartz smiled sor- 
 rowfully as he recalled how the very men who had for- 
 merly passed him by indifferently or with contempt, 
 now flocked to greet him and to curry his favor. The 
 worship of the golden calf still had its votaries. 
 
 Barring the discomfiture of Izzy and Emma, it may 
 be truthfully recorded that the reception was an unquali- 
 fied success for every one in that crowded assembly, 
 except for Mr. Schwartz, in whose honor it was prepared. 
 The old ladies and gentlemen gossiped, exchanged 
 opinions about business, and marveled at Isaac's provi- 
 dential success. The youths and maidens, who were 
 there in goodly numbers, sat in the new pews or stood 
 in the shadow of the old gallery, and indulged in pleas- 
 ant chat or innocent flirtation, as is the custom with 
 youths and maidens the world over, even unto this day. 
 
 The Rabbi and his wife flitted from group to group, 
 entertaining here, expounding there, advising the old, 
 admonishing the young. Everybody enjoyed the eve- 
 ning to its utmost, except Mr. Schwartz. Though he 
 strove to be at ease and do his duty heroically, his brain 
 was clouded, as if by some blood-stained mist ; his head 
 was bowed, as if by the weight of some great trouble. 
 He spoke in a voice subdued and quivering with emo- 
 tion. He glanced with fear and misgiving upon the 
 many friends who clasped his hand. His spirit was 
 crushed, his conscience tortured, and he mentally cursed 
 the night that brought the inspiration to tempt fortune 
 in the gold fields of California.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE NEW LIFE. 
 
 " Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, 
 But cheerily seek how to redress their harms." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 A NEW life dawned for the Schwartz family a life 
 compared to which their former existence appeared 
 miserable indeed. On leaving the diggings, Isaac had 
 carried his treasure to C , where he found a pur- 
 chaser for the metal, and exchanged it readily for 
 bills of exchange and crisp bank notes. His first 
 errand, on the day following his return, was to deposit 
 his fortune temporarily in one of the city banks ; his 
 next thought was to rent and furnish a modest house, 
 into which he would move his little family. To this 
 Mrs. Franzman strenuously objected. 
 
 " Not yet, Isaac/' she said. " Wait a few weeks, until 
 you are rested. Lena has been a sister to me, and I 
 cannot have her leave at a moment's notice. It will 
 take me some time to get accustomed to the idea. In 
 the meantime you and your family must remain with 
 me as my guests." 
 
 Lena embraced her friend, and so the matter was 
 satisfactorily settled. 
 
 For a few days Isaac indulged in absolute idleness, 
 but this life soon began to pall upon him. The demon 
 
 89
 
 90 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 of unrest took possession of his soul. There was a 
 secret gnawing at his vitals, a voice of accusation ring- 
 ing day and night in his ears. He would work, and in 
 the fervor of his labors he would forget the terrors of 
 the past. He therefore looked about him for a safe 
 investment for his money. It was a serious matter to 
 decide. Wealth which had been acquired with so much 
 difficulty and at such a price, dared not be invested 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Why not open a bank ?" said Lena, in whose eyes 
 the fortune was gigantic and sufficient for any enter- 
 prise. 
 
 " No ; I do not understand banking." 
 
 "A factory, then, of some kind?" 
 
 "No; that, too, requires training and a knowledge 
 of the article to be manufactured." 
 
 " Begin a Talmud school, and advertise for pupils," 
 said Lena, in jest. " That is something you ought to 
 understand." 
 
 "I'm beginning to forget even that," he replied; 
 then added, reflectively, " I think I'll open a shop in 
 a modest way, and work myself into opulence. It is 
 the only thing I am fitted for." 
 
 At this juncture Lena suddenly remembered Mrs. 
 Franzman's conversation relative to selling out her 
 shop, and she imparted the information to her husband. 
 
 " If you could induce her to sell her business to you," 
 she said, " I don't think you would have cause to regret 
 it. It is an excellent stand. Besides, I have taken a 
 fancy to millinery, and you should see what an expert 
 I have become in the art of trimming bonnets."
 
 The New Life. 91 
 
 " The idea is not a bad one," said Isaac ; " but, take 
 my word for it, Pauline was not in earnest, and will 
 not consent to give up so profitable a shop." 
 
 "We will speak to her about it in the morning," 
 replied Lena; and the subject was dismissed for the 
 night. 
 
 Pauline, too, had been lying awake, thinking of her 
 business cares. 
 
 "If I could only get out of it without loss," she 
 mused, " and devote my time to my children ! Ray is 
 old enough to go to school, and Dave needs a mother's 
 watchful care. I am tired of being bound to the store. 
 Now if the Schwartzes would only take my stock and 
 lease off of my hands, I would be satisfied ; but I sup- 
 pose they have more ambitious plans. However, I'll 
 speak to them in the morning." 
 
 Owing to the unanimity of the contracting parties, 
 Isaac and Pauline were not long in coming to an agree- 
 ment. Within a week, and in consideration of a certain 
 sum, Mrs. Franzman made over and sold to Mr. 
 Schwartz her entire stock, fixtures and good-will. It 
 was a decided bargain ; but Pauline had some funds hi 
 bank, and could live comfortably. Now that Lena 
 might desert her at any moment, the necessity to be 
 with her children became imperative, and the voice of 
 love spoke more eloquently than the prospect of further 
 gain. 
 
 A few days later Isaac entered into possession of his 
 new business. The old, familiar sign was taken down 
 and repainted, and an announcement in the "Daily 
 Herald " proclaimed the change to an interested public.
 
 92 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Mrs. Franzman and her family remained in their old 
 home for some weeks longer, and then moved into pri- 
 vate life in an up-town dwelling. 
 
 With the advent of new capital and a more vigorous 
 management, the little store began to flourish beyond 
 precedent. Lena had become a favorite with the old 
 customers, and they gladly transferred their patronage 
 to the new firm. The business grew daily. The room 
 behind the store was crowded with milliners and trim- 
 mers, whose labor was taxed day and night to fill the 
 orders which fairly poured in. The shelves were filled 
 with new and attractive goods ; the show-windows were 
 replete with novelties. The new master made his 
 purchases with absolute recklessness. There was no- 
 thing he would not buy if he took a fancy to it no 
 quantity too large for his wants, if the price was reason- 
 able. Strange to say, he created a demand for the 
 goods he bought, however unsaleable they may have 
 been at first. Before many weeks had passed the shop 
 became a household word. People flocked to its doors 
 from idle curiosity, and once within its walls, they 
 bought what they had come only to inspect. For bold- 
 ness of style and novelty of management the establish- 
 ment had no peer. The old fogies on the street shook 
 their heads and predicted disaster. 
 
 " He has a little money and thinks it will last for- 
 ever," said Mr. Blumen ; " but wait till he goes to the 
 wall, and then it will be our turn to laugh." 
 
 " Ya ! " said Rosenheim, envious of such phenomenal 
 success. " I tell you vot it is. He thinks he has a 
 fortune, und dot it lasts forever; but he'll find out
 
 The New Life. 93 
 
 his mistake. Vot does der Talmud say ? ' Kashim 
 Mezonosof. ' Veil, vot's de difference vot de Talmud 
 says ? It means, ' It is pooty hard to climb up in de 
 vorld/ but it hurts more to climb down again.' " 
 
 Even Solomon Basch shook his head woefully every 
 time he passed the store, and predicted disaster. He 
 remonstrated one day with Mr. Schwartz, advising him 
 to be more conservative in his dealings. " For," said 
 he, " next to having a shrewish wife, the worst possible 
 calamity is the loss of one's fortune." 
 
 Schwartz thanked him for his good advice, but con- 
 tinued in his mad career. 
 
 "Well, I warned him," said Basch to his wife, 
 " and if anything happens he can't blame me. He 
 must bear the consequences of his own folly." 
 
 And, for the first time since the Rabbi had joined 
 them, Mrs. Basch agreed with her husband. 
 
 Mr. Bergthal and Mr. Basch devoted an entire eve- 
 ning to a discussion of Schwartz's recklessness, and the 
 result was the prediction of certain failure. 
 
 " Dere is most men," said Bergthal, oracularly, " vot 
 is born vidoud a cend in der pockets, und some men 
 often dies dot vay, too. I'm afraid dot's de vay it vill 
 be mid Schwartz." 
 
 In which sentiment Basch fully concurred, and 
 secretly regretted the dollar he had contributed to a 
 career which could only end in ruin and misfortune. 
 
 In spite of such dismal predictions, Isaac persevered 
 in his course. He was the life and soul of the business. 
 From early morning till late at night he was unceasingly 
 employed. He threw himself into his work with
 
 94 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 feverish agitation, as though it were torture for him to 
 be alone with his thoughts. In vain his wife pleaded 
 with him to allow himself a little recreation ; he could 
 not rest. 
 
 " You will make yourself ill," she urged ; " and then 
 the business will be neglected." 
 
 " Leave me alone, Lena," he replied. " The store 
 needs watching. It is growing, and, like a growing 
 child, demands constant attention. Without it, it would 
 languish. I am only happy when I am at work." 
 
 So he toiled on restlessly, incessantly ; and when night 
 fell, slumber came unbidden, and the tired head and 
 weary heart had a brief respite from sorrow. In truth, 
 work seemed to agree with him. He was growing stout 
 and strong. His former debility had entirely left him. 
 Lena noted the change with delight ; but there was one 
 thing which still worried and puzzled her, and that was 
 the sinister expression of her husband's eyes. She 
 would often watch him furtively, and rack her brain to 
 divine its cause. If he were idle but for a moment, 
 there came over his face a look so woeful and terrified, so 
 piteous and pleading, as though he were gazing upon an 
 awful spectre which would not be dismissed. Deep 
 lines of pain would harrow his brow and cheeks, and 
 his figure seemed to shrink and abase itself, as though it 
 were undergoing torture. 
 
 Months passed, and the business continued to grow. 
 Before Schwartz had been in possession half a year, the 
 premises were far too small for the requirements of the 
 patrons. It became necessary to buy the adjoining 
 store and throw the two into one ; and this improvement
 
 The New Life. 95 
 
 gave the establishment an impetus which far exceeded 
 the expectations of those who had watched its marvel- 
 ous growth. Isaac and his family moved into a spa- 
 cious residence among the elite on Pearl Street. 
 
 " What a lucky man that Schwartz is ! " was heard 
 on every side. " What an excellent manager ! " 
 
 Had they but known ! It was not Isaac's careful 
 management, but his utter recklessness that led to this 
 result. He would have been content to lose the fortune 
 which weighed so heavily upon his soul. He had 
 learned to hate the thought of money. The jingle of 
 gold awakened recollections which drove him to despair. 
 He squandered it madly ; but it invariably returned to 
 him greatly augmented. Oh, what a world of grief 
 that money was to him ! If he had but left the bag of 
 gold buried in the earth beneath the cabin, what an 
 agony of remorse he would have escaped ! 
 
 He became absolutely foolhardy in his expenditures. 
 He withdrew a princely sum from his business and 
 spent it upon an almost worthless railroad stock, which 
 prudent speculators would not touch. The money was 
 scarcely invested before the market took a turn, and the 
 stock rose, and continued rising, contrary to all expec- 
 tations. At the end of two months Schwartz had dou- 
 bled the wealth invested. Gold despised, detested, 
 execrated gold rained upon him. Speculations which 
 would have frightened a cautious capitalist, and which 
 oifered every prospect of a prompt and consider- 
 able loss, recovered, as if by magic, when Schwartz 
 embarked in them. Gradually speculation became a 
 necessity to the harassed man. His business, extensive
 
 96 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 as it was, was no longer sufficient to occupy his mind 
 and divert it from its morbid brood ings. His nature 
 craved forgetfulness of the sinister idea that poisoned 
 his existence. There was no escape but in excitement, 
 and the feverish restlessness which he displayed served 
 but to increase his wealth, and thereby to add to the 
 burden of his curse. Before he had been at home 
 twelve months he found his original fortune quadrupled. 
 He was a rich man, indeed a Midas, whose touch con- 
 verted into gold. 
 
 If Isaac was an altered man in regard to his material 
 prospects, he was still more deplorably changed in his 
 religious views. His wonderful activity in money- 
 making left him little time and less inclination for the 
 exercise of his religious duties. From the day he had 
 left the diggings he had apparently become indifferent 
 to the rites and ceremonies which had formerly exer- 
 cised so great an influence over his life. The relics 
 which he had brought with him from the cabin his 
 phylacteries and prayer book filled him with super- 
 stitious dread, and he buried them at the bottom of a 
 closet. He neglected his daily devotions. His morbid 
 mind conceived the idea that prayer from the lips of 
 such an offender would be unacceptable to the Lord, and 
 would rebound from the door of heaven a curse. 
 Instead of religion, superstition held him in her relent- 
 less embrace, and though his better judgment sought to 
 shake off its influence, he found himself deeper in its 
 grasp day by day. 
 
 The dietary laws, the observance of the Sabbath, the- 
 many ceremonies which he had observed since boyhood,
 
 The New Life. 97 
 
 and whose beauty he had so frequently extolled, were 
 distorted by his disordered imagination into senseless 
 rubbish ; and he who had so loved the Torah and the 
 Talmud now scarcely bestowed a thought upon Judaism. 
 His mental perturbation sought relief in the silliest direc- 
 tions, such as fumbling nervously with his coat buttons, 
 touching chairs and tables in certain superstitious ways 
 while speaking, and interpreting the most commonplace 
 events into portentous omens. At times he felt ashamed 
 of his actions before his employes, his wife and his 
 children, but his intellect seemed entirely enchained by 
 superstition, from which he could not by any possibility 
 free himself. 
 
 He shuddered at the recollection of his awful deed. 
 He shuddered at the most trivial incident that recalled 
 his crime. A sound unnerved him. His agitated mind 
 seemed constantly laboring with its terrible secret, to 
 divulge which he had not the requisite courage. He 
 seemed in perpetual struggle with the grim spectre of 
 fear. 
 
 He was constantly recalling the past, viewing its hor- 
 rible culmination through an exaggerated atmosphere of 
 excitement and horror. He was often bent on making 
 
 o 
 
 a confession to his wife, but as often recoiled, for he 
 dreaded the effect it might have on her. His cowardly 
 conscience rebelled against its better judgment, and the 
 secret lay locked within his own breast, growing, gnaw- 
 ing, distorting his conception of everything. 
 
 He dreaded solitude, for in isolation the spectre of the 
 murdered man was ever at his side. He had an equal 
 dread of society, for he had a morbid impression that 
 7
 
 98 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 his secret betrayed itself in his face or in a gesture. He 
 shunned the companionship of his former acquaintances, 
 arid spent most of his evenings at home. Gloomy even- 
 ings they were. Lena tried at first to cheer him up, to 
 read to him, to discover the cause of his sorrow ; but, 
 failing to influence him, she resigned herself patiently, 
 and devoted herself to her children. 
 
 One evening Isaac was more despondent than ordina- 
 rily. Joe and Rose had tried in vain to make their 
 father laugh, but grief was gnawing at his heart, and 
 he was in no mood to enter into their artless sports. 
 
 "Come, children," Lena said; "papa is tired, and you 
 are annoying him. Let me put you to bed." 
 
 " Papa don't play with us like he used to," said Joe, 
 resentfully, as he left the room. 
 
 Lena sighed. " Times are changed, indeed," she 
 thought. She rarely heard a pleasant word from her 
 husband now. 
 
 Isaac sighed, too, as he overheard his son's remark. 
 
 " Ah, if I could be as light-hearted as I once was," 
 he murmured. " But there can be no happiness for me." 
 
 When Lena returned, she found her husband listlessly 
 turning the pages of a book, while his eyes seemed to be 
 gazing miles away. 
 
 " I have a favor to ask, dear," said Lena, drawing a 
 chair close to his side. 
 
 Isaac recalled his wandering spirit with a start. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 " Promise me in advance that you will not refuse." 
 
 " I promise," he answered, with a weary smile, strok- 
 ing his wife's head affectionately.
 
 The New Life. 99 
 
 "Do you remember when we left Germany, how 
 anxious your sister Bertha was to go with us?" 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 "And how we promised her that when we were 
 wealthy, we would write for her to come ? " 
 
 " Yes, poor girl." 
 
 " I want you to let your sister come to us." 
 
 " Why, Lena, what a sudden notion ! " 
 
 " Not at all sudden. I have been thinking it over 
 for weeks. What chance is there in Bavaria for a girl 
 like Bertha ? She is pretty, 'tis true, but poor. Your 
 father has lost the greater portion of his wealth. A girl 
 in Germany must have a dowry in order to marry well." 
 
 " You had none, Lena." 
 
 " I was an exception. You took me for love." 
 
 " And, after all, you didn't marry well." 
 
 " I am satisfied," replied Lena, gazing fondly at her 
 husband. 
 
 Isaac's eyes grew brighter as he thought of that long 
 and happy courtship in the old country, the merry 
 walks in the forest, the longing to get married, the 
 secret wedding. He drew his wife to him and kissed 
 her lovingly. Lena continued with the subject in hand. 
 
 " Even if she could find a husband," she said, " she 
 might wait for years before she could get permission 
 from the authorities to marry. Let her come to America. 
 We can provide for her nicely. See what a help she 
 will be to me about the house." 
 
 " I will think about it." 
 
 " No ; you promised in advance to accede. You owe 
 it to your sister to do something for her."
 
 100 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 ""Will you and she get along well together?" 
 
 " I will take care of that. Bertha and I were always 
 fast friends. She shall be a dear sister to me." 
 
 Isaac stroked his beard and thought it over. 
 
 " The children require more attention than formerly," 
 urged Lena, " and I have my hands full. Bertha will 
 be a great help to me." 
 
 Poor Lena had another more potent reason, which 
 she left untold. Her husband, in his moments of de- 
 spondency, neglected her sadly. She had long felt 
 uneasy at his idiosyncrasies, and at times was very 
 unhappy. Bertha would be a companion, a confidant, 
 and she yearned for the coming of her sister-in-law. 
 
 "I've no doubt you are right," said Isaac, after 
 mentally viewing the project. "She will be a com- 
 panion to both of us. I will write to her at once." 
 
 The letter was dispatched next day, with an enclosure 
 sufficient to defray all expenses incidental to the trip, 
 and a generous gift to old Schwartz as a balm to heal 
 the wound caused by his daughter's departure. Bertha 
 did not require much persuasion. The return of mail 
 brought an affirmative response, and four weeks later 
 Bertha set foot upon the blessed shores of America. 
 Isaac journeyed to New York to receive his sister, and 
 brought her home in triumph.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE NEW ARRIVAL. 
 
 "Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, 
 Soft as her clime and sunny as her skies." Byron. 
 
 THROUGH the length and breadth of busy Cedar 
 Street yea, even in the homes of the haughty Seph- 
 ardim Jews Bertha was the theme of conversation, 
 and was welcomed with genuine admiration ; for Bertha 
 was a striking addition to the ranks of Jewish maidens 
 
 in B . There are as many types of beauty as there 
 
 are individuals, and each of them may have the power 
 to turn some good man's head and cause him to develop 
 some latent talent for folly. Bertha's face, on the 
 evening of her reception, turned the heads of almost 
 the entire male contingent. 
 
 It is a pleasure to record, in simple truth, that 
 Bertha's eyes were dark and roguish under their long 
 lashes ; that her cheeks were rosy, verging towards the 
 florid ; that dimples formed little Cupid-nests near her 
 chin ; that her hair was jet black, and fell in natural 
 ringlets about her shapely neck ; that her hands were 
 the prettiest imaginable, her form graceful and her 
 bearing regal. Had you been there on that memorable 
 evening, you would have seen all this, and more ; for 
 Bertha was indescribable. One could no more draw a 
 
 101
 
 102 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 word-picture of her than describe a summer day in all 
 its warmth and luscious charm. But, having once lived 
 through such a day, its memory will cling to you for- 
 ever; the scent of the hay, the humming of the bees, 
 the song of the lark, the ripple of the stream will 
 always linger in your recollection. And so it was with 
 Bertha. Hers was no simpering beauty, no affected 
 posing, but a sturdy, healthy, simple loveliness a 
 charm to the beholder. 
 
 In matters of education, too, Bertha was under no 
 disadvantage. She had been fortunate in winning the 
 friendship of the Burgomaster's daughter in her native 
 village, and with her had benefited by the instruc- 
 tions of a governess of no mean ability. Her active 
 mind had quickly grasped whatever was presented, and 
 turned every scrap of information to excellent account. 
 She sang with a weak, but accurate and harmonious 
 voice, and, to the surprise of her new acquaintances, 
 spoke a little English, with a broad Teutonic accent, 
 but distinctly enough to be understood. She had, more- 
 over, a spontaneous sense of her own ability, and felt 
 thoroughly at home in any situation. When intro- 
 duced to the many individuals who called to pay their 
 respects, she quickly and without effort adjusted herself 
 to her new acquaintances, and acted as though she had 
 been brought up with them from tender infancy. 
 
 Although there were many pretty girls present, there 
 was not one comparable to Bertha in personal attrac- 
 tion, in easy grace of manner, in charm of conversation. 
 Both Isaac and Lena, whose recollection of their sister 
 was limited to her childhood days, were astonished at
 
 The New Arrival. 103 
 
 her appearance, and gratified at the impression she made 
 on her new circle of associates. 
 
 The old folks, from portly Mr. Rosenheim and his 
 diminutive wife down to the least significant of the 
 members of the congregation, were loud in her praise ; 
 the young girls all evinced their eagerness to become 
 her friends and confidantes ; and as to the young men, 
 they stood for the most part shyly aloof, and surveyed 
 her radiant German cheeks with feelings ranging from 
 intense interest to positive admiration. Never was re- 
 ception more successful. 
 
 Mr. Ehrlich had early evinced a desire to monopolize 
 Bertha's society, and, much to the displeasure of several 
 other gentlemen, stood by her side and conversed with 
 her on topics of his own selection. 
 
 "Your brother tells me you sing well," said Ehrlich. 
 " May we not hope that you will favor us with a song ?" 
 
 " The spirit is willing, but the voice is weak," Bertha 
 replied, smiling. "Like Faust, I yearn to reach the 
 unattainable. Some day I may sing for you, but do 
 not want to jeopardize my popularity so soon after my 
 arrival." 
 
 " From what I have heard, I feel sure you underrate 
 your abilities," said Ehrlich. " I see you have read 
 Goethe. He is my favorite author." 
 
 "And mine," replied the girl, earnestly. "All Ger- 
 many admires Goethe. There are few people of culture 
 who have not wept with his Werther, grieved with his 
 Gretchen, and smiled with his Dorothea. Even in our 
 little village Goethe is a demi-god." 
 
 " You have evidently read much," said Ehrlich.
 
 104 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Not as much as I should have liked to read. Our 
 Jewish parents still frown upon any secular studies as 
 being dangerous to our spiritual well-being. Hebrew 
 lore still forms the staple of our instruction. I am glad, 
 however, that the younger generation is breaking away 
 from musty traditions, and setting up new standards. 
 The most omnivorous readers in the small localities 
 are Jewish youths and maidens. In our village we 
 formed a circulating library several years ago, and read 
 whatever we could obtain." 
 
 " That is good news," exclaimed Ehrlich, with an in- 
 tonation of delight. " I had feared that the spark of 
 progress that had been struck in German Judaism had 
 died out for lack of fuel. If our people once read and 
 take an interest in matters outside of the Torah and Tal- 
 mud, there is hope of a renaissance of all that is best 
 and purest in the world's religion. We were the ' People 
 of the Book.' I should like to see Israel become the 
 1 People of Books.' Let the Jews once begin to absorb 
 knowledge, as they did centuries ago, and they will be- 
 come the conquerers of the earth through sheer force of 
 their superior intellect." 
 
 Bertha listened with evident pleasure. She had not 
 expected to hear such enthusiasm, and such pronounced 
 views (which coincided with her own), in America, 
 where she had been led to expect indifference to all 
 but money-making. 
 
 "Heine, too," said Bertha, "has made a name for 
 himself, although neither Jew nor Gentile care to claim 
 him as their own. Many have been the acrimonious 
 discussions among us as to whether we ought to read
 
 The New Arrival. 105 
 
 his works at all, after he so shamefully deserted his an- 
 cestral faith. But his intellect conquered our prejudice, 
 and having once read the outpourings of his master 
 mind, it was no longer a question as to whether we 
 should read, but as to how quickly we could obtain 
 more to read." 
 
 "I can easily comprehend the motives that led to 
 Heine's apostasy," replied Ehrlich. " The narrow Ju- 
 daism by which he found his intellect circumscribed 
 must have been a galling restraint. A soul such as his 
 must have room to expand nay, more, must have an 
 audience to appeal to and failing to find spiritual 
 succor and encouragement at home, he sought it in the 
 great world." 
 
 " Then you do not condemn him for renouncing Juda- 
 ism and going over to the enemy ? " asked Bertha, 
 
 " I do not blame him. I am sorry for him. The 
 happiness he sought will never crown his life-work. No 
 Jew can ever become a Christian at heart. He may cast 
 oif his allegiance to the congregation, and acknowledge 
 himself a follower of the Gentile Church, but in his 
 heart he is still a monotheist, and the doctrines of his 
 new creed are as strange and incomprehensible to him 
 as would be the teachings of Vishnu, Heine will not 
 be happier on account of his apostasy, but if he ever re- 
 covers from his present malady, his genius will probably 
 reach a greater development by his amalgamating with 
 that circle which represents wealth, power and freedom." 
 
 Mr. Ehrlich, launched upon a subject which was most 
 congenial to him, was loth to terminate the conversation, 
 but Mr. Jacoby, a rising young merchant, interposed in
 
 106 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 the interest of the other gentlemen present, who found 
 themselves cut off from their divinity by the too assid- 
 uous attentions of one man. Conversation thereupon 
 descended to social trivialities and became general. 
 
 Miss Schwartz expressed her opinion that where there 
 were so many young people, social amusements must 
 necessarily be developed to their fullest extent. 
 
 "That is unfortunately not the case," replied Mr. 
 Anhalt, a middle-aged man, who devoted his leisure, 
 after working in Blumen's factory, to reading law. 
 " Outside of the synagogue there is little to draw our 
 people together. Every one is so intent on making a 
 living or amassing a fortune, that there is little time for 
 social intercourse. The men meet occasionally at each 
 other's houses and play cards, while the ladies at an oc- 
 casional ' Kaffeeklatsch ' exchange confidences concern- 
 ing their dressmakers or their children. The young 
 people, however, have little or no diversion." 
 
 " It is a deplorable state of affairs," said Mr. Jacoby, 
 "and speaks ill for the progressiveness of this town. 
 I visited my cousin in Richmond recently, a town 
 but half the size of this, and was taken to a dance at 
 the club a most enjoyable affair. Why shouldn't we 
 have a club of our own? We have young people 
 enough to make it a brilliant success." 
 
 "A good idea," cried Bertha, eagerly; for though 
 Bertha was fond of serious matters, she was by no 
 means averse to social pleasures. " Count on my at- 
 tendance at every dance." 
 
 Ehrlich had on numerous occasions considered the 
 advisability of such an innovation, and seeing Miss
 
 The New Arrival. 107 
 
 Schwartz so enthusiastic on the subject, he, too, caught 
 the infection. 
 
 " Incidentally," he said, " we might form a class in 
 literature." 
 
 "And read Heine and Goethe," suggested Miss 
 Schwartz. 
 
 " And possibly Shakespeare and Milton," added Mr. 
 Anhalt. 
 
 " There is no time like the present," exclaimed Ehr- 
 lich, impressed more than ever with the possibilities of 
 the plan. " Everybody seems to be imbued with the 
 spirit of sociability, and we ought to succeed in secur- 
 ing enthusiastic support for so worthy an undertaking." 
 
 With pencil and note-book in hand, he forthwith inter- 
 viewed the guests, and in a short time obtained the 
 names of a sufficient number of men to make the club a 
 possibility. 
 
 The participants in Bertha's reception thereupon re- 
 solved themselves into a deliberative body, and appoint- 
 ing Mr. Ehrlich chairman, proceeded to launch the new 
 club in a worthy manner. 
 
 " So harmonious has been the meeting," said the chair- 
 man, " that I think we had better call it the ' Harmony 
 Club/" 
 
 " Let us make it the Harmony Social and Literary 
 Club," suggested Mr. Auhalt ; and the name met with 
 unanimous approval. 
 
 Thus was the first Jewish Club in B called into 
 
 existence. It more than fulfilled the expectations of its 
 founders. It subsequently became the rendezvous of 
 card-playing men, of gossiping women, of studious and
 
 108 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 merry-making youths and maidens. Even the exclusive 
 Sephardim gradually sought admittance to its ranks, 
 and differences of caste and of descent were in time 
 obliterated through its friendly influence. 
 
 The harmony pervading Bertha's reception was 
 threatened with obliteration by an unfortunate occur- 
 rence. Izzy Rosenheim had early in the evening des- 
 cried Emma Bergthal among the guests, and had 
 hovered about her as the moth hovers about the fasci- 
 nating flame of the candle, or the sparrow about the 
 hypnotizing eye of the cobra. Rarely had these two 
 yearning souls with rival fathers an opportunity of 
 meeting, and the present occasion promised untold de- 
 lights. Alas ! Mr. Bergthal, as though scenting danger, 
 kept near his daughter, and Izzy's hopes declined as 
 the evening wore on. Bertha's charms had no attrac- 
 tion for him ; her musical laugh found no answering 
 vibration in his heart, as it did in the hearts of other 
 men. His goddess was on the other side of the room, 
 closely guarded by a zealous dragon a watchful father. 
 At length hope dawned. 
 
 When Ehrlich broached the subject of a club to Mr. 
 Bergthal, that gentleman immediately became an enthu- 
 siastic advocate of the scheme. 
 
 " Aha ! " he cried, in delighted accents, dropping his 
 rules of grammar and his vocabulary in his eagerness 
 to express his views. "Vot did I told you long ago 
 alretty? Tree years ago I vos for a club in favor. 
 Id's a good t'ing. Just look vot a gonvenience ven you 
 vant to blay cards, oder ven you vant politics to talk, 
 oder ven you avay from your vife vant to get for an
 
 The New Arrival. 109 
 
 hour. Vere is Solomon Basch ? I bet you he vill 
 join dot club tree times alretty. It vos a blessing for 
 a man like Basch." 
 
 In his willingness to find Basch and help Ehrlich 
 secure additional members, Mr. Bergthal relinquished 
 the arm of his daughter, who, as soon as she found her- 
 self free from paternal surveillance, edged in the direc- 
 tion of the despairing Izzy. 
 
 "Come," she cried, gaily. "I've escaped. Let's 
 hurry into the hall before papa discovers my absence." 
 
 " Oh, Emma !" sighed Izzy, rapturously. " How 
 sweet you look, and how I longed to speak to you !" 
 
 Emma's eyes looked volumes, but she did not reply 
 until they were safely out of the hot room in the cool 
 corridor. 
 
 " You darling boy !" she then exclaimed. " Do you 
 think I didn't yearn to be with you, too ?" And she 
 looked so rapturously at the ecstatic Izzy that he un- 
 ceremoniously kissed her. 
 
 Mr. Bergthal's overflowing energy found a vast field 
 for usefulness during the next half hour. A casual by- 
 stander would have imagined that the scheme had origi- 
 nated entirely in his own brain, and would die of inani- 
 tion without him. It was not until the club had been 
 duly organized that he bethought himself of his daugh- 
 ter, and zealously sought for her among the guests. 
 But Emma had disappeared, like a second Iphigenia 
 transported to Tauris. 
 
 At length the anxious father, thinking that she might 
 have wandered to the dining-room in search of cooling 
 refreshment, left the room and almost stumbled over the
 
 110 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 amorous couple on the stairs. They were sitting in 
 close juxtaposition, and were very much engrossed in 
 each other. 
 
 Kissing is unhealthy if one is caught in the act, and 
 love's sweet dream is apt to be disturbed when an irate 
 father comes unexpectedly upon the scene. 
 
 In a second, unsuspecting Izzy felt a powerful grasp 
 upon his coat collar, and found himself suddenly ele- 
 vated to a standing posture. Before he quite compre- 
 hended the full extent of the disaster, he felt Bergthal's 
 hot breath upon his cheek and saw the glare of Berg- 
 thal's eyes transfix his own. 
 
 " You rascal, you shneak, you humbug, you " 
 Bergthal gasped for new words with which to express 
 his opinion of the reprobate, but finding none that 
 would do the subject justice, he shook Izzy until that 
 young man's teeth chattered. 
 
 " Let up !" he cried, when he found his breath. 
 " You are tearing my coat." 
 
 " Tearing your goat ? Ha ! You goot-for-nodding 
 nixnutz ! I guess it vos one from Rosenheim's shtock. 
 Dey tear if you look at dem only. You are as goot for 
 nodding as everyding dot belongs to Rosenheitn. Tore 
 your goat ! I haf a goot notion your head to tear off 
 alretty. Vot you mean, eh ? Sitting on der shteps und 
 kissing my daughter. I'll show you how my daughter 
 to kiss !" 
 
 Izzy needed no instructions in this particular accom- 
 plishment, nor did he relish Mr. Bergthal's course of 
 teaching, which consisted of sundry cyclonic shakes and 
 pulls, and which were undignified, not to say painful.
 
 The New Arrival. 
 
 " Hey ! let me alone, will you, you old idiot ?" cried 
 Izzy, in his righteous rage, while poor Emma wept 
 aloud, undecided whether to side with an outraged 
 father or a discomfited lover. 
 
 " I'm an idiot, eh ?" shouted Bergthal, enraged ; and 
 the shaking process re-commenced, till Izzy begged for 
 mercy. 
 
 The noise brought a number of guests to the spot, 
 and Mr. Bergthal, being exhausted by his violent exer- 
 cise, and rather ashamed of the scene he was creating, 
 relinquished his hold on the boy's collar. 
 
 " Now, I vant to told you one t'ing," he said, ex- 
 citedly. " Dis is der second time I ketch you making 
 love mit mine daughter. If I found you out again, I 
 vont shpank you, begause you vasn't vorth soiling my 
 hands on ; aber I'll sit you down so dot you don't can 
 got up again in six months. You undershtand me, eh ? 
 Tell your fader, mit my gornbliments, dot you don'd 
 vos dry yet behind der ears, and he shall you mit a 
 shtrap treat, till you vos old enough to go by yourself 
 out. Come, Emma, ve vill go home alretty. Dis is no 
 place for us." 
 
 And he led his weeping child away. 
 
 Uninterrupted by this tearful episode, the reception 
 continued in undiminished splendor, and wound up with 
 a bountiful repast. 
 
 " Yust like a vedding," whispered Mr. Rosenheim to 
 his wife ; and she sagely shook her head and answered, 
 " Yes, Mr. Schwartz makes good use of his wealth." 
 
 " I tell you vot it is," remarked Rosenheim ; " I vould 
 radder eat a ' Kosher ' feast like dis, surrounded by de
 
 112 A Victim of Conscience, 
 
 comforts of home, den to eat ' treifa ' among savages in 
 de Vest. Vot does de Talmud say " 
 
 The quotation was unfortunately lost, for at that 
 moment Rabbi Kauifman arose, and, true to his calling, 
 delivered an impromptu sermon, the object of which 
 was to drink to the health of Bertha Schwartz and to 
 wish her a happy sojourn among her new friends. The 
 noisy acclaim with which the remarks were received 
 gave evidence that the speaker had echoed the prevail- 
 ing sentiment and struck a popular chord. 
 
 When the guests left, Ehrlich accompanied the Rabbi 
 and Mrs. Kauifman home. A sincere attachment had 
 grown up between the two men, born of admiration for 
 each other's sincerity and strength of character. They 
 discussed the new club in all its bearings. The minister 
 feared it might prove prejudicial to the welfare of the 
 synagogue. 
 
 "On the contrary," replied Ehrlich, laughing, "by 
 bringing the young people together, it may provoke 
 more marriages, and thereby provide new members for 
 the congregation. Besides, the bonds of matrimony are 
 always a source of revenue to the minister." 
 
 "And why don't you marry, my friend?" asked the 
 Rabbi, with the match-making instincts of his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 " Oh, I am in no hurry ! Let me first make my 
 way, and then find the right girl. Many a poor fellow 
 marries in haste, and is then kept so busy making both 
 ends meet that he hasn't the leisure to repent." 
 
 " True," replied the Rabbi ; " marriage is a game of 
 chance."
 
 The New Arrival. 113 
 
 " The only game of chance/' said Ehrlich, " which 
 the clergy does not discourage." 
 
 "We are taught by the book," returned the other, 
 with a smile, " to love our neighbors." 
 
 "Not a difficult thing to do," retorted Ehrlich, 
 " when the neighbor is young and pretty." 
 
 "And has brown eyes and rosy cheeks," said Mr. 
 Kauffman. " Now, if I were a young man, I think I 
 could fall in love with " 
 
 "Sh! Don't let us get personal. When a matri- 
 monial match is struck, it is so easy for some one to get 
 burned. Good-night ! " 
 
 "Dear me !" said the Rabbi to his wife, as he looked 
 after the young man, meditatively, "I think I had 
 better read up my marriage service; I may need it 
 soon." 
 
 Nor was the good Rabbi the only soul who allowed 
 his mind to wander on the subject of matrimony that 
 evening. Given a pretty girl of an eligible age, and 
 matrimonial projects are as apt to form about her per- 
 sonality as doves are prone to congregate about a gran- 
 ary well stocked with tempting corn. 
 
 That such speculations are for the most part fallacious 
 does not deter amiable natures from indulging in them. 
 From the Queen of England, whose match-making 
 propensities were well known, down to the most humble 
 servant in the kitchen, there is a keen fascination in 
 imagining connubial combinations which, while they 
 may never be realized, open an endless vista of interest- 
 ing possibilities. Bertha had not been in B twenty- 
 four hours before well-meaning papas and mammas
 
 114 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 were linking her name with that of some favorite son, 
 and a score of young men were wondering, in the secret 
 recesses of their brains, when and whom the dark-eyed 
 damsel would choose. 
 
 A new life seemed to dawn for the Schwartzes. 
 Bertha's advent lifted the family out of its sad and 
 gloomy groove. There was much for the visitor to see, 
 and Isaac and his wife vied with each other in escorting 
 her about town. There was no end of company in 
 honor of the new arrival, who was voted a valuable 
 acquisition to society. These visits had to be returned, 
 and during several weeks Isaac found himself with an 
 engagement on hand for every evening, and with little 
 time to indulge in remorseful broodings. 
 
 By the end of the month, however, the novelty had 
 worn off and the dreaded reaction had set in. The 
 voice of conscience, which had been momentarily 
 drowned by enjoyment and festivity, refused to remain 
 silent. With the approach of the Jewish holidays, self- 
 reproach, remorse and terror again seized upon the soul 
 of the harassed man, poisoning his existence and ren- 
 dering life a burden, from which there seemed no pos- 
 sible escape.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DAY OF ATONEMENT. 
 
 " Who by repentance is not satisfied 
 Is not of heaven or earth ; for these are pleased. 
 By penitence, the Eternal's wrath's appeased." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ROSH-HASHANNA had come the holy day on which 
 Jehovah views his people from his radiant throne, and 
 inserts their names in the book of life and happiness for 
 the ensuing year. For the pious Jew this is a sacred 
 day of preparation for the still more holy Day of 
 Atonement, on which the book of life is sealed and 
 man's fate irrevocably decreed. 
 
 The peddler, returned from his tireless activity on the 
 road and laying aside his travel-stained raiment, pre- 
 pared to appear before his God ; the merchant closed 
 his place of business and exchanged his counting-house 
 thoughts for a sentiment of religion. All Israel was 
 lifted above the prosaic exigencies of every-day life into 
 the poetic realms of sublime spirituality. 
 
 It was the morning of the New Year. The Jews 
 were streaming into their synagogue to observe the 
 sacred day. Schwartz stood indifferently at the door of 
 his establishment, watching his friends pass. No senti- 
 ment of devotion urged him to follow. His wife, 
 dressed in her holiday raiment, having waited in vain 
 
 115
 
 116 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 for him to accompany her to worship, came to the store 
 in search of him. 
 
 "Isaac," she said, tenderly laying her hand on his 
 shoulder, " do you know what day this is ?" 
 
 He seemed to awaken from his revery. 
 
 " Yes ; it is Rosh-Hashanna." 
 
 "Why do you not go to the synagogue ?" she asked, 
 in a tone of mild remonstrance. " It is a sin to keep 
 the business open to-day." 
 
 "Why should it be a sin?" he asked, indifferently. 
 " I will not go to the service." 
 
 "Why not, my dear?" 
 
 " I have an aversion to the place. It would be 
 mockery for me to go." 
 
 Lena's eyes were wet with tears. 
 
 " Isaac," she said, pleadingly, " will you not tell me 
 what is weighing upon your mind, what is making you 
 so unhappy?" 
 
 She had asked the same question a hundred times, 
 but her husband had always evaded an explanation. 
 
 " Nothing, Lena ; I have told you so before. I 
 must become wealthy, and my business is of more im- 
 portance to me than the synagogue. Don't bother me 
 with foolish questions." 
 
 "But I may go to 'Schul' with Bertha, may I not, 
 Isaac?" 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish. I cannot keep you. I will 
 stay here and work." 
 
 " Don't work, husband. Close up the store. Indeed 
 it is a sin. You did not use to be so indifferent to your 
 religion. You were formerly a God-fearing man."
 
 The Day of Atonement. 
 
 " Times have changed. I was poor then ; now I am 
 prosperous." 
 
 " The more reason to be thankful and devout. Isaac, 
 promise me you will close up the store." 
 
 Isaac muttered an evasive reply and turned on his 
 heel. Lena, sad and disheartened, returned to her 
 home for Bertha. Scarcely had she gone before Isaac's 
 defiant and sullen demeanor changed. For a while he 
 strode up and down his store, with clenched fist and 
 haggard look, and then, as if seized with a sudden 
 impulse, he dismissed his astonished employes, and, 
 hastily taking in his signs, he barred the shutters and 
 locked up his establishment. It was not a sentiment 
 of religion, nor yet a desire to please his wife, that 
 prompted this action, but rather a superstitious dread 
 that some catastrophe might result from a debasement 
 of the holiday. He put on his hat and wandered rest- 
 lessly and aimlessly down the street, starting in terror 
 at every sound. Weary of his aimless walk, he finally 
 bent his steps up High Street, towards the Broker's 
 Exchange, utterly regardless of the sanctity of the day. 
 To avoid a possible encounter with co-religionists, on 
 their way to divine service, he wandered furtively 
 through a number of narrow side streets, brooding over 
 the one subject which scarcely left him by day or by 
 night his crime. 
 
 " Thief ! Murderer ! Stop him !" 
 
 The cry rang piercingly from a third-story window, 
 where a hysterical woman was being savagely beaten by 
 a drunken husband. 
 
 Isaac stopped in terror at the sound. For a moment
 
 118 A Victim of Conscience." 
 
 fright seemed to paralyze him. The perspiration stood 
 out upon his forehead. Could they mean him ? No, it 
 was impossible. He looked about him, but could see 
 no one to whom the epithets could apply. 
 
 " Murderer ! Assassin ! For heaven's sake stop him !" 
 
 The cry was repeated louder than before. 
 
 Schwartz had reached a state of nervousness where 
 reality and imagination were so curiously interwrought 
 as to be well nigh inseparable. Each emotion became 
 to him an acute sensation. At a sudden sound, a flash 
 of light, or a careless word, all rational thought seemed 
 to vanish and superstitious dread held absolute sway. 
 He could not distinguish the probable from the improb- 
 able. To him the accusing cry could have but one 
 meaning. 
 
 " My God, they have found me out at last !" cried 
 the wretched man, turning vaguely, like a hunted stag, 
 for some chance of escape. What was there to be 
 done ? He hid his eyes in his hands, in order not to 
 see the crowds of people that were attracted to the spot. 
 He felt that his only safety lay in flight, and, in his ter- 
 ror and dismay, he began to run as fast as his trembling 
 limbs would carry him. It was like a hideous night- 
 mare, in which one tries to flee from danger, but cannot. 
 
 " Stop him !" cried some one in the crowd, encour- 
 aged by the cry from the window. " There goes the 
 thief!" 
 
 Instantly a dozen excited idlers started in hot pur- 
 suit of the fleeing man. Before many moments he was 
 caught, and found himself surrounded by a wildly ges- 
 ticulating mob.
 
 The Day of Atonement. 119 
 
 A policeman had arrived by this time, and, with an 
 ostentatious display of authority, he grasped Isaac 
 roughly by the arm and brandished his formidable 
 club. 
 
 " I am innocent, gentlemen ; indeed I am," protested 
 Isaac, feebly. 
 
 "We will see when we get to the station-house," 
 replied the officer, who, having come late, had not the 
 slightest idea of his prisoner's offence. He dragged his 
 unwilling captive along, with a hooting crowd of 
 urchins at his heels. Isaac was dumb with shame and 
 mortification. Tears rolled unhindered down his pale 
 and agitated face. The end, the dreaded discovery had 
 come at last. What would become of Lena and the 
 children ? 
 
 The station-house was a long way oif, and the crowd 
 which surrounded Isaac grew denser with every step. 
 With it grew his misery and humiliation. At length 
 they reached their destination. With mingled feelings 
 of terror and despair, Isaac gazed upon the brick build- 
 ing, with its iron-barred windows. How terrible the 
 massive, nail-incrusted doors appeared to him ! With 
 his captor and a few of his accusers he entered the 
 building, while the jeering crowd happily remained out- 
 side. The sergeant was absent for the moment, and Isaac 
 took his seat upon the prisoner's bench, buried his head 
 in his palms and waited dejectedly. 
 
 With startling vividness, like a series of horrible 
 pictures, there flashed across his mind all the terrible 
 episodes he had undergone in the West the torments, 
 the torture, the struggles, the crime ! What could ne
 
 120 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 say to the judge in extenuation? What plea could he 
 enter for mercy? 
 
 After a dreary pause of ten minutes the sergeant 
 entered. He recognized his prisoner as an old acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Schwartz," he asked, good humoredly, 
 " how is this ? Of what crime have you been guilty ?" 
 
 Isaac found no reply. The consciousness of his 
 guilt was overwhelming. He stood trembling before 
 his judge, unable to utter a word in self-defence. The 
 policeman made a statement to the effect that Schwartz 
 had been guilty of disturbing the peace. A gentleman 
 testified that some one had cried " Stop thief !" and, see- 
 ing Schwartz run, he naturally concluded that he was the 
 culprit, and accordingly assisted in his capture. Besides 
 these two, there were no accusers and absolutely no evi- 
 dence against the man. The sergeant, who prided him- 
 self upon his intimacy with the rich and respected mer- 
 chant, discharged him, with profuse apologies for the 
 unfortunate mistake. 
 
 Isaac seized his hat, expressed his thanks and hurried 
 out into the street. 
 
 " Thank God," he muttered, " I am safe ! But for 
 how long ? The discovery and exposure will come in 
 time, and there will be no escape." 
 
 He crept through side streets and alleys to his home, 
 and, throwing himself upon a sofa, wept as if his heart 
 would break. If he could but confide his secret to 
 Lena ! He had a dozen times within the last week 
 been on the point of telling her, but the fear of losing 
 her esteem, her respect, her love, restrained him. He
 
 The Day of Atonement. 121 
 
 feared that his wife might spurn him as a murderer 
 and leave him to his despair. 
 
 Truly Prometheus, chained to his rock, with vultures 
 tearing out his vitals, endured no greater agony than 
 this conscience-coward, fettered by a tenacious memory 
 to his crime-stained pillar, with dread and remorse tug- 
 ging at his very soul. 
 
 The constant, unremitting recollection of his awful 
 deed, which effectually made him a pariah in the midst 
 of affluence, almost crazed him. Suddenly sinking 
 upon his knees, he poured out his grief in prayer. He, 
 the murderer, who had not prayed for almost a year, 
 now lifted up his voice to heaven and pleaded for for- 
 giveness and forgetfulness. When he arose he felt , as 
 though a weight of sorrow had been lifted from his 
 heart. 
 
 The two women, unconscious of this occurrence, 
 walked slowly towards the synagogue. 
 
 " Alas !" said Bertha, " I hardly know my brother, 
 he is so changed. There was never a happier, gayer 
 man than he ; and now why, all my endeavors fail to 
 bring a smile to his lips." 
 
 "Ah, Bertha, if you knew how wretchedly unhappy 
 I am," replied Lena. " It is constantly getting worse, 
 instead of better." 
 
 " Have you no idea what is troubling him ?" 
 
 " How can I tell ? He will not confide in me. He 
 must have had a terrible experience out West, which 
 has shaken his reason." 
 
 " It is not as bad as that." 
 
 "It is perhaps worse than I imagine. There are
 
 122 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 moments when he is almost insane. He seems to brood 
 over one idea. I often watch him, without his knowing 
 it, and then I am frightened at the look of grief and 
 terror on his face." 
 
 "Perhaps some crime has been committed," said 
 Bertha, trembling at her own suggestion. 
 
 " I have had the same idea," cried Lena, seizing her 
 sister-in-law passionately by the hand. " God grant 
 that he is not implicated in any wrong." 
 
 " It must be, as he says, only a passing illness some 
 fever, due to the malaria of the place in which he lived. 
 Perhaps it will wear itself out." 
 
 " I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so," replied 
 Lena ; but in her heart she knew the hope to be vain. 
 
 They entered the synagogue and ascended to the little 
 gallery reserved for women. Lena's thoughts went 
 back to the old days of poverty and privation, when 
 she and Isaac had no secrets from each other; when 
 their greatest trouble was how to procure their next 
 meal. It was all changed now. How gladly she would 
 have shared his sorrow, if he had allowed it ; but she 
 had in vain employed all her tact to learn his secret 
 and knew no longer how to act. As she looked down 
 upon this concourse of pious men, the thought that her 
 husband was not among them, that he had become a 
 pervert from Judaism, had fallen from his beautiful and 
 God-inspired religion, brought a feeling of anguish to 
 her soul, and she wept. Bertha, after vainly trying to 
 comfort her, sympathetically wept too. 
 
 Ten days later was the Yom Kippur the Day of 
 Atonement the day on which each individual searches
 
 The Day of Atonement. 123 
 
 in the deepest recesses of his own soul and cleanses 
 himself of all evil and corruption. A wonderful day, 
 truly, on which the devout Jew steps before his Maker, 
 remorsefully confesses his sins, and, under a sincere 
 promise of improvement and a resolution to avoid the 
 misdeeds of the past, craves the Almighty's pardon. 
 For the Jew there can be no vicarious atonement. Each 
 contrite soul becomes its own redeemer. It is a great, 
 a solemn day in Israel. 
 
 " Lena, dear, I will go with you to the synagogue," 
 said Isaac, on Yom Kippur eve. 
 
 Lena's heart bounded with joy. She kissed her hus- 
 band, as one would a dutiful child. 
 
 " Oh, dearest, I cannot tell you how happy I am !" 
 she said ; for she foresaw in her husband's conversion 
 the beginning of better things. 
 
 The store was closed betimes, a bountiful feast was 
 partaken of, preparatory to the long fast on the morrow, 
 and Schwartz, with his wife and sister, walked silently 
 and solemnly to the house of worship. 
 
 A dull, unyielding sorrow tugged at the poor man's 
 heart. It was just a year since he had taken another's 
 life, and every detail of that night lived vividly in his 
 recollection. Friends met each other at the door of the 
 synagogue and asked forgiveness for the wrong they 
 had done one another. It is a beautiful custom, which 
 demands that the worshiper be at peace with all man- 
 kind before he makes peace with his God. Isaac passed 
 these groups indifferently. He had no forgiveness to 
 ask of them ; he had done them no harm. The only 
 person he had wronged was cold and dead, and could
 
 124 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 not forgive. He strode up to his pew, scarcely observ- 
 ing the nods of recognition of his many acquaintances. 
 He felt completely isolated from mankind, an outcast in 
 the midst of them. 
 
 The services began. The reader chanted the Hebrew 
 prayers in a sing-song, monotonous fashion. Suddenly 
 the mystically melodious tones of the "Kol Nidre" 
 floated through the synagogue. It is a strange, weird 
 song of touching harmony and tearful pathos, a song 
 which portrays, as never song portrayed before, the per- 
 secution, the misery, the passion, the hope, the humility 
 of the Hebrews. It is sung but once a year, on the 
 Yom Ivippur eve, and its sad measures attune the sin- 
 encrusted heart to repentance. It swept Isaac's soul 
 with a powerful touch. It rang into his ears like the 
 voice of an accusing angel. It opened his mental 
 vision and lifted the veil of the hideous past. In the 
 trouble of his spirit Isaac looked up from his prayer 
 book and gazed vacantly about him. He seemed to 
 observe, for the first time, that the little synagogue was 
 filled with men, and each of them, but himself, wore a 
 praying scarf. He looked at his neighbor, who had on 
 a " Tallith," the neck of which was embroidered with a 
 band of tarnished gold braid. To Isaac's fevered 
 imagination it seemed to be bordered with blood. His 
 mind reverted to Sweeny, as he had seen him last, lying 
 upon the floor, with the torn scarf bound about his 
 bleeding temple. 
 
 What a strange fancy ! He finds himself back again 
 in the little western cabin, re-enacting the drama of 
 that awful night. One by one the events crowd back
 
 The Day of Atonement. 125 
 
 upon his memory with the vividness of reality. Again 
 he sees Sweeny staggering into the cabin intoxicated ; 
 he hears his curses and hideous oaths, his accusations 
 and unfounded denunciations. He sees him pull the 
 sacred Tallith from his person and vent his spite upon 
 it by tearing it into shreds. He feels the brute's pow- 
 erful and relentless grip upon his arm ; he struggles with 
 the drunkard ; he upbraids him ; he strikes him with 
 the pick. Horrors ! he has killed him ! There lies 
 the corpse, a mouldering mass of corruption. No ; it 
 arises ! This is not Sweeny, but some horrible spectre, 
 some fiend of fearful aspect, approaching to accuse 
 Isaac of the murder. The apparition advances 
 towards the unfortunate man. It seizes him by the 
 throat and seeks to choke him into insensibility. 
 
 " Help, help !" shrieked Isaac, in his delirium. 
 " Take him away ! I am innocent ! I did not mean 
 to do it !" 
 
 Isaac had screamed aloud, as he struggled to release 
 himself from the horrid grasp of the apparition. There 
 was an indescribable commotion in the synagogue. 
 Lena, from her seat in the gallery, had seen her hus- 
 band reel and sway, as though battling with an invisi- 
 ble foe. She heard his scream of terror and saw him 
 fall heavily to the floor. The " Kol Nidre" came 
 to a sudden and premature end, and a number of sym- 
 pathetic friends crowded around the stricken man. 
 
 " He has swooned," said one. " Take him out into 
 the cool air." 
 
 " It is hot enough in here to make anybody faint," 
 said another.
 
 126 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " He has over-exerted himself/' cried a third. " I 
 told him but recently that he was working too hard." 
 
 The services were interrupted while they carried him 
 out into the vestibule, where Lena and Bertha, trem- 
 bling and weeping, awaited his coming. After some 
 moments he opened his eyes and appeared to have re- 
 covered. 
 
 " How are you, Isaac ? Do you feel better ? " asked 
 his wife, anxiously. 
 
 He looked about him with a vacant stare and shud- 
 dered. The recollection of his frightful vision came 
 back to him. Thank heaven, it was only a dream, a 
 cheat of the senses. 
 
 " I am better, Lena," he murmured. " Let us go 
 home." 
 
 Supported by his wife and sister, he tottered home, 
 like an old, decrepit man. 
 
 "What happened to me, Lena?" he asked, in a falter- 
 ing voice, as though dreading to know. 
 
 She told him how he had struggled and fallen. 
 
 " It must be my illness," he said, in a low voice. " It 
 is an awful thing, but it will wear off in time." 
 
 Lena shook her head mournfully, but said nothing. 
 She had her doubts grave, terrible doubts. On their 
 arrival at the house, Joe and Rose were brought down 
 into the sitting-room, and their merry prattle and inno- 
 cent play soon restored their father to his wonted 
 spirits. He slept heavily, however, muttering and 
 groaning in his sleep, and once he sat bolt upright in 
 bed and shrieked in his dreams. 
 
 On the morrow he awoke feverish and tired.
 
 The Day of Atonement. 127 
 
 "Shall I send for a doctor?" asked Lena. 
 
 " No, dear ; I feel much better." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not go to the synagogue. 
 You might have a recurrence of yesterday's illness." 
 
 " No, Lena ; that is over. It will not come back 
 again. I shall go ; I must pour out my heart to God. 
 I have need of atonement ; I have need of his mercy." 
 
 Together they went to the house of prayer. How 
 crowded it was with fasting men and women ! There 
 was contrition in every heart, remorse in every counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Help us, O Lord, and forgive us, for we have 
 sinned." The reader chanted the Hebrew prayers with 
 his fine baritone voice, and the congregation responded, 
 ruefully beating their breasts, sadly chastising their 
 erring bodies. The holy scrolls were taken from the 
 ark and appropriate portions read. Then the Haftarah, 
 a chapter from Isaiah, was recited ; and finally Rabbi 
 Kauffman ascended to the pulpit and preached a dis- 
 course on the significance of the holy day. The Rabbi 
 was not a particularly eloquent speaker, nor could he 
 be accused of being an intellectual giant. There have 
 been more capable theologians before and since. But 
 he was a God-fearing man, who spoke with the convic- 
 tion of sincere belief. He expounded Judaism from 
 the utilitarian standpoint, believed in its lofty ideals 
 and its messianic aims, but secretly chafed under forms 
 which he considered obsolete. Without being very 
 erudite, he was high-minded and tolerant, and made up 
 in personal effort what he lacked in eloquence and 
 power. He had a habit of talking at his congrega-
 
 128 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 tion, so that every listener knew that he was meant, 
 and took the lesson home to himself. The burden of 
 his sermon was "Atonement." 
 
 " No sinner," he said, in the course of his remarks, 
 "can hope for atonement unless it comes from and 
 through himself. Each offender must bear the punish- 
 ment of his own evil deeds ; no one can bear it for him, 
 or release him from its consequences. Man's liability 
 to sin does not proceed from the fall of the first pair, as 
 other creeds would have you believe. Judaism has ever 
 taught that man is a free agent, with power to do wrong 
 or to remain steadfastly upon the path of rectitude. 
 That he errs is due to his environments and to the 
 innumerable temptations which beset his life tempta- 
 tions which are in no wise the special decrees of God 
 or of the devil, but merely of man's own creation, and 
 which he has the power to avoid. 
 
 "Having done wrong," he continued, "there are 
 three steps which are essential to atonement. We 
 must first confess to ourselves and to our God that we 
 have sinned ; we must, secondly, make every restitution 
 in our power, for God will not forgive until we have 
 obtained forgiveness from the victim we have wronged ; 
 and we must, lastly, promise sincerely and trustfully 
 to avoid a repetition of our wrong. Having done this, 
 we can step proudly to the throne of Jehovah and count 
 upon his mercy. 
 
 i( The key to the doctrine of atonement," continued 
 the Rabbi, " is found in this passage of the Talmud : 
 1 Transgressions between man and his neighbor, the day 
 of the atonement will not wash away until the neighbor
 
 " Help, help!" shrieked Isaac.
 
 The Day of Atonement. 129 
 
 be reconciled.' (Mishna, chap, via., sec. 9.) ' The calum- 
 niator must therefore first seek reconciliation with the 
 person he has wronged. The thief must necessarily re- 
 store the stolen property before he can possibly hope for 
 mercy.' " 
 
 So the Rabbi quoted the Talmud's views on every 
 crime in the catalogue of human transgressions until he 
 came to the greatest of all homicide. 
 
 " I need scarcely speak of murder," he said, with a 
 smile, " for we have no murderers among us. An Israel- 
 ite may be misled into extortion or calumny ; he may 
 by force of circumstances even be tempted to commit 
 theft; but, thank God, the annals of Israel show re- 
 markably few murderers ! An assassin can expect no 
 atonement. There can be no restitution. Remorse 
 cannot restore the life that has been wantonly destroyed. 
 The soul has fled forever ; the crime is beyond redemp- 
 tion. For the murderer there is no atonement." 
 
 Isaac, who had listened with painful interest, now 
 writhed in agony upon his bench. His heart was burst- 
 ing, his head was on fire. Deep into his heart burrowed 
 the fatal words, " For the murderer there is no atone- 
 ment." It was false ! He was on the point of springing 
 up and contradicting the preacher. What did these 
 Rabbis know of God's divine will ? They could only 
 reason according to their own ideas of justice. What 
 if they were wrong in their surmises, and God were 
 more merciful than they ? 
 
 Isaac sat with bowed head and closed eyes, so still 
 that Mr. Rosenheim glanced at him uneasily, thinking 
 he was asleep. He heard no more of the sermon ; he 
 9
 
 130 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 was too busy with his own wretched thoughts. He 
 reviewed the various incidents of his crime, and sought 
 to discover a palliating circumstance. Sweeny had been 
 a bad man, that was certain. He himself had confessed 
 how he had first beaten and then deserted his wife, and 
 left her and her babe to the mercy of strangers. He 
 had murdered a man, too, out of pure wantonness, and 
 had eluded the punishment of his crime by breaking 
 from jail. Had such a creature the right to live, to 
 enjoy the blessings of earth ? God knows what crimes 
 this Sweeny might have committed had he continued in 
 his corrupt career ! When he was intoxicated the last 
 vestige of a human being seemed to vanish, and he be- 
 came a beast, capable of any atrocity. Was it a crime 
 to kill an irresponsible brute, whose existence was apt 
 to become a curse to the world? Were not scores of 
 tigers and wolves slain for the mere fact that their fangs 
 and claws were dangerous ? And was a drunken, besot- 
 ted, insane wretch better than a beast of the forest ? 
 No ! Isaac had committed no wrong in ridding the 
 earth of such a being. Rather was he entitled to the 
 world's gratitude. God would surely view the matter 
 in its proper light and be merciful. 
 
 " For the murderer there is no atonement." In spite 
 of Schwartz's arguments, the words of. the Rabbi still 
 rankled in his memory, and their persistence overthrew 
 all his hopes and theories. 
 
 Ah, but the Rabbi said nothing about killing a man 
 in self-defence. That was surely a different matter from 
 slaying a fellow-being in cold blood. Had not Sweeny 
 threatened many a time to shoot him, his inoffending
 
 The Day of Atonement. 131 
 
 partner ? Had he not on one occasion sent a ball whizz- 
 ing past' his ear? On the fatal night had he not 
 grasped Isaac's wrist with one hand, while he tried to 
 draw his revolver with the other ? It was but the work 
 of a few seconds, and Isaac would have been among the 
 dead. Was he wrong in seizing the first weapon he 
 could find and using it in self-defence ? Was not his 
 life, on which depended the support of a wife and two 
 innocent children, of more value than that of a scoun- 
 drel who had severed his ties with society and was at 
 war with mankind? Assuredly God meant him to 
 defend himself. The sudden inspiration to grasp the 
 pick, the remarkable strength and precision with which 
 he hurled it at his adversary, must have been given 
 by God to serve a useful purpose. God meant him 
 to be the instrument of his vengeance and to rid the 
 world of this abomination. 
 
 " For the murderer there is no atonement." Still the 
 words rang in his ear, but feebler than before. Reason 
 was beginning to outweigh conscience. Isaac continued 
 his musings. 
 
 " If my crime were discovered," he said to himself, 
 " I could prove that I did the killing in self-defence ; 
 that Sweeny threatened my life, and that I employed 
 the only means at hand to assure my safety. It was 
 not a premeditated slaughter. In spite of his constant 
 persecutions, I never meant to kill him. I fought hero- 
 ically against every suggestion to rid myself of his com- 
 pany. There is no court of justice which, knowing 
 the circumstances, would condemn me to death as a 
 murderer. They might convict me of manslaughter,
 
 132 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 and, at the worst, I would atone for my crime by a 
 short term of imprisonment. But can bodily punish- 
 ment, however severe, cleanse the conscience and wash 
 away remorse ? Can retribution on earth procure par- 
 don for me in heaven ? No doubt of it ! God, who 
 gave the criminal a city of refuge on earth, will not 
 deny him absolution in the world to come. God cannot 
 afford to be less merciful than man. It is incredible 
 that God, who knows the circumstances of my crime, 
 should show me no mercy, should hold out no hope of 
 redemption. I'll not believe it. The Rabbis are but 
 human, and judge from their own weak and selfish 
 standpoint. God will be merciful. He will forgive !" 
 Plausible as Isaac's reasoning seemed, it did not 
 entirely reassure him. The consciousness of his guilt 
 pressed heavily upon him. He remembered that he 
 had on many occasions wished for Sweeny's death. 
 There was the money, too ! Half of it belonged to 
 him, by virtue of the labor expended upon it and the 
 contract made with Sweeny. But the other half? To 
 that he had no moral right. To murder he had added 
 theft. Of a sudden he thought of Sweeny's wife and 
 child, deserted and abandoned, destitute perhaps of the 
 barest necessities of life, wandering as beggars over the 
 surface of the earth. They were perhaps anxiously 
 awaiting the return of a repentant husband and pro- 
 vider, little dreaming that he lay cold and dead in the 
 Far West. Isaac shuddered at the mental picture he 
 had invoked. What was the poverty he had endured, 
 compared with the inexpressible misery this family 
 might be doomed to experience ?
 
 The Day of Atonement. 133 
 
 "Oh, if I had but left half of the gold," sighed the 
 harassed culprit, "it might have eventually found its 
 way to the family of the deceased. And yet, if I had 
 left it, some of the members of the gang might have 
 come back and discovered it ; or a strange miner might 
 have found and appropriated it. Surely I had a better 
 right to it than they. It was of no use to Sweeny's stiff- 
 ening clay, while to me it was a fortune. It was mine ! 
 I had a right to take it, for want of a better owner." 
 
 The sermon was long since over. The reader was 
 again chanting the prayers. Isaac saw and heard no- 
 thing. He sat as rigid as a statue, with his head buried 
 in his palms, busy with his own thoughts. Morning 
 had waned; the afternoon prayers had begun. The 
 worshipers became restless under the influence of the 
 lengthy service, the oppressive heat and their prolonged 
 fast. Many left their seats and wandered into the cool 
 vestibule for a breath of fresh air. Here they met 
 acquaintances, and after asking each other how they 
 were fasting, and exchanging similar seasonable compli- 
 ments, returned to their pews to continue their devo- 
 tions. Little boys brought their parents lemons, sym- 
 metrically and artistically ornamented with cloves, the 
 refreshing odor of which, by appealing to their olfac- 
 tories, might neutralize their pangs of hunger. Men 
 leaned over into the pews of their neighbors, and for a 
 brief moment or two spoke in whispers of secular 
 affairs. Over all there sounded the buzz of earnest 
 prayer, interrupted at intervals by the deep voice of the 
 Chazzan, who with voice and gesture appealed to the 
 Almighty for clemency.
 
 134 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 The impressive memorial service with its "Kaddisch" 
 was followed by the monotonous evening service. Still 
 Isaac stirred not. He might have been in a trance. At 
 length, when the declining sun sent its slanting rays 
 through the little windows of the synagogue, he lifted 
 his head. The ray of light fell upon his haggard face, 
 and lit it up with a strange gleam. Isaac's struggle had 
 been long and severe. He had viewed his crime from 
 every standpoint, and had endeavored to find a solution 
 to the difficulty in which he found himself. At length 
 he had made peace with himself and with his God. He 
 had mapped out a plan of action, a mode of life, which 
 would atone for his misdeeds. The money he had taken 
 should prove a blessing not only to himself, but to all 
 the world. He would be a help to the needy, a father 
 to the orphan, a comforter to the oppressed. He would 
 utilize his ill-gotten fortune to spread cheer and 
 comfort. He would save many a human life from 
 misery and woe, and thereby atone for the life 
 he had ruthlessly destroyed. He would make an 
 effort to look up Sweeny's family, and by restor- 
 ing to them the half of the fortune rightfully be- 
 longing to them, he would make amends for his 
 crime. He would be the means of bringing happi- 
 ness and sunshine into this destitute and stricken 
 family, and by his own ministrations compensate for 
 the years of neglect they had experienced. Under the 
 influence of his noble resolutions all his superstition 
 seemed to have vanished, and given place to an abid- 
 ing faith in the wisdom and mercy of God, and in 
 the efficacy of good.
 
 The Day of Atonement. 135 
 
 " Atonement ! I will find it before God and man ! " 
 he cried. 
 
 The tones of the Shofar sounded through the evening 
 air. The Day of Days was at an end. Slowly the 
 pious Hebrews wended their way homeward, happy in 
 the belief of divine forgiveness. If Isaac was not as 
 happy as they, he at least walked as firmly, as confi- 
 dently; for he had determined on great and noble 
 things.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain, 
 And with some sweet, oblivious antidote 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which weighs upon the heart ?" Shakespeare. 
 
 NEXT day Isaac called on Rabbi Kauffman. In his 
 snug and comfortably furnished study, which Isaac 
 well remembered, with numerous books scattered over 
 the tables around him, sat this important person, en- 
 gaged in preparing a sermon for the following Sabbath. 
 His Saturday sermons were usually amplifications of 
 some Torah text, or some allegorical interpretations of 
 the Scriptures, plentifully interlarded with powerful 
 appeals to the male portion of his congregation to honor 
 the house of prayer with their presence. If the good 
 Rabbi had one sorrow, it lay in the fact that his audi- 
 ence on Saturday mornings was recruited almost exclu- 
 sively from the ranks of the women. The men were 
 for the most part engaged in earning their daily bread, 
 and the exigencies of their calling did not permit of 
 rest on the Sabbath. The women, as we have seen, sat 
 in the gallery, and the lower portion of the house of 
 worship was usually a barren waste of empty benches, 
 
 136
 
 The Philanthropist. 137 
 
 which, from their very newness, were all the more con- 
 spicuous and disheartening to a minister whose duty it 
 was to fill them. To be sure, he might always count 
 on the presence of a few retired merchants and two or 
 three ultra-pious men, who snatched a few hours from 
 their business and hastened to the synagogue, only to 
 hurry back to their shops when services were over. 
 The Rabbi was obliged, to his intense disgust, to crane 
 his neck and gaze upwards, in order that his voice 
 might reach the greater portion of his hearers. It was 
 the old story. He had preached against this indiffer- 
 ence for years, but no one heard him except the regu- 
 lar habitues, and they could not profit by his exordiums. 
 
 He had just incorporated into the sermon before him a 
 more than usually powerful appeal for a better observ- 
 ance of the Sabbath, and was reading it over, with a 
 smile of satisfaction, when his wife announced Mr. 
 Schwartz. 
 
 " Ah, welcome, my dear Schwartz ! " he cried, rising 
 and advancing to meet his guest. " I am delighted to 
 see you." 
 
 His well-formed face, which beamed cheerfully from 
 beneath a little velvet cap, gave evidence of his sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 "You have just come in time," he said, when Isaac 
 had taken a chair, " to hear what I have written. In 
 fact, I was thinking of you when I wrote it." 
 
 " Indeed, you do me honor," replied the visitor. 
 
 " Not at all ; just the opposite. You shall see," and 
 he proceeded to read his most recent composition. 
 "There," he said, pushing up his spectacles, "that is
 
 138 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 meant for you, Mr. Schwartz. A few years ago you 
 were a regular attendant, and there was none more 
 interested than you in the minute observance of every 
 Jewish ceremonial. Since you have returned from your 
 Western trip, however, you appear to have deserted 
 us entirely. What excuse have you to offer, Mr. 
 Schwartz ? " 
 
 The Rabbi looked at his guest, with a twinkle in his 
 merry eye. 
 
 "None, except unpardonable negligence," replied 
 Isaac. 
 
 " Well, since you have heard my sermon and admit- 
 ted your fault, let us dismiss the subject. Tell what 
 brings you to me." 
 
 " Precisely the subject on which you have just lec- 
 tured me. I want to confess my error and promise 
 reparation." 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 " I mean that for a year or more I had almost for- 
 gotten that I was a Jew, but that I now return to the 
 fold repentant." 
 
 The Rabbi shook his guest heartily by the hand. 
 
 " I am surprised at but one thing namely, that one 
 who had been so devout should have become so indiffer- 
 ent. Is it possible that a few months in the West " 
 
 "A few months in the West, Rabbi, will do a great 
 deal towards eradicating the little religion one possesses. 
 I endeavored to retain my fervor and love for my faith, 
 and succeeded. One day, however, a crime was com- 
 mitted " Here Isaac's voice became husky and he 
 held to the chair for support. " A crime was commit-
 
 The Philanthropist. 139 
 
 ted," he repeated, tremulously. "A man was killed. 
 It gave me a shock such as I never experienced, and I 
 lost what faith I had in the divine wisdom which is 
 supposed to rule over the universe. I have been a 
 changed man since that day. I doubted the justice, the 
 existence even of God." 
 
 "And have you been cured of your unbelief?" 
 
 " In a measure. I thought over the matter seriously 
 at the synagogue yesterday, and came to the conclusion 
 that God is merciful, although his ways may be mys- 
 terious. I am heartily ashamed of my indifference 
 during the past year, and will endeavor to make 
 amends." 
 
 "Amen. God strengthen you in your resolution," 
 replied the Rabbi. 
 
 "You can do much to strengthen me in it. Let us 
 come together more frequently. Let me share your 
 friendship." 
 
 " Have I not always been your friend," said the good 
 man " in adversity and in prosperity ? " 
 
 " Indeed you have," said Isaac, cordially, shaking the 
 other's hand. "To whom but to you do I owe my 
 present happiness ? " When he spoke of his happiness 
 he felt as though his heart would break with anguish, 
 but he bit his lip and repressed his emotions. " I need 
 more than a friend ; I need a counselor, an adviser," 
 he continued. 
 
 For an instant he thought of confessing his secret to 
 the Rabbi ; but cowardice forbade the step and buried 
 it deeper within his soul. 
 
 " I do not understand," said the Rabbi, surprised.
 
 140 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " There was a time," answered Isaac, " when I read 
 the Talmud and loved its wise precepts. A group of 
 devout men met weekly at my father's house and dis- 
 cussed the meaning of the wondrous commentaries, the 
 works of Israel's great Rabbis. Unfortunately I did 
 not pay as much attention to these studies as I should 
 have done. I find I have forgotten much of the little 
 I learned in my youth. The Talmud, which I remem- 
 ber but vaguely, appears to me but sophistry and idle 
 speculation." 
 
 " That is because you fail to comprehend the work. 
 So deep and philosophic a treatise requires for its com- 
 prehension a mind attuned to its beauties and alive to 
 its inspirations." 
 
 "And yet it contains much which to our American 
 way of thinking seems utterly trivial and inconsistent." 
 
 " Nevertheless it is a wonderful storehouse of wisdom 
 and learning." 
 
 " I should like to come together with you, Rabbi, and 
 with other pious Israelites and re-read the Talmud in 
 the light of our present surroundings. I might profit 
 spiritually by such a course." 
 
 " No doubt of it. I am glad you suggest the step, 
 for the same idea has presented itself to me. Let us 
 devote every Thursday evening of the week to the 
 pious work. Others will join us when they hear of the 
 undertaking." 
 
 Isaac smiled gratefully. The poor man dared not 
 confess that his one object in examining the Talmud 
 was to find an extenuating chapter to fit his crime a 
 grain of comfort for his oppressed soul.
 
 The Philanthropist. 141 
 
 " There is another thing, Rabbi," said Isaac. " I 
 am wealthy now, and prosperous. When I was poor I 
 came to you, and you gave me aid. Without your 
 assistance, I would perhaps never have reached the gold 
 fields. I come now to place my wealth at your dis- 
 posal. The fortune I brought with me was wrested 
 from the rocks by laborious toil ; it was watered with 
 the tears of sorrow and pain. I mean to use it to alle- 
 viate pain and sorrow. One tenth of my possessions 
 and one tenth of my gains, from now on, are to be 
 devoted to the needy. Your position brings you in 
 contact with poverty and misery. Send all applicants 
 for charity to me. I will do all in my power to relieve 
 their wants." 
 
 The Rabbi stood speechless with surprise. Then he 
 stammered his appreciation of the noble offer. 
 
 " It is nothing," replied Isaac, humbly. " My gold 
 has caused me many a pang, many a tear. Hitherto 
 I have used it selfishly, and it has been a curse. If I 
 now do good with it, I confess there is a selfish motive 
 underlying my action ; I wish to ease ray mind of the 
 burden this wealth has imposed." 
 
 "Who giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord," 
 said the Rabbi, joyfully. " May the God of Israel 
 prosper you !" 
 
 Isaac felt childishly happy when he left the Rabbi's 
 house. He stopped at a stationer's and bought a large 
 ledger. With this he hurried to his store and with pen 
 and ink inscribed on its cover the Hebrew word 
 " Maaser " (tithes). Herein was to be entered the tenth 
 part of all his profits for the benefit of the needy. It
 
 142 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 was a Biblical custom his father had observed ; so would 
 he. Then he went home to Lena, and, affectionately 
 taking her hand, he told her of the noble projects which 
 stirred within his breast. 
 
 He told her nothing of his crime, he lacked the cour- 
 age to do this ; but laid stress upon the welcome fact 
 that he meant to do away with trouble and fretting, 
 lead a religious life and devote his growing fortune to 
 deeds of charity. 
 
 Lena wept for sheer happiness. The world wore a 
 brighter aspect for her, and, like a sun gilding the land- 
 scape with glory, joy seemed to dawn and give promise 
 of a new existence. After the first transports were 
 over, the good woman asked her husband to begin his 
 charities at once by giving her ten dollars for a poor 
 woman who was at that moment bewailing her cruel lot 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 Bertha, too, shared in the general rejoicing, and on 
 declaring, with a smile, that she was too poor to buy 
 certain indispensable articles of toilet, she immediately 
 found herself the possessor of a bank-note which would 
 satisfy her wants for some time to come. Isaac next 
 returned to his store, where the agile little milliners were 
 ruining their eyes over his work, and surprised them 
 almost into hysterics by voluntarily raising their wages. 
 
 The charity which he thus inaugurated at home did 
 not remain there, but spread its blessed wings over the 
 entire city. The Hebrew Relief Society was one of his 
 first beneficiaries, and as it was in an impoverished 
 condition, it did not refuse his proffered help. To his 
 synagogue he devoted a generous sum.
 
 The Philanthropist 143 
 
 Mr. Ehrlich, who had a number of important im- 
 provements in contemplation, went personally to see Mr. 
 Schwartz and express his gratitude. Having acquitted 
 himself of that pleasant duty, he remained until late in 
 the evening discussing Schiller with Miss Bertha, for it 
 was but natural that the gratitude he felt for the brother 
 should in some way also include the sister. 
 
 Schwartz next joined every lodge and society in town 
 which was in any way connected with the amelioration 
 of the condition of the poor. It was in secret, how- 
 ever, that he did most good. There were a dozen indi- 
 gent widows upon his private list who received a 
 weekly stipend, and who never guessed the identity of 
 their benefactor. Lena, who heartily seconded her hus- 
 band's works, spent whole days in visiting the sick and 
 unfortunate, and baskets of wine and delicacies inva- 
 riably accompanied her. It was a labor she de- 
 lighted in. 
 
 Not a Jewish emigrant arrived in town who did not 
 in some mysterious manner find his way to Isaac's 
 house, and not one appealed to his generosity in vain. 
 The State was soon swarming with peddlers, fitted out 
 with their stock-in-trade from Schwartz's purse. Pov- 
 erty seemed to have vanished from among the Jews. 
 
 He made a strenuous effort to locate Sweeny's family ; 
 wrote to the mayors of various cities and scanned the 
 lists of inmates of all the poorhouses and asylums in 
 the land ; but in this direction his labors proved futile. 
 
 He lived in a veritable whirlwind of good deeds, toil- 
 ing and giving for the pleasure it afforded him and for 
 the peace of mind he hoped to derive from it. The
 
 144 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 blessings so lavishly bestowed returned to him a hun- 
 dred fold. So rapidly did his wealth accumulate, that 
 he often shuddered at the thought of a sudden and 
 awful reaction. Like Polycrates, he feared the resent- 
 ment of a power jealous of his success. He argued, in 
 fear and trepidation, that prosperity based upon so cor- 
 rupt a beginning could not endure, and though the 
 possession of money made him miserable, he dreaded, 
 nevertheless, to awake and find his fortune vanished 
 and himself the shiftless Shlemiel that he was in the 
 beginning. 
 
 His luck was marvelous. There came to him one 
 day a man who had lost his wealth through unfortunate 
 speculation. Of all his possessions there remained but 
 a piece of land, an arid waste of clay, several acres 
 in extent, and some distance outside of the city limits. 
 His chances for a new start in life depended upon the 
 sale of this land, but unfortunately he could find no 
 purchaser for it. In his despair he appealed to 
 Schwartz. 
 
 "And how much will see you out of your difficulty, 
 my friend ?" asked Isaac. 
 
 The man named his price a considerable figure and 
 Isaac, without a word, drew his check for the amount. 
 
 " God bless you I" cried the man, endeavoring in his 
 gratitude to kiss his benefactor's hand. 
 
 The money meant life, honor and happiness to him. 
 The deeds of transfer were promptly drawn and Isaac 
 entered the amount in his charity ledger. A month 
 later a new railroad was projected, and this very land 
 was eagerly sought as the most convenient location for
 
 The Philanthropist. 145 
 
 the company's shops. A sum which appeared fabulous 
 was offered for it, and Isaac accepted it. True to 
 his principles, however, one tenth of the advance in 
 value was promptly but anonymously sent to the original 
 owner of the property. 
 
 Alas ! Isaac was mistaken if he hoped to find atone- 
 ment in charity. His bright hopes of divine forgive- 
 ness with which he beguiled himself on Yom Kippur 
 eve seemed to have no foundation, save in his own san- 
 guine mind. When there was nothing to give and 
 nothing to do, he paid the penalty of his momentary 
 pleasure in long fits of melancholy. He was not suffi- 
 ciently philosophical to rejoice at his success. Happy 
 as his benevolence made him, he was as frequently 
 despondent. Oh, if he could but buy forgetfulness as 
 easily as he bought the gratitude of his people ! If he 
 could but exorcise that apparition of a murdered man 
 and send it back into the realms of oblivion I In what- 
 ever he undertook, in whatever work of charity he was 
 engaged, the mocking spectre stood at his side and poi- 
 soned the very good he sought to accomplish. 
 
 " Do you think by this to atone for the crime of mur- 
 der ?" The taunting accusation rang incessantly in his 
 ears. He was tormented by night as well as by day, 
 and his dreams revolved about the one bloody pivot. 
 He would often start from his sleep and scream with 
 terror. For fear that Lena might discover his carefully 
 guarded secret, from his somnambulistic utterances, he 
 eventually occupied a separate room on the top floor of 
 his dwelling. 
 
 In the hope of finding peace of soul, Isaac again turned 
 10
 
 146 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 to religion. No longer in the mystic rites of Teph- 
 illim and Messussoth and the devout observance of the 
 dietary laws he had neglected them too long to think 
 of reviving them but in an endeavor to fathom the 
 mysteries of his creed and to find, if possible, spiritual 
 consolation in the Torah and Talmud. He had no 
 objections to his wife continuing to observe the cere- 
 monies as of old relating to the table and the holidays ; 
 but as for himself, by a strange fancy, he chose to forget 
 his orthodoxy of former days. 
 
 The arrangement made with his friend the Rabbi for 
 a weekly study of the Talmud was faithfully carried 
 out, but received a sudden and fatal set-back in a pecu- 
 liar and unexpected manner. Attracted by the prospect 
 of an occasional evening agreeably spent, a number of 
 congenial acquaintances met in the minister's study and 
 there discussed the Talmud in its relations to God and 
 man, in imitation of the Rabbis of old those worthy 
 masters, whose unselfish labors and philosophical minds 
 handed down to us the best thoughts of Israel, and who, 
 in the midst of persecution, kept alive the soul of their 
 race and preserved its heritage unsullied. 
 
 That the men who assembled weekly at Mr. KaufF- 
 man's resembled the masterful Rabbis of Talmudic 
 days, either spiritually or physically, no one will venture 
 to assert. It was undeniably a peculiar assembly, but 
 its members were prepared to work with a vim under 
 Mr. Kauffman's able guidance. 
 
 First and foremost came the parochial president, Mr. 
 Rosenheim, whose intimacy with the Talmud had 
 degenerated, as we have seen, into positive familiarity.
 
 The Philanthropist. 147 
 
 To have left him out of these gatherings would have 
 been an insult to his position, as well as to his wondrous 
 knowledge of the context of the Babylonian tomes. 
 He could now, without fear of a misquotation, ask " Yot 
 does de Talmud say ?" and regale his listeners with the 
 actual words in the holy tongue. He even presumed so 
 far, on rare occasions, as to correct the Rabbi. This 
 was not done in a spirit of criticism, but merely to show 
 that the subject was not a sealed book to him. 
 
 Mr. Levi Rindskopf, the second of the group, was a 
 very old-fashioned man, bent double with rheumatism, 
 over whose gray head sixty unsuccessful years had 
 passed. He was a watchmaker by trade, but was 
 known as a profound student of Mishna and Gemara, 
 and, if rumor did not lie, had in the old country been an 
 expert dabbler in Kabalah. He was a man of few 
 words, but very pious, and no one could pray with 
 greater unction or more persistently than he. 
 
 Meyer Marks, the next member, was a man of more 
 than ordinary utility in the community, for he was the 
 " Schochet," the butcher who slaughtered the cattle in- 
 tended for Jewish tables according to prescribed ritesj 
 and watched conscientiously for any signs in lung or in- 
 testine that would render the carcass unfit for food. As 
 behooves a man of his sacred calling, he was pious and 
 uncompromising in all things pertaining to the ritual. 
 
 Moses Manheim, the Chassan or reader of the congre- 
 gation, lent the Talmud class dignity and learning. He 
 was a close student of Hebrew literature, and a deep 
 thinker. Mr. Schwartz and the Rabbi completed the 
 little circle.
 
 148 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Mr. Bergthal had eagerly applied for admittance, for 
 he could not endure the idea of his rival in business 
 pushing ahead of him spiritually ; but Mr. Rosenheim, 
 with less charity and unselfishness than the Rabbis of 
 old, threatened to retire if his competitor became one of 
 the chosen few, for, as he wisely remarked, " One cloding 
 man at a time is all de Talmud can stand ! " Bergthal, 
 in retaliation, set about forming a class in English litera- 
 ture; but alas, the project came to grief after the first 
 meeting, for the projector's English was so peculiar and 
 unconventional, that the invited members, fearing to un- 
 learn what little they knew, decided not to launeh out on 
 unknown waters. 
 
 The Talmud lessons were conducted on strictly infor- 
 mal lines. The Rabbi would read a section and ex- 
 pound it to the best of his understanding, and each 
 member was privileged to ask any question or suggest 
 any explanation. 
 
 Poor Isaac was doomed to disappointment from the 
 outset. The great book in which he had formerly 
 gloried now appeared to his agitated mind and fevered 
 imagination but a collection of metaphors and metaphys- 
 ical discussions, in which he sought in vain for a glim- 
 mer of reason. He came with a heart full of unspeak- 
 able sorrow. Why had these subtle reasoners of a 
 bygone age no consolation for him ? Why did they not 
 proclaim God's mercy in unmistakable terms, and say 
 that while man might err, God would be sure to forgive? 
 Occasionally there was a chapter to fit the case, but, as 
 a rule, there were disputations without end, and on sub- 
 jects in which the practical business man could have no
 
 The Philanthropist. 149 
 
 interest whatever. Why, a whole evening was spent in 
 reading and discussing the opinions of these worthy 
 Talmudists upon the propriety of eating an egg laid 
 upon the Sabbath or a holiday ! Another evening was 
 devoted to an extravagant discussion of the extent of 
 paradise and the dimensions of Gehenna. When at 
 times some really beautiful chapter of the Mishna was 
 considered, the commentators had managed to twist it 
 into such obscure allegory, that the clear and concise 
 meaning of the subject was utterly lost in a maze of 
 useless words. 
 
 Rabbi Kauffman was well versed in Talmud, and we 
 will do him the justice to say he believed it to be a God- 
 inspired work. So had Isaac believed once upon a 
 time, but that was all over now. He reproached him- 
 self bitterly because he could no longer take an interest 
 in what Rabbi Hillel or Rabbi Schammai said. Had 
 he become so indifferent to his faith, or perhaps so 
 wrapped up in business, as to be unable to appreciate a 
 noble and philosophical thought ? Had his association 
 with common-sense American customs rendered his 
 mind too obtuse to grasp these Oriental subtleties? 
 There is no doubt that each of these circumstances 
 added their influence, but greater than all was the recol- 
 lection of his crime. He could derive no pleasure from 
 these abstract reasonings, with the certainty of his guilt 
 ever before his eyes. He hoped to find some passage 
 which promised him absolution and grace. He knew 
 that the Talmud must be teeming with consolatory doc- 
 trines, but he lacked the patience to wait until such 
 passages should come up for discussion. All that did
 
 150 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 not directly or indirectly apply to his case appeared 
 irrelevant and absurd. 
 
 The discussion one evening, starting from a disputed 
 point on ethics, soon assumed a direction which became 
 interesting to Schwartz. 
 
 " While it is impossible to legislate for all times and 
 places/' said the Rabbi, in the course of an argument, 
 "there are certain well-defined principles of morality 
 which apply to all nations. To transgress these argues 
 lack of character and a disposition to evil." 
 
 "A man may have the most moral of characters," 
 said Schwartz, "and still on occasion do a wrong. 
 He may have the best of resolutions, and still be led 
 into acts at variance with them. We are sometimes 
 ruled by circumstances which we can neither foresee 
 nor avoid." 
 
 " Possibly," replied the Rabbi, who, though tolerant, 
 was so rigid in his own actions as to look with horror 
 on every wrong in others ; " but a man must be pre- 
 disposed to evil to fall an easy prey to circumstances. 
 A soul of absolute rectitude will rise superior to cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 " We know," suggested Mr. Manheim, " that oppor- 
 tunity makes the thief." 
 
 " True," said the minister ; " without the opportunity 
 he could not have become a thief; but the germs of 
 thievery, if I may use such an unusual expression, 
 must have lain dormant in his nature, or opportunity 
 would have left him untouched." 
 
 Schwartz shook his head in dissent, and was silent 
 for a moment. Presently he said, in an excited manner :
 
 The Philanthropist. 151 
 
 "You surely don't consider a person who has hon- 
 estly fought against temptation, and has fallen never- 
 theless, as bad as one who has made no effort at all." 
 
 " Not quite," said the minister. " I may pity him, 
 perhaps, but the consequences are pitiless. Our deeds 
 bear their reward or punishment, regardless of the 
 secret struggle that preceded them. The law takes 
 note of the crime and the motives that led up to it, but 
 does not concern itself with the doubts, resolutions and 
 excuses which the criminal may have indulged in before 
 he committed the act. But, my dear Mr. Schwartz, you 
 certainly can have nothing to gain by pleading in favor 
 of crime, for to a man as inflexible in morals as you are 
 all evil must be abhorrent." 
 
 The Rabbi looked straight at Schwartz over his spec- 
 tacles as he said this, with an air of friendly interest, 
 which to the other appeared as undoubted suspici6n. 
 
 He became very pale and gasped for breath; but, 
 recovering, he replied, as calmly as possible : 
 
 " Because I strive to do right does not make me less 
 tolerant to the faults of others, and knowing how easily 
 men may yield to temptation, I like to speculate on the 
 consequence of an unfortunate slip from the path of 
 virtue. Let us go on with the reading." 
 
 The subject changed ; but during the entire evening 
 Schwartz was absent-minded and ill at ease. 
 
 On the fifth Talmudic evening the conversation acci- 
 dentally referred to the crime of murder. At length 
 Isaac's patience was to be rewarded. A passage was 
 considered relating to the slaughter of animals for food. 
 
 Said Meyer Marks, the Schochet : " Our manner of
 
 152 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 killing cattle is the most humane that can be devised. 
 The knife employed must be sharp and without a flaw ; 
 the cutting must be done at a single stroke across the 
 windpipe and arteries of the throat. In this way the 
 principal blood-vessels are severed, and the animal ex- 
 pires before any pain has been felt. It is a well-known 
 fact that if a cut is inflicted with a sharp knife the 
 pain is insignificant. Besides, the blood, that great 
 vehicle of disease germs, is rapidly drained off. I 
 have seen animals killed, according to the prevailing 
 method of knocking them senseless, where several brutal 
 blows were necessary to relieve the animal of its misery, 
 while all the time the poor brute gave vent to its anguish 
 in almost human groans." 
 
 "It strikes me," said Rindskopf, "as positively 
 sinful to kill an animal at all. Who gives us the right 
 to lay hands upon the meanest of God's creatures and 
 deprive it of life ?" 
 
 "Are you an apostle of vegetarianism, my friend?" 
 asked the Rabbi, smiling. "Cattle were intended for 
 food. God himself has so decreed it." 
 
 " Possibly. But considering the vast number of 
 beasts killed in wanton sport, or slaughtered for their 
 hides and allowed to rot on the field is not that sin- 
 ful?" 
 
 "You are right," interrupted Schwartz, with great 
 animation. " I have seen on the Western plains thou- 
 sands and thousands of buffaloes killed for the mere 
 sport of seeing them struggle and die, and then left to 
 putrefy in the sun." 
 
 Mr. Rindskopf, the student, whom the thought of
 
 The Philanthropist. 153 
 
 blood always caused to shiver, cried out, in indigna- 
 tion : 
 
 " Oh, it is horrible ! To kill a beast for wanton 
 amusement is as cruel as killing a human being." 
 
 The Rabbi held out his hand with a deprecating ges- 
 ture. 
 
 "All the beasts of the field are not worth a human 
 life," he said. " The eradication of an entire species 
 would be a cheap price to pay for the life of the most 
 contemptible man on earth." 
 
 " Still there are men everywhere drunkards, liber- 
 tines, thieves whose life is a curse to humanity, and 
 whose death would be a boon." 
 
 It was Isaac who spoke, and his voice trembled with 
 suppressed feeling. 
 
 " It is not for us to judge them worthy of death, or to 
 mete them out their punishment," said the Rabbi. " It 
 is true, man is but an animal ; but he is formed in the 
 image of God. He possesses a soul, breathed into him 
 by his Creator. He who kills a man lays hands upon 
 God, and for him there can be no forgiveness. There- 
 fore has murder always been considered the most heinous 
 of sins. The Jew has ever had a horror of wantonly 
 shedding blood." 
 
 Isaac had become pale as the Rabbi spoke, and could 
 with difficulty repress his feelings. A storm of emotion 
 swept through his soul. He sprang to his feet. 
 
 " And were a murderer to come to you and ask you 
 what course to pursue in order that he might obtain 
 peace of mind, what would you advise ? What conso- 
 lation would you offer ? "
 
 154 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 The Rabbi reflected a moment. 
 
 " I have little sympathy with a murderer," he an- 
 swered. "I should advise him to deliver himself to 
 the authorities and expiate his crime. I should tell 
 him that only subsequent trials have the power to wash 
 away his guilt." 
 
 " Your doctrine is absurd ! " cried Isaac, a prey to 
 violent agitation. " It is blasphemous ! There may 
 be. different degrees of murder, and are they all to be 
 judged alike? Does the law punish the thief who 
 steals a loaf of bread to allay his hunger with the same 
 severity as one who has robbed the widow and the 
 orphan ? A man may be goaded to murder by perse- 
 cutions and injuries; he may be driven to it by self- 
 defence; he may commit the crime in a moment of 
 madness. Do you mean to say that for all of these 
 cases he merits the same punishment on earth and the 
 same misery hereafter as in the case of premeditated 
 killing ? It is absurd, I tell you ; and to say that God 
 has no pardon for a murderer is debasing Jehovah to 
 the level of a cruel and vindictive judge." 
 
 " Friend Schwartz," said the Eabbi, surprised at the 
 vehemence of Isaac's speech, " to judge by your agita- 
 tion, one would imagine that you were a murderer, 
 pleading for mercy. Is it possible that you are guilty 
 of such a crime ? " 
 
 The words were spoken in jest, but to Isaac they had 
 a fearful significance. It was the second time the Rabbi 
 had appeared to suspect him. He became livid and 
 sank back into his chair. He looked piteously about 
 him and wiped the cold perspiration from his brow.
 
 The Philanthropist. 155 
 
 " When I was in the West," he stammered, at length, 
 " I saw a murder committed. It was done in self- 
 defence ; but the recollection of it has never left me by 
 day or by night." 
 
 Schwartz hid his face in his hands and shuddered. 
 
 " We cannot evade God's commandments," said the 
 Rabbi, gently, " without holding ourselves responsible 
 for the results. I have often told you in my sermons 
 that restitution is the prime essential of atonement. In 
 the case of murder this is clearly impossible. Where 
 the criminal delivers himself to the authorities and 
 expiates his crime, he has in a measure atoned for his 
 offence ; and we, who believe in God's fatherly love, can 
 confidently hold out the prospect of eventual pardon. 
 But for the criminal who conceals his crime and evades 
 its punishment, there can be no atonement, save that 
 which may possibly come from a long life of remorse." 
 
 " Horrible doctrine !" cried Schwartz, upon whom 
 the Rabbi's words made an indelible impression. " It 
 cannot be as you say. You are judging God by your 
 own ideas and by human standards." 
 
 "How else can we judge God," asked the Rabbi, 
 " but by what we feel to be right and true ? Justice 
 remains justice, whether on earth or in heaven, and our 
 ideas of justice have been implanted by God himself." 
 
 Had Isaac been less moved and more amenable to 
 reason, he would have learned from the Rabbi that this 
 doctrine of retribution applied only to willful murder, 
 with malice aforethought, but that killing in self- 
 defence, or as a result of accident, was dealt with very 
 gently by Jewish law. Indeed, the very next lesson in
 
 156 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 the Talmud would have elucidated much that was dark 
 to the unhappy merchant ; but that next chapter Isaac 
 never learned. He had lost all hope of finding a balm 
 for his wounds in the venerable Rabbinical tomes. 
 
 It was evident that he dared not again discuss the 
 subject with his friends, for he perceived that he was not 
 master of his emotions, and that a moment of agitation 
 might betray him. His visits to the Rabbi's house were 
 therefore discontinued, and Isaac felt a growing repug- 
 nance towards the Talmud, which he so utterly failed to 
 understand. 
 
 The charity which he spread with lavish hand 
 became mechanical in the course of time, and failed to 
 give him the pleasurable excitement he craved. His 
 morose and gloomy disposition was constantly exerting 
 itself. He was still reveling in the possession of 
 Sweeny's half of the fortune, to which he had no moral 
 right whatever. His endeavors to find Dick's family 
 had remained fruitless. One day, while brooding over 
 the matter, he was inspired by a sudden idea. Sweeny 
 had been a Catholic. If the dead man's family could 
 not enjoy the possession of his share, it should at least 
 go to Catholic charities. 
 
 "When once an idea took possession of his brain, it 
 grew until it drove out all other thoughts and left him 
 no peace of mind until it was carried into execution. 
 For a day and a night he reflected how best to realize 
 his new project, and ended by putting on his hat and 
 paying a visit to Father Kelly, an influential priest, the 
 head of the Church of St. Lawrence. 
 
 Father Kelly was a worthy man, endowed with a
 
 The Philanthropist. 157 
 
 passionate nature, a fertile imagination, and an over- 
 whelming love for his religion. His contemplative 
 mind led him to look upon religion as the greatest factor 
 in life, without which there could be no happiness here 
 or in the hereafter. He was a man of profound and 
 immutable convictions, prominent among which was, 
 naturally enough, the belief that his church alone held 
 the key to salvation. In spite of this doctrine he asso- 
 ciated freely with men of opposite opinions, made friends 
 with people of all shades of belief, and was esteemed 
 by all who knew him as an honorable and upright rep- 
 resentative of God on earth. He delighted in argu- 
 ment and controversy, and was thoroughly content 
 only when trying to convince a skeptic of the supe- 
 riority of his doctrines. To give up discussion and 
 disputation would have deprived life of its principal 
 charm. 
 
 The priest was at home in the parochial dwelling in 
 the rear of the church. He occupied a charming room, 
 with a projecting bay window looking out upon a 
 delightful stretch of green lawn and cheerful flowers. 
 The low bookcase, well filled with ecclesiastical works ; 
 the oak centre table, with its large nosegay of flowers, a 
 daily offering from some kindly disposed parishioner ; 
 the shrilly warbling canary hanging near the window, 
 and the numerous highly colored reprints of sacred pic- 
 tures on the walls, all lent an air of comfort to the spa- 
 cious apartment and threw a ray of cheer into Isaac's 
 heart. He felt as though it were pleasant to be there. 
 There was none of that sordid contraction which hemmed 
 in Rabbi Kauffman's study.
 
 158 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Father Kelly was not a little surprised at receiving 
 such an unexpected caller. 
 
 " To what may I attribute the honor of your visit ?" 
 he asked, placing a chair for his guest. 
 
 " I come to you in reference to some plans which have 
 occurred to me recently. Your reverence has doubt- 
 less many applications for charity ?" 
 
 The priest smiled at the question. 
 
 "More than we can relieve, Mr. Schwartz. The 
 poor we have always with us, and the little money we 
 receive from the charitably inclined scarcely suffices for 
 our most pressing needs." 
 
 "But you have many wealthy adherents to your 
 church ?" 
 
 " This is a selfish age," replied the priest, " and the 
 demands of one's family and business are such as to 
 leave little for the poor. Nevertheless there are many 
 liberal givers in my flock people who make use of 
 their wealth for the purpose of alleviating the distress 
 of others. We need more people like yourself, Mr. 
 Schwartz, for you make charity the aim of your life." 
 
 Schwartz reddened at the compliment and tried to 
 disclaim any credit. 
 
 "Oh, no!" said the priest; "it won't do to be too 
 modest. The reports of your philanthropy have long 
 ago reached my ears, and I have observed with pleasure 
 the judicious employment you have made of your 
 money." 
 
 " It is upon that very subject that I came to speak," 
 replied Isaac, taking a scat at the priest's solicitation. 
 " I owe my start in life to a Catholic. He and I worked
 
 The Philanthropist. 159 
 
 together in the gold fields, and partially through his 
 labors I was enabled to return home richer than I went 
 away." 
 
 Isaac paused to compose his mind. He could never 
 allude to his association with Sweeny without experienc- 
 ing an uncontrollable nervousness which made speech 
 difficult. After a moment he continued more calmly : 
 
 " Hitherto I have given principally to Jewish chari- 
 ties. I now feel a desire to do something for the poor 
 of my partner's denomination, and I therefore come to 
 you as the most fitting person to assist me." 
 
 The priest rose and seized Schwartz's hand. ' 
 
 " How can I thank you, noblest of men ?" he cried. 
 " How can I requite such disinterested generosity ?" 
 
 " How ? I will tell you. By employing the money 
 to the best advantage, and by teaching henceforth that 
 the Jew is not as bad as he is represented to be." 
 
 "I have always taught that," answered the priest. 
 " I have always said that if the Jews but recognized the 
 Son of God, they would make the most excellent Cath- 
 olics the world has ever seen." 
 
 Isaac smiled faintly. " This little difference of doc- 
 trine, however, need not keep us apart," he said. 
 
 " As to the money," replied Father Kelly, " you may 
 rely upon me to spend it to the best advantage." 
 
 " I have confidence in you," replied Schwartz, taking 
 a paper from his pocket. "Here is a check for one 
 thousand dollars. When this is all spent, you may come 
 to me for more." 
 
 " This is munificent beyond words," cried the over- 
 joyed priest, as his eyes beheld the amount. " What
 
 160 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 good can I not accomplish with this fortune? But 
 surely it cannot be your desire to allow me to dispose of 
 so much money according to my own pleasure. Would 
 it not be better for you to decide how it is to be spent?" 
 
 " No, my friend ! I have my business to attend to. 
 With your permission, however, I will call from time to 
 time, and together we may devise some schemes for alle- 
 viating the condition of our needy fellow-men." 
 
 " You will always be welcome at my house," replied 
 the priest, heartily; "I shall feel honored by your 
 visits." 
 
 " What a pity he is a Jew," he cried, at length, after 
 Isaac's departure. " Such a man would be a credit to 
 our holy church."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CANDIDATE. 
 
 f 
 
 " Oh, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
 One is too poor, too weak, for my revenge." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MR. BERGTHAL, was standing at the door of his 
 Mammoth Clothing Emporium in his shirt-sleeves, con- 
 tentedly puffing a cigar, when fate led Mr. Jeremiah 
 Logan down the street and into his presence. Mr. Logan 
 was a well known saloon-keeper in the ward, and a 
 prominent candidate for the office of alderman. He 
 was a tall, thin personality, with a bristly red moustache 
 and a sinister gray eye ; a man of few words, but of 
 great influence. Mr. Logan was a popular man with 
 himself and with the ward-heelers, and there was little 
 doubt of his election. 
 
 " Goot mornin', Misther Logan," said Bergthal, affa- 
 bly, as the great man passed. " Ish der noddin' you vas 
 vantin' in cloding?" 
 
 This was Mr. Bergthal's stereotype salutation, and was 
 always reinforced by an appealing and insinuating ges- 
 ture with both hands. It brought many a patron to his 
 shop. On this morning, too, it proved efficacious. Mr. 
 Logan checked his onward march, reflected for a mo- 
 ment, and then said : 
 
 11 161
 
 162 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Have you anything decent in the way of an over- 
 coat?" 
 
 "Obergoat?" repeated the merchant, as an ecstatic 
 expression spread over his features. " I haf of ober- 
 goats der finest assortment outside of New York. I 
 haf a goat vot's der finest imported beaver, und I sold 
 him to you cheap." 
 
 " I was on my way to Rosenheim' s," said Mr. Logan ; 
 " but if you can suit me, I'd just as soon give you my 
 trade, and buy the coat from you." 
 
 The name of Rosenheim acted on Bergthal like a red 
 flag on a bull. His face grew flushed and he sniffed 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " Rosenheim ? Vy should you vant to go dere to be 
 cheated ? Cum right in here. I'll sold you for helluf 
 vot Rosenheim sharge. Cum in, Mr. Logan. Dry dis 
 obergoat on. Dot's a fine shinshilla, gelined mit der 
 best mohair." 
 
 "What's mohair?" asked Mr. Logan, who was 
 better informed about the different varieties of liquor 
 than about textile fabrics. 
 
 " Mohair," explained the merchant, " vas called mohair 
 pecause it from der hair of der auimal called der Mo vas 
 made." 
 
 "I never heard of such an animal," said the embryo- 
 nic alderman, dubiously. 
 
 " I pelief dot," replied the other, " dot animal runs 
 vild on der mountains of Asia und Africa. Id 
 don'd never vas caught yet alretty. It runs der 
 bushes droo, und some of der hair ketches on der 
 twigs und vas pulled out. ' Der natives gollect dot
 
 The Candidate. 163 
 
 hair, und dot makes mohair. Ya, dot's very expensive 
 stuff." 
 
 The overcoat was tried on, and Mr. Logan surveyed 
 himself in the mirror. Beyond a grunt, which might 
 have passed for satisfaction or the reverse, Mr. Logan 
 said nothing. 
 
 " Dot's a goot fit, Mr. Logan. Yust der right size, 
 don'd it ? Shinshillas vas vorn a leedle big dis season. 
 Ven you vas an alderman elected, you feel like a pigger 
 man, und fill it oud more alretty." 
 
 " How much ? " asked Mr. Logan, laconically, evi- 
 dently well pleased with his reflection in the glass. 
 
 " T'irty dollars," replied the merchant, rubbing his 
 hands ecstatically, as he surveyed Mr. Logan, and men- 
 tally deciding to accept fifteen, if he couldn't do better. 
 
 " Thirty dollars," repeated Mr. Logan, after an addi- 
 tional examination of his double in the mirror. "I 
 think I'll take it." 
 
 Mr. Bergthal's eyes danced with delight. Such an 
 easy customer was a rarity on Cedar Street. He felt 
 sorry for Rosenheim. 
 
 " I'll keep it right on my back," continued the politi- 
 cian. " Then I'll be sure I am getting the same coat. 
 Charge it up to me. I'll pay you next month." 
 
 Mr. Logan left the store with the overcoat on, and 
 Mr. Bergthal sank upon a chair hi a state of utter col- 
 lapse. When a man is a candidate for office, his cash is 
 mightier than his word. It was evident that Mr. Logan 
 had planned some coup d'etat, else why should he be sat- 
 isfied with the first coat he had put on ? Why should he 
 have omitted to haggle about the price ? Why should
 
 164 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 he have worn the coat when the atmosphere was sultry? 
 Mr. Logan never intended to pay for his purchase. In 
 a flash the tragic fact impressed itself forcibly upon 
 Bergthal's brain. 
 
 " Mine Gott, I am ruined I" he cried, excitedly. " The 
 man is a ganef (thief)." His first thought was to shout 
 " Police/' but he dismissed the idea as useless, for was 
 not the future alderman a special protegS of the police ? 
 
 The more the poor man reflected upon his misfor- 
 tune, the more terrible it appeared. He brooded over 
 it all day, declined to eat his meals, and passed a 
 sleepless night. He sincerely wished he had allowed 
 Rosenheim to make the sale. His greed in despoiling 
 Rosenheim appeared as a heinous offence, and he vowed 
 he would never be covetous again. Next morning, 
 haggard and weary, he passed Logan's saloon. Mr. 
 Logan was standing before the door, in converse with 
 several of his constituents. One of them was saying, 
 " Thot's a purty coat yez have on, Jerry, but it's too 
 big for yez. Where did ye git it ? " 
 
 "At Bergthal's," said Logan, curtly. 
 
 " Well, it's made for a bigger man than yerself. Thot 
 Sheeny shtuck yez." 
 
 It was providential that Bergthal overheard the 
 criticism. 
 
 " Goot-morning, Mr. Logan ! " he said, sidling up 
 timidly to the great politician. "How you vas this 
 morning ? Pooty goot, eh ? Vy, dot obergoat vas for 
 you two sizes too large alretty. I musht haf gave you 
 der wrong goat to put on. No, sir-ee ! I vouldn't let a 
 goat like dot leaf my shtore. Id vould der reputation
 
 The Candidate. 165 
 
 of der Mammoth Cloding Emporium hurt. I got of 
 der same goat a size schmaller. Cum 'round mit me 
 und I gif you a better fit." 
 
 "Go along wid him, Jerry/' said one of his hench- 
 men. "Yez look like a fence-rail shtuck in a hogs- 
 head. Let him give yez a smaller coat." 
 
 Thus urged, the unsuspecting Mr. Logan turned his 
 steps into Cedar Street, and followed Mr. Bergthal into 
 his store. 
 
 " Now took it off und dry dis goat on," said the mer- 
 chant, blandly and benevolently. 
 
 Mr. Logan took off the garment and laid it on the 
 table. Mr. Bergthal folded it up and put it back in 
 stock. 
 
 " Now, Misther Logan," he said, with sundry vehe- 
 ment gestures, " dere vas der door. You dink you cheat 
 me oud of an obergoat, ain'd id ? I guess not alretty. 
 You pay for id in a mont', eh ? Vot you tfink I vas, 
 Misther Logan ? A baby or a fool ? You're a ' ganef/ 
 und der sooner you leaf der shtore der better. Go und 
 buy from Rosenheim your clodings from now on alretty. 
 I don'd vant your trade." 
 
 Mr. Logan was so surprised by this unexpected piece 
 of diplomacy that he stood speechless and motionless. 
 After recovering his breath, he tried to recover his 
 property; but Mr. Bergthal stood with adamantine 
 firmness and guarded the pile of overcoats with his 
 excited little body. 
 
 " You'll be sorry for this, you scoundrel ! " at length 
 shouted the indignant candidate, as he left the store ; 
 but Bergthal stood erect in conscious pride before his
 
 166 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 citadel, with a smile of triumph upon his expressive 
 face. 
 
 If the merchant imagined that the affair would be 
 thus easily settled, he was woefully mistaken. Mr. 
 Logan was a power in the ward, and was not the man 
 to allow his heart to be thus ruthlessly trampled upon 
 and his back to be thus mercilessly despoiled of its cov- 
 ering. He planned a bitter revenge. He was politician 
 enough to realize that any overt act against Bergthal 
 would lose for him the Jewish vote, without which his 
 chances of securing the aldermanic berth would be sensi- 
 bly diminished. No candidate subscribes to the doc- 
 trine that " it is better to have run and lost than never 
 to have run at all." He could take no chances. For- 
 tunately, he had henchmen galore to do his bidding, 
 and it fell to the lot of Jimmy Lawrence, a prize- 
 fighter and much-dreaded tough, to carry out the medi- 
 tated retaliation. 
 
 A few days later Jimmy Lawrence, accompanied by 
 a formidable bull-pup, sauntered down Cedar Street, 
 with blood in his eyes and war in his heart. He had 
 formulated no definite plan of action, but he relied on 
 chance to pick up a quarrel with the clothing merchant. 
 Mr. Bergthal, all unconscious of the impending danger, 
 was in his shop, striving to turn an honest dollar, and 
 in the same operation to sell a pair of trousers whose 
 pristine glory had long since succumbed to dust and 
 the actinic action of the sun. Mr. Bergthal had a pet 
 collie, a great favorite with his children, and this dog 
 usually lay in the doorway, and when not asleep 
 watched with the fidelity of Cerberus the wire forms,
 
 The Candidate. 167 
 
 artistically draped with garments and signs, that stood 
 upon the sidewalk. The dog, whose Jewish name was 
 Califf, lay in his accustomed spot across the threshold, 
 basking in the sun, when Jimmy and his snarling com- 
 panion sauntered upon the scene. " Sic him !" cried 
 the prize-fighter ; and in a second the pup had Califf 
 by the neck, and the air was filled with canine howls 
 and imprecations. Bergthal and his customer both ran 
 to the door, the former in anticipation of trouble and 
 the latter of sport. Both had their anticipations ful- 
 filled. Poor Califf, bred to a life of inactivity and 
 ease, was like a rat in the fierce jaws of the pup, and 
 squealed with almost human persistence. 
 
 Thoroughly oblivious of personal danger, realizing 
 only that his pet's career was in danger of abbreviation, 
 Bergthal rashly threw himself into the mel^e, and en- 
 deavored to separate the combatants. 
 
 " Leave my dog alone, will yez ? " shouted Jimmy, 
 the tough, from the curb. 
 
 " Veil, den, call him quick avay from my tog ! " And 
 Bergthal seized the pup by a leg in a vain endeavor 
 to drag him off". 
 
 Here Jimmy took a hand in the battle, and grasp- 
 ing the clothing merchant by the coat collar, proceeded 
 to belabor him with his brawny fists. Bergthal was no 
 match for the professional pugilist, and he made up in 
 lusty calls for assistance what he lacked in prowess. In 
 an instant that particular locality on Cedar Street was 
 alive with interested spectators. Mrs. Bergthal, who 
 lived over the Emporium of Fashion, was attracted by 
 the noise, and running to the door of the store, stood
 
 168 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 for a moment in deep despair, crying, "Oh, woe is me ! 
 My husband ! They will murder him I" Then, seeing 
 that the situation was becoming critical, she ceased her 
 wailing, and, like Kizpah protecting her darlings from 
 the eagles' ravages, she attacked Jimmy from the rear, 
 beating him with a convenient coat-hanger. The ex- 
 citement became indescribable. The street was divided 
 between two rival camps, Celtic and Semitic, and their 
 slogans, in their respective brogues, were awe-inspiring. 
 
 Mr. Ehrlich, whose place of business was near by, 
 was startled by the din of battle, and rushed to the 
 scene. With the instincts of a peacemaker, he tried to 
 separate the combatants, and was severely bruised for 
 his pains. 
 
 When a policeman finally appeared, his argus eye 
 took in the situation at a glance, and, with rare im- 
 partiality and commendable perspicuity, he promptly 
 arrested both Jimmy Lawrence and Jacob Bergthal for 
 disturbing the peace. Followed by an enthusiastic 
 crowd, the combatants were led into the august presence 
 of Magistrate Flaherty, who, being a friend of the 
 pugilist, dismissed him on his own recognizance, and 
 held the merchant, in default of five hundred dollars 
 bail, for trial. 
 
 That evening Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Logan were in 
 the best of spirits, and the best of spirits were in them. 
 Mr. Logan had obtained his revenge without prejudicing 
 his chances of election by a loss of the Hebrew vote.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE NEW CEEED. 
 
 " Must I consume my life, this little life, 
 In guarding against all may make it less ? 
 It is not worth so much. It were to die 
 Before my hour, to live in dread of death." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 ISAAC returned home from the priest's with a smile 
 of contentment upon his lips ; but on his arrival at the 
 house his happiness was rudely dispelled. A disagree- 
 able surprise awaited him. 
 
 "My dear," said Lena, kissing him as he entered. 
 " You have had a strange visitor. Who do you think 
 was here ?" 
 
 " How can I tell ? Who was it ?" 
 
 " Mr. Burrow, the sergeant of police." 
 
 Isaac's face became deathly pale, and he leaned against 
 the wall for support. 
 
 " What did he want ?" he gasped. 
 
 " I don't know. He wouldn't tell me his business, 
 but he seemed anxious to see you. When I told him 
 you were out, he said he would call after dinner." 
 
 " Was that all he said ?" asked Isaac, nervously. 
 
 "Yes No ; he said I should be sure to keep you 
 home until he came, as he must see you without fail." 
 
 169
 
 170 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Good God ! Then it had come at last the dreaded 
 exposure. He could no longer doubt it. The police 
 were in possession of his secret and had come to arrest 
 him. Isaac staggered into his parlor and sank into a 
 chair, trembling with fear. 
 
 "Dear me!" cried Lena, "you look so pale. What 
 is the matter ?" 
 
 " It is nothing, Lena ; only my old sickness. I can- 
 not stand excitement. Tell me, did not Mr. Burrow 
 say why he wanted to see me ?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " Have you no idea what he wanted ?" 
 
 "None whatever. He seemed disturbed and in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " Disturbed and in a hurry," murmured Isaac. 
 
 Beyond a doubt he had come to arrest the murderer. 
 The poor man groped his way up to his room, holding 
 on to the railing for fear of stumbling. He locked the 
 door, for he wanted to be alone with his grief. Throw- 
 ing himself upon his bed, he sobbed as if his heart 
 would break. 
 
 " At last," he murmured, " they have found me out. 
 All my charity and all my endeavors to atone for my 
 crime have been unavailing and will count as naught. 
 They will tear me from my family and from my home, 
 and lock me up in their prison until the day of execu- 
 tion. Not that, my God, not that !" he prayed. " Oh, 
 have I not been punished enough? Must my family and 
 my friends be punished with me ? Oh, that there was a 
 city of refuge to which to flee ! My God, thou knowest 
 I am no murderer that it was done in self-defence !"
 
 The New Creed. 171 
 
 After a while he became calmer and sat down in a 
 rocking chair, gazing vacantly into space. 
 
 "Perhaps it is a mistake, after all/' he muttered, "and 
 the police sergeant wanted me for something else. No, 
 that is not likely. There can be but one solution to the 
 question. I am to be arrested." 
 
 Isaac had reached a mental state when everything 
 even remotely connected with his crime assumed an 
 unnatural aspect of importance. He saw every occur- 
 rence exaggerated through a medium of excitement and 
 terror. He was in a constant state of delirium, brought 
 about through his fear of confession and dread of detec- 
 tion. The most insignificant event threw him into a 
 state of mental unbalan cement, during which it was 
 impossible for him to reflect intelligently. 
 
 The perspiration stood upon his forehead as he thought 
 of the months of imprisonment, the long trial, the proba- 
 ble hanging. His memory became confused, his ideas 
 distorted. At the thought of an execution he sprang 
 up and paced the room in feverish haste. He dug his 
 finger-nails deep into his palms, but he felt them not. 
 The hanging ! It would kill Lena ; she would not sur- 
 vive it. 
 
 " No, no," he cried, in despair, " they dare not hang 
 me ! It was done in self-defence. It was not pre- 
 meditated murder." 
 
 Yet what proof had he ? Who would believe him ? 
 A thought of flight suggested itself. He might evade 
 the police and escape. Whither ? Wherever he went 
 they could bring him back, and his evasion would only 
 be construed as an evidence of guilt. Besides, he could
 
 172 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 not take Lena and the children with him, and he would 
 not desert them. What if he called Lena and told her 
 all, confessed his crime and implored her forgiveness ? 
 It would be better than if she heard the story from 
 the police. Yes, he would do it. He felt he should 
 have done it long ago. He went to the door to call his 
 wife. 
 
 " Lena !" The name stuck in his throat. He called 
 again, but his hoarse voice was scarcely audible. No, 
 he dared not tell her. Time enough when she found it 
 out. He staggered back into the room and fell into his 
 chair, pale, irresolute. 
 
 An hour passed an hour of intense anguish, of ter- 
 rible suspense. Oh, if he could but die and be through 
 with it all ! His wife came up to call him for dinner, 
 and found him sitting with his chin in his hands, staring 
 dejectedly before him. 
 
 " Come, Isaac, dinner is ready." 
 
 " I cannot eat. I am not well. Leave me alone." 
 
 " No, my dear. You must eat. A nourishing dinner 
 will do you good. We have your favorite dish to-day." 
 
 He went down to please her, but could eat nothing. 
 His wife was greatly worried, but kept her peace. She 
 was growing accustomed to his vagaries, but not recon- 
 ciled to them. Another hour of suspense ensued, until 
 two o'clock struck, when the door-bell rang and the 
 sergeant of police entered. Isaac went into the hall to 
 meet him. 
 
 " How are you, Mr. Schwartz ?" asked the man in 
 uniform. " I want you to do me the favor to go to the 
 county prison with me ?"
 
 The New Creed. 173 
 
 Isaac's eyes bulged from their sockets. There was 
 no more doubt of his exposure. 
 
 " For what?" he managed to whisper, in a terrified voice. 
 
 " Great heavens, man, don't look so frightened ! I 
 don't intend to keep you there," said the official. 
 "The case is just this. Mr. Bergthal, the clothing 
 merchant, has been arrested for disturbing the peace 
 and wants you to go on his bail. Hurry, for the poor 
 fellow is growing impatient. He fears Mr. Rosenheim 
 will get his trade while he is locked up." 
 
 Isaac clutched the wall to keep from falling. What 
 a terrible mistake ! They had not discovered his crime. 
 Thank God, thank God ! He actually wept for joy. 
 
 "Will you go with me?" asked the sergeant, sur- 
 prised at such emotion. 
 
 " Of course I will ; at once. I will get my hat." 
 
 In the excess of his agitation Isaac fell into a chair, 
 and it was several minutes before he found strength to 
 walk. 
 
 He went willingly to the jail with the sergeant and 
 entered bail for Bergthal, who was profuse in his 
 thanks and explanations. 
 
 " I vas sorry to drouble you, Mr. Schwartz," cried 
 Bergthal, effusively, "aber dere vasn't nobody I couldn't 
 sent to for bail. My friends don'd own no real estate, 
 except Eosenheim, uud he ain'd no friend of mine. 
 Haf you heard how id vas ? Dot rascal, Jimmy Law- 
 rence, cums arount mit his dog, vich grab my dog, und 
 den he goes for me ven I go for his dog. It's nodding 
 but 'rishus' (prejudice). I vill haf de law on dot tough, 
 if it costed me my last cent."
 
 174 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Bergthal again expressed his gratitude and hastened 
 back to the Mammoth Clothing Emporium, where he 
 found his wife bathed in tears and mourning for him as 
 though he were irretrievably lost, while Emma was 
 using all her eloquence to comfort her bereaved parent. 
 
 Isaac shuddered as he passed through the dingy 
 prison. The cells, with their iron gratings, seemed to 
 beckon him in, and he glanced furtively into the inte- 
 rior. How long would it be before he was called upon 
 to inhabit just such a cell ? For the moment the danger 
 was averted, but it was sure to come. Nemesis would 
 overtake him, and one of these very cells, with its bare 
 walls and carpetless floors, its gloomy air and musty 
 smell, would be his last abode this side of the grave. A 
 chill seized him at the thought, and he tottered like a 
 drunken man. He glanced at the iron doors and massive 
 locks. They were impregnable. Once behind them 
 there was no escape. 
 
 He heard the muffled step of a man pacing up and 
 down his narrow dungeon. 
 
 " That," said his guide, " is Frascatti, the murderer. 
 He will be executed next week." 
 
 " Is there no hope for him ? " whispered Isaac. 
 
 " None. He does not deserve any pity. He killed 
 a fellow-countryman in cold blood for the sake of a few 
 dollars. Hanging is too good for him." 
 
 Isaac's head swam, as the sergeant calmly spoke of 
 the condemned man. Before long this same officer 
 might be telling a casual visitor : 
 
 " There is the cell of Schwartz, the Jew, who killed 
 his partner for a bag of gold."
 
 The New Creed. 175 
 
 Yes, he would add the word " Jew " in speaking of 
 him. They always did that, and the whole family of 
 Israel would be made to feel the disgrace. 
 
 Isaac tore himself from the frightful place, and turned 
 his steps homeward. Never had the world appeared so 
 sad and tearful. When he arrived home, a fever was 
 raging within him. Lena would have sent for a physi- 
 cian, but he forbade it. 
 
 Next morning he felt better, but the recollection of 
 that day of suspense remained with him for weeks. 
 
 Schwartz's visits to Father Kelly became frequent. 
 There were numerous arrangements and specifications to 
 be discussed, and as the conscientious priest refused to 
 act entirely upon his own responsibility, the Jew and 
 the Catholic were often thrown into each other's society. 
 Schwartz retained few of the Jewish mannerisms which 
 distinguished him when we first made his acquaintance. 
 Contact with intelligent people, and the influence of his 
 varied surroundings, had smoothed those little asperities 
 of manner by which one invariably recognizes a for- 
 eigner, and Isaac had become thoroughly Americanized 
 both in speech and manner. 
 
 The priest took delight in his visits, for he began to 
 recognize in the philanthropist a keen intellect and a 
 ready tongue. It is not surprising, therefore, that after 
 their monetary discussions were at an end, they should 
 drift into a discussion of business and politics, and finally 
 of their respective religions; and to Isaac's agitated 
 mind such conversations were welcome. They diverted 
 his thoughts from their sombre channels. 
 
 The Catholic religion had hitherto been a sealed book
 
 176 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 to Isaac. At his father's house it was never discussed, 
 and he himself had neither the time nor inclination to 
 investigate the mysteries of any religion but his own. 
 Beyond the barest outlines, therefore, he knew nothing 
 about the doctrines of the Church of Rome. He list- 
 ened with interest bordering on amusement to the ideas 
 which the priest unfolded, and mentally compared them 
 with the theology to which he had so long been accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 " I see you smile," said Father Kelly, one day after a 
 somewhat lengthy elucidation. " May I ask why ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon for my seeming levity, but your 
 doctrine is so strange that I scarcely know whether you 
 are in earnest or not. We Jews expected a Redeemer, 
 it is true, but he was to be a scion of the house of 
 David, a valiant and warlike man, who would save 
 Israel from persecution and re-establish a nation of 
 Jews. You surely cannot blame us for denying your 
 Saviour, for he does not possess one of these require- 
 ments." 
 
 " You forget," answered the priest, gently ; " our Re- 
 deemer comes from the house of David." 
 
 " Not according to your statement, unless Joseph was 
 his father, in which case his birth was natural. But 
 apart from his pedigree, in what way can you demon- 
 strate his genuineness as a saviour of the Jews ? Has 
 the persecution of the Jews ceased ? Have peace and 
 good will become general ? Has the kingdom of Israel 
 been re-established by his prowess or courage ? " 
 
 " No," answered the priest, full of apostolic inspira- 
 tion, and speaking as though he were in the pulpit.
 
 The New Creed. 177 
 
 " Christ came, not to restore an earthly kingdom, but to 
 proclaim the kingdom of heaven. He has not redeemed 
 us from the tyranny of conquering nations, but from 
 the tyranny of sin. He has taken the sins of mankind 
 upon his shoulders and opened the path to eternal life." 
 
 After a lengthy conversation on kindred topics, Isaac 
 left the priest, in some mental perturbation. 
 
 " I scarcely know whether the Jews should feel hon- 
 ored or the reverse," he mused. " To think that one 
 of our race, a meek preacher of whom thousands of 
 Hebrews living at that time never heard, should be 
 raised to the dignity of a God ! Indeed, to my mind 
 the story rivals in strangeness the most fanciful Kabal- 
 ism of our time-honored Rabbis. And yet this doc- 
 trine, strange as it appears to me, must have some 
 great inherent merit, else it would not attract and hold 
 such great numbers of adherents. How strange and 
 incomprehensible it appears by the side of our beautiful 
 and soul-inspiring belief in an only God !" 
 
 After Isaac had taken his departure, the priest walked 
 slowly up and down his room, a smile of beatitude play- 
 ing about his finely-chiseled lips. He had been inspired 
 by an idea whose boldness startled him, while it filled 
 his soul with delight. 
 
 " Who knows," he mused, " whether God ; in his infi- 
 nite wisdom, has not led this Jew to me, that I may 
 point out to him the path of salvation ? Our doctrines 
 are new to him, but he did not disparage nor condemn 
 them. He appeared to take a strange interest in all I 
 said. Oh, if I could but say to him, ' Brother, believe 
 in Christ ! Abandon your ancient ceremonials and your 
 12
 
 178 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 antiquated ideas, which lead but to perdition, and seek 
 salvation in the crucified Saviour ! ' Oh, that God 
 would vouchsafe to me the triumph of having saved 
 one perishing soul from the fires of hell ! I shall sow 
 the seed. God grant that it may fall on fertile ground ! " 
 
 ,Several days elapsed before the Jew and the priest 
 again met. Isaac called in reference to a donation to a 
 Catholic seminary, and found a hearty welcome await- 
 ing him. The priest was eager to resume the discussion, 
 and Isaac, who had meditated long and earnestly, was 
 not averse to taking up the conversation, with a view 
 of adding to his knowledge of the subject. He had, in 
 fact, come armed with a long list of questions concern- 
 ing Catholicism, which the priest was but too happy to 
 answer. 
 
 The good priest was in his element. He descanted 
 long and earnestly upon his conception of God's love 
 for man. He related in his own eloquent manner the 
 story of the birth, life and death of Jesus. He dwelt 
 with loving fervor upon each incident, and when he 
 told how the Son of God perished that mankind could 
 enjoy eternal life, his face lit up with an expression of 
 radiant joy. 
 
 Isaac listened attentively. His attitude was respect- 
 ful and deferential, but he could not repress an occa- 
 sional smile as the novelty of the doctrine was unfolded 
 to him. While the priest discoursed, his mind reverted 
 to Sweeny. He, too, had been a Catholic, in name, if 
 not in fact. The spectre of the murdered man stood 
 again at his side, darkening his soul with its persistent 
 accusations. How he longed to exorcise the spirit
 
 The New Creed. 179 
 
 which tormented him! Suddenly he interrupted the 
 priest, and asked, nervously : 
 
 " Suppose, your reverence, that a man had committed 
 a crime. Let us take, for example, the worst in the 
 catalogue of evil murder. His conscience is bound 
 down by the weight of grief and remorse. He is in 
 constant danger of detection and punishment. He can 
 find no peace, no rest nothing but the ceaseless accusa- 
 tion of a guilty conscience. "What comfort has your 
 religion for such an unfortunate being ?" 
 
 "We have nothing to do with punishment inflicted 
 by law; but, oh, the blessed relief of knowing that 
 your soul is saved of knowing that your crime has 
 been morally washed out that God's mercy and the 
 kingdom of heaven are open to you without a doubt ! " 
 
 " And how can a sinner obtain this salvation ? " 
 
 " By faith in Him, the Son of God." 
 
 " Let us suppose, for the sake of argument only, that 
 I am such a remorseful sinner I, a Jew. What would 
 be the requisites of my salvation?" 
 
 "The first is baptism," replied the priest, scarcely 
 able to conceal his satisfaction at the turn the conversa- 
 tion had taken. " Baptism by itself will lift you into 
 moral perfection ; and faith in Christ will relieve your 
 conscience of its weight of sorrow, and release your 
 soul from its guilt." 
 
 " Then the penitent thief, impostor, assassin need but 
 faith to purify them ? " 
 
 "Cast your sin upon the Son of God, and he will 
 bear the burden ; he will forgive." 
 
 "Comfortable belief," replied Isaac, after a pause.
 
 180 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "We poor Jews have been for centuries bearing our 
 own guilt, believing that each man is held accountable 
 to God for his own misdeeds, and never dreaming that 
 by means of faith in one of our own race we might 
 have lived lives of moral ease." 
 
 Father Kelly thought he detected a slight trace of 
 sarcasm in Isaac's voice as he spoke. At length the 
 Jew arose to take his leave. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Schwartz," said the priest, shaking him 
 by the hand, " this has been a delightful hour to me ! 
 To converse about my dear Saviour, to open the eyes of 
 the erring to the beauties of my religion, is the greatest 
 privilege I can conceive of." 
 
 " Christ has a noble champion in you, Father Kelly." 
 
 " I am but an humble toiler in the vineyard of the 
 Lord. You will come again, Mr. Schwartz, will you 
 not?" 
 
 " Certainly ; our charity work is not yet at an end." 
 
 " I believe that he is half converted," said Father 
 Kelly, when his guest had departed. "Oh, what a 
 triumph it would be for our blessed church if we could 
 rescue this soul from the kingdom of Satan ! " 
 
 Had the priest been able to read Isaac's thoughts, as 
 he wandered homeward, he would have been less san- 
 guine as to the results of his ambitious plans. 
 
 Schwartz's donations to Catholic institutions attracted 
 wide attention. His philanthropy was proclaimed in 
 every church. Such bounty on the part of an Israelite 
 towards other creeds was unheard of, and Father Kelly 
 incorporated in his service a special prayer of grace for 
 the benefactor, and an ardent request to the Son of God
 
 The New Creed. 181 
 
 to soften the heart of the unbelieving Jew, and lead hiui 
 into the path of salvation. 
 
 For a time Isaac felt a contentment which had long 
 been a stranger to him. He argued that the spirit of 
 Sweeny might now rest in peace, as more good was 
 being accomplished with his gold than if he had dis- 
 posed of it himself. In the latter case it would 
 probably have found its way into the rum shop. 
 Now it was feeding the widow and the orphan. It 
 might, after all, be a blessing to humanity to have 
 Sweeny out of the way. He had been a worthless 
 specimen of humanity. Who knows how soon he might 
 have committed another murder and been hung for it? 
 This manner of reasoning and this feeling of satisfac- 
 tion were, however, of short duration. They were arti- 
 ficial and could not endure. During his moments 
 of calm reflection Schwartz felt that, do what he 
 would, his guilt was not thereby diminished. He 
 had in no wise expiated his crime, and he realized 
 more than ever that there could be no atonement until 
 he had paid the penalty according to law.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE LAMP. 
 
 " Oh, that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed, 
 Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed !" Moore. 
 
 MICHAEL LAZINSKY, the first Pole who settled in 
 
 B , was dead. The wintry blasts of America had 
 
 proved fatal to his lungs, weakened by the miasma of 
 his Polish Ghetto, and consumption had carried him off 
 just as he was becoming accustomed to the peculiarities 
 of American civilization. He had been a Talmud 
 student in the old country ; a peddler and a schnorrer 
 in the new ; but outside of his immediate family circle 
 his death left no great gap, nor evoked any violent grief. 
 
 His widow, Simcha Lazinsky, sat " shiva " during 
 the prescribed seven days, wailed against fate in her 
 choicest jargon, and then set out with grim determina- 
 tion to earn a living for her four children. Such chil- 
 dren ! Jankerle, her eldest, was nearly ten ; but already 
 he had whipped a boy who lived in the same tenement, 
 and who was two years older. He was a linguist, 
 too, of no mean ability, speaking jargon and Billings- 
 gate with equal facility, to say nothing of the passages 
 of Torah which his father " selig " had taught him, and 
 which he repeated, parrot-like, in pure Hebrew. Minka, 
 Pesach and Beilche, though younger, were no less a 
 
 182
 
 The Miracle of the Lamp. 183 
 
 comfort to their mother in her affliction, and promised 
 to be a great help to her after they had grown up. 
 Michael Lazinsky had been sick and unable to earn 
 anything for some time before his demise, and, in his 
 helplessness, had relied entirely upon Isaac Schwartz's 
 generosity for support. Three months' rent remained 
 unpaid, and Simcha was politely but inexorably invited 
 to move. 
 
 " Oh, woe is me !" she groaned, in jargon. " What 
 will I and the ' kinder ' do ?" 
 
 The landlord understood neither Yiddish nor sym- 
 pathy, and the widow's belongings were unceremoniously 
 huddled into the street. Here sat Simcha, like a true 
 daughter of Zion, surrounded by her children, weeping 
 and refusing to be comforted. 
 
 The Hebrew Relief Association, being taxed to its 
 utmost, refused to assist the widow, and again Isaac 
 Schwartz, the patron and protector of all poor Jews, 
 was appealed to. He paid for Michael's funeral and 
 installed the widow and her brood in a four-roomed 
 house in a court off of Oak Street, not far from where 
 he had once faced poverty. She recovered her spirits 
 when she was comfortably settled, and heaped plen- 
 teous blessings upon the head of her benefactor. It 
 was a poor dwelling, amid poor surroundings, but had 
 Michael only been alive to enjoy it, the place would 
 have been metamorphosed into a palace. 
 
 Mrs. Mulcahey, who lived next door, paid Mrs. Lazinsky 
 a social call during the first afternoon of her occupancy. 
 
 " Good day to yez," she said. " I do be hopin' we'll 
 be good uayburs."
 
 184 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Was sagt sie ?" queried Simcha, in Yiddish, turn- 
 ing to Jankerle, the linguist. 
 
 " Sie, sagt, sie hofft as mihr werden sein gute fraind," 
 interpreted the boy. 
 
 " Asoy ! Sie soil haben a gut jahr !" 
 
 " What's that she do be after sayin' ?" queried Mrs. 
 Mulcahey. 
 
 Jankerle translated somewhat freely, and good will 
 was at once established. Mrs. Mulcahey was loqua- 
 cious. 
 
 " I hear yez be a widder. Och, shure an' its harrud 
 to lose one's ould man in the middle of the winter ! Me 
 own husband, Tim, died this Christmas comin' three 
 years ago, and divil a one have I found loike him since. 
 Och, sorra the day !" 
 
 Here Mrs. Mulcahey furtively wiped away a tear. 
 
 "Was sagt sie?" asked Mrs. Lazinsky. "Warum 
 thut sie ( bechiess ' (why is she crying) ?" 
 
 Jankerle explained in a few words, and soon the two 
 widows were mingling tears and groaning in their 
 respective idioms, after which the visitor left. 
 
 Next day Simcha started out with a large basket, 
 filled with a generous stock of pins, soap, shoe-laces and 
 kindred wares, all supplied by her friend and protector, 
 Isaac Schwartz, and began to peddle her wares along 
 Cedar Street. 
 
 In view of the fact that that night was the eve of 
 rt Hannukah," a few gross of wax candles were added to 
 her stock. These were choice sellers. Not only did the 
 people buy them for Hannukah lights, but for Christmas 
 trees as well, a fact which did not worry the pious Simcha,
 
 The Miracle of the Lamp. 185 
 
 so long as she sold them. She religiously put a dozen in 
 her pocket, for the gratification of her own little ones. 
 That night she returned home in a gay and festive 
 mood. She had cleared almost a dollar. Michael 
 (peace to his soul !), after slaving all day, had rarely 
 earned as much. Jankerle met her at the door, his 
 Semitic face aglow with excitement. 
 
 " Memmeleben ! Gick amol her !" he shouted. "Come 
 quick and look !" 
 
 He drew his mother to the wall back of the stairs. 
 There was a wooden panel which had once been a 
 door, but which had been nailed shut, for some in- 
 scrutable reason. On moving into the house the 
 widow had tried to open it, but it had resisted her 
 efforts. The boy, having nothing better to do, had 
 spent an hour at the task and had succeeded in re- 
 moving the nails. The panel stood open and revealed 
 a lamp. 
 
 It was not a bronze lamp with onyx base ; not a 
 lamp of Grecian design or Etruscan finish ; nothing but 
 a cheap glass lamp, with brass cap and penny wick ; 
 but its body was filled with clear, white kerosene, and 
 it brought as much joy as though it had been the fabled 
 lamp of Aladdin. Only those who have passed their 
 evenings in darkness, relieved at the best by a tallow 
 candle, can appreciate the joy of the Lazinskys at the 
 prospect of light. The widow carefully examined 
 the enclosure in which the lamp had been discovered. 
 It was a kind of closet, about three feet high and nine 
 inches deep. A shelf ran about six inches from the 
 ground, and on this stood the luminary. Nothing else
 
 186 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 could be found in the enclosure. The back was of 
 wood, and unyielding. 
 
 Such an unexpected discovery, on the very eve of 
 the Hannukah, was little short of miraculous. The 
 lamp was lit and placed on the table, and a " mi-shab- 
 erach " (blessing) said in its honor. Then Jankerle told 
 his younger brother and sisters of the lighting of the 
 lamp in the temple in the heroic days of the Maccabees, 
 and the children appreciated the situation as never before. 
 After the children had gone to bed Simcha sat up to 
 read. The light was there, and she deemed it a good 
 deed to utilize it. When it had burned out, the widow, 
 with respect born of superstition, replaced it in the 
 shrine, closed the panel and retired. 
 
 Next day the battle of life recommenced. The faith- 
 ful mother trudged along with her basket, gratefully 
 collecting the pence which were given her by the charita- 
 bly inclined purchasers. She returned tired, but joyful. 
 
 When she entered her dark dwelling a pang of regret 
 seized her. Why had she been so prodigal or the oil 
 the day before? Now they would have to pass the 
 evening in darkness. She went longingly to the panel, 
 opened it and looked at the lamp. 
 
 Oh, miracle of miracles ! The lamp was filled with 
 oil, the wick trimmed, and a box of matches lay on the 
 shelf, invitingly. 
 
 " Jankerle !" she called. Did you fill the lamp ?" 
 
 " No, mamma," answered the boy. " I didn't even 
 look at it. Where would I get the money for oil ?" 
 
 " God be blessed, forever and ever !" muttered the 
 woman, piously. " It is miraculous."
 
 The Miracle of the Lamp. 187 
 
 What more natural than that the Lord should repeat 
 one of his miracles ? Did he not replenish the lamp in 
 the days of Antiochus ? Did he not fill the widow's 
 cruse in the time of Elisha ? Did he not send manna 
 to the famished Hebrews ? Why, it was as easy for 
 the Lord to do these things as it was to send rain. 
 
 But why had he singled out her, the poor widow, for 
 the honor of such a miracle ? Possibly Michael La- 
 zinsky (peace to his soul !) had a hand in it, and was 
 using his influence with the Almighty. 
 
 After supper Simcha could no longer restrain herself. 
 The secret was oppressing her. Some one had to share 
 it. Near by lived Levi Rindskopf, the pious watch- 
 maker, who, having delved deeply in holy lore all his 
 life, would be apt to throw some light on the mystery. 
 
 She told Mr. and Mrs. Rindskopf of the miracle. 
 They both went to the widow's house, looked at the 
 lamp, blew it out, relit it and tested it in various ways, 
 and came to the unanimous conclusion that it was a 
 miracle indeed. 
 
 Mr. Rindskopf had read of similar wonders while 
 studying the mysteries of Kabalah. 
 
 " Do me the favor," said the widow, " and say no- 
 thing of this yet. Wait till to-morrow. If the lamp 
 is again filled to-morrow night, we will notify Mr. 
 Schwartz, and the miracle shall be proclaimed through- 
 out the world. Oh, what will the Gentiles say? 
 "Where now are their miracles ?" 
 
 Rindskopf promised. They remained until ten 
 o'clock, and as the oil burned low they departed. 
 
 The widow replaced the lamp in its shrine. To pre-
 
 188 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 vent any interference with divine work, and to mini- 
 mize any cheating by profane hands, Simcha drove a 
 nail into the panel before she went away next morning. 
 
 She could hardly await the coming of evening. It 
 was the day before Christmas, and money fairly poured 
 in on her. Surely the Lord had singled her out for 
 great things. 
 
 At length she returned to the court. Before her door, 
 and in her room, was a vast concourse of people. 
 Rindskopf 's wife had kept her secret as long as possible, 
 and then, woman-like, told a few of her friends of the 
 wonder. The news spread like fire. The crowd before 
 the court was increasing. The whole congregation ap- 
 peared eager to view the lamp. Simcha Lazinsky ex- 
 perienced the proudest moment of her life. Never 
 before had so many people desired her presence. 
 
 She greeted her friends cordially, albeit with an air 
 of superiority, as one befitting the special prot6g6 of the 
 Lord. Before opening the panel, she dutifully sent 
 Jankerle to inform Mr. Schwartz, for he of all men 
 ought to be cognizant of the strange facts. He had 
 already heard rumors of the miracle, and was on his 
 way to the court. On the road he met the Rabbi, bent 
 on the same errand. Mrs. Lazinsky received them as a 
 queen would her ministers. She was sitting on a broken 
 wooden chair, surrounded by a vast and impatient multi- 
 tude. Arising, she took the poker, and, going to the 
 panel, wrenched it open. 
 
 " Shema Beni !" The exclamation burst from a 
 dozen throats. There stood the lamp refilled, radiant 
 in its beauty ; but this was not all. On the shelf on
 
 The Miracle of the Lamp. 189 
 
 either side of it were dishes of fruit, nuts, raisins and 
 cakes a veritable feast of Lucullus ! 
 
 In the presence of such a miracle, only one man 
 preserved his presence of mind, and that was Rinds- 
 kopf, a man, as we know, of great resources. He 
 at once began to chant a blessing, and a holy awe took 
 possession of the assembled people. Suddenly the back 
 wall of the closet disappeared, disclosing the room in 
 the adjoining house, and Mrs. Mulcahey's head appeared 
 in the aperture. 
 
 " Och, yez thievin' haythens ! Yez contimptible 
 Jews ! To rob a poor widder like meself. Begorra, I 
 imagined it was ye that was burnin' me ile, an' me away 
 nursin' a sick sister ; and now yez do be afther stealin' 
 me Christmas dinner ! Bad cess to yez ! Oi'll have 
 the law on yez, that Oi will !" 
 
 " Was sagt sie ?" groaned Mrs. Lazinsky, amazed at 
 the apparition. 
 
 " Never mind what she said," replied Mr. Schwartz, 
 with a hearty laugh, in which all but Mrs. Lazinsky 
 and Mrs. Mulcahey joined. " I'm afraid the days of 
 miracles are past. Let us go home."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 " Affection is a coal that must be cooled, 
 Else suffered, it will set the heart on fire." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 THAT Bertha Schwartz should have become a favor- 
 ite in B is not surprising. A maiden of her intel- 
 lect and powers of pleasing must quickly win her way 
 into all hearts. Her Oriental beauty, quick wit and 
 excellent conversational powers, opened to her the doors, 
 not only of Jewish, but of good Christian society as 
 well. She learned English with remarkable rapidity, 
 and soon adapted herself to American ways and habits. 
 
 At Isaac's house her life ran on in an even tenor. 
 She relieved Lena of many of her household cares, 
 looked after the education of the children and helped 
 materially to cheer her moody brother. 
 
 It was at the Harmony Club, however, that Bertha 
 reigned in a truly regal manner. She was the life, as 
 she had been the original inspiration, of the club. She 
 was a graceful dancer, and was fond of worshiping at 
 the shrine of Terpsichore. 
 
 Her singing was greatly appreciated by her not too 
 critical audiences, and she had remarkable ability for 
 arranging amateur theatricals, tableaux and like amuse- 
 ments for the edification of the club members. 
 
 190
 
 The New Acquaintance. 191 
 
 With Bertha's advent in B , therefore, a new 
 
 social life began for the Jewish inhabitants. There was 
 a continual round of gaiety, in which old and young 
 participated, and in consequence old animosities were 
 healed. 
 
 Bertha had, moreover, a talent for bringing together 
 people mutually attractive, and at least three weddings 
 owed their celebration to her deft manipulations. It 
 may seem strange, therefore, to the reader, as it did to 
 many a manoeuvring parent in B , that Bertha her- 
 self had not yet succumbed to the wiles of Cupid. It 
 was not that Bertha lacked ardent admirers. Indeed, 
 most of the men were her willing slaves, but she was 
 slow in showing any preference. Perhaps the most 
 energetic of her suitors was Mr. Jacoby, who, before he 
 had known her a month, was so deeply in love with her 
 that he could think of no future that was not bound up 
 in some way with Bertha's. He meant to propose as 
 soon as an opportunity offered, and could see no possible 
 obstacle to his being accepted. That the young lady 
 might have higher views, might aspire to a wealthier 
 and more intellectual husband, did not occur to him, 
 and she, without desiring it, had unconsciously led him 
 on in his selfish belief. She sang to him, and accepted 
 his company to club affairs, much as she did for Mr. 
 Ehrlich and other friends, but showed him no special 
 mark of sympathy. Bound up, however, in his pas- 
 sion, Mr. Jacoby accepted every sign of good will as an 
 evidence of returned affection, and nerved himself to 
 the ordeal of a proposal. 
 
 When the avowal came, Bertha was greatly pained.
 
 192 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Her open, sympathetic nature would not willingly have 
 given offence, but she was forced to confess that she did 
 not love him and could not risk unhappiness by linking 
 her name with his. It was a severe shock to poor 
 Jacoby, who had been so sure of his ground that he 
 never contemplated the possibility of defeat. Life's 
 joy seemed at an end for the despairing young man. 
 To remain in the same town with his idol was impos- 
 sible ; and after lingering for a week or more, in hopes 
 of a possible change in Bertha's decision, he disposed 
 of his business and suddenly went South. 
 
 His precipitate departure, following so closely on the 
 heels of his evident attachment to Miss Schwartz, set 
 malicious tongues wagging, and though neither he nor 
 Bertha vouchsafed any information, rumor was busy 
 with their names. 
 
 " Yot do you t'ink about it, eh ? " asked Mr. Rosen- 
 heim of Mr. Ehrlich one evening, as they walked lei- 
 surely homeward after a board meeting at the synagogue. 
 " I ain't one of dem people vot gossip about t'ings dat 
 don'd concern dem, but my vife and I vere avake for 
 over an hour last night, speaking aboud it. Maybe dere 
 ain'd nodding to it, but I tell you vot it is. It looks 
 mighty funny for Jacoby, who just started a store und 
 vos doing veil, to give up und go to a strange town, ain'd 
 it ? " And Rosenheim pursed up his lips sagely, and 
 looked at Ehrlich, as though the latter might have some 
 esoteric light to throw upon the mystery. 
 
 " Perhaps there is a reason which none of us sus- 
 pects," replied Ehrlich. " One must not jump at con- 
 clusions. I have heard that Jacoby has a cousin living
 
 The New Acquaintance. 193 
 
 in Richmond, and that he went into business with 
 him." 
 
 "Ja, ja!" ejaculated Mr. Rosenheim, shaking his 
 head vigorously. " It ain'd de cousin vich he has, but 
 de vife he couldn't get, dat sent him to Richmond. You 
 can't fool a man like me. Vot does de Talmud say ? 
 ( Hakkal Bernach.' Veil, vot's de difference vot de 
 Talmud says ? It means dere ain'd anyt'ing sure aboud 
 love except its uncertainty." 
 
 Rosenheim seemed pleased with his own powers of per- 
 ception. Truly the Talmud stood him in good stead. 
 Suddenly the old gentleman prodded his companion in 
 the ribs, and asked, with a malicious wink : 
 
 " Veil, Mr. Ehrlich, dere is one rival less to fear. Vy 
 don'd you try to vin der young lady yourself, eh ? Vot 
 does de Talmud say " 
 
 "Oh, bother the Talmud!" cried Ehrlich, irritated 
 a % t the president's loquaciousness ; for it was beginning 
 to touch a tender spot. 
 
 They walked on in silence for awhile, the president 
 chuckling to himself, Ehrlich immersed in deep thought. 
 Having reached Mr. Rosenheim's house, he hurriedly 
 said good-night, and continued to stroll on alone. 
 
 Although he was averse to discussing the subject with 
 another, least of all with a busybody like Rosenheim, 
 he could not deny that he felt a secret satisfaction at 
 Jacoby's departure, no matter what the cause may have 
 been. He, too, loved Bertha devotedly. To him she 
 was the most perfect creature earth had ever produced, 
 and the one woman necessary to his happiness. He 
 lacked the conceit, however, to believe that he might 
 13
 
 194 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 be equally important to Bertha's happiness. In fact, 
 often as he examined himself critically, he could find 
 nothing which he imagined might appeal to so adorable 
 a nature. Loving Bertha in silence contained as much 
 bliss as he could aspire to for the present. 
 
 Once, indeed, he had been on the point of declaring 
 himself, but had reflected in time that not in a single 
 instance had Bertha evinced towards him more consid- 
 eration than towards the other young men of her social 
 set. In this respect his nature was the opposite of 
 Jacoby's, who detected in every smile a mark of prefer- 
 ence. Ehrlich was truly in love. With him it was a 
 species of religious feeling, a fervent adoration of a 
 woman whom he conceived to be better and nobler than 
 himself. As he walked along silently under the starlit 
 sky he felt a serene rapture in merely whispering her 
 name. And the world seemed to him to be enveloped 
 in an atmosphere of romance. The stars, the trees, the 1 
 very people he passed, were to him but so many ripples 
 on the vast ocean of limitless love. 
 
 The demon of doubt cut short his rhapsody and 
 brought him back to realities. He had read somewhere 
 that infatuation, like paralysis, frequently attacks but one 
 side, leaving the other side untouched. Until Bertha her- 
 self gave him some indication of more than passing friend- 
 ship, he would resolutely repress his flights of fancy. 
 
 Meanwhile he was not sorry that the number of 
 eligible suitors had been reduced by the retirement of 
 a formidable rival, and he consoled himself with the 
 thought that " time brings roses." 
 
 The gossip concerning Bertha and Jacoby in due time
 
 The New Acquaintance. 195 
 
 reached the ears of Isaac and his wife, and gave rise to 
 a serious conversation regarding their sister's prospects. 
 
 We cannot blame Isaac for harboring hopes that 
 Bertha would make a brilliant marriage. He was rational 
 enough, in spite of his vagaries on other subjects, to real- 
 ize that so exceptional a girl would not be long without 
 an offer of marriage. He had given her every advan- 
 tage that wealth could procure, and was anxious that 
 she should distinguish herself as became her station. 
 
 "It is strange," he said to Lena one day, "that 
 Bertha has not yet met her fate." 
 
 " I am glad of it," replied Lena, philosophically. 
 " Bertha is invaluable to me. I should not know what 
 to do without her. Don't be in a hurry to get her off 
 of your hands." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not in a hurry ! But she is getting on in 
 years." 
 
 "Why, she is a mere child yet. Don't attempt to 
 rush matters. Let her take her choice leisurely, and 
 trust to her ; she won't make a mistake." 
 
 "Yes, but Jacoby is gone. She might have had him. 
 He was a clever fellow, and is destined to be rich some 
 day." 
 
 " Perhaps she didn't want him," replied Lena, who 
 alone knew Bertha's secret. "And I don't blame her. 
 There are still a few eligible men in town." 
 
 " I'm afraid she's rather critical," insisted Isaac. 
 
 " So much the better. Bertha is too sensible to sur- 
 render to the first comer. Let her take her time, and 
 when she does marry, may it be a good, pious Israelite 
 who is worthy of her."
 
 196 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Bertha's wishes accorded perfectly with those of Lena. 
 To her there was no thought of a brilliant match, for 
 such things were not often realized in the narrow circle 
 
 of Jewish society in B ; but she yearned for a 
 
 happy marriage with a man after her own heart. Mar- 
 riage was not to her a necessity or an ambition. She 
 knew that she would never be the heroine of a romance, 
 nor did she desire such a distinction. That marriage is 
 the goal of a maiden's life, her proper sphere, and that 
 a woman is happier in wedlock than in single isolation, 
 was patent to her. But she would wait until love 
 urged her to so serious a step. Until she could give her 
 heart with her hand to a man possessing the moral and 
 mental attributes necessary to insure her happiness, she 
 would remain in the happy security of her brother's 
 home. In the meantime, while she greatly admired 
 Mr. Ehrlich, she did not as yet feel herself irresistibly 
 drawn towards him. Why should she ? He had never 
 hazarded a display of his feelings towards her, and she 
 knew nothing of the struggle going on within him. In 
 her presence he was uniformly pleasant and deferential, 
 brought her books, called to see her once a week, chatted 
 with her about literature and music at the club reunions, 
 but was not the gallant cavalier one expects to find in 
 a lover. So Bertha wisely refused to let her mind dwell 
 on his advantages. 
 
 Mr. Jacoby's sudden and unforeseen declaration had 
 grieved her sincerely, and had the eifect of making her 
 more wary in her intercourse with other men. 
 
 About this time there came into her life a young man 
 who unconsciously threatened to upset every plan, and
 
 The New Acquaintance. 197 
 
 plunge the hapless Isaac still further into the gulf of 
 despair. This man was August Kern, an intelligent 
 and worthy person, and a Catholic. Kern was a de- 
 signer by trade, and lived with his widowed mother in 
 the house adjoining the one occupied by the Schwartz 
 family. He was a son whose earnings were dutifully 
 spent fop the support and comfort of his gray-haired 
 parent. With nothing but a brick wall between them, 
 it did not take the neighbors long to become acquainted 
 with each other. One warm summer evening Kern sat 
 before his door, catching the stray breezes which were 
 wafted from the river. Isaac and his family were sim- 
 ilarly occupied before their own threshold. A conver- 
 sation between the men was but natural. It began with 
 the weather, and by a natural transition it drifted into a 
 comparison of the climates of Germany and America, 
 and thence in a comparative discussion of the institutions 
 of these two countries. It was then that the important 
 discovery was made that Kern had emigrated from a 
 town in Bavaria, but ten miles from Schwartz's birth- 
 place. Intimacy quickly sprang up between the expatri- 
 ated countrymen. Kern was invited to bring his chair 
 to Isaac's sidewalk, and before the evening had passed, 
 friendship had been declared, and Joe and Rose were 
 sitting contentedly upon Kern's knees, contributing their 
 share toward the general sociability. 
 
 These open-air meetings became frequent, and when 
 the cool weather made them impracticable, Kern was 
 cordially invited to come into the house, and the conver- 
 sation was continued in Isaac's cozy parlor. It usually 
 fell to Bertha's lot to entertain the visitor, and, to judge
 
 198 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 by the frequency of his visits, her endeavors in that 
 direction were successful. They had both visited Nurn- 
 berg and Wurtzburg, had been to the mountains of 
 southern Bavaria, and had seen many wonderful things 
 in common. They would sit for hours discussing the 
 old country, with its staid old ways, its quaint towns so 
 different from those of America, its verdant hills, so 
 much greener than those of the western hemisphere; 
 and the hours passed in delightful conversation, and a 
 sympathy was created which threatened to develop into 
 something deeper than friendship. 
 
 Kern was a bright fellow of twenty-eight and some- 
 what of a student, having taken a course of study at a 
 good German gymnasium, and being of an artistic tem- 
 perament, he had adopted the profession of textile de- 
 signing. He was a handsome youth, tall and well pro- 
 portioned, with curly blonde hair and moustache and 
 ideal blue eyes. A greater contrast in types of personal 
 beauty than his and Bertha's could scarcely be imagined. 
 His high forehead and straight, sensitive nose gave evi- 
 dence of intellect which his speech did not belie. As 
 Bertha was a girl who appreciated education, it is not 
 strange that they found each other congenial and sought 
 each other's society. 
 
 One morning Kern paid his neighbors an early visit 
 and anxiously begged one of the ladies to come to his 
 house, as his mother had suddenly become sick and was 
 entirely alone and helpless. 
 
 Bertha at once obeyed the summons. She found the 
 old lady in bed, with a high fever, and instinctively 
 divined that the trouble was serious.
 
 The New Acquaintance. 199 
 
 August watched her nervously as she arranged the 
 bed and made his mother comfortable. 
 
 "Go for the doctor," she whispered, taking him aside; 
 " it may not be serious, but it is best to take profes- 
 sional advice." 
 
 August's fear lent wings to his feet, and he soon 
 returned with the doctor, who pronounced the sickness 
 malarial fever. After giving Bertha instructions how 
 to act, he left, promising to call again. 
 
 So Bertha was involuntarily installed as nurse. While 
 August was at work, she and Lena took turns in waiting 
 on the ailing woman, who quickly mended under their 
 tender ministrations. August insisted on employing a 
 nurse, but Bertha would not hear of such a thing. 
 
 " A pretty pass," she exclaimed, " if one should not 
 be allowed to help a neighbor and a friend !" 
 
 She did more than nurse. She prepared the meals for 
 Mr. Kern, and he was forced to confess that, whatever 
 might be the relative value of its religion, the cooking 
 of Israel far surpassed anything he had ever tasted. 
 
 If it be true that a man's heart is reached through 
 his stomach, then it is not strange that August's peace 
 of mind was sadly disturbed and his soul troubled. 
 Bertha's patience, skill and amiability were powerful 
 factors in setting his brain in a whirl and preventing 
 sleep. 
 
 His mother's recovery a few weeks later almost 
 caused him a pang of regret, for he felt it would mean 
 a separation from Bertha, whom he now regarded in the 
 light of a divinity. The old lady, thanks to good nurs- 
 ing, recovered with remarkable rapidity, and was soon
 
 200 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 able to attend to her own household, and Bertha had no 
 further pretext for visiting the house. August, after an 
 enforced deprivation of her society for several days, 
 could no longer resist the temptation to see her. He 
 and his mother called on the Schwartzes to thank them 
 for their kindly interest, and thenceforth August was 
 more often at Isaac's house than at his own. 
 
 He was introduced to the young men who called, and 
 soon found himself on terms of intimacy with Mr. 
 Ehrlich and his friends, in whom he was quick to recog- 
 nize ability and intellect above the ordinary. 
 
 There were few Germans in B except those of 
 
 Jewish blood, and Kern found it but natural to drift 
 into surroundings more congenial to him than those 
 to which he had heretofore been accustomed. He forgot 
 that these men were Jews, in the joy at finding them 
 Germans, and they were no less pleased to welcome him 
 to their social gatherings. 
 
 Had Isaac been less absorbed in his own sorrowful 
 breedings, he would have observed and checked the in- 
 timacy which was springing up between this Gentile 
 and Bertha ; for to him, as to all Hebrews, there could 
 be no prospect more terrible than a marriage outside of 
 the Jewish faith. His mind was far from entertaining 
 such an idea, however. He liked Kern for his cheer- 
 ful, talkative disposition, and encouraged his visits. 
 Occasionally he played chess with him, and, as Kern 
 played poorly and Isaac well, his thoughts were for a 
 time di verted from their gloomy channels. 
 
 Lena, too, shrewd as she was, suspected nothing. 
 She liked August and found it pleasant to have him
 
 The New Acquaintance. 201 
 
 call. He was a constant reminder of her old home. 
 He would carve the most beautiful boats, with sail and 
 rudder, for Joe, and tell Rose the most fascinating fairy 
 tales. He would escort the ladies whenever Isaac was 
 too tired or too preoccupied to accompany them. 
 
 The young man's religion, therefore, was not con- 
 sidered. With each succeeding visit Kern's admiration 
 for his rosy-cheeked compatriot grew in intensity. It 
 is but justice to Bertha to say that she did not suspect 
 the feelings which were agitating August's breast. She 
 had been reared in too orthodox a school to dream of 
 matrimony with any but a Jew, and had any one sug- 
 gested the possibility of Kern's falling in love with her, 
 she would have laughed at the idea. The thought of 
 such a denouement never entered her head. How could 
 she imagine that Kern was burning with love for her ? 
 How could she surmise that this Christian, who could 
 have his pick of so many girls of his own faith, would 
 set his heart upon one of the despised race of Hebrews? 
 She accepted his attentions as from a friend bound by 
 ties of a common fatherland ; but, as to being in love 
 with him, the thought was preposterous and out of all 
 reason. 
 
 Had she been aware of his feelings towards her, she 
 would have promptly ended all communication with 
 him ; but she suspected nothing, from her lack of 
 guile ; Lena suspected nothing, from her lack of reflec- 
 tion on the subject, and Isaac suspected nothing, from 
 his lack of interest in his surroundings. And so Kern's 
 visits continued and increased in frequency.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE POLICE COURT. 
 
 " Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee 1 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with." Shakespeare. 
 
 THE year, with its joys and sorrows, passed quickly. 
 The holidays were again approaching, and with them 
 the anniversary of Sweeny's death. The harassed mer- 
 chant became doubly morbid and despondent at the 
 proximity of the Day of Atonement. He remem- 
 bered, with increasing dread, the experiences of the 
 year before, the terror which had seized him, the 
 apparition he had seen ; and he shuddered as he thought 
 that his frightful ordeal might be repeated. Through 
 force of brooding over the subject, he gradually worked 
 himself up to a pitch of intense agitation as the Yom 
 Kippur approached. The eight days between the New 
 Year and the Day of Atonement were spent in vain 
 grieving over the past, in vain imprecations over the 
 present, in vain speculations concerning the future. He 
 neglected his business and his charities, and appeared to 
 lose interest in everything terrestrial. Lena tried to 
 arouse him from his apparent lethargy, but to no pur- 
 pose ; and, having done her best, she left him, as usual, 
 to his own devices. 
 
 202
 
 The Police Court. 203 
 
 Again the eve of the Holy Day was at hand. Isaac 
 sadly went to his room to attire himself for the syna- 
 gogue. It was still early and there was no need for 
 haste. Dejected and despondent, he took a seat on the 
 edge of the bed and stared dismally at the opposite 
 wall. He became absorbed in a study of the wall- 
 paper design. 
 
 His overwrought brain, prepared by brooding on the 
 subject, was in a state to produce apparitions, if they 
 came not of themselves. His imagination was freighted 
 with fantasies, the horror of which grew as the fated 
 hour approached. The ghost of his wrong-doing hov- 
 ered over his every act and thought, and embittered his 
 waking and his sleeping moments ; and on this day, 
 of all days, the torment redoubled. 
 
 It was just two years ago to-day since he had killed 
 a human being. In spite of the rapid flight of time, 
 what weary years they had been ! How much anguish 
 and misery had been crowded into them ! 
 
 An inarticulate prayer, like a great sob, arose from 
 his breast. It startled him, and he shivered at the 
 sound of his own voice. In spite of every effort to the 
 contrary, his mind reverted to the one idea. 
 
 Just two years ago, he mused, involuntarily, he had 
 eaten his supper, and stood praying with his Tallith 
 about his shoulders, when horrid recollections ! He 
 would not indulge in them. He began to whistle, but 
 after a few bars the sound died on his lips. 
 
 What a curious pattern that was on the wall long 
 scrolls of white winding about little figures of red ! 
 Those serpentine scrolls what did they remind him of?
 
 204 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Ah, yes, he knew ! His torn praying scarf. Just so it 
 was wound about Sweeny's head. Good God ! what a 
 vivid resemblance ! No, he would not think of it. It 
 was absurd to be constantly thinking of the past. He 
 tried to laugh at an amusing story he had heard that 
 morning, but the laugh turned to a groan. 
 
 The red figures on the paper, how like spots of blood 
 they seemed ! How the blood had streamed from 
 Sweeny's forehead, making a red pool upon the ground ! 
 That stony glare upon the dead man's face ! He seemed 
 to see it yet. It was too terrible ; he would drive it 
 from his memory. He hummed an odd song in an 
 effort to divert his thoughts into other channels. 
 
 Again he returned involuntarily to a study of the 
 wall-paper. There were little dots of gold interspersed 
 among the figures. They looked like nuggets. How 
 they glittered ! Ah, that gold ! Would that he had 
 never touched it ! He again saw himself digging for 
 it behind the log cabin. How he scratched and bur- 
 rowed, tugged and pulled, until he had torn the sack 
 from its concealment ! How he crawled with it to the 
 village, looking behind him at every step for fear of 
 being followed by the murdered man ! It was horrible, 
 horrible ! 
 
 " Isaac !" cried his wife, from an adjoining room. 
 " Are you ready ?" 
 
 The miserable man shrank in terror at the sound of 
 her voice. 
 
 " Directly," he replied, hoarsely. " I will be ready 
 in a moment." 
 
 He began to make preparations for his toilet, but
 
 The Police Court. 205 
 
 found himself so nervous that he could scarcely dress. 
 It was a slow and tedious process. He caught sight of 
 his face in the mirror. It was pale, like that of a 
 corpse. He stared at his image for a long time, and 
 then whispered, " Murderer !" And the reflection in 
 the glass moved its ghastly lips, and sent back the accu- 
 sation, " Murderer !" 
 
 " Good gracious, Isaac, why don't you hurry ?" said 
 Lena, irritably, coming into the room, and finding her 
 husband still in a state of dishabille. " We will be late 
 for the service." 
 
 "Go alone with Bertha. I will come later," said 
 Isaac. 
 
 " No ; you must come with us," replied his wife ? 
 anxious in spite of herself. 
 
 " It will take me a while to dress. I am somewhat 
 nervous. Go in advance, and I will be there as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 " If you are not feeling well, perhaps you had better 
 stay at home, and let me remain with you." 
 
 " No ; go with Bertha. We must go to the synagogue 
 to-day. It is the holiest time of the year. Don't be 
 uneasy about me." 
 
 Lena left the room reluctantly, and with her sister- 
 in-law departed for the synagogue. The children had 
 gone with their nurse to the park, and Isaac was left 
 alone in the house with his sinister thoughts. 
 
 He felt instinctively that the dreaded ordeal was at 
 hand that he would again see the phantom of his vic- 
 tim, as he had seen it the year before. He tried to 
 finish his toilet, but he trembled so violently that he
 
 206 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 made but little progress. A dull, heavy weight lay 
 upon his heart. He sat down again on the edge of the 
 bed, and gazed into vacancy in the attitude of despair- 
 ing attention, as if listening for some expected sound. 
 The pallor of his countenance had reached a ghastly 
 hue, an irrepressible terror pervaded his brain. 
 
 " Oh, that I might die !" The thought formed itself 
 into words into a prayer. " Would that God might 
 take me to him on this day !" 
 
 Was this death ? A mist seemed to obscure his 
 vision, a languor seized upon him and his heart appar- 
 ently ceased its throbbing. His head began to swim. 
 There was no doubt about it, he was dying dying with 
 the hideous crime upon his soul, and no atonement, no 
 mercy in heaven. No, he could not die thus. He cried 
 aloud in his fear; but no one heard him, for he was alone. 
 
 He drew himself together with his little remaining 
 strength, and bega$ to walk up and down the room. 
 He struggled to shake off the feeling which had do- 
 minion over him, and tried to believe that his fears 
 were due to a foolish and useless agitation the result 
 of poignant remorse. It was of no avail. He was 
 overpowered by a sense of guilt by a fear that his 
 crime would be speedily avenged. There was a species 
 of wild hysteria in his manner as he measured the floor 
 with his reeling steps. 
 
 Ha ! the hideous delusion was coming back to him 
 with startling vividness the torn Tallith, the pick, 
 the murder, the bleeding corpse. He shrank against 
 the wall ; his eyes were staring fixedly before him ; 
 there was a stony rigidity in his whole body.
 
 The Police Court. 207 
 
 What was that ? A click at the front door, a creak 
 upon the staircase. Was it the ghost of Sweeny coming 
 for his victim ? Isaac's veins stood out like whip-cords 
 upon his forehead in the agony of suspense. The door 
 opened hastily, and Lena entered. She had found no 
 rest in the synagogue, and, troubled at her husband's 
 absence, had hurried back to get him. 
 
 " Lena !" shrieked the terror-stricken man. " Lena, 
 is it you ? Oh, God, I thought it was he I" and he 
 laughed hysterically. 
 
 " What is the matter, Isaac ?" cried his wife, fright- 
 ened at his strange agitation. 
 
 " Nothing !" he shouted, excitedly. " I was waiting 
 for some one. Ha, ha, we have duped him ! He will 
 not dare to come if you are with me. I am safe 
 safe !" 
 
 " Dear Isaac, will you not confide in me ?" she said, 
 her eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " It is nothing at all, Lena. I was dreaming. It is 
 all over now. Come, Lena, we will be merry ; we will 
 sing a song; we will dance." 
 
 The half-crazed man seized his wife around the waist, 
 and pulled her about the room in a wild transport of 
 hilarity. Around and around they went in a perfect 
 devil's dance. Anything to forget, to drive away his 
 maddening thoughts. 
 
 " Isaac, you are killing me," cried Lena, frightened 
 beyond the power of words by this strange outburst. 
 " Let me go. Do you hear ? You are hurting me." 
 
 At length the frenzy came to an end through sheer 
 exhaustion. Isaac released his wife, and, reeling to the
 
 208 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 bed, he fell heavily upon it and swooned away. Lena 
 was in despair. What could she do? Had her hus- 
 band become insane ? She had feared so on previous 
 occasions ; she was almost convinced of it now. Oh, 
 if she could but fathom the terrible secret which was 
 destroying his happiness and hers ! The servant came 
 in soon after with the children, and was immediately 
 sent for a physician. By the time he arrived, Isaac had 
 recovered from his swoon and lay peacefully and calmly 
 in bed, with Lena tenderly ministering to his wants. 
 The practitioner listened to a description of the symp- 
 toms, shook his head, prescribed a sleeping potion and 
 went away, promising to call on the morrow. 
 
 " What do you think ails my husband, doctor?" asked 
 Lena, as she accompanied him to the door. 
 
 " He is working too hard. By all means keep him 
 away from the store, and from all excitement, such as 
 speculation." 
 
 Lena promised ; but she knew better than the doctor. 
 It was several days before Isaac was entirely free from 
 fever and could leave his room ; but during those days 
 of enforced idleness he had formed a desperate resolu- 
 tion. He would end his torture. He would go to the 
 authorities, give himself up, and expiate his crime ac- 
 cording to law. Then perhaps he would find relief from 
 this terrible mental agony. This resolution once taken, 
 it was astonishing how calm he became. He quietly 
 went to a lawyer, made his will, and so arranged his 
 eifects that should an immediate imprisonment follow 
 his confession, his wife would have no difficulty in con- 
 tinuing his business. He was prepared for the worst,
 
 The Police Court. 209 
 
 and ready for any ordeal. On Friday morning he 
 would go to the police, and have done with this consum- 
 ing suspense forever. 
 
 Friday morning came, and he who had been so stead- 
 fast began to waver. His old foe, indecision, was be- 
 ginning to assert itself. 
 
 "My dear," said Lena, as they were sitting at the 
 breakfast table, " you are eating nothing. Are you un- 
 well?" 
 
 " No ; I am not hungry." 
 
 " Try a piece of toast and an egg ; they will do you 
 good. Come, for my sake." 
 
 He tried to eat, but the experiment was a failure. 
 He looked silently and piteously around the table at his 
 patient, affectionate wife, at his smiling sister, his bright 
 little son and prattling little daughter, and he wondered 
 how they would take the news of his arrest. Lena 
 would no doubt weep and curse the day she had married 
 him. A sudden spasm contracted his features as he 
 thought of it. Josie would live to hate the memory of 
 a father who had heaped such disgrace upon his young 
 life. Rose would grow to womanhood, despised and 
 shunned because her father had been a murderer. Isaac 
 tortured himself with these reflections. What could he 
 do ? Where should he turn for advice ? The die was 
 cast; he would give himself up. He would go at 
 once, before fear and regret influenced his wavering 
 will. 
 
 Pie arose hastily, and kissed them all good-by. Would 
 he ever see them again? Yes, perhaps, from behind 
 prison bars. Lena accompanied him to the door. 
 14
 
 210 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "I have something to say to you, Isaac," she 
 whispered in the hall. 
 
 "What is it? I am in a hurry." 
 
 " It is important. Have you noticed how frequently 
 August Kern calls on Bertha?" 
 
 " No, I did not observe it," replied Isaac, scarcely 
 paying attention to the question. His mind was busy 
 with a more important matter. 
 
 " This intimacy alarms me. August has been coming 
 here nearly every evening for some weeks past, and I 
 think it wrong to encourage his visits." 
 
 " August is a fine fellow, a perfect gentleman," an- 
 swered Isaac, forcibly bringing his mind to the subject. 
 
 " Yes ; but he is a Christian." 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 " I'm afraid he wants to marry Bertha." 
 
 " What an idea ! He is friendly to all of us." 
 
 " Listen, Isaac ! Last night he again called on Bertha. 
 I had occasion to go into the room for my shawl, and 
 came, I think, just in time to prevent a declaration. At 
 least he seemed rather embarrassed at the sudden inter- 
 ruption. Would you permit Bertha to marry a Chris- 
 tian?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! Bertha is too sensible to give him 
 any encouragement." 
 
 " Bertha is an impressionable girl, like many others, 
 and love laughs at religion, as well as at locksmiths." 
 
 Isaac's mind was again wandering from the subject. 
 He was thinking of what he would tell the judge on the 
 day of his trial. 
 
 "What had we better do, Isaac?" asked his wife.
 
 The Police Court. 211 
 
 "I don't know. I'll think it over. Don't worry. 
 Something may occur between now and then." 
 
 " It is a serious matter." 
 
 " Yes, I know. We must do something, but I must 
 go now. Good-by." He kissed her affectionately, 
 twice, thrice, and held her in such tight embrace that 
 she was surprised. Then he put on his hat and dashed 
 down the stairs into the street. 
 
 On he rushed in mad haste to police headquarters, as 
 though afraid that some one might stop him in his 
 progress. He was anxious to unbosom himself, and 
 dreaded a weakening of his determination. 
 
 The police van had just discharged its load of prison- 
 ers and was still standing before the station-house, with 
 a motley group of curious idlers around it, staring in 
 open-mouthed wonder at the dingy wagon with its little, 
 railed windows. Isaac pushed his way through the 
 crowd, and walked with slow, uncertain steps into the 
 court-room. There was a sleepy magistrate, surrounded 
 by a number of police officers, and several reporters 
 who were taking down the proceedings for their respec- 
 tive papers. 
 
 There were half a dozen prisoners in the room two 
 arrested for intoxication, one for disorderly conduct, 
 and several for petty theft. The accused were all per- 
 sons of hardened character, and sat awaiting their trial, 
 chatting as merrily as though they were occupying 
 places of honor. A woman was being examined by 
 the magistrate. Her crime was habitual drunkenness. 
 She was a yellow, haggard, decrepit old female, in a 
 tattered, faded shawl and a patched dress, with hair
 
 212 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 disheveled and untidy, and eyes bleared with drink and 
 exposure. It is hard to imagine a more repulsive and 
 degraded object, a creature more debased by destitution 
 and by misery, than this relict of what once was a 
 woman. Hardened beyond redemption, she replied 
 impudently to the magistrate's questions, and took her 
 sentence of " Thirty days " with a smile of impertinent 
 indifference. Isaac shuddered as he realized that he 
 was brought to the level of this person, and going to an 
 officer, he asked for the chief of police. 
 
 " He is not in yet," was the reply. 
 
 " I will wait for him." 
 
 Isaac sat down and stupidly watched the proceedings. 
 
 A boy was called up, accused of picking pockets. 
 He faced the magistrate with an air of sullen bravado, 
 while his mother, who was in the room, cried bitterly, 
 and begged his Honor for mercy. The magistrate, 
 stern and unrelenting, took no heed of the mother's 
 prayers, but unhesitatingly pronounced the boy's sen- 
 tence, " One year in the House of Correction." 
 
 Isaac's resolution to give himself up began to waver. 
 It was terrible to be brought into the society of such 
 malefactors. The air of the little room seemed reek- 
 ing with corruption and vice. He could stand it no 
 longer. 
 
 " I will be back again," he said to the officer, and 
 rushed into the street. 
 
 He walked up and down before the police station for 
 some time, confusedly trying to think out some plan of 
 action. Should he go home and abandon his idea of 
 surrender ? No ; his mind was made up ; he must
 
 The Police Court. 213 
 
 go on to the bitter end. But he would gain time. He 
 took a walk along the river and tried to think ; but his 
 head was swimming and thoughts came sluggishly. 
 
 What if he committed suicide ? It was the quickest 
 way to end his agony. One plunge into the silently 
 flowing water and all would be over. Not all ! There 
 was another world to come. Suicide would but double 
 the sum of his iniquities. Did not the Law declare that 
 suicide was as great a crime as murder ? He continued 
 his walk mechanically. Presently he heard a clock 
 strike eleven. It was time to go back to the police 
 station ; perhaps the chief would be in. He sought for 
 the best words in which to tell his secret. 
 
 Yes, the chief had just come. Would the gentleman 
 wait a moment ? 
 
 Isaac sat down on the wooden bench reserved for 
 criminals and waited. A thousand conflicting thoughts 
 ran through his brain. The suspense was awful. Again 
 the recollection of Lena and the children flashed 
 through his mind. What would they say, what would 
 they do, when they found him out ? He pictured their 
 surprise and grief, their tears and their disgrace. Dared 
 he inflict this torture upon his beloved ones ? And yet 
 dared he go back home, where nothing but remorse and 
 sorrow awaited him ? He had come to confess, but he 
 dreaded confessing. The effect it would have on his 
 beloved family appealed to him through the exaggerated 
 medium of fear. He saw the necessity for further con- 
 cealment. He almost shrieked in his desperation, as 
 the hopelessness of his case presented itself. He heard 
 steps in the ante-room ; it was no doubt the chief of
 
 214 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 police, who was coming to learn his errand. What was 
 to be done? Isaac ran to the door. He wanted to 
 temporize, to reason with himself. He reached the 
 street and stood for a moment in indecision. Suddenly 
 he heard a familiar little voice : 
 
 " Papa, papa ! I'm so glad I have found you ! " 
 
 It was Josie, who had been sent by his mother on an 
 errand in the neighborhood. Isaac caught the little 
 fellow in his arms and covered him with kisses. 
 
 " Mamma has been awfully worried about you," said 
 Josie. " Won't you come home with me ? " 
 
 Isaac hesitated. On the one hand was the forbidding 
 police court ; on the other his loving family and com- 
 fortable home. 
 
 "Yes, Josie, I will go home with you." And taking 
 his son by the hand, he turned his steps homeward. 
 
 Thus did Isaac's brave resolution come to nought. 
 Lena, who had been anxious over his long absence, 
 received him with every demonstration of joy, and the 
 family sat down to their midday meal. Isaac ate with 
 appetite, and laughed heartily at the remarks of his 
 children. It was like a happy reunion after a long and 
 painful separation. 
 
 By evening, however, all his doubts and troubles 
 returned to him, and he went to bed as thoroughly 
 miserable as it was possible for mortal to be.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE HARMONY CLUB. 
 
 " Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage bell." Byron, 
 
 THE Harmony Club rooms were ablaze with light 
 and glory on the occasion of the second anniversary of 
 the club's existence, and well might that institution be 
 proud of its success, for it had accomplished wonders 
 since an inspiration had given it birth. Twice it had 
 been obliged to change its abode in order to accommo- 
 date its increasing membership. At least six weddings 
 and several engagements were directly traceable to its 
 benign influence, and the heavenly work was still going 
 on. It now occupied the entire second floor of a hall 
 recently built on New Street. There was a very large 
 room used as an auditorium or ball-room. This 
 was thrown open to the members on festive occasions 
 only. There were besides half a dozen smaller rooms, 
 ordinarily used for card-playing, and which rarely 
 lacked occupants during the evenings, most members 
 indulging in such innocent games as solo-whist, klob- 
 beryos and penochle. There was besides a library, 
 containing a few books, magazines and a piano, which 
 latter was in much demand on ladies' nights, but was 
 otherwise tactfully silent. 
 
 215
 
 216 A Victim of Conscience, 
 
 On the great night of the club's anniversary the 
 auditorium had been converted into a sylvan bower 
 that is to say, as well as long strings of evergreen and 
 festoons of fir branches, dangling from the chandeliers, 
 could carry out the illusion. Benches were placed in 
 serried rows across the hall, and the platform had 
 been converted into a stage by the aid of a number of 
 heavy cretonne curtains stretched on wires behind the 
 footlights. 
 
 A vast audience was present, and everybody, though 
 comfortably seated, was still on the tiptoe of expect- 
 ancy, for the programme presaged some wonderful 
 numbers. A series of allegorical tableaux was to begin 
 the evening's pleasure, after which a dance was to fur- 
 ther divert the guests. Not one of the two hundred 
 members was absent, and as each brought his family, 
 or lacking that, his sweetheart, the hall was filled. 
 
 Bertha Schwartz had been breathlessly busy for the 
 past two weeks rehearsing the tableaux, which were all of 
 her own designing, and which promised to be artistically 
 successful. 
 
 A good orchestra sat in front of the improvised 
 stage and played a spirited overture, which was received 
 with unstinted applause. 
 
 Mr. Bergthal, who, with his wife, sat in the front 
 row, and whose daughter Emma had a leading part in 
 the tableaux, remarked, rubbing his hands with evident 
 satisfaction : 
 
 " Dot's vot I call moosic. Id's got some life aboud id, 
 don'd id? Some of dem musicianers, ven dey get 
 paid by de hour, play nodding bud shlow moosic, und
 
 The Harmony Club. 217 
 
 you don'd got your money's vorth. I like moosic fast, 
 und lods of it." 
 
 His wife, as usual, agreed with him, and they concen- 
 trated their attention on the stage. The cretonne cur- 
 tain was slowly drawn aside and revealed a plastic 
 group, which, according to the programme, signified 
 " The Sabbath." 
 
 Moses Blumen, a boy of seventeen, the son of the 
 mantilla manufacturer, stood in pious attitude, com- 
 pletely covered by his father's " Tallith," and with an 
 open prayer-book in his hand. At his right, and slightly 
 raised, hovered Emma Bergthal, radiant in white. She 
 represented the Genius of the Sabbath, and held her 
 hand as if in blessing over the praying form. The 
 orchestra softly played the sweet strains of the " Lecho 
 Dodi." 
 
 A murmur of applause testified to the appreciation 
 which the picture had awakened, and the curtain was 
 twice withdrawn to gratify the pleased audience. Mr. 
 Bergthal could scarcely contain his joy, and received 
 the congratulations of the friends near him with loud 
 and ungrammatical satisfaction. 
 
 The next tableau represented "The Sanctity of 
 Law," and was equally felicitous in its realization. 
 Izzy Rosenheim, in a long beard and flowing patri- 
 archal robe, impersonated Moses, bearing in his hand 
 the two stone tablets. On either side were two little 
 girls in white, signifying " Civilization " and " Reli- 
 gion," pointing rapturously to the Ten Commandments. 
 It was a very effective group, although the chubbiness 
 of the Great Lawgiver, and his appearance of extreme
 
 218 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 youth, notwithstanding his long beard and wig, were 
 the subject of good-humored comment. 
 
 Mr. Roscnheim, however, found the presentation 
 ideal. 
 
 " I tell you vot it is," he said, to the friends about 
 him ; " so long as dis is an ally-gorry, or votever you 
 call him, und it represents de time vot vas young cen- 
 turies ago, Moses ought to be a young man. Vot does 
 de Talmud say " 
 
 But the Talmud quotation was lost in the excite- 
 ment caused by the drawing back of the curtain for the 
 third tableau. This was striking, from the fact that 
 Bertha Schwartz was its central figure. It typified 
 " Liberty Extending Its Blessings to All Religions." 
 Bertha, standing on a pedestal, classically arrayed in 
 white, with a light blue liberty cap upon her head, her 
 rosy cheeks beaming, her long, wavy black hair streaming 
 down her back, was indeed a sight to bring pleasure, not 
 only to Louis Ehrlich and Richard Kern, but to every 
 man, woman and child in the audience. A more gra- 
 cious embodiment of Liberty had never been seen in 
 
 B . At her feet, artistically grouped, stood the two 
 
 Schneefelder boys and the two hopeful scions of the 
 Basch family, each arrayed to represent a different 
 creed, while Liberty extended both her hands to them 
 in welcome and protection, the band meanwhile playing 
 " My Country 'Tis of Thee." 
 
 It was a beautiful conception, beautifully carried out. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Solomon Basch sat enraptured. The 
 poor, down-trodden husband had the temerity to press 
 his wife's hand in the ecstasy of his feelings, and she,
 
 The Harmony Club. 219 
 
 pausing in "her knitting (which she always had with her), 
 returned the pressure and smiled. Oh, the pride of 
 having one's children appear so successfully before a 
 discriminating public ! Mrs. Schneefelder, too, sat 
 beaming and blushing to the very edge of her brown 
 " sheitel," and glanced on everybody in general, with a 
 smile which plainly said, "Just see what my boys can 
 do, if they put their minds to it !" 
 
 The curtain was being drawn aside for the second 
 time on this pretty group, when an unforeseen accident 
 happened. The hook holding the wire on which the 
 proscenium screen was hung, pulled out of the post in 
 which it had been negligently fastened, and the heavy 
 curtain fell to the floor, revealing the hidden secrets of 
 stage-craft, screens and costumes. But it revealed more. 
 Sitting on the stage, in blissful ignorance of coming 
 exposure, sat Emma Bergthal and Izzy Rosenheim. He 
 had his arm lovingly about her waist and her hand in 
 his, and was whispering something very delightful into 
 her ear. 
 
 It was the prettiest, most successful tableau of the 
 evening, and a shout of laughter greeted the unexpected 
 picture. Izzy sprang up, red with mortification, and 
 Emma hung her head with shame. 
 
 And Mr. Bergthal ! He rose from his seat, furious 
 with anger, and rushed up the aisle and bounded upon 
 the platform. 
 
 " You young vagabond !" he shouted, seizing Izzy by 
 the arm with one hand and administering a box on the 
 ear with the other. " Didn'd I told you twice alretty I 
 don'd vant you to have nodding mit my daughter to do?
 
 220 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Got out of here so fast you can, und if I caught you 
 again mit mine Emma making love, I vill lick you dill 
 you couldn't shtood up alretty !" 
 
 " Hush, papa, you're making a scene," said Emma, 
 pacifically, while the whole audience was in an uproar 
 at the unexpected denouement. 
 
 JRosenheim, seeing his flesh and blood assaulted, was 
 on the point of joining the actors on the stage, but was 
 wisely restrained by his sagacious wife, and Bergthal 
 was quietly and firmly led to his seat by Mr. Ehrlich, 
 who, as master of ceremonies, could not look with indif- 
 ference upon so flagrant a violation of the programme. 
 
 Further tableaux being out of the question, the hall 
 was cleared for dancing. 
 
 Mr. Rosenheim immediately sought out Mr. Berg- 
 thai, whom he found guarding his daughter in the 
 dressing-room, and cried, with suppressed anger, but 
 with an assumed dignity befitting his position as presi- 
 dent of the congregation : 
 
 " I tell you vot it is, Mr. Bergthal ; if you ever lay 
 hands on my boy again, I'll have de law on you." 
 
 " Und I told you vot it is," said Bergthal, in grow- 
 ing excitement, his face red with indignation ; " if I 
 ketch your son mit my daughter again alretty, I'll have 
 der law on him." 
 
 " Ha ! Maybe you don't t'ink my son good enough 
 for your daughter ? Eh ?" cried Rosenheim, in mo- 
 mentary forgetfulness of his dignity. 
 
 " No, sir-ee ! He ain'd goot enough her shoe-strings 
 to tie !" retorted Bergthal, in a passion. 
 
 What more might have been said is a matter of con-
 
 The Harmony Club. 221 
 
 jecture, but Bertha had providentially come into the 
 room. She was sjill clad in her garb of Liberty and 
 looked like a veritable angel of peace. 
 
 " Come, my dear friends," she said, taking a hand of 
 each, "you must not quarrel here. Don't you know 
 that everybody is talking about you ?" 
 
 They became calm as she spoke, in her sweet, musical 
 voice. 
 
 " Now let me ask you a question. Mr. Eosenheim, 
 have you any deep-seated animosity against Mr. Berg- 
 thai ?" 
 
 " I ? None in de least. I have nodding against 
 him. I tell you vot it is. He's jealous of my business, 
 dot's all." 
 
 " And you, Mr. Bergthal, what cause have you to 
 hate Mr. Rosenheim ?" 
 
 Bergthal hung his head sheepishly. 
 
 " I don'd got nodding against him personally. He 
 vos a goot enough man." 
 
 " Then it's simply a question of business jealousy? 
 You both esteem each other personally. Are you going 
 to let this matter of competition poison your own lives 
 and that of your children ? Izzy loves Emma. I've 
 known it for some time. They won't be happy without 
 each other. Now, Mr. Bergthal, answer me. Are you 
 going to sacrifice Emma because Mr. Rosenheim has the 
 bigger clothing store ?" 
 
 " Dot ain'd so. Der Mammoth Cloding Emporium 
 does der biggest bissness on der street, und I can prove 
 it." 
 
 Rosenheim laughed a sarcastic laugh, but said nothing.
 
 222 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Well, granted that you are the bigger of the two," 
 continued Bertha, " can't you be magnanimous to your 
 competitor and be friendly with him? Come, shake 
 hands and be friends." 
 
 Rosenheim readily held out his hand, his stout, good- 
 natured face beaming with benevolence. Bergthal was 
 reluctant. 
 
 " I vill on one condition make up," he said. " I 
 don'd vant him any more to advertise dot he does der 
 biggest bissness, begause it don'd is true." 
 
 " I sold twenty t'ousand dollars last year," said 
 Rosenheim, emphatically, " and dot's more dan you sold." 
 
 " Dere he is gommencing again !" cried Bergthal, in 
 growing excitement. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," interposed Bertha ; " this is not 
 the way to be friends. Mr. Rosenheim, for the sake of 
 your son, do you promise me not to push your claim as 
 being greater than Mr. Bergthal ?" 
 
 " I promise," replied Rosenheim, gravely. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Bergthal, what do you say for Emma's 
 sake?" 
 
 " Dere is my hand. Shake !" said Bergthal. 
 
 Friendship was at once restored, and, while the erst- 
 while foes stood chatting, Bertha diplomatically went 
 out to seek Emma and her lover. She found them in 
 the wardrobe, cooing as though no irate fathers existed, 
 and, with a hurried word of explanation, brought them 
 into the presence of their reconciled parents. 
 
 " Now, my friends," said Bertha, " crown your recon- 
 ciliation with a paternal blessing on these two turtle 
 doves."
 
 The Harmony Club. 223 
 
 "You love dot young scoundrel, don'd it?" said 
 Bergthal, affably, to his daughter. 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " Und he loves you ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Izzy, timidly. 
 
 " Veil, Rosenheim, I'm satisfied to der match if you 
 are. Vot do you say ?" 
 
 " I gif dem my blessing," said Mr. Rosenheim. 
 " I've known it vas in de vind for some time. I tell 
 you vot it is. Love may be blind, but odder people 
 usually have dere eyes open and know vot's going 
 on. I tell you, love vill find a vay, if it has to go 
 around behind de stage. Vot does de Talmud 
 say? Veil, never mind vot it says; it means, 
 voman vas made after man, and she's been after 
 him efer since. And now, my children, I vish you 
 'Massael tof,' and hope dot de only competition be- 
 tween you vill be to see vich can make de odder 
 de happier." 
 
 Here Rosenheim and Bergthal both shed tears of joy, 
 and went out arm in arm to find their wives and tell 
 them the good tidings. 
 
 The news spread rapidly, and the happy couple and 
 their radiant parents were soon surrounded by enthusi- 
 astic throngs, all eager to wish them joy. Bergthal 
 assured his friends that he always had in secret the 
 kindliest feelings toward his competitor, and that 
 nothing could afford him greater pleasure than this alli- 
 ance between the two clothing stores which were hence- 
 forth to lead the world. Rosenheim, with much shak- 
 ing of his round head and of his plump hands, declared
 
 224 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 this to be the happiest day of his life, for " Vot does 
 de Talmud say " 
 
 Before the proud father could deliver himself of his 
 Talmud quotation, Mr. Solomon Basch took Izzy, the 
 future groom, aside, and gave him some excellent advice 
 in German on the proper attitude towards one's wife. 
 
 " Most men," he said, confidentially, " expect to have 
 their own way after marriage, but their wives relieve 
 their minds quickly of any such false impression. Give 
 in gracefully to your wife from the start. You will 
 have to do it in the long run, anyhow. I would like to 
 persuade you, my young friend, to stay single, but I 
 suppose it's too late." 
 
 " Is matrimony so terrible ?" asked Izzy, with a 
 twinkle, for he knew of poor Basch's woes. 
 
 " Terrible !" repeated Solomon. " I read the other 
 day that seventy-five per cent, of the criminals of this 
 country are bachelors. Don't that prove that they'd 
 rather go to the penitentiary than get married ? You 
 have my sympathy. Any time you want advice, I'll 
 be happy to give it." 
 
 And Solomon Basch went meekly back to his wife, 
 who berated him soundly for having left her alone with 
 her knitting. 
 
 The dancing began, and Bertha led the waltz with 
 Mr. Ehrlich. Dressed in her light apparel, she looked 
 like a wood nymph as she glided among the festoons of 
 evergreen, and Ehrlich, tall, handsome and happy, made 
 a very acceptable Daphnis at her side. The success of 
 the wooing of Izzy and Emma made him long for an 
 equally fortunate realization of his own hopes. Her
 
 The Harmony Club. 225 
 
 pliant form, close against his own, his arm about her 
 graceful waist, her breath upon his cheek, they moved 
 in the dreamy mazes of the waltz, and he realized as 
 never before how dear she had grown to him how his 
 whole existence was bound up in hers. The music, 
 plaintive as the cooing of a dove, answered to the yearn- 
 ings of his heart. He would have given a year of his 
 life to have had her soul answer his own to have 
 known the measure of her love for him. Her beauty 
 moved him as did sweet and luscious music, searching 
 the subtlest emotions of his soul with exquisite harmo- 
 nies. He seemed to be in perfect accord with her, as 
 though the vibrations of their very heart-beats were in 
 unison. 
 
 Surely the moment was a propitious one for declar- 
 ing his love and winning her promise, and yet he hesi- 
 tated and delayed. Fatal delay ! He thought Bertha 
 too lively, too animated, too filled with the sense of 
 her triumphs on this evening to be approached on a 
 subject of such vital importance. He would wait for a 
 more favorable opportunity for an unmistakable sign 
 from her that she wanted him to speak. A dozen names 
 were on her programme ; she was courted, made much of. 
 It was an inopportune time to advance his claims. 
 What was he that he should aspire to so much grace, 
 beauty and loveliness? And so, while he conversed 
 brilliantly with Bertha on interesting topics, and she 
 laughingly replied, his brain was in a tumult and his 
 heart beat with a violent passion, but no word of love 
 escaped him. 
 
 Mr. Kern was Bertha's next partner, and he, too, was 
 15
 
 226 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 consuming his heart with love for her. He spoke little, 
 but his every glance was the expression of adoration. 
 It is strange, but nevertheless true, that Bertha had as 
 yet no just conception of the strength of Kern's affec- 
 tion for her. She liked the quiet, reserved, unexcep- 
 tional young man, with his blonde hair and honest 
 blue eyes. She appreciated his attentions, but she 
 never realized the agitating hopes that her slightest 
 smile called into life. The love-sick young man could 
 see no obstacles to his union with Bertha. His own love 
 promised a guarantee for hers, and he, like his uncon- 
 scious rival, Ehrlich, only awaited a fitting opportunity 
 to throw himself at her feet. But although Bertha had 
 no objections to being adored, the thought that a Gentile 
 was making himself miserable for her sake, a Jewess, 
 would have caused her to break off an attachment 
 which could only end in disappointment, if nothing 
 worse. 
 
 Bertha was supremely happy, and as dance followed 
 dance she floated in a heaven of delight. Surrounded 
 by her smiling young friends, set off by radiant light 
 and color, and moving rhythmically to exquisite music, 
 she resembled, indeed, a Calypso among her nymphs. 
 The dance ended, alas ! too soon. The old folks had 
 long since disappeared in couples, leaving the floor to 
 the younger generation, and at length these, too, turned 
 homewards. 
 
 Before leaving, Emma Bergthal kissed Bertha grate- 
 fully. 
 
 " Thanks to you, my dear," she said. " I am very, 
 very happy."
 
 They walked home together.
 
 The Harmony Club. 227 
 
 "And I congratulate you with all my heart," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 " When may I congratulate you upon a similar happi- 
 ness ? " asked Emma, archly. 
 
 Both Ehrlich and Kern would have gladly answered 
 " Now " but for the restraining presence of the other. 
 
 Bertha laughed lightly. 
 
 "Oh, I'm in no hurry," she said. 
 
 " But you must marry some time," insisted Emma. 
 
 "I suppose so. It is unfortunate that we girls 
 must either marry or remain old maids. What a ter- 
 rible alternative ! " said Bertha, gaily. 
 
 "Is the thought of matrimony so awful to you?" 
 asked Ehrlich, with a ray of hope. 
 
 " Horrible ! " replied Bertha, tragically. " It is a 
 thing to be fostered in others. But as to myself brr! 
 If matrimony is not always a failure, it is frequently 
 but a source of compromise, and therefore but a poor 
 exchange for single blessedness." 
 
 Bertha laughed merrily as she uttered these sage 
 remarks, which might have come more appropriately 
 from Solomon Basch ; but to Ehrlich they sounded 
 like the knell of his fondest hopes; and Kern, too, 
 felt his spirits sink and his chances for happiness 
 diminish. 
 
 They walked home together, Ehrlich on one side and 
 Kern on the other of their divinity, the young men taci- 
 turn, the girl overflowing with animation and spirits. 
 It was the final tableau of the evening, and might have 
 been entitled " Love, the Connecting Link between Dif- 
 fering Creeds."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 " There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
 Believe me, than in all the creeds." Tennyson. 
 
 FATHER KELLY sat in his cheerful library, writing 
 a sermon. It was a forceful text, taken from the third 
 chapter of St. John : " He that believeth on him is not 
 condemned; but he that believeth not is condemned 
 already." It was divided into two parts, "The Blessed" 
 and " The Accursed." The glories of heaven, the eternal 
 hallelujahs of the angel choir, the dazzling resplendence 
 of God's throne, were set off in striking contrast to the 
 anguish which awaited the rejected. It was a sermon 
 calculated to stir the latent enthusiasm of his flock and 
 set them squarely upon the path of salvation. Woe to 
 the infidel ! God, in his mercy, which passeth human 
 understanding, had an unlimited supply of wrath for 
 the obdurate wretch who denied his only begotten Son. 
 A hardened skeptic might not have found much logic in 
 its arguments; but as the priest read it, with appro- 
 priate gestures, he imbued it with the magnetism of 
 absolute conviction, with the positive assurance of the 
 reality of the contrasted pictures. 
 
 While Father Kelly was thus occupied the bell rang, 
 and Mr. Isaac Schwartz was announced. 
 
 228
 
 The Threshold. 229 
 
 "If there is one man who deserves to escape the 
 eternal torments," said the priest to himself, " it is this 
 Jew. He is undeniably a noble man. Alas ! even he 
 will suffer with the guilty, unless he repents in time and 
 accepts the Redeemer." 
 
 "How are you, my dear Mr. Schwartz?" was his 
 cordial greeting. 
 
 " Nothing to boast of, your reverence. I have been 
 quite ill." 
 
 Indeed, Isaac's face was bloodless, and the deep 
 wrinkles on his forehead denoted great mental suffering. 
 
 The priest expressed his solicitude, after which a 
 pause ensued, each being too much occupied with his 
 own thoughts to break in upon the other's silence. 
 
 " Father Kelly," at length began Isaac, in a voice 
 trembling with suppressed emotion, "I have come to 
 hear more about your religion." 
 
 The priest's face became radiant with pious satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " Not to become a convert," added the other, hastily, 
 watching the priest's countenance. " Merely to draw 
 comparisons between your faith and my own. I confess 
 that while your doctrine appears absurd, it interests me, 
 nevertheless." 
 
 "You will find it truth incarnate, a crystallization of 
 God's wisdom, consoling and comforting to the suffer- 
 ing soul." 
 
 " Can your creed secure peace of conscience to the 
 guilty?" 
 
 " That it can, and absolution from his sins." 
 
 "Convince me of what you say, and perhaps "
 
 230 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 He did not finish, for the words stuck in his throat ; 
 but the priest understood him. 
 
 Here was the long waited-for opportunity of saving 
 a soul, of rescuing a victim from Satan's clutches, of 
 leading a sheep to Christ's fold. The priest cast his 
 eyes towards heaven, as if in gratitude for the oppor- 
 tunity, and in supplication for strength to fulfill his 
 important mission. Then he considered how best to 
 initiate this unbelieving soul into the mysteries of the 
 church. It was a delicate task, and Father Kelly felt 
 his airworthiness ; but he was imbued with the enthu- 
 siasm of faith, without which no work, secular or holy, 
 can thrive. Having finally determined upon a course 
 of action, he set out upon his task without delay, and 
 taking his Testament in hand, read through portions of 
 the Gospels, explaining and amplifying the text in his 
 own words. Strange and incredible it all seemed to Isaac. 
 A Jew's mind, trained for centuries to delve through 
 musty parchments, through hair-splitting arguments 
 and knotty points of law, finds analysis its legitimate 
 field, and takes nothing for granted that is not sus- 
 ceptible of being weighed in the scales of reason. 
 Schwartz's analytical brain could not absorb this new 
 doctrine without expressing doubts and displaying a 
 natural incredulity. The priest, seeing this, requested 
 him to ask any questions that might arise in his 
 mind. Isaac checked the queries which suggested 
 themselves. Time enough for questions later on, he 
 thought. For the present he wanted to grasp the gen- 
 eral outlines of this strange religion, which to him 
 meant agony and despair, or peace of conscience and
 
 The Threshold. 231 
 
 repose of soul. He drank in every word the priest 
 uttered, and fixed it indelibly upon his mind. When 
 Father Kelly had finished his lesson it was quite late, 
 and Isaac arose to go. 
 
 " May I ask your opinion on what you have heard 
 to-day?" said the priest. "Have my humble efforts 
 met with some measure of success ? " 
 
 Isaac shook his head in doubt. 
 
 " In all you have told me," he said, " I see but a 
 touching story of a Jew who rose above his profane 
 surroundings, and by teaching gentleness and humanity, 
 the true doctrine of Moses, collected a number of inter- 
 ested disciples about him. He gave up his life upon 
 the cross, as many a political offender did in his day, 
 when crucifixion was in vogue, instead of hanging or 
 guillotining. There is nothing in all that you have 
 told me so far that carries with it proof that Christ was 
 the true Messiah." 
 
 " But consider His divine conception and birth, His 
 divine mission," cried the priest. 
 
 "Is that susceptible of proof? If so, convince me 
 of it. As a Jew, I have been taught a certain religion, 
 in which I placed implicit belief. There came a time 
 when I examined the details of my creed with a 
 critical eye, and found that many of its doctrines 
 were absurd, irrational foreign ideas, which were 
 in the course of time engrafted upon the primitive 
 faith. I have rejected such ideas as incompatible 
 with rational Judaism. I find that I am still a 
 Jew. My belief in one God, and my observance of 
 the humane and wise laws of Moses, make me a Jew,
 
 232 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 even though I refuse to observe many of the ceremo- 
 nies of my fathers." 
 
 " To be a good Jew," interposed the priest, " is the 
 first step towards being a good Catholic." 
 
 " I agree with you. To be a good man is the founda- 
 tion of any religion ; but to be a good Catholic, I must 
 believe in the divinity of Christ. Prove to me beyond 
 a doubt that Jesus was more than human, that He was, 
 in truth, the Son of God, with power to absolve from 
 sin and to insure happiness hereafter, and I will devote 
 myself, heart and soul, to your church." 
 
 " I will prove it," said the priest, with joyful con- 
 viction. 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " By the Scriptures themselves, by the words of the 
 prophets in whom you believe, and by the testimony of 
 the thousands who have found redemption in Christ." 
 
 "So be it. I will eome again to-morrow ; but I 
 warn you, you will have to combat the prejudices, the 
 convictions, the beliefs of years. You will have to 
 undo the results of a thorough training in certain reli- 
 gious grooves and teach my heart to reverence what it 
 has heretofore doubted. It is a difficult task, Father 
 Kelly." 
 
 "God will inspire me," was the answer. "Christ 
 will help me to glorify His name. I accept the mission, 
 and will carry it to a successful issue." 
 
 Isaac's mind was in a turmoil when he left the priest. 
 His enthusiasm for the new creed seemed to wane before 
 it was well developed. All that he had heard appeared 
 to him but the invention of finite man, a grafting of
 
 The Threshold. 233 
 
 heathen myth on Hebrew lore. He failed to discover 
 an atom of comfort in the incomprehensible doctrine. 
 It was too ideal, and held no solace for the actual which 
 was gnawing at his heart. Through this mystic tale of 
 a Saviour of souls and a Redeemer from sin, he seemed 
 to hear the " Hep ! hep !" of the Middle Ages, and see 
 the yellow badge of persecution. The martyrdom of the 
 Jews, at the instigation of missionaries and in the name 
 of this creed, arose before him and drove the blood 
 surging through his brain. 
 
 The thought occurred to him that he might learn from 
 books, find consolation in the writings of theologians ; for 
 he feared to trust his own confused powers of reasoning. 
 
 On his way home, therefore, he stopped at a book 
 store and bought a promiscuous collection of volumes. 
 There was, first of all, a Bible, containing both Testa- 
 ments an English edition with an allusion to the 
 Messiah at the head of every column to which it could 
 possibly be applied ; there were several Commentaries 
 on the Bible, in which the Scriptures were considerably 
 improved and amplified ; there was an illustrated folio 
 on the life of the Blessed Virgin, by the Abbe Orsini ; 
 there were also a number of tomes by ancient ecclesias- 
 tical writers ; a translation of Bulanger's " Life of St. 
 Paul ;" a " Life of Jesus," by a German free-thinker, and, 
 finally, several volumes of sermons by Protestant min- 
 isters, in which, as he found later, the Catholic Church 
 was unmercifully condemned as anti-Christian. This 
 diversified collection of books was sent by wagon to 
 Isaac's house, and the harassed Israelite drove away 
 remorse for one night, at least, by locking himself in his
 
 234 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 room, perusing his new library, and increasing his doubt 
 and uncertainty, until he fell asleep from sheer mental 
 exhaustion. 
 
 While he was thus profitably employed, August Kern 
 had put on his best raiment and had called at the 
 Schwartz mansion to see Bertha. This young lady 
 received him with her customary affability. Lena, too, 
 was particularly attentive on this occasion. Contrary to 
 her custom, she remained obstinately in the parlor and 
 took a more than usual interest in the conversation. 
 Her repeated attempts to open her husband's eyes to the 
 intimacy between his sister and their neighbor had 
 remained futile. He was too deeply engrossed in his 
 own psychological and religious problems to pay the 
 least attention to her seemingly absurd ideas, and Lena, 
 apprehensive of the result of this ill-assorted friendship, 
 determined to keep the two apart as much as possible. 
 
 She hesitated about speaking to Bertha on the subject, 
 knowing from experience in her own love affair with 
 Isaac that opposition often served to strengthen the 
 inclination where it had taken root, and to create it 
 where it did not already exist. She made up her mind, 
 therefore, that no blame should attach to her, and 
 henceforth considered it her duty to throw every obstacle 
 in the way of further companionship between them. 
 She could not well forbid Mr. Kern the house, but she 
 would see to it that this friendship did not ripen into 
 matrimony. 
 
 Lena therefore sacrificed her evening on the altar of 
 duty, and August sat on pins and needles (metaphori- 
 cally speaking) during three long hours.
 
 The Threshold. 235 
 
 " Perhaps she will soon retire," he thought ; but she 
 remained steadfastly at her post. The conversation ran 
 through the entire gamut of topics, from the weather to 
 the latest political news. At first it was animated, then 
 it dragged, and finally it languished altogether. The 
 success of the Harmony entertainment furnished a sub- 
 ject for pleasant discussion, lasting almost an hour ; but 
 even that grew monotonous at last. 
 
 Lena yawned, but did not betray her trust. Bertha 
 thought she had never spent so long and dreary an 
 evening. August, having sought in vain for a pretext 
 to remain longer, arose to leave, and Lena, with con- 
 summate ability, related, en passant, that Bertha would 
 be occupied during every evening of the week. To- 
 morrow they would be at Franzman's, the next day 
 they were invited to Kauffman's, and so on. It was a 
 polite but unmistakable way of informing the young 
 man that, for a week at least, his company might be 
 dispensed with. 
 
 In the morning Lena again imparted her fears to her 
 husband. A man who has been all night in the com- 
 pany of ecclesiasts, who has endeavored to digest the 
 miracles and parables of the New Testament, is not 
 the proper person to approach on so trivial a subject as 
 matrimony. He was in a state of irritation, bordering 
 on hysteria. 
 
 "You probably exaggerate," he said, impatiently. 
 "You mistake Kern's friendship for something more 
 serious." 
 
 " Well, you will see when it is too late. You will have 
 yourself to thank for it, if Bertha marries a Catholic."
 
 236 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Marries a Catholic !" cried Isaac, in a passion, but 
 he suddenly checked his anger. " "Well, why not ?" he 
 reflected. 
 
 Was he not himself considering the advisability of 
 becoming a convert to Christianity, and with him his 
 family would have to embrace the new faith? His 
 head swam at the strange idea, and he staggered for a 
 moment like a drunkard. He had not yet considered 
 Lena and the children in this connection. 
 
 " Don't worry, Lena," he said, after a pause, during 
 which he had time to master his riotous thoughts. " If 
 Kern persists in his attentions, we must give him a hint 
 to remain away." 
 
 " You would not consent to your sister marrying a 
 Gentile?" 
 
 "What are you thinking of? Never!" he cried, 
 passionately ; then, recollecting himself, he added : 
 "There, we will talk no more about it. Bertha will 
 know how to act. I am going out, dear, on a matter 
 of importance, and may not be home until dinner." 
 
 Isaac's matter of importance led him to Father 
 Kelly's. Vague recollections of Israel's pathetic history 
 and unmerited sorrows arose within him as he walked 
 along. He thought of a paragraph he had but recently 
 read which had awakened such a sympathetic chord that 
 he had memorized it. " If there are ranks in suffering, 
 Israel takes precedence of all nations ; if the duration 
 of sorrows ennobles, the Jews are among the aristocracy 
 of every land." And he contemplated throwing off his 
 rank and glory for what ? 
 
 Once he was on the point of turning back, but his
 
 The Threshold. 237 
 
 cowardice of conscience drove him on. He was like a 
 man under hypnotic influence, drawn on by the sugges- 
 tion of his own accusing soul. 
 
 The priest received him with open arms, and intro- 
 duced him to Bishop Keane, who had apparently 
 dropped in casually to see his friend. The presence of 
 the bishop, however, was by no means an accident. He 
 had been apprised of the Jew's researches after higher 
 knowledge, and was present to help land this valuable 
 fish which swam voluntarily into the net of the holy 
 church. 
 
 A wonderful man was Bishop Keane. During his 
 
 thirty years' service in the diocese of B he had 
 
 gained the sincere love of every member of his flock. 
 His open, benevolent face, crowned by a high intel- 
 lectual forehead and closely-cropped gray hair, seemed 
 perpetually beaming with benevolence, spiritual joy and 
 good will to all mankind. He was a man of thorough 
 education and of liberal ideas, and while he was heart 
 and soul in unison with the doctrines of his church, 
 still there lurked in the depths of his soul a well- 
 defined hope that God might have happiness in store 
 even for adherents of other faiths. In his devotions he 
 was zealous and sincere, but by no means fanatic. His 
 love for the human family, and compassion for their 
 weaknesses, made him tolerant toward those who had 
 not yet discovered divine truth. 
 
 Isaac Schwartz hardly found himself in the society 
 of this worthy prelate before he felt something akin to 
 love for him. Father Kelly rehearsed in a few words 
 the progress made, and Bishop Keane took up the
 
 238 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 thread of religious instruction from the point where it 
 had been broken off. 
 
 What an eloquent man the bishop was ! How ably 
 he handled the subject ! What a diviner of human 
 motives and passions ! Before they had been together 
 half an hour, he discovered, firstly, that Isaac sought 
 out the church for her ability to absolve from sin; 
 secondly, that there was a particular sin to be atoned 
 for ; thirdly, that Isaac had committed that sin, and, 
 fourthly, that it must be a serious crime that could 
 drive a Jew from the faith of Abraham. All this he 
 had learned, not by questioning the neophyte, but by 
 the questions Isaac put to him. 
 
 With consummate ability, the bishop spoke of the 
 doctrine of vicarious atonement, of the love of God, 
 who had sent his only begotten Son upon earth to wash 
 away man's guilt. There was no power inherent, he 
 said, in man to atone for his own evil deeds. The Son of 
 God had suffered and was crucified ; the Father's wrath 
 was thereby appeased, and henceforth all those who be- 
 lieved in the Saviour would be absolved from the ter- 
 rors of purgatory and find peace eternal. 
 
 This was the substance of the bishop's arguments. 
 It was so earnestly, so enthusiastically, presented, that 
 Isaac felt ashamed to ask the questions which hovered 
 on the tip of his tongue. He would have liked to ask 
 why God could not revoke his damnation edict as 
 easily as he had decreed it ; why, having created origi- 
 nal sin, he did not simply drive it out again ; why he 
 had not made man as prone to do good as he is to do 
 evil ; why, if Jesus was the Son of God, he had not
 
 The Threshold. 239 
 
 announced the fact in such unmistakable terms that the 
 whole world would know it beyond peradventure. He 
 felt it would be sacrilege to ask all this in the face of 
 the bishop's eloquence, especially as the prelate began 
 to apply the doctrine of vicarious atonement to Isaac's 
 individual case. 
 
 "We will take it for granted that you have com- 
 mitted a wrong, as which human being has not ? Men 
 may persecute you and punish you, but is there no 
 satisfaction in knowing that God has forgiven that the 
 Lord is more merciful than man ? He can read your 
 heart, and knows what a sway original sin has there. 
 And Christ is ever at God's side, whispering, ' Forgive 
 him, Father ; for such have I suffered and died.' " 
 
 Isaac, in spite of his doubts and prejudices, felt his 
 heart swell at the thought of such a pardon. Oh, that 
 he could feel that it was really true ! 
 
 Ct But," he asked, suddenly struck by an idea, " if 
 God has forgiven the repentant sinner, what right has 
 the State to punish him ?" 
 
 " Punishment," replied the priest, " is necessary to 
 prevent the growth of crime. Our faith concerns itself 
 only with the salvation of the soul and happiness after 
 death." 
 
 Then the bishop skillfully drew a contrast between 
 the terrors of hell and the glories of heaven ; a mild 
 contrast, because he did not want to frighten Isaac at 
 the outset. 
 
 " Can you hesitate in choosing between the two ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " But how can I find such happiness ?"
 
 240 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " By belief in Him, the Crucified." 
 " Still that word ' belief.' I can only believe what I 
 know for a certainty to be true. Your proofs !" he 
 cried, passionately. " You must prove to me the divine 
 origin and mission of your Saviour. Remember that a 
 wide, almost impassable, gulf separates your mode of 
 thinking from mine. You have been educated to your 
 belief, and it would be difficult for you to throw it 
 aside. I, on the contrary, have been brought up to a 
 belief diametrically opposed to yours. The Jew has 
 been taught to loathe the Christian religion. Eighteen 
 centuries of persecution have led him to see but the worst, 
 the most hideously cruel and inconsistent features of 
 your creed. We have been branded slayers of God, as 
 though it were possible for a man to slay his Creator. 
 And now you say, 'Believe in one you have been 
 so long taught to deny.' You surely possess proof 
 of His divinity. Give me this proof and I will be- 
 lieve." 
 
 With a zeal born of love for their undertaking, the 
 priests began their difficult task. The conversation 
 occupied the greater part of the morning, and Isaac, 
 who was reminded of other duties, left Father Kelly's 
 house, with a promise to renew his visit next day. 
 
 He was in a profound reverie as he walked home- 
 ward. Once out of the presence of these priests, the 
 beautiful structure they had so laboriously reared 
 seemed to fall together about his ears. Doubts, doubts, 
 doubts ! They assailed him from every quarter. After 
 all they had told him, they had given him no proof of 
 its truth. They had interpreted various portions of the
 
 The Threshold. 241 
 
 Scriptures to suit their own ends. Rabbi Kauffman 
 had in his sermons interpreted many of these passages 
 to mean something entirely different something strictly 
 Jewish. 
 
 Isaac's mind was a prey to conflicting ideas. He must 
 have positive assurance perhaps he could find it in his 
 books. Forgotten were his business, his speculations, 
 his charities. He locked himself up in his room, and 
 devoted his afternoon to study. Lena, seeing in this 
 strange seclusion but another symptom of his dreaded 
 disease, refrained from disturbing him, but attended to 
 her household duties with a heavy heart. 
 
 The bishop and Father Kelly continued their instruc- 
 tions next morning. A serious question had arisen in 
 Isaac's mind during the night. Why should a repent- 
 ant sinner who believed be so sure of the kingdom of 
 heaven, while an upright man who refused to believe 
 should be forever damned ? The doctrine was contrary 
 to all ideas of justice. 
 
 "Human justice differs from divine justice," replied 
 the bishop. 
 
 Then he repeated the parable of the prodigal son. 
 Isaac listened attentively, but could not repress a smile 
 at the strange moral. 
 
 "We believe," said the priest, "that the angels in 
 heaven experience more joy over one sinner that repents 
 than over ninety-nine that need no repentance." 
 
 Isaac opened his eyes wide. 
 
 " Is that a doctrine of your church ? " he asked. 
 
 " It is one of the greatest and most sublime." 
 
 " Then I, who have sinned and repent, am theoretic- 
 16
 
 242 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 ally better in the eyes of the heavenly hosts than if I 
 had never done wrong ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you repent through Christ." 
 
 " Your reverence/' said Isaac, earnestly, " let me 
 understand you beyond the possibility of a mistake. 
 My life and happiness are in the balance, and I do not 
 wish to pin my faith to a misapprehension. If I had 
 remained righteous and had committed no crime, I 
 would not afford the Lord as much pleasure and satis- 
 faction as I do at present, since I have sinned and re- 
 pented." 
 
 " Yes, if you repent, believing in Christ," answered 
 the priest. 
 
 " Even if my crime is that of murder ? " 
 
 " Even then. There is no sin which the Saviour 
 does not wipe out with his blood." 
 
 " I cannot understand it," replied Isaac, dejectedly. 
 " It is all so contrary to human ideas of right and jus- 
 tice." 
 
 " You do not view the matter with the eyes of faith," 
 said the bishop, encouragingly. "Once be baptized, 
 and you will see it in its true and wonderful light." 
 
 The subject offered a fruitful source of discussion for 
 the rest of the morning ; but, in spite of the religious 
 conviction of the bishop and the glowing enthusiasm 
 of the priest, Isaac's mind still refused to perceive the 
 truth, which was so very evident to his instructors. 
 
 When the Jew had departed, the prelates remained 
 together in earnest consultation. 
 
 " One thing is evident," said the bishop. " Schwartz 
 has committed some crime little short of murder. It is
 
 The Threshold. 243 
 
 not love for our religion, but remorse and an accusing 
 conscience which is urging him to us, in hopes of find- 
 ing consolation, which his own religion is incapable of 
 giving." 
 
 " Oh, if God were to touch his heart ! " replied the 
 priest, with uplifted eyes. "If the love of Christ 
 would but enter his soul ! " 
 
 " How blessed it is," said Bishop Keane, " to bring 
 one soul back from the precipice over which it is madly 
 plunging, and to lead it to eternal happiness ! I will 
 not rest until I have accomplished the conversion of 
 this man, and we will make it a condition of his accept- 
 ance that his wife and children be also baptized." 
 
 "I think we may count upon a speedy victory," 
 replied Father Kelly ; and the friends separated.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE. 
 
 " Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords 
 Light, but not heat. It leaves you undevout, 
 Frozen at heart, while speculation shines." Young. 
 
 As soon as Isaac reached the street his indecision 
 again mastered him. The enormity of his undertaking, 
 of his contemplated crime, arose before his mind's eye ; 
 for was it not a crime to abjure his religion for that of 
 his adversaries ? He did not return at once to his 
 house, but walked out into the suburbs, where he could 
 think and reflect undisturbed, under the blue canopy of 
 heaven. 
 
 It was a bright day, warm for that season of the year 
 one of those delightful days of " Indian Summer." 
 There had been no rain for several weeks, and the road 
 was dusty. The grass still looked fresh and green, but 
 the trees that bordered the road and the bushes that 
 grew along the path were turning sere and yellow, 
 giving unmistakable evidence of the coming of winter. 
 The wild-flowers had long since faded, and the sweet 
 season of hope seemed to have died with them. 
 
 The golden sunlight lay across the road, but Schwartz 
 did not observe it. There was a chill in his breast, as 
 though winter were already there, with its frost and 
 
 244
 
 The Struggle. 245 
 
 desolation. It seemed long, long since he had known 
 the summer of contentment, the sunshine of happiness. 
 
 As he strode along, unmindful of the beauties of the 
 scene, his brain was busy with a serious train of thought. 
 
 " Believe in Christ?" he muttered. " Can I believe 
 in him? Does not every fibre in me cry out against 
 this apostasy ? Did not Jehovah proclaim, 1 1 am the 
 Lord thy God ; thou shalt not have other gods before 
 me'? And shall I now deny my ancient faith, the 
 holy law, the glorious belief in an only God, the love 
 of my race, and bow before this deity of the Chris- 
 tians? Shall I trample under foot my home, my 
 family, my nationality, the thousand ceremonials which 
 are still dear to me, and seek admittance to a creed 
 which has for eighteen hundred years oppressed and 
 maltreated my people ? Shall I foreswear the religion 
 which I have sucked in with my mother's milk, which 
 I have learned from my parents' lips, and which I 
 have in turn taught my children a religion which God 
 himself proclaimed from Sinai, and which to-day forms 
 the foundation of all social welfare ? Shall I throw 
 aside my Judaism, and supplant it with a religion born 
 but yesterday, and whose dogmas I find it difficult to 
 understand ? Shall I deny my God, and in his stead 
 worship a man of my own race, a persecuted and cruci- 
 fied Hebrew ? No, it can never be ! It was but an 
 idle dream. The power I worship is the God of my 
 ancestors, omnipotent Jehovah, who created this glo- 
 rious world, who made a covenant with Abraham, who 
 led the children of Israel out of Egypt, and gave the 
 Ten Commandments from Mount Sinai. Such a great
 
 246 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 God need not come to earth to die in human form. 
 Such a God can forgive his children without the inter- 
 vention of a redeemer." 
 
 Isaac walked on hastily and gave free vent to his 
 musings. A thrush sang cheerily in a near-by tree, 
 but the music had not the power to divert his thoughts. 
 
 "And why should I change?" he said. "What 
 power compels me to seek these priests? Can they 
 exorcise the spectre of a murdered man, which forever 
 haunts me? My religion teaches that I must live 
 down my crime and do penance for it. They would 
 have me admit that blind belief in their God will 
 absolve me and purify my soul. What if I embrace 
 their faith, and, after severing the bonds which unite 
 me with my people, my agony and my remorse still 
 remain ? What if I find I have been pursuing a for- 
 lorn hope ? A thousand times better to remain a Jew, 
 surrender to the authorities and do penance for my 
 crime." 
 
 After a while he turned his steps homeward, but 
 shuddered at the thought of the new mental torture 
 which awaited him there. What if this new religion 
 were able to afford relief after all ? 
 
 " Oh, God !" he sobbed, " why am I such a coward ? 
 Why have I not the moral courage to end my torments 
 by a decisive resolution ? Guide me, oh, God, to the 
 right path ! Where shall I look for salvation ? where 
 for peace of mind ?" 
 
 Still undecided, still hovering between two creeds, 
 Isaac reached his home in time for dinner. A hearty 
 meal, a loving kiss and a happy smile awaited him, and
 
 The Struggle. 247 
 
 he strove to drive away his dismal thoughts. After 
 dinner he went into the garden with his wife and chil- 
 dren. Here all was happiness and contentment. Why- 
 should he not be happy, too ? He made an effort to 
 cast off his doubts and perplexities and romped with 
 his boy in almost childish glee. Lena had not seen him 
 so jolly in weeks, and she heralded this change as a fav- 
 orable symptom. She knew not that it was assumed to 
 hide his torments. 
 
 At the end of an hour Rabbi Kauffman came into 
 the garden, unannounced, and found him surrounded by 
 his family. 
 
 " My dear Schwartz," he said, " it is so long since I 
 have seen you that I thought you had emigrated." 
 
 Schwartz made a vague reply, and Lena, with a word 
 of welcome, offered to relieve the visitor of his hat and 
 cane. 
 
 " No, thank you," he said; " I can stay but a minute. 
 I came strictly on business. I have just discovered a 
 destitute family father, mother, and five children. 
 The poor fellow has had no work for six weeks. He is 
 too proud to beg, and if I hadn't heard of him I think 
 they might have died of starvation. I fixed them tem- 
 porarily, as well as I could. The man is a carpenter by 
 trade, and says if he could get a set of tools he might 
 earn a comfortable living." 
 
 " How much will he require ?" 
 
 " Twenty dollars, at least." 
 
 Isaac took a roll of bills from his pocket and counted 
 thirty dollars into the Rabbi's hand. 
 
 " Here are ten dollars additional for provisions," he said.
 
 248 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Really, Schwartz, this is too generous," cried the 
 delighted Rabbi. 
 
 " Nonsense ! There is quite a balance in my ledger 
 still owing to the poor." 
 
 " Then, while you are in the mood," said the Rabbi, 
 smiling, " I'll take the liberty of speaking of another 
 matter. That project of building a more desirable syna- 
 gogue has been dying of inanition. You are the man 
 to revive it. Head a list with a liberal amount, and I 
 am sure that the others will follow." 
 
 Isaac reflected for a moment. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "we need a new building. The 
 gallery is very insecure and may fall any day. If it does, 
 we will reproach ourselves with neglect. Draw up the 
 petition, Rabbi, and I will put down my name for five 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 The Rabbi arose and shook Isaac's hand enthusiastic- 
 ally. 
 
 " You are a noble Jew," he cried, " and Judaism has 
 need of such men as you." 
 
 Isaac grew very red and abruptly changed the con- 
 versation. 
 
 On the verge of apostasy the compliment seemed a 
 mockery, and he smarted under the kindly words. 
 
 Scarcely had the Rabbi gone before Mr. Blumen, who 
 had been elected secretary of the Hebrew Relief 
 Society, entered. There was a meeting to be called to~ 
 devise means of replenishing the empty treasury. 
 Several sick emigrants required immediate aid, and 
 there were no funds in sight. Isaac drew a check for a 
 hundred dollars.
 
 The Struggle. 249 
 
 " There," he said, " this will tide you over until the 
 next regular meeting. Then we will find a way for 
 raising the needed money." 
 
 Mr. Blumen was overjoyed. He had secretly con- 
 tributed liberally from his own pocket, but the demand 
 was ever increasing. 
 
 "Ah, friend Schwartz," he said, with sincere admira- 
 tion, " I wish there were more Jews like you in the 
 city. You are a credit to the name of Israel." And 
 he, too, left. 
 
 Lena had never felt so proud of her husband. She 
 lovingly placed her arm about his shoulders and kissed 
 him. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " how happy you must feel in 
 doing so much good. The Rabbi was right ; our race 
 has need of such men as you, for, as all Jews are apt to 
 be censured for the faults of the individuals, so the good 
 deeds of one pass to the credit of the entire race." 
 
 Isaac winced. He had not the courage to meet his 
 wife's honest glance. 
 
 " She speaks truly," he muttered. " The Jews need 
 me ; and I thought for a moment of deserting them ! 
 It was a dream. It is all over. I am a Jew, and shall 
 remain a Jew to the end." 
 
 This resolution once taken, Isaac felt contented for 
 the remainder of the day ; but the reaction, as usual, 
 set in. Every hour of happiness was counterbalanced 
 by two of remorse and grief. 
 
 The next day was the Sabbath, and Isaac went with 
 his wife and sister to the synagogue. He was in no 
 very happy frame of mind, for his sleep had been broken
 
 250 A Victim of Conscience. ' 
 
 by distressing dreams. The sermon of Rabbi Kauff- 
 man, based upon a text from the Lamentations of Jere- 
 miah, had the effect of deepening the gloom which 
 enshrouded his soul. He tried to shake off his sorrow, 
 but the more he reflected, the greater became his per- 
 turbation. The apparition of his victim stood by his 
 side, and his anxiety increased as the day lengthened. 
 These fits of gloomy despondency were becoming alarm- 
 ingly frequent. Time, instead of mitigating his remorse, 
 only served to intensify it. It is a difficult matter to 
 thoroughly grasp the strange reasoning of this con- 
 science-coward. The hidden mental pathways leading 
 to his distorted reflections, the discordant chords set in 
 vibration by his acute suffering, all were at variance 
 with the course of thought and action of a healthy 
 intellect. He was a " Laocoon," writhing in the coils 
 of a huge serpent, which was surely but unrelentingly 
 crushing out his vitality, sapping his very life. His 
 mind had brooded over his crime until the brain had, in 
 a measure, become diseased, and when once the terrors 
 of self-reproach seized upon him, he found it impossible 
 to shake them off. Had Isaac possessed the decision to 
 confess his crime, and the moral courage to do penance 
 for it, this constantly growing morbidness would have 
 been checked ; but, as we have seen, he was a moral 
 poltroon, and Sweeny's phantom had taken such hold 
 upon his imagination that no ordinary power could 
 exorcise it. 
 
 Isaac's misery continued during the entire Sabbath 
 day, and, in .place of relief, evening brought but a 
 hideous nightmare, in which the awful tragedy was
 
 The Struggle. 251 
 
 re-enacted, and from which the culprit awoke with a 
 cry of agony. 
 
 He awoke on a beautiful autumn Sunday morning. 
 The warm sun shone cheerfully into his room, but its 
 glorious rays brought no comfort to his troubled spirit. 
 He arose and looked into the street. People were 
 swarming past the house on their way to church. 
 
 " These folks have no worry, no anxiety concerning 
 their souls," thought Schwartz. " They are Christians 
 and are confident of salvation." 
 
 How he envied them ! He ate his breakfast list- 
 lessly ; then, for want of a better occupation, he took 
 up his hat, and going out, mingled with the crowd and 
 followed them into church. Cushioned benches and 
 beautifully painted windows attracted his eye. A great 
 organ pealed forth its solemn prelude, and a choir sang 
 superbly. This was so much more beautiful than his 
 own dingy synagogue. It was an Episcopalian church 
 into which chance had led him. 
 
 The minister ascended the pulpit and announced the 
 lesson for the day. He read a grand old Jewish psalm, 
 which Isaac had so often admired. The blood of the 
 man who had written it was, perhaps, flowing through 
 his own veins. The prayer that followed had so many 
 allusions to the God of Israel that Isaac looked around 
 in surprise. Was it a mistake, or was it hypocrisy? 
 Were they worshiping the same God in the same way 
 that his forefathers had done, or was it all a dream ? 
 
 Now the sermon began. Strangely enough, the sub- 
 ject was "The Prodigal Son." There were glaring 
 inconsistencies, statements as to the motives and secret
 
 252 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 desires of God, which would have made Isaac smile, 
 had he been in a less serious mood. There were mis- 
 interpretations of words which were clearly meant to be 
 taken literally. Some statements appeared as the wildest 
 forms of sophistry, devoid of any practical meaning. 
 Still it was an interesting sermon. The subject was 
 treated in a different manner from that of Bishop Keane, 
 yet it conveyed the same moral the salvation of the 
 sinner through the power of faith. The congregation 
 evidently believed in it, and was happy. 
 
 Isaac left at the conclusion of the service. 
 
 " They all teach the same doctrine," he murmured. 
 " Can such a beautiful structure have a lie for its foun- 
 dation ? " 
 
 Perhaps it was true, after all, and his doubts were 
 but the result of a perverted intellect. Isaac spent an 
 anxious day, hovering, as it were, between two creeds, 
 and incapable of arriving at a decision. * 
 
 Night again brought sleeplessness and despair. The 
 ghost of Sweeny stood mercilessly at his side. The 
 harassed culprit seemed to hear the apparition whisper 
 into his ear : 
 
 " Become a Catholic. Abjure your ancient and ob- 
 solete religion, and enter the alone-saving church. You 
 murdered me, a Catholic, and only by bringing a new 
 soul into the holy faith can you hope for peace." 
 
 The morning found him feverish. The question of 
 baptism engrossed his every thought. He arose and 
 sought forgetfulness in his business, but the subject 
 seemed to grow upon him momentarily. It gave him 
 no rest. Why could not Judaism offer him so com-
 
 The Struggle. 253 
 
 forting a solution, so easy an atonement, as Chris- 
 tianity ? 
 
 He was several times on the point of running to the 
 priest's and crying : 
 
 " Take me ; I will be baptized." 
 
 He as often checked himself with the thought : 
 
 " I cannot believe what they tell me, and without 
 faith they promise no salvation." 
 
 His brain was on fire, his temples were throbbing 
 with a consuming emotion. Mechanically he took up 
 the morning paper and cast his eye negligently over its 
 pages. 
 
 " Murderer Hung ! " was the heading which suddenly 
 attracted his attention. With feverish excitement he 
 ran his eyes over the column. Anything relating to 
 murder had a horrible fascination for him, and he was 
 in thdjpabit of perusing accounts of executions with a 
 morbid curiosity which added greatly to his mental 
 tortures. 
 
 The article in question was about a wretch who had 
 foully murdered his wife, had been absolved from sin 
 just before his execution, and impudently expressed on 
 the scaffold a regret that he would not meet his wife in 
 heaven, as she had died unprepared, and was doomed 
 to eternal punishment, while he had had his sins for- 
 given and was sure of celestial glory. 
 
 Isaac read this account, in all its repellent details, 
 three or four times before he could grasp its import. 
 
 " No," he cried at length, "I cannot believe that this 
 is a teaching of Christianity. It is impossible that I 
 could subscribe to such a doctrine. To me it seems but
 
 254 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 a travesty on God's mercy, a superstition to which men 
 have given the name of Religion. Such a creed can 
 bring no comfort to my miserable soul, for my mind 
 would refuse to give it credence. But if I reject the 
 idea of baptism, what then ? There is but one alterna- 
 tive a full confession to my wife and to the authori- 
 ties, and expiation before the law. Which shall it be ? " 
 
 Sad and dejected, he put on his hat and went into the 
 street. He could think better in the open air, where 
 everything spoke to him of the greatness and goodness 
 of God. He wandered about aimlessly till noon, and 
 returned to his home as irresolute as he had departed. 
 
 Still plunged in deep meditation, he turned the corner 
 leading to his house. Walking slowly towards him, 
 but seemingly unconscious of his proximity, came his 
 sister Bertha, at the side of August Kern. She was 
 chatting gaily, while he gazed into her bright eyes with 
 a longing which too clearly betrayed his feelings towards 
 the girl. She was evidently explaining something to 
 him, and he was listening intently. Presently Bertha 
 saw her brother and smiled, while August blushed like 
 a detected schoolboy, and lifted his hat. 
 
 " Where are you going, Bertha ? " asked Isaac, assum- 
 ing a severe tone. 
 
 "On an errand." 
 
 "Shall I go with you?" 
 
 " No ; August will accompany me. Lena is waiting 
 for you at home." 
 
 Isaac felt ill at ease. He turned slowly homeward, 
 while the two resumed their walk. 
 
 " This is getting serious," he said, moodily. " The
 
 The' Struggle. 255 
 
 evenings are no longer sufficient, but they must meet 
 during the day. What if Lena were right, and they 
 loved each other ? My God, it would be horrible ! I 
 would never consent never ! Father confided her to 
 my care, and I am responsible for her welfare. This 
 intimacy must end. I shall speak to Bertha as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 He arrived home in no very roseate humor, and 
 Bertha came in a few minutes later. There was nothing 
 said on the subject at the time, as Isaac wanted to 
 reserve his reproaches until he saw his sister alone. 
 The dinner progressed in comparative silence, except for 
 the prattle of the children. The others were busy 
 with their own thoughts. 
 
 The meeting between Kern and Bertha had been 
 purely accidental. On his way from the shop to his 
 home, the young man had unexpectedly met his beloved 
 and had asked permission to accompany her. He had 
 much to tell her, and he begged her to appoint an eve- 
 ning when he could meet her, as of old. August could 
 brook no further delay. He was desperately in love. 
 The autumn sunsets, the balmy breezes, the music of 
 the teeming world about him, all spoke to his soul of 
 Bertha. Her words were as caresses to him, and he 
 cherished her every utterance, as of an oracle, with a 
 religious devotion. He was amazed at the force with 
 which this passion had taken possession of him. It 
 grew with an over-mastering power, and was no longer 
 to be resisted. The fact that he had been forcibly 
 separated from her had but added fuel to the flame. 
 Poor August, sighing indeed like a furnace, had made
 
 256 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 several attempts to see her during the previous week, 
 but, by a strange fatality, her evenings had been uni- 
 formly engaged. Lena, feeling that further appeals to 
 her preoccupied husband were useless, had resolved, as 
 we have seen, to take the matter into her own hands, and 
 to prevent what seemed to her the most terrible of all 
 calamities a marriage between Bertha and a Gentile. 
 She kept them apart by inventing little visits for her 
 sister-in-law, and dragged the poor girl out into society 
 every evening, much against her inclination. 
 
 But Kern would endure it no longer. He had 
 besought Bertha for an interview, and she had prom- 
 ised him to be at home that evening. He would throw 
 himself at her feet and beseech her to make him the 
 happiest of mortals. To do Kern justice, he had no 
 doubt as to the result not through a too exalted idea 
 as to his worth, but because he felt that so great a love 
 as his must have kindled a kindred love in the girl's 
 heart. Joyous at the near realization of his hopes, he 
 whistled merrily as he turned his steps homeward. 
 
 His mother sat at home, waiting impatiently for 
 August to arrive. From time to time she took up a 
 letter which lay in her lap and read it over. Then she 
 laid it down with a sigh. 
 
 "What will my boy say?" she murmured. "I 
 would be satisfied with the change, if he were." 
 
 The outer door opened and a well-known step in the 
 hall announced her beloved son. 
 
 " Mother," he cried, joyfully, kissing her, " I have 
 kept you waiting. Forgive me. I met somebody in 
 the road, with whom I conversed for a while."
 
 The Struggle. 257 
 
 His gaiety betrayed him. 
 
 " Do you mean Bertha Schwartz ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother. It is the first meeting I have had 
 with her for almost a week." 
 
 The old lady frowned, in evident displeasure. 
 
 " Here, my son, read this," she said, after a pause, 
 during which August removed his hat and tidied his 
 clothing. 
 
 The letter was from Mrs. Kern's younger brother, 
 who had established himself in a Southern city and was 
 doing a thriving business. It began by telling of the 
 marvelous growth of the town and of his business, and 
 ended by extending a hearty invitation to his sister and 
 to August to come and live with him. 
 
 " You will like it here," said the writer. " The 
 Southerners are very hospitable, and will extend you a 
 cordial welcome. I must have some one to assist me, 
 as I have too much work for one to superintend, 
 and August is just the man I require. I promise him 
 a good salary, and at the end of the year an interest in 
 the business. Do not hesitate, but let me have your 
 consent at once." 
 
 August silently handed the letter back to his mother. 
 
 " What do you say, my boy ?" asked the old lady, 
 half timidly, half beseechingly. 
 
 " I cannot go, mother." 
 
 "Why not? Your position at the factory is not 
 lucrative. You cannot earn more than enough to sup- 
 port your old mother and yourself, and I've heard you 
 say more than once that your chances for advancement 
 were not encouraging." 
 17
 
 258 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " I know it ; but I cannot leave the city," replied 
 August, with decision. 
 
 " Why not, my son ?" 
 
 " It would mean to leave her, and I cannot think of 
 that." 
 
 " Do you mean the Jewess ?" 
 
 August nodded assent. 
 
 " My son," said his mother, tenderly, taking his 
 hand, " for that very reason I desire you to go away. 
 I believe your uncle's letter was inspired by a special 
 providence, to take you away from her influence." 
 
 August sprang up angrily. All his tenderness to his 
 well-beloved parent vanished at the implied opposition. 
 
 " To hear you speak like that, one would think she 
 were a devil, instead of the angel that she is," he said. 
 
 " She may be the angel that you believe, but she is 
 not the bride for you. If your poor father were alive, 
 do you think he would consent to your marrying a 
 Jewess you, a Roman Catholic ? She is beneath you." 
 
 August laughed bitterly. 
 
 " Beneath me !" he cried. " I would to God she 
 were not so far above me." 
 
 " In what, my boy ?" 
 
 " In wealth, in intelligence, in goodness of heart." 
 
 " But think of her religion. She denies the Saviour. 
 For her there is no heaven only hell." 
 
 " Inventions of fanatical priests !" cried August, 
 striding up and down the little room. " I'll never believe 
 that God created so divine a soul to be damned forever. 
 You don't believe it yourself." 
 
 "My son," cried the poor mother, in pious amaze-
 
 The Struggle. 259 
 
 ment, " are you out of your senses ? Why, your very 
 admiration for this Jewess has brought you to blas- 
 phemy." 
 
 "Do not you and all good Catholics worship a 
 Jewess ?" he said, halting a moment before his mother. 
 " Was not Mary of the same race ? And I warrant no 
 better or purer than the maiden I worship. And was 
 not Jesus a Jew ? Can the Jews be so very inferior to 
 us, when they give us the highest ideals of goodness and 
 wisdom ?" 
 
 "August," cried the unhappy mother, with tears 
 standing in her eyes, " do not speak that way ; it is a 
 sin." 
 
 August knew not what to reply. He had never 
 antagonized his mother before, and it went to his heart 
 to think that he was the cause of her tears. After a 
 pause, she said : 
 
 " Tell me one thing. Have you spoken to this to 
 Bertha ? Does she know of your love for her ?" 
 
 " No, mother, I have as yet said nothing. But she 
 must know it instinctively." 
 
 "Better leave it unsaid. She will not have you, 
 and even if she would consent, her brother would 
 refuse. Oh, you do not know how tenaciously these 
 Jews cling to their religion, and how they hate the 
 Christians. They will associate with them in matters 
 of business, but once propose matrimony, and they 
 would rather see their dearest child in the grave than 
 the wife of a non-Jew." 
 
 " Mother, you exaggerate." 
 
 "Not at all. I have seen it in Europe. I have
 
 260 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 seen a Jewish girl marry a Christian young man in 
 our village, as fine a fellow as ever lived, and her 
 parents sat in sackcloth and ashes, and bewailed her 
 as though she were dead." 
 
 " They were fanatics/' cried August, in indignation, 
 resuming his impatient walk up and down the room. 
 
 " Not more so than others. Catholics and Jews are 
 like oil and water ; they can never mix. Suppose you 
 married her. What does she know of the blessed 
 Saviour, of the Holy Virgin and the saints ? On your 
 Sabbath she would work, and your holidays would be 
 indifferent to her. On the other hand, her ways would 
 be as strange and uncongenial to you. It won't do, my 
 boy ; there would be nought but unhappiness and dis- 
 tress." 
 
 " I can become a Jew," answered the young man, in 
 despair. 
 
 " August, my son ! Do you want to bring your 
 mother to the grave? You a Jew ! Deny the Saviour 
 and become an outcast from the holy church ? Do you 
 know what you are saying?" And her tears gushed 
 forth copiously. 
 
 " There, there, mother, don't cry ; I did not mean it." 
 
 " Become a Jew ! " continued the old lady, working 
 herself into a righteous passion, and sobbing as though 
 her heart would break. "Would there be any happi- 
 ness for me in heaven while I knew you to be suffering 
 in purgatory for your apostasy ? Dear Jesus, help him 
 cast out the devil that is tempting him. My son, ask 
 Jesus to help you." 
 
 She was desperately in earnest and sank upon her
 
 The Struggle. 261 
 
 knees In supplication. August, too, was moved. Per- 
 haps his mother was right, and he had better go away. 
 
 " Give her up," pleaded the old lady " give her up, 
 for my sake." 
 
 " I can't promise. I love her, mother oh, how I 
 love her ! What do I care for religion ? Her love will 
 be a religion to me all I need." 
 
 " No, no ! Nothing but harm can come of it," sobbed 
 the old lady. "Accept your uncle's proposition, and 
 let us go to him. Take my advice, August, and give 
 her up. Think of my unhappiness, if not of your own 
 future misery." 
 
 For awhile the poor lad paced on silently. Finally 
 he said, dejectedly : 
 
 " Come, mother dear, dry your eyes, and let us hav* 
 dinner. I must go back to work. Let the matter rest 
 for the present. I shall think it over before I say any- 
 thing to her." 
 
 At the table both were busy with their unhappy re- 
 flections. August's mind was hi too much of a whirl 
 to be capable of formulating any definite plan ; but he 
 finally concluded, in spite of his mother's well-meant 
 advice, to call on Bertha that evening, acknowledge his 
 passion, explain his position, and leave his future in her 
 hands. What, indeed, could an old lady of seventy 
 know of the overwhelming power of love ? 
 
 Kern was perturbed all the afternoon. His mind 
 was confused by the rush of conflicting sentiments, and 
 he accomplished but a sorry day's work. 
 
 Isaac Schwartz, on his side, was no less perturbed ; 
 but with him it was not love, but an equally serious
 
 262 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 question religion which was the disturbing factor. 
 He forgot both Kern and Bertha, and locking himself 
 in his room for he had need of solitude he fought a 
 valiant fight over ground which has for centuries been 
 the battle-field of contending creeds. Why should he 
 place blind credence in the theories of priests ? He 
 would investigate and find the truth unaided. 
 
 " I will try to discover for myself/' he said, " whether 
 the doctrines taught by Father Kelly are true or false. 
 If I find them true, I will be baptized without further 
 hesitation, and in spite of all my scruples. If not, I 
 shall work out my salvation according to my own Jewish 
 faith. If God has proclaimed salvation through his 
 crucified Son, then the important fact must have been 
 heralded to the world in a manner which the humblest 
 and most ignorant of men may understand. The Bible 
 will tell me what I want to know. It must contain 
 inherent evidence of the truth or falsity of the dogmas 
 it teaches. Why should I take the word of priests ? I 
 can read as well as they, and can draw my own conclu- 
 sions." 
 
 Eagerly but methodically he scanned the pages of the 
 Old and New Testament ; but alas ! instead of finding 
 proof, his doubts increased. What was interpreted by 
 the church to prophesy the coming of the Redeemer 
 assumed quite another meaning to his analytical mind. 
 He read with the eyes of reason, not of faith. He saw 
 in the prophets but an account of the events that were 
 about to happen in the household of Israel, but no allu- 
 sion to an eventual Redeemer. The Evangelists ap- 
 peared to him full of contradictions on most vital
 
 The Struggle. 263 
 
 points, and far from convincing where they agreed. In 
 the utterances of Jesus he heard only an echo of the 
 teachings of many Jewish sages, but nowhere did he 
 find the conviction of Christ's divinity. 
 
 All afternoon he sat in deep study, searching in vain 
 for a way out of the chaotic doubt in which he floun- 
 dered. The Man-God became in his eyes but a good 
 and righteous Jew, who taught humility and love, and 
 who would have become one of Israel's great Rabbis 
 had not the ambition of his misguided followers deliv- 
 ered him into the hands of the Roman oppressors. 
 
 " I do not wonder," he thought, " that Christians ad- 
 mire the character of Jesus. He was a noble and virtu- 
 ous man a Jew, in the best sense of the word. If they 
 worshiped him as a righteous man and strove to emulate 
 his life, I could find it rational ; but to raise him to the 
 dignity of a God, to make him appear at once a man 
 and a divinity, born on purpose to be sacrificed because 
 mankind would not or could not abstain from wrong- 
 doing, this is incomprehensible to me," 
 
 So Isaac sat and pondered, without taking heed of 
 the flight of time. He had long ago lit his lamp. His 
 wife had repeatedly knocked at his door, but he refused 
 to open it. 
 
 " Leave me alone, Lena," he cried. " I am occupied." 
 
 " But supper is ready." 
 
 " I don't want any. I have no time for supper." 
 
 Several times during the evening she sought admis- 
 sion, but always with the same result. 
 
 " Isaac," she cried, at last, " you must open. I have 
 something important to tell you."
 
 264 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 He scarcely heard her voice, so absorbed was he in 
 his meditations; and his wife retired, uneasy and dis- 
 couraged, to seek comfort and consolation with Bertha. 
 
 Isaac continued to read, but it was no longer the New 
 Testament from which he sought instruction. By acci- 
 dent he took up a Protestant book, in which the Cath- 
 olic creed was unmercifully condemned. He glanced 
 at Fox's Book of Martyrs, which was filled with tales 
 of cruelty practiced in the name of Jesus. He read 
 passages in Boulanger's Life of Paul, which cast serious 
 aspersions upon the writers of the Bible. The more he 
 read, the more indignant he became with himself for 
 having dreamed of deserting his own religion for one 
 which his troubled spirit failed to understand. 
 
 Pushing aside his books at length, he cried, " I was 
 on the point of embracing this faith, of accepting the 
 doctrines which Father Kelly taught me ; but believe 
 in them I never can. He may find consolation in them ; 
 I cannot." 
 
 Presently he arose and paced the room with growing 
 agitation. 
 
 " Father Kelly is now waiting for me to signify 
 my intention of becoming a Christian," he murmured. 
 " Even if it appealed to my intelligence, how could I ever 
 surrender to the church which has persecuted, outraged 
 and debased the Jews since it came into existence the 
 church which, in every country on the face of the earth, 
 has tortured and robbed us which has forced us into 
 ghettos and compelled us to w r ear the badge of dis- 
 grace which has torn us on the rack, burned us at the 
 stake and exiled us ignominiously, when there was
 
 The Struggle. 265 
 
 nothing left for it to take ? Can I now crawl on my 
 knees to this church and beg to be accepted as a con- 
 vert ? Can I kneel to the Christ, in whose name all 
 these cruelties have been heaped upon my race, and 
 humbly ask for salvation ? Can I kiss the hand that 
 has so cruelly smitten my unfortunate people? Almighty 
 God, guard me from such a step ! For a brief moment, 
 my remorse, the agony of my soul, caused me to neglect 
 my family, my religion, my nationality, and seek for 
 consolation in a church which I can never revere." 
 
 Isaac walked up and down his room with clenched 
 fists and furrowed brow, a prey to violent emotion. It 
 was a Titanic struggle, in which cowardice and resolu- 
 tion fought for the mastery. 
 
 " My family !" he continued, bitterly. " Were I to 
 take such a step, my family would deny me. My pious 
 father and mother, if they heard of it, would put ashes 
 on their heads and say ' Kaddisch ' for me. Shame 
 and mortification would follow them and render their 
 lives a burden, and grief would hurry them to the 
 grave." 
 
 The picture was harrowing to Isaac. He beat his 
 breast and bit his lips, as he thought of the misery his 
 apostasy would cause. 
 
 " And Lena," he cried. " My God, what would 
 my poor wife do if I were to become a Christian ? 
 Would she not execrate me and curse the day she left 
 her father's roof to follow me ? Would she not teach 
 her children to despise their unnatural father, who had 
 cast off his religion and capitulated to the enemy? 
 Would she not leave me in abhorrence and loathe my
 
 266 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 very name? What can Lena know of my daily aud 
 hourly agony ? She would see in my apostasy but un- 
 pardonable treason. She has no cause to be dissatisfied 
 with the teachings of Judaism. She finds her happi- 
 ness in them ; and while I sought salvation in the new 
 religion, she would die of grief and despair. This reli- 
 gion, according to its doctrines, would open for me the 
 gates of heaven, while my beloved wife and children, 
 being unbaptized, would linger forever in the torments 
 of hell. Could this be happiness for me ?" 
 
 " Adonai, Adonai !" he cried, in his despair. " Why 
 hast tliou sent me this mental anguish ? Why hast thou 
 caused me to waver in my belief? Give me strength 
 to fight the battle. Grant me atonement for my crime. 
 Exorcise the phantom which is forever pursuing me. Let 
 me find salvation and peace in my own time-honored 
 religion. Lead me to victory over my guilt-stained 
 conscience. Let me again find happiness as a Jew." 
 
 In his agitation Isaac threw himself face downward 
 on the bed and groaned and writhed in agony. Long 
 lay he there. A series of dismal pictures passed slowly 
 through his brain. He saw the countless persecutions 
 of the Jews by the early Christians ; he saw the cruel- 
 ties practiced upon the defenceless Hebrews during the 
 Crusades; he saw the bloodshed and tortures of the 
 Inquisition, the rack, the pinion, the dungeon and the 
 stake ; he saw the cruel expatriation of the Jews from 
 Spain and France ; he saw the ceaseless misery inflicted 
 upon the Israelites in Germany, in Austria, in Poland 
 and in Russia ; he saw the hatred, the antagonism, the 
 intolerance everywhere displayed towards the despised
 
 The Struggle. 267 
 
 and misunderstood Hebrew. The pictures rankled in 
 his soul and brought the hot blood surging to his cheeks. 
 
 He strode to the window and threw it wide open. 
 Grateful was the cooling breeze that blew in from 
 the river. It bathed his heated brow and brought a 
 momentary surcease from the mental torture he endured. 
 Stars were still shining in the sky, but the horizon was 
 streaked with the first tinge of gray, the herald of a new 
 morning. 
 
 " How beautiful is the universe !" he murmured. 
 " How wonderful ! How expressive of the greatness 
 and omnipotence of God ! Everything is formed for 
 the welfare of God's creatures, and yet how little does 
 man understand the art of finding happiness ! Religion, 
 springing as it does from a love and reverence for the 
 Creator, instead of acting as a blessing to humanity, 
 more often becomes a curse. Man busies himself with 
 an empty form, an abstract idea, and entirely loses 
 sight of the fundamental idea that God is a loving 
 father, and all mankind are his children. How vast is 
 this universe ! The earth is but an atom among the 
 hosts of worlds that crowd the canopy of heaven, and 
 yet impotent man, in his conceit, would teach that the 
 Almighty Creator of this wondrous system has singled 
 out this insignificant planet on which to live, suffer and 
 die. How strange such a doctrine would sound to the 
 Christians, were they to hear of it for the first time as 
 having existed among a primitive race ! It would take 
 its rank with Grecian mythology and with the Saxon 
 Sagas ; and yet daily association with the idea has made 
 it appear plausible to millions of intelligent beings.
 
 268 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 God is no revengeful, unforgiving, capricious ruler, con- 
 demning his handiwork to-day and forgiving to-mor- 
 row. There can be but one true religion that which 
 teaches that God is the Lord of the universe; that our 
 lives, our destinies, are in his hands, and that our deeds 
 alone will influence our happiness here and our salva- 
 tion hereafter." 
 
 Isaac gazed long and prayerfully toward the rising 
 sun, and instinctively the Hebrew morning prayer rose 
 to his lips. It was long since he had repeated it. It 
 brought a strange sense of relief. 
 
 " Hear, oh, Israel !" he cried, with exaltation, " the 
 Lord our God is an only God. Surely the God of Israel 
 has some comfort for the repentant sinner. I will seek it. 
 Had I sought for salvation in my own religion as indus- 
 triously as I have examined into the mysteries of 
 Christianity, I should have found it long ago. I will 
 confide in my wife ; will tell my story to the Rabbi, 
 and will find atonement in Judaism. Then will I 
 expiate my crime according to my country's laws, and 
 will emerge from the ordeal a happy man, and, with 
 God's help, a devout Jew."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 " Love is begot by fancy, bred 
 By ignorance, by expectation fed, 
 Destroyed by knowledge, and at best 
 Lost in the moment 'tis possessed." 
 
 Lord Lansdown. 
 
 WHILE Isaac was thus engrossed with his religious 
 speculations, his sister Bertha and August Kern were 
 discussing the same subject in a different manner. The 
 young lady, as we know, had promised her admirer an 
 interview during the evening ; and Kern, in consider- 
 able mental trepidation, called at her home. As usual, 
 Lena did her utmost to keep the couple apart, but her 
 misguided efforts were evidently not appreciated. Kern, 
 preparatory to proposing marriage, proposed a short 
 walk. Bertha accepted, and the discomfited Lena was 
 left alone to meditate upon the uncertainty of human 
 projects. Had not Mrs. Franzman dropped in by 
 accident, it would have proved an uncomfortable even- 
 ing for Lena. 
 
 To August Kern it seemed as though all the realities 
 of his life depended on this interview. He could con- 
 ceive of no future without Bertha, no happiness if she 
 rejected him. His mother's objections and fears all 
 vanished from his mind as soon as he was in Bertha's 
 presence. He felt but one thing that he adored her. 
 
 269
 
 270 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "You have something to say to me, August," sug- 
 gested Bertha, as they walked along, arm in arm. 
 
 "Yes," stammered the young man. "It is possible 
 that I may leave this place." 
 
 " Indeed ? I shall be very sorry," said Bertha, earn- 
 estly. 
 
 " Will it grieve you very much ? " 
 
 "Yes, August. "We have been good friends, and I 
 should regret to have you leave. Where are you 
 going?" 
 
 "It depends upon you whether I go or remain," 
 stammered August. 
 
 " On me ? " cried Bertha, in surprise. 
 
 "Yes. Is it possible, Bertha, that you haven't 
 understood me that you do not know I love you ? " 
 
 " You love me ? " asked Bertha, with a shade of sad- 
 ness in her voice. " I am a Jewess, and you " 
 
 "A Catholic. Well, what of it? I love you 
 all the same. I have loved you ever since we met. 
 Has religion the power to tear two loving souls asun- 
 der?" 
 
 Bertha relinquished his arm. 
 
 " Indeed, I am very sorry," she said, simply. 
 
 "Sorry for what?" 
 
 " That you allowed your feelings to carry you so far, 
 and that I innocently encouraged you." 
 
 " Then you do not care for me ? " 
 
 "Yes, as much as for any one, except my family. 
 But that is not love. I can only give my heart to one 
 of my own race." 
 
 "If you loved me you could not speak so. You
 
 The Proposal. 271 
 
 would brave everything to be mine," said August, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Listen, August. I admire you greatly. We have 
 been excellent friends, but no thought of your seriously 
 loving me ever entered my mind. If it had, I should 
 have avoided you." 
 
 "Avoided me," said the young man, deeply hurt. 
 "Why? Am I so far beneath you?" 
 
 " Not that, August. You are my superior in most 
 things. But you know I was brought up an orthodox 
 Jewess. My father is very pious and clings to the 
 tenets of his religion. It would grieve him if I were 
 to marry a Christian." 
 
 " And do you think as he does on the subject of 
 religion ? " 
 
 " These ideas are inborn, August. We cannot root 
 them out." 
 
 For awhile neither spoke. Finally August asked : 
 
 " Is it perhaps because I am poor that you refuse ? 
 I have little, it is true, but I am in a position to sup- 
 port a wife comfortably. I have secretly toiled and 
 saved for you, Bertha, hoping some day to make you 
 my wife." 
 
 " I do not care for money. Wealth would never in- 
 fluence me in the choice of a husband. But I am afraid 
 it can never be. Even if I should consent, my brother 
 would withhold his approval." 
 
 " But if he were satisfied, would you allow me to 
 woo you until I had taught you to love me ? " 
 
 " It would not be a difficult lesson, for I like you 
 very much ; but he will not consent."
 
 272 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 A ray of hope lit up the young man's face as he took 
 her hand. 
 
 " Thank you for that," he said. " I shall speak to 
 Isaac to-morrow." 
 
 " You know, August," said the maiden, endeavoring 
 to soften the blow, " according to our European train- 
 ing, we have little voice in the matter of marriage. 
 The proper bridegroom is selected for us, and we have 
 only to obey. You will never get my father's or my 
 brother's consent. I am sure I could be happy at your 
 side if you were a Jew, but I am too dutiful a daughter 
 to cause my father so great a grief as such an alliance 
 would bring to him." 
 
 August found nothing to reply. Perhaps she was 
 right. Had not his mother spoken in the same way ? 
 Was not Bertha reading him a much-needed lesson in 
 filial duty? Silently and sorrowfully the couple re- 
 turned to their homes. All the joy seemed to have gone 
 out of Kern's life. 
 
 "To-morrow," whispered August, on parting "to- 
 morrow will decide my fate will make me miserable 
 or happy for life." 
 
 "And should Isaac refuse, August, take my word for 
 it, it will be for the best. Do not grieve. In a matter 
 of such grave importance, the heart should not be 
 hearkened to until the intellect has been consulted." 
 
 Mrs. Franzman had just left, and Bertha found Lena 
 alone. Woman-like, she at once poured her story into 
 Lena's eager ear, and her tears flowed abundantly. 
 
 "And you did not suspect that he loved you?" 
 asked Lena.
 
 The Proposal. 273 
 
 " How could I ? Do you think that I would have 
 encouraged him ? I merely looked upon him as a 
 good friend ; and now I really believe I am beginning 
 to care for him." 
 
 " Don't say that, Bertha, for the sake of all you hold 
 dear. Steel your heart against this feeling. It will end 
 in no good. Isaac will never consent to such a union. 
 The knowledge that Mr. Kern was paying you serious 
 attentions caused me many a sleepless night. Be a 
 sensible girl, and stifle whatever affection you have 
 in your heart for him." 
 
 " I suppose it is my duty to do so," said the girl, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 " There's another young man I know of," said Lena, 
 with assumed levity, " who loves you just as much, to 
 judge from his attentions, and who is a far more desira- 
 ble suitor. It is not a question of a momentary plea- 
 sure; the happiness of a lifetime depends upon your 
 decision." 
 
 " I understand you, dear, and know that you are 
 right ; but I am grieved, nevertheless." 
 
 " For yourself?" asked Lena. 
 
 " For August. He appeared so dejected." 
 
 " He will recover. Better a moment of sorrow than 
 a lifetime of regret." 
 
 Bertha kissed her sister good-night and retired to 
 reflect in the seclusion of her room. 
 
 On the following morning Lena found her husband 
 
 in a state of alarming disorder. It was evident that he 
 
 had not slept all night, and he was in a wretched humor. 
 
 It was an inopportune time to discuss so important a 
 
 18
 
 274 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 subject as Bertha's future, but the poor woman was 
 impatient to unbosom herself of the troublesome secret. 
 
 " Can you listen to me a moment, Isaac ?" she said, 
 after she had expressed her surprise at her husband's 
 haggard appearance. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "The worst has come to pass. August Kern has 
 proposed marriage to Bertha." 
 
 Isaac sprang up in anger. 
 
 "Must this happen to me, too?" he exclaimed. 
 " Have I not trouble enough, without this ? Oh, God, 
 how hast thou punished me !" 
 
 " Blame yourself, Isaac, and not God. I warned 
 you often enough, and if you had not been so blind, 
 you would have noticed -it for yourself." 
 
 " And does she love him ?" 
 
 " I think not. She does not know her own mind. 
 August will be here to-day to see you and get his 
 answer." 
 
 " He shall never have her never ! Do you hear 
 me ? I am responsible to her father for her welfare, 
 and you know what it would mean to him if she were 
 to marry a Gentile. Are there no young men of our 
 faith, that she should become enamoured of a Catholic ?" 
 
 " It is your own fault, Isaac. You shut yourself up 
 with your books and left her to her own devices. 
 Instead of putting an end to Kern's visits when I 
 warned you, you simply allowed matters to take their 
 course. I did all I could to prevent it. It is all your 
 fault." 
 
 Isaac stormed like a madman at this accusation. Good
 
 The Proposal. 275 
 
 God ! was he to have another crime fastened upon his 
 shoulders? Had he not enough to bear? No, this 
 marriage should not take place. He would prevent it, 
 by fair means or foul. 
 
 " Send Bertha to me," he cried. " I must speak to 
 her. She will listen to reason." 
 
 Bertha soon appeared. She, too, had passed a sleep- 
 less night. Isaac became calmer at her aspect. He 
 seized her hand and gazed long and lovingly into her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Bertha, tell me," he asked ; " you do not love him ? 
 You do not want to marry him ?" 
 
 " I like him, but had no thought of love," she 
 answered. 
 
 "My dear, it would break my heart to see you 
 wedded to a Christian. The blame would be mine. 
 Your father would die of grief, and, in dying, would 
 curse us both. Could you be happy with your father's 
 curse resting on you ?" 
 
 Bertha sighed, but did not reply. 
 
 " Tell him frankly that you cannot marry him. You 
 will soon learn to forget him." 
 
 "Why would it be so wrong, Isaac, for me to marry 
 a Gentile?" asked the girl. 
 
 " It is because of the difference in our religious beliefs. 
 We have but one God, while they worship a Jew, whom 
 they call the Son of God, and a Jewess, whom they call 
 the Mother of God. You would never understand it, 
 my dear, and it would make you very unhappy." 
 
 " But, laying religion aside, could we not be happy 
 together?"
 
 276 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " You cannot lay your religion aside. It is a part of 
 yourself. I speak from experience. I have tried very 
 hard to become a Catholic, and am now more a Jew 
 than ever." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes. I'll tell you all about it some day." 
 
 " But he loves me." 
 
 "He must learn to forget you. Listen, Bertha! 
 You know Joe Labeman ?" 
 
 " The widower ? Yes." 
 
 " He is no widower, although the world thinks him 
 so. He is divorced from his wife, who is a Gentile." 
 
 Bertha opened her eyes in amazement. 
 
 " Yes ; he married her when there were few Jewish 
 girls in this country to choose from. She was very beau- 
 tiful, and he was desperately in love with her. He was 
 a pious man, and from the day of their wedding their 
 troubles began. She spoke of him as ' My Jew/ 
 She laughed at his Jewish customs and ceremonials, and 
 tried to substitute her own. His sacred holidays were 
 neglected, while hers were religiously observed. His 
 daughter was baptized against his express desires, and 
 when he wanted to follow the dearest wish of his heart, 
 and bring up his son a Jew, she objected and threatened 
 to take her life. Ah, my dear, you will never know 
 what the poor man suffered ! One day he was taken 
 seriously ill. They thought that death was imminent, 
 and ten of his friends came to say the ' shema ' at his 
 bedside. I was there at the time. In one corner stood 
 his wife, counting the beads of her rosary, praying to 
 Jesus for help. What a moment of agony for a pious
 
 The Proposal. 277 
 
 Jew ! He recovered from his illness, but his unhappi- 
 ness increased, and did not cease until he obtained a 
 divorce. I've no doubt his poor wife suffered the same 
 torments while they lived together." 
 
 Bertha listened with all her soul. Long spoke Isaac 
 in the same strain, using all his eloquence to convince 
 the girl of the dreadful importance of this step. He 
 depicted in sombre colors the grief and despair of her 
 poor parents when they heard of it ; how they would 
 say " kaddisch," as though she were dead. His argu- 
 ments were potent. Bertha, as yet, felt but friendship 
 for her admirer ; but sympathy, if left without an anti- 
 dote, would soon have awakened love within her heart. 
 Religious sentiment, however, predominated over every 
 feeling, and, recognizing the justice of her brother's 
 reasoning, she promised to see Kern no more. 
 
 " When he comes, brother," she added, " you must 
 speak to him. Tell him all you have told me, and I 
 am sure his good sense will prompt him how to act." 
 
 Isaac was in an irritable mood all day. In the light 
 of his sister's danger, now happily averted, his own 
 momentary alienation from Judaism appeared all the 
 more terrible. He reproached himself bitterly for 
 having dared to think of becoming an apostate. The 
 advice he had given his sister, and the pictures he had 
 drawn for her guidance, came home to him with telling 
 force. The more he reflected, the more he became 
 strengthened in his determination to confess his crime 
 and take the consequences. He would wait until morn- 
 ing, and then put an end to indecision by confessing all 
 to his wife and sister.
 
 278 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 August Kern called in the evening and was at once 
 shown up to Schwartz's room. The poor fellow had 
 had another stormy interview with his mother, who 
 implored him to think of the salvation of his own soul, 
 if not of her happiness. He was in a desperate frame 
 of mind. 
 
 The consultation was long and earnest. Isaac em- 
 ployed the same arguments he had used with Bertha, 
 and added numerous incidents tending to prove that 
 mixed marriages were rarely happy. To Kern's sur- 
 prise, he confessed how he had been on the point of 
 becoming a Christian, but how the radical differences 
 between the two creeds had prevented the step. 
 
 " But I could become a Jew," suggested Kern, with 
 new hope. 
 
 " Xo ; it would be difficult. Our religion makes few 
 proselytes. Do you know what you would be taking 
 upon yourself by becoming a Jew ? You would have to 
 cast off all the associations which make your life pleas- 
 ant, would have to abjure your Saviour and the thou- 
 sand religious observances which you have been taught 
 to revere since your birth. You would voluntarily invite 
 the scorn of the world. You would be forced to throw 
 your lot with a race which has for centuries been branded 
 with the stigma of deicides, and for whom no contumely, 
 no degradation has been thought sufficiently severe. No, 
 friend Kern, it woidd be as difficult for you to become 
 a Jew as it has been for me to become a Christian. 
 Give up the idea. Let not love, but your good com- 
 mon sense, win the victory to-day. Accept your uncle's 
 offer, and make your fortune."
 
 The Proposal. 279 
 
 Kern hung his head in silence. 
 
 "You have an old mother to support," continued 
 Isaac, " whose staff and comfort you are. It is your duty 
 to make her declining years happy. You cannot take a 
 Jewish wife without causing her boundless grief. Some 
 day, when you have seen more of the world, you will 
 marry one of your own faith, one who worships the 
 same Christ whom you adore, and who will secure you 
 peace and contentment. Then you will perhaps wonder 
 how you could have ever bestowed more than a passing 
 thought upon a Jewess." 
 
 " Does Bertha think as you do ? " 
 
 "Yes. She bids you go to your uncle and forget 
 her." 
 
 There was a sorrowful firmness in Kern's voice, as he 
 replied : 
 
 " I will go. I haven't the courage to see her again. 
 Tell her that I say good-by. May God bless her." 
 
 " If ever you need a friend " said Isaac. 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, for Kern had seized 
 his hat and was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 " There is no future pang 
 Can deal that justice on the self-condemned 
 He deals on his own soul." Byron. 
 
 THE sun rose majestically on the morning, filling all 
 the world with joy and splendor. Warm and cheerful 
 it shone into Isaac's bedroom, and awakened him to the 
 cares and responsibilities of life. He felt in better 
 spirits than he had for days. The happy termination 
 of Bertha's affair, and his own signal victory over the 
 dangers of apostasy, had lifted a burden from his heart. 
 
 " The sun shines upon me," he said, " as though I 
 were a man without sin or stain. Perhaps God, too, has 
 a smile of pardon for me." 
 
 He found Lena and the children waiting for him at 
 the breakfast-table. Bertha appeared contented, and in 
 no way expressed regret at the step she had taken, and 
 Isaac felt grateful. After breakfast, he called his wife 
 and sister into his bedroom, and closing the door, he 
 courageously began to unbosom himself of his awful 
 secret. 
 
 Human nature is a complex affair, displaying strange 
 inconsistencies. But a day or two ago, the very sugges- 
 tion of a confession had thrown this man into a convul- 
 
 280
 
 The Confession. 281 
 
 sion of fear and hesitation. To-day he faced the ordeal, 
 not only with courage, bat with a feeling akin to exalta- 
 tion. What a world of misery he would have spared 
 himself had he taken this resolution years ago ! 
 
 "You have noticed," he began boldly, "that since my 
 return from the West I have been unhappy and misera- 
 ble that I have been burdened by a weight of woe, 
 which at times threatened to drive me insane. I know 
 it worried you, I could see it in your faces, but I had 
 not the heart to explain the cause of my sorrow." 
 
 " Ah, my dear," interrupted Lena, " you will never 
 know what anxiety and wretchedness your condition 
 caused me, nor how often I tried to guess the cause of 
 your broodings." 
 
 " You could not have guessed it, Lena ; it was too 
 terrible. The time has come when I feel impelled to 
 tell you all, to relieve my mind of its burden. Lena, 
 Bertha, don't shrink from me in horror. I am a mur- 
 derer ! " 
 
 The accusing word was uttered with a sob of mingled 
 grief and remorse. A host of cruel recollections were 
 awakened within his soul, and for a time his emotions 
 mastered him. 
 
 " A murderer ! " cried Lena, in alarm. " My God, 
 Isaac, what have you done ? " 
 
 The truth seemed more terrible than she had even 
 conjectured it. 
 
 Isaac sat for awhile with his face buried hi his hands. 
 The worst was over. After a painful pause, he man- 
 aged to tell his sorrowful story. He spared not a 
 single detail. He related minutely his every act
 
 282 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 from the day he started for the gold fields to the hour 
 of his return. He recounted the petty tyrannies to 
 which he was exposed, the persecutions he was com- 
 pelled to endure, at the hands of the unsympathetic 
 miners. He described his relations towards Sweeny, 
 and the terror with which the intoxicated wretch in- 
 spired him. He told with graphic vividness the inci- 
 dents of that terrible evening in which he had killed 
 his enemy. As he spoke, his wife and sister were car- 
 ried in imagination to the spot, and witnessed the 
 hideous struggle and its bloody termination. 
 
 " I killed him," cried Isaac" I killed him ; but God 
 knows it was not premeditated murder. A moment 
 afterwards I would have gladly sacrificed my life to 
 recall that of the murdered man." 
 
 He paused in his narration and looked at his wife. 
 She was weeping silently. 
 
 Bertha had her eyes fixed on her brother in mute 
 bewilderment as he spoke. Her soul went out in ten- 
 derness to this harassed man, and when he had finished 
 speaking, she drew near to him and pressed his hand in 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Lena," he cried, " you will not shrink from me ? 
 You will not despise the murderer ? " 
 
 "Despise you? Shrink from you ?" she cried. "Are 
 you not my beloved husband ? You are not as great 
 a sinner as you have imagined. The law authorizes 
 killing in self-defence, and in the eyes of justice you 
 are no criminal at all." 
 
 " I only wonder," said Bertha, her face aglow with 
 indignation, "how you could have refrained so long
 
 The Confession. 283 
 
 from killing the brute. Had I been in your place, I 
 should have disposed of him when he first discharged 
 his revolver at me." 
 
 "Oh, the misery I endured all these years at the 
 thought that I had killed one of God's children ! " 
 sighed Isaac. " I saw his spectre by day and by night. 
 It left me no peace of mind, no rest. Life became a 
 burden to me." 
 
 " Why did you not confide in me, your wife ? " 
 
 " I dared not, Lena ; I feared you would shun me." 
 
 " How little you know the heart of a loving wife ! 
 Have not women clung to assassins and loved them in 
 spite of their most cold-blooded and atrocious crimes? 
 And should I desert my husband because out of love 
 for me he exposed himself to the dangers of an uncivil- 
 ized land, and because he preserved his life at the cost 
 of another's worthless existence ? Oh, I wanted so to 
 comfort you in your misery, but you obstinately closed 
 your heart against me, and would not let me share your 
 troubles." 
 
 This was a revelation to poor Isaac. He took his 
 wife lovingly in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 " There was the money, too," he continued. " I had 
 that upon my conscience. When I knew that Sweeny 
 was dead I took the gold his share and mine and 
 carried it away. That money has been a curse to me. 
 It brought me nothing but misery. Shall I confess it ? 
 My charities were not prompted by the desire to do 
 good, but for the sole purpose of getting rid of the gold 
 that was eating into my heart." 
 
 " There again your reasoning was wrong," answered
 
 284 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Lena. " Had you left the gold, it would undoubtedly 
 have fallen into the hands of some one who had less 
 claim to it than yourself. It has been applied to its 
 best possible use. It has gladdened the hearts of the 
 poor, has alleviated suffering, and has been a blessing." 
 
 " To all but me," answered Isaac, gloomily. 
 
 "Alas, how you must have suffered !" cried Bertha. 
 
 "God only knows what my sufferings have been. 
 For more than two years my life has been a hideous 
 nightmare, without a ray of hope or happiness. I tried 
 in every way to relieve my conscience " 
 
 " Every way but the right way," interrupted Lena. 
 " You should have confided in me, and then gone to the 
 authorities and confessed your wrong." 
 
 " But the trial, Lena, the inevitable punishment. I 
 could not endure the thought of bringing the disgrace 
 upon you." 
 
 Isaac winced and turned pale even now at the 
 thought of the disgraceful court scene and imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 "You are mistaken," cried Lena, with conviction. 
 " There would have been no trial, no disgrace. You 
 would have said to the judges, ' Here was a man who 
 on several occasions tried to kill me. I bore with him 
 until the danger became imminent. Then I rose, like a 
 man, and defended my life.' You would not have ap- 
 peared like a criminal, but like a hero." 
 
 " I often tried to take that view of it, but my guilt 
 and subsequent remorse seemed to have weakened my 
 reasoning powers. I was conscious of but one thing 
 namely, that I was a murderer, and that God had no
 
 The Confession. 285 
 
 mercy, no atonement for such as I. In my desperation 
 I was on the point of committing another wrong." 
 
 "Another wrong/' repeated Lena, in alarm. 
 
 "Yes, that of becoming a Catholic. My charities 
 led me to the house of Father Kelly. There I learned 
 of the doctrine of a Saviour of souls. So great was the 
 weight of my guilt that I longed to cast the burden 
 upon another. I contemplated the adoption of Chris- 
 tianity as a means of finding atonement for my crime." 
 
 " Isaac ! You a Christian ? " cried his wife, in dis- 
 may. 
 
 " It is all over, Lena. It was but the dream of a 
 moment. It is a comfortable creed for him who can 
 place implicit belief in it ; but I could not understand 
 it or rather, I understood it too well." 
 
 " Surely our time-honored religion holds out as much 
 consolation as does the Gentile belief," said Lena. "A 
 religion which has lived and flourished through four 
 thousand years, and made countless millions happy, 
 must be able to afford relief to a sin-oppressed soul." 
 
 " It must be so," replied Isaac, reflectively. " In my 
 misery I had no patience with the rational doctrine that 
 man must work out his own salvation. It is my inten- 
 tion to go at once to Rabbi Kauffman and tell him all I 
 have told you. He will instruct me in that religion to 
 which I have become a stranger. I will find solace and 
 atonement in Judaism. My soul must first be cleansed 
 of its iniquity." 
 
 "And then?" asked Bertha, 
 
 " Then," continued Isaac, with resolution " then I 
 shall go to the authorities, confess my crime, and take
 
 286 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 the consequences. I must first feel that God lias 
 pardoned me. My wife knows of my guilt and has 
 forgiven me. What care I, then, if all the world con- 
 demn me ? " 
 
 "The world will judge as I have judged," said Lena, 
 while Isaac held her to his heart in a passionate em- 
 brace. 
 
 Long spoke they of the crime and its influence. 
 Bertha and Lena had a hundred questions to ask, and 
 when the conference came to an end Isaac felt no longer 
 like an assassin, but like a hero, who had made a bold 
 strike for life and honor and was secure in the world's 
 approval. 
 
 In the afternoon he called on Rabbi Kauffman. 
 That worthy man was sitting in his comfortable study, 
 patiently striving to initiate his son Ben into the mys- 
 teries of Hebrew, much to Ben's disgust, for it was a 
 fine day, and there was more actual pleasure to be found 
 in the street playing marbles than at home conjugating 
 Hebrew verbs. 
 
 Ben was not sorry, therefore, when Mr. Schwartz 
 entered and asked the Rabbi for an hour's interview. 
 He was straightway dismissed, and rushed out of doors 
 before the edict could be revoked. 
 
 Into the astonished Rabbi's ear Isaac poured the story 
 of his misdeeds. He spared no essential detail. At 
 the close of the narration the Rabbi sat back in his chair 
 for a while without speaking. Then he said : 
 
 " I think you have made yourself miserable unne- 
 cessarily. You killed a man under a strong provocation, 
 and in self-defence. The law will not hold you guilty.
 
 The Confession. 287 
 
 A man would be less than human who would allow 
 himself to be slain without a protest without using 
 the means at hand to defend himself. Self-preservation 
 is heaven's first law." 
 
 Isaac then related his narrow escape from apostasy. 
 Rabbi Kauffman listened to his story in a state of 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " But, my dear friend," he ejaculated, " what could 
 have induced you to seek heavenly pardon outside of 
 your own religion ? Is not Judaism able to take care 
 of the spiritual welfare of its children ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Rabbi, if I lay a portion of the blame 
 of my infidelity upon you." 
 
 " Upon me ?" 
 
 "Yes; indirectly, of course. I returned from the 
 West with a terrible burden upon my conscience. I 
 had killed a human being and had profited financially 
 by his death. I was afraid of the law, but I was still 
 more afraid of the anger of God. Moral coward that 
 I was, I believed that a prayer from my lips would be 
 blasphemy; that there was no pardon for my crime. 
 For a time I neglected the synagogue ; I was a Jew in 
 name only. One day I went to hear you preach. It 
 was the Day of Atonement and the anniversary of my 
 crime. You spoke of the possibility of pardon for every 
 crime but murder. How I yearned for one word of 
 consolation, for one ray of hope to cheer me on my 
 dreary way ! You denied me every comfort. ' For the 
 murderer,' you said, ' there is no atonement/ Those 
 terrible words plunged me down the abyss of despair. 
 I tried to reason them away, to convince myself that
 
 288 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 God could not be less just than man. I proposed to 
 you a union of friends to study the Talmud. I desired 
 to find a passage, a rabbinical decision which bore upon 
 my case and held out a hope of pardon. Here again I 
 was doomed to disappointment. I again heard the 
 awful sentence pronounced, ' For the murderer there is 
 no atonement.' Is it a wonder, Rabbi, that I despaired 
 of finding peace and redemption in Judaism ; that I 
 sought for it in the Gentile faith, which bade me cast 
 my sins upon another and be forgiven ?" 
 
 " Alas !" cried the Rabbi, sadly, " that I should have 
 been so grievously misunderstood. It is true that the 
 Day of Atonement holds out no forgiveness, where the 
 wrongdoer and his victim have not become reconciled, 
 and hence murder is without the pale of atonement. 
 But the Jewish law does not look upon your deed as 
 murder. Here, in Numbers, chapter xxxv.," he 
 said, opening the Scriptures, " Moses, after enumerating 
 the various kinds of murder, says, ( But if he thrust 
 him suddenly, without enmity, or have cast upon him 
 anything, without lying in wait, such a man is no mur- 
 derer, but shall find safeguard in the City of Refuge.' 
 Killing in self-defence is no murder ; it is, in a measure, 
 a retribution for another's crime. If the Jewish law 
 does not punish such a malefactor, Judaism would surely 
 not deprive him of the hope of divine mercy." 
 
 " Oh, why did I not know this before !" sighed Isaac. 
 "From what unspeakable agony it would have saved 
 me." 
 
 " Let us look into the Mishna," continued the Rabbi, 
 opening his folios. "Here we read, in chapter ix., that
 
 The Confession. 289 
 
 unless the blow was delivered with the intention of 
 killing, it is not considered murder. Where the blow 
 was directed to one portion of the body and caused 
 death by affecting another, the crime was not punished. 
 Here, again, we see it is only cold-blooded and deliber- 
 ate murder which is punishable. The Jews never con- 
 sidered God less merciful than man. No, friend 
 Schwartz, we believe that God is a God of mercy, long- 
 suffering and forgiving. My language may have been 
 a little severe on the occasions referred to, but I meant 
 to discuss only deliberate murder." 
 
 " But even to such an assassin the Christian religion 
 has a prospect of salvation." 
 
 " So has Judaism ; but it is not found in blind 
 faith nor in vicarious atonement. Our Eabbis teach 
 that subsequent trials and good deeds have the power 
 to absolve from any sin, however great. Deep suffer- 
 ing is in itself a regeneration, an initiation into a 
 state of grace. The cruel memories, agonized regrets 
 and bitter struggles which conscience imposes, are an 
 atonement. They purify the soul and efface the evil. 
 No need of faith, no need of blind belief, to acquire 
 salvation. Where trials have followed in the train of 
 crime, these will insure God's forgiveness." 
 
 " What a simple belief !" cried Isaac. 
 
 " And yet how rational," answered the Rabbi. " No 
 one can bear our sins for us. We must bear the penalty 
 of our acts, and therefore trials and noble deeds alone 
 have the power to compensate for the evil done." 
 
 " And so I have been torturing myself needlessly all 
 these years, leading a life of martyrdom." 
 19
 
 290 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 "Your very misery, coupled with your deeds of 
 charity, have washed away your sins. Before God you 
 are clean. He can and does forgive his erring children, 
 without the intervention of a crucified Son." 
 
 "Rabbi," replied the grateful man, "you do not 
 know what a load you have taken from my heart. To 
 think that I was on the point of exchanging this beau- 
 ful religion for one which would have been at war with 
 my intelligence." 
 
 " And yet," said the Rabbi, musingly, " the Chris- 
 tian religion is very beautiful. It is built upon all that 
 is noble in Judaism, and, to those who have been edu- 
 cated in it, it is soul-inspiring and consoling. Religion 
 is, after all, but an accident of birth, and, while some 
 few individuals succeed in breaking from its bounds, 
 the masses are content to believe as their parents 
 believed. Would that all religions were more tolerant 
 one towards the other, for they all have their origin in 
 a belief in the one God." 
 
 Isaac rose to go. 
 
 " Rabbi," he said, " I shall come again. Teach me 
 more about the glorious, rational and comprehensible 
 creed of my fathers." 
 
 " So be it," answered the Rabbi, deeply moved. 
 " But you have still a trial before you the greatest of 
 them all. Deliver yourself up to the authorities, con- 
 fess your crime, and abide by their decision." 
 
 " To-morrow I shall go to the chief of police. I am 
 at peace with my God and with myself, and I yearn to 
 be at peace with all mankind."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 " The drying up a single tear has more 
 Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore." Byron. 
 
 AT eight o'clock that same evening there was a vigor- 
 ous and continuous ringing at the front door bell of 
 Schwartz's house, and Father Kelly entered. Isaac 
 received him with some misgivings. " He is coming 
 to remind me of my neglected studies," he thought. 
 " How shall I tell him that I have changed my mind?" 
 
 To his surprise, however, the priest did not allude to 
 the subject of baptism. 
 
 " Are you at leisure this evening, Mr. Schwartz?" he 
 asked, after mutual greetings had passed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then I have a mission for you. I know you are too 
 charitably inclined to refuse." 
 
 " Tell me what you desire me to do." 
 
 " I have just come from a wretched abode on Oak 
 Street, where I found a family reduced to the greatest 
 poverty. The man lies ill in bed with a fever, while his 
 wife and child appear to be starving." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Isaac, pulling a roll of bills 
 from his pocket. "Here, Father Kelly, take this to 
 them. Here is enough to satisfy them for some time." 
 
 291
 
 292 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Father Kelly shook his head. 
 
 "It is not money they want. I have relieved their 
 momentary needs. But the man, although he is a Cath- 
 olic, desires to see an Israelite. He believes his end is 
 approaching, and says he cannot die in peace until he 
 has made a confession to a Jew." 
 
 Isaac seized his hat. 
 
 " Come, let us go at once," he said ; and the two men 
 passed out into the street. 
 
 Oak Street was but a short distance away, and the 
 place, a squalid, dingy tenement, was soon reached. 
 Isaac paused in painful surprise, as the priest pointed 
 out the house. It was the same in which he had dwelt 
 when he first came to America, the same in which we 
 made his acquaintance. 
 
 The priest led the way up several flights of stairs, and 
 opening a door, ushered his companion into the little 
 room. How vividly did Isaac recall the painful past ! 
 There could be no mistake about it. This was the same 
 room in w r hich he and Lena had lived and suffered. 
 There was no change in its appearance, except that its 
 walls looked dirtier, its bare floors more dilapidated 
 than formerly. There was the broken table at which 
 he had sat when his wife had called him by that hateful 
 name " Shlemiel." There was the same bed in which 
 he had received his inspiration to try his luck in the 
 West. Nothing had changed except the inmates, and to 
 these Isaac now directed his attention. 
 
 On the bed lay a pale, sallow-visaged man, with his 
 eyes closed. By his side, holding his hand, sat a thin- 
 faced, little woman, while on the mattress in the corner,
 
 The Eeunion. 293 
 
 covered by a counterpane, slept a child of uncertain age. 
 The woman rose when the priest entered, and advanced 
 to meet him. 
 
 "How is he?" asked Father Kelly. 
 
 "Better, your Reverence. The tonic you brought 
 has revived him, but he is still busy with the one 
 strange idea. He wants to speak to a Jew. He is 
 asleep now." 
 
 " I have brought this gentleman with me. Perhaps 
 he can relieve your husband of his mental burden." 
 
 The woman held out her hand in welcome, and Isaac 
 stepped to the bed and bent over the suffering man. 
 There was something strangely familiar in that pallid 
 face, with its shaggy beard. Isaac gazed at him long 
 and intently, but he could not recall the features. 
 
 " It is strange," said the woman, " how this fancy pur- 
 sues him. I think he would soon get well, if he were 
 not haunted by the one idea." 
 
 She put her hand under the invalid's pillow, and drew 
 out a long strip of cloth, which had once been white, 
 but with frequent handling had changed to a color bor- 
 dering on dirty gray. 
 
 " See this rag, your Reverence," she said. " He has 
 carried it with him for years. He says it saved his life, 
 and he cannot rest until he has given it back to the man 
 to whom it belonged. He loves this rag as though it 
 were a thing of life." 
 
 Isaac took the rag and gazed at it intently. There 
 
 was a black border at the lower end, and a remnant of 
 
 fringe. There were several rusty spots upon it, which 
 
 , might have been caused by blood. He shuddered as he
 
 294 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 handed it back to the woman, for in his mind there arose 
 the vision of a murdered man, with a strip of praying 
 scarf wound about his bleeding temple. 
 
 Suddenly Isaac uttered a cry of surprise. Was it 
 imagination or reality ? The face of the sick man 
 began to assume the features of Sweeny. Yes, that 
 was the same low forehead and bull-like neck, the same 
 reddish beard and sneering lips ; but how changed, how 
 wasted by illness and misery ! 
 
 At Isaac's exclamation, the sufferer opened his eyes 
 and glanced about him. Of a sudden he sat bolt up- 
 right in bed, and grasped Schwartz by the hand. 
 
 "Tell me," he cried, feebly "am I dreaming? 
 Are you not Ike Black Sheeny Ike ? " 
 
 For a moment Isaac was too startled to reply, but 
 recovering himself, he answered : 
 
 " They called me Ike Black in the diggings." 
 
 " Christ be praised ! " muttered the stranger. " I 
 have found him ! Ike, don't you know me ? Don't you 
 know Dick Sweeny ? " 
 
 Isaac recoiled. Was this another cheat of the senses, 
 such as he had so often experienced? Had the spectre 
 of the murdered man again come to mock him, to 
 punish him with terrors of remorse ? 
 
 " Ike, don't shrink from me," pleaded the man. 
 "Come to me and say you forgive me. Don't be afraid 
 to take my hand, Ike." 
 
 It was real Sweeny was still alive! Isaac threw 
 himself upon the bed in a wild transport of joy, and 
 the two men the Jew and the Catholic lay in each 
 other's passionate embrace.
 
 The Reunion. 295 
 
 Father Kelly and the woman gazed on in silent mys- 
 tification. They could not understand this strange 
 denouement. For some moments not a word was 
 spoken ; both Sweeny and Schwartz were weeping in 
 each other's arms. 
 
 At length Schwartz exclaimed : 
 
 " Then you are not dead ? God be thanked ! For 
 more than two years I have been leading a life of self- 
 reproach, believing that I had murdered you." 
 
 " You murdered me ! " repeated Sweeny, in surprise. 
 "What a terrible mistake ! I, on the other hand, have 
 been reproaching myself with being the cause of your 
 disappearance and probable death." 
 
 " There is evidently some misunderstanding between 
 us," said Isaac, trying to smile. " Since we are both 
 alive, perhaps a mutual explanation may relieve our 
 minds. Tell me, Dick what do you remember about 
 that terrible night when we were together last ? " 
 
 " I remember," said Dick, with an effort, " your 
 patient endurance and your earnest endeavors to keep 
 me straight. I also remember that I had been drinking 
 heavily one day at the village. Then my memory is a 
 blank until I awoke and found myself on the floor of 
 the cabin. My head felt very heavy and I could scarcely 
 arise to my feet. I called you, but received no reply. 
 When I began to examine myself, I found that I had 
 been cut on the head, and that some one had tied a 
 bandage about the wound. That bandage saved my 
 life ; without it I should have bled to death. I took it 
 off and recognized it as a part of your praying scarf. 
 There were more strips of it scattered about the floor.
 
 296 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Then I understood your loving kindness. Seeing me 
 wounded, you had torn up your scarf, which I knew 
 was very precious to you, and with the strips you had 
 staunched my wounds. It was noble of you, Ike." 
 
 "And what did you suppose had become of me?" 
 asked Isaac, surprised at the turn events had taken. 
 
 " I could not come to any plausible conclusion re- 
 garding you. When I recovered sufficiently, I stag- 
 gered out into the open air, and found that the gold was 
 gone. Then I took it for granted that some of the 
 gang had found out our secret and had come to rob us. 
 That accounted for my wound, and for the fact that the 
 gold had disappeared. They had no doubt given me 
 up for dead. It was clear to me that you must have 
 come into the cabin, and seeing me insensible, had done 
 all in your power to help me. What became of you 
 then I could not guess. At times I feared that the 
 gang might have killed you and thrown your body into 
 the creek ; at other times I had an idea that, after 
 saving my life, you must have escaped in some manner." 
 
 "Well, what did you do when you recovered your 
 strength ? " 
 
 " I became a better man, Ike. The wound left me 
 very weak. Some of the fellows from the village found 
 me a couple of days after, and nursed me through. I 
 had a close call ; but when I got well I decided on 
 better things. In the first place, I swore off on John 
 Barleycorn. I haven't touched a drop of liquor since. 
 Next I looked up my wife and child. I had a long 
 hunt before I found them ; they were living in Colorado 
 and were very poor. In spite of all my sins, Sally took
 
 The Reunion. 297 
 
 me back to her heart, and we have been happy since. 
 Finally I started a farm near Pueblo, but I'could not rest." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I wanted to know whether you were still alive. I 
 wanted to find the man who had preserved my life, and 
 whose spotless and humble way of living was to be the 
 pattern for my own future existence. This desire gave 
 me no peace. The praying scarf I kept with me. See, 
 here it is. I almost worshiped it as something sent to 
 me by God. I remembered that you told me once you 
 came from this town, and when I could scrape enough 
 money together to travel, I came on here with Sally 
 and Jim to find you." 
 
 " But how came you in this unfortunate condition ?" 
 asked Schwartz, deeply interested. 
 
 " When I arrived, a month ago, I had still some 
 money left. I inquired for you at the Mayor's office, 
 but no one knew of any such person as Ike Black. 
 Then I was taken sick with fever. The doctor said it 
 was malaria. Gradually my money gave out, and I 
 didn't know a soul in town. I tried to get a job at 
 anything, but was too weak to work. Finally I found 
 shelter here, and have been in bed ever since. I was 
 afraid I was going to die without seeing you. If it 
 hadn't been for Father Kelly finding us, I might be 
 dead now. God's ways are wonderful. I'll soon be 
 better, Ike, since I've found you and given you back 
 your scarf." 
 
 There was a childish satisfaction in the face and ges- 
 tures of the grizzled miner, as he stroked the hand of 
 his old partner.
 
 298 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Ah, Ike," he said, " you don't know how happy I 
 am to find you alive and well." 
 
 It was now Isaac's turn to tell his version of that 
 eventful night. He told everything, laying due stress 
 upon Dick's conduct and upon his own crime. He 
 accused himself of assault and of theft, and described, 
 with tears in his eyes, the anguish and misery he had 
 endured since. 
 
 " So you see," he added, " instead of being your pre- 
 server, as you imagined, I was in reality your mur- 
 derer, for I surely believed you dead. But you were 
 avenged. Never did assassin experience the tortures 
 and remorse that fell to my lot." 
 
 This was a revelation to Sweeny. He listened with 
 intense interest to every word. 
 
 " Can you forgive me ?" he cried, at length. " It was 
 my brutality, my inhuman conduct toward you, which 
 caused your hasty deed. I alone am to blame. Do you 
 forgive me, Ike? That was one reason why I wanted 
 to find you before I died. I wanted to ask your pardon 
 for all the wrong I had done you out in the diggings." 
 
 " Nonsense, Dick. It is I who must beg your forgive- 
 ness for my attempt upon your life. God be thanked 
 that His hand kept me from being a murderer !" 
 
 " That blow made a man of me, Ike a God- fearing, 
 self-respecting man." 
 
 Father Kelly, who had been an attentive listener, 
 took part in the conversation, and expressed his delight 
 at the happy termination of the unfortunate affair. 
 
 "It is useless to reproach one another," he said. 
 " You were both in the wrong. But the trial has not
 
 The Reunion. 299 
 
 been in vain ; for of you, Sweeny, it has made a new 
 being, with the sense of the duties of a man and a 
 Catholic, while of Mr. Schwartz it has made a philan- 
 thropist, whose praises are sung by both Jew and 
 Gentile." 
 
 " Whatever I possess," cried Isaac, " belongs in part 
 to Sweeny. He shall share my wealth with me. Dick, 
 rejoice ! Your poverty is at an end." 
 
 Isaac related to the astonished man how he had 
 amassed a fortune upon the foundation of that sack of 
 gold. 
 
 " Hurry, Dick," he said. " You must get well, and 
 we will share it." 
 
 " No, Ike," replied the other, " it is impossible. The 
 money is yours. You helped to toil and struggle for 
 it. The few thousand dollars you took with you would 
 soon have been dissipated, had you left them in my pos- 
 session. I could never content myself in a city like 
 this. I should perhaps fall back into my former life. 
 Now that I have seen you, I shall soon be well, and 
 then I shall go back to my farm and pass the balance 
 of my days in hard work, by the side of my faithful 
 Sally." 
 
 " It will be better so," said his wife, tenderly, kissing 
 his pale face. " We will toil together, and make up in 
 love and happiness for the time we have lost." 
 
 An hour afterwards a carriage drove up to the squalid 
 tenement on Oak Street, and Sweeny, his wife and 
 child, were deposited into it. It carried them to 
 Schwartz's house. Here rooms had been prepared for 
 the new arrivals, and Lena, who had been apprised of
 
 300 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 the strange facts, stood at the door to greet them. The 
 good woman embraced Sally like a sister and made her 
 feel thoroughly at home. Sweeny was put into a com- 
 fortable bed and the best doctor in the city was called 
 to attend him. 
 
 "I came near killing him once," said Isaac, with 
 tears of joy in his eyes ; " I dare not lose him this time." 
 
 In a week's time Dick was completely restored, and, 
 thanks to the kind treatment of their Jewish hosts, the 
 entire Sweeny family began to improve wonderfully in 
 appearance. 
 
 Happy days were those for Isaac. A thousand times 
 did he and Sweeny revert to the old days in the mines, 
 and recollections which had been extremely painful to 
 the self-tortured man now became a source of keen de- 
 light. Forgotten were all the hardships, the petty 
 persecutions, the ignominy endured; there remained 
 but the recollection of happy incidents, and the joyful 
 certainty that the supposed dead had returned to life. 
 
 Sweeny remained with Isaac for more than a month. 
 He felt so great a pleasure in being thus received by a 
 noble and virtuous family, so keen an enjoyment in the 
 companionship of the once despised and humiliated Jew, 
 that he found it difficult to tear himself away, and he 
 kept deferring his departure from week to week. 
 
 One day he accompanied Schwartz to the synagogue, 
 and seemed deeply interested by what he saw and 
 heard. 
 
 " Do you know, Ike," he said, when they had re- 
 turned, " I have half a mind to become a Jew." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Isaac, amused.
 
 The Reunion. 301 
 
 " I don't know exactly. Perhaps it is because I see 
 you and your family so happy ; perhaps it is because I 
 hear so much of your deeds of charity and of your 
 goodness of heart. Then, too, I like your ceremonies, 
 the holy sanctity of your Sabbath. In fact, your re- 
 ligion seems to me so simple and delightful, your home 
 appears so much superior to any I have ever seen, that 
 it would not require much persuasion to convert me to 
 Judaism." 
 
 " Give up the idea at once, Dick," replied Schwartz, 
 seriously. " Happiness is not a matter of any partic- 
 ular religion, but of individual disposition. You can 
 be far more contented and do more good in the faith of 
 your parents than in any other. Remain a Catholic ; 
 but try to be a good Catholic, for a good Catholic is 
 better than an indifferent Jew, and vice versa. There 
 is after all but one religion, and that is love for God 
 and duty towards your fellow-man." 
 
 On the very day of this conversation Bishop Keane 
 and Father Kelly paid Mr. Schwartz a visit. 
 
 " How stands it with our baptism ? " asked the 
 bishop. " When can we go ahead with the ceremony ? " 
 
 "Your Reverence will pardon me if I disappoint you," 
 replied Isaac. " I have renounced all desire of becom- 
 ing converted." 
 
 The bishop and the priest looked at each other with 
 significant glances. 
 
 " I feared as much," said Father Kelly, sadly. 
 
 "You see, your Reverence, a serious crime weighed 
 heavily upon my conscience, and for a moment I 
 dreamed of seeking atonement in the Catholic Church ;
 
 302 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 but a careful investigation convinced me that I should 
 seek in vain." 
 
 "Why in vain?" asked the bishop. "The holy 
 church has the power to absolve from sin. Jesus offers 
 salvation to all who come to Him." 
 
 " To all who believe ; but I could not believe, your 
 Reverence. I sought for proof of the divinity of Christ, 
 but found it not. Would you have me become a hypo- 
 crite by professing faith in a thing I believe to be 
 impossible ? " 
 
 "You have been misled by your profane books," 
 answered the priest. " To me it all appears so clear, so 
 beautiful, that to doubt it would be difficult. What a 
 grand conception is that of the Almighty coming down 
 to earth to suffer for our sins ! " 
 
 "Grand, perhaps, if you have been educated to con- 
 sider it so ; absurd, when you look at it with the critical 
 eyes of unbelief." 
 
 " There you have the explanation," replied the bishop. 
 " Your unbelief distorts the image of the grandest spec- 
 tacle the world has ever seen." 
 
 " Cast off your unbelief," exclaimed the priest. " It 
 is of the devil. Have faith in Christ, and all will 
 appear rational to you." 
 
 " It must appear rational to me before I can have 
 faith in it. I must have proof positive proof." 
 
 " Have you such proof of the accuracy of your own 
 doctrines ? " 
 
 "Yes. True, our Bible is filled with inaccuracies, 
 but they scarcely affect Judaism. I know that there is 
 a God. My own existence and the harmony in Nature
 
 The Keunion. 303 
 
 tell me so dally. I believe in Him as an only God. I 
 know that the patriarchs were historical individuals, 
 and that I am their descendant. I know that Moses 
 gave some excellent laws which are at this remote age 
 the best humanity possesses, and I obey them. There- 
 fore I am a Jew. All this appeals to reason. It is 
 independent of miracle, of divine inspiration of the 
 Bible, of > misinterpretations of the Scriptures inde- 
 pendent of any belief in the supernatural. To be a true 
 Christian, however, I must place credence in many 
 things which my reason refuses to accept as possible. 
 To disbelieve in a single one of these would make me a 
 heretic. Beautiful as these doctrines appear to you, who 
 have imbibed them with your mother's milk, to me they 
 are incomprehensible. Your Reverence will understand 
 therefore that I can never become a Christian." 
 
 " But the salvation of your soul, the forgiveness of 
 your sins," said the bishop. 
 
 " My religion holds out as much consolation as does 
 your own. You say to me, ( Cast your sins upon the 
 Saviour and become pure through faith.' My creed 
 says, ' Bear the burden of your sins, and become pure 
 through trial and affliction.' You say, 'Christ will 
 intercede with the Father, and your guilt will be washed 
 away.' My creed says, 'Show the Lord a contrite 
 heart and a resolution to do better, and He will forgive.' 
 I have found atonement, your Reverence, in the tenets 
 of my father's religion." 
 
 The prelates arose to go. They felt their disappoint- 
 ment keenly, for Isaac had been a promising neophyte. 
 Schwartz held out his hand at parting.
 
 304 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " Let us still be friends," he said. " Each can find 
 happiness in his own way. To become a convert I 
 would first have to unlearn all I have ever been taught 
 concerning God, and that would be impossible at my 
 age. You see it is, after all, a matter of faith, and faith- 
 is a matter of birth and education." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," replied the bishop ; and 
 shaking the Israelite cordially by the hand, he and 
 Father Kelly left the house. 
 
 Sweeny tarried a few weeks longer, and he, too, left. 
 In vain Isaac offered him half his wealth and a share in 
 his vast business interests. Dick refused. Isaac finally 
 insisted upon his acceptance of ten thousand dollars, 
 which he said rightfully belonged to him. Dick reluct- 
 antly accepted it, and with his happy wife and child left 
 for his farm in Colorado. 
 
 For years he corresponded with his old partner, and 
 his greatest aim was to lead a life which would make 
 him worthy of the friendship of Isaac Schwartz.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE GAME OF SOLO. 
 
 "A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, 
 Doubling his pleasures and his cares dividing." Rogen. 
 
 ONE evening, not long after the events just narrated, 
 Rosenheim invited Schwartz, Blumen and Bergthal to 
 his home for a sociable game of solo. Rosenheim and 
 Bergthal, since the engagement of their children, had 
 become inseparable. The friendship of Damon and 
 Pythias was commonplace in comparison with that ex- 
 isting between these whilom foes. They were known 
 to send each other customers, when their own stock 
 failed to fill the requirements, and surely greater 
 friendship than this is unrecorded in profane history. 
 Rosenheim considered himself an expert solo player, a 
 second Hoyle, but his friends thought differently. He 
 had a reprehensible habit of forgetting the most essen- 
 tial rules of the game, and consequently lost more 
 frequently than he won. On such occasions he would 
 work himself into a pitch of excitement ill befitting 
 the president of a congregation, and out of all propor- 
 tion to the booty at stake. He was blissfully ignorant 
 of his shortcomings. His acquaintances rarely refused 
 an invitation to play with him, for they won his money 
 20 305
 
 306 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 and drank his wine with the spirit of true martyrs, and 
 had an interesting and exciting time besides. 
 
 On this memorable evening quite a company had 
 gathered in Rosenheim's parlor. Besides the men who 
 were playing in the adjoining den, there were their 
 several wives and Bertha Schwartz. Lena was to have 
 been one of the party, but little Rose had developed 
 symptoms of fever, so slight that only a mother's 
 watchfulness eould have detected it, and Lena decided 
 to stay at home with the child. There was also present 
 Mr. Louis Ehrlich, who came ostensibly to see the 
 president about a matter connected with the synagogue, 
 but in reality to bask in the sunlight of Bertha's smiles, 
 for he had in some mysterious manner learned that she 
 would be there. Ehrlich, since we saw him last, had 
 progressed in his love, but not in his love-making. To 
 him there was but one theme, and that was Bertha. 
 The beautiful sunset, the picturesque clouds, the majes- 
 tic trees, an interesting book, a superb picture, a Beeth- 
 oven symphony, were all but variations of that theme, 
 and spoke of her in varied ways. A boundless passion 
 seized him when in her presence. A vagne yearning 
 drove him: to her side, and he realized how empty was 
 life unless she would fill it with her love. And yet, 
 alas 1 while Mr. Ehrlich was not lacking in courage in 
 matters pertaining to commerce, while he was over-bold 
 in his dealings with the board members of the syna- 
 gogue, while he managed things with a high hand at 
 the club, yet he was an arrant coward when in the 
 presence of Bertha. Often as he had planned an 
 avowal, he found his heart shrink within him, and he
 
 The Game of Solo. 307 
 
 left the field with the battle unfought, the avowal un- 
 spoken. 
 
 If Bertha had bat given him a little encouragement 
 some sign of favor ! But he still could discover no- 
 thing which led him to believe that she was partial to 
 him, and he did not desire to leave the city in despair, 
 like poor Jacoby. So he continued to meet her at 
 the Harmony, or visit her at her home, determined each 
 day to end the suspense ; but, when he screwed up his 
 courage to the proposing point, one glance from Bertha's 
 saucy eyes drove his blood back into his heart and shat- 
 tered his carefully-planned compliments to the four 
 winds of heaven. 
 
 Solo, the whist of the Germans, is naturally an ex- 
 citing game, productive of much noise and considerable 
 quarreling, but the gentlemen were playing in an un- 
 usually quiet manner. Only once, when Rosenheim got 
 "bait" on a "herz-solo-call," was there something like 
 an incipient revolution in the card-room, but the noise 
 soon subsided. 
 
 The ladies were in the adjoining sitting-room discuss- 
 ing the all-absorbing servant-girl question, which even 
 at that early day was a topic of importance to the 
 housekeeper. Mrs. Rosenheim was talking to .an inter- 
 ested audience of the manifold difficulties she had ex- 
 perienced in securing a competent cook. The last 
 queen of the kitchen had shown herself utterly in- 
 competent to grasp the mysteries of the Jewish 
 cuisine, and, in spite of repeated demonstrations, 
 evinced an appalling ignorance of the composition of 
 "shalet" and "kugel."
 
 308 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 There was a general wagging of heads, for each of 
 these ladies had a similar woeful tale to tell. 
 
 Mrs. Blumen related a particularly pathetic incident 
 anent the misguided eiforts on the part of her cook to 
 bake the Purim cakes in lard, and the hearers held 
 up their hands in pious gratification at the narrow 
 escape. 
 
 Mrs. BergthaPs experience, however, capped the 
 climax. 
 
 "What do you think my gem of a girl did last 
 week ?" she asked. " Actually threw away a dish of 
 1 gensgrieben/ because she didn't know they were good 
 to eat," 
 
 A universal exclamation of horror at such sacrilege 
 greeted the speaker. 
 
 "Servants are a hardship," said Mrs. Blumen, at 
 length, shaking her head vigorously. "To be happy, 
 one must get along without them." 
 
 This intellectual conversazione was interrupted from 
 time to time by appropriate intermezzos from the card- 
 room, such as, " I pass ; " " Booms ; " " Eckstein ; " 
 "Kreutz-donner-wetter;" "Vot does de Talmud say?" 
 " I call ; " " Rosenheim is bait." 
 
 Meanwhile Bertha and Mr. Ehrlich, for whom 
 neither cards nor servant-girls had any interest, sat 
 apart and conversed in low tones. It was a moment 
 of intense suspense for the young man. He was very 
 close to her, and at intervals her hair almost stroked 
 his cheeks and sent the hot blood mantling to his brow. 
 He longed to caress the soft tresses. He thought of a 
 poem by Heinrich Heine :
 
 The Game of Solo. 309 
 
 " Dame Fortune is a fickle fairy, 
 
 Who loves not by your side to stay ; 
 She strokes your hair with fingers airy, 
 Imprints a kiss and flies away.'' 
 
 If he could but fetter Dame Fortune, hold her in his 
 embrace, have her stroke his forehead and kiss his lips 
 forever ! To him Bertha was fortune, bliss, ecstasy ! 
 
 Said Bertha, at length, with an assumed air of great 
 indifference : 
 
 " I suppose you know I am going to leave town to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 " No," he replied, as he felt his heart sink. " Where 
 are you going ?" 
 
 " To visit a relative in Richmond." 
 
 The warm blood surged to his cheeks as he stam- 
 mered : 
 
 " To Richmond ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Bertha. " Lena's cousin came from 
 Germany several months ago and settled in Richmond. 
 She has written, begging one of us to come and see her. 
 Lena cannot go, so I have decided to undertake the 
 trip." 
 
 " Why, this is very sudden," said poor Ehrlich. 
 
 He remembered, with a palpitating heart, that Mr. 
 Jacoby had also moved to Richmond, and he won- 
 dered whether there could be any esoteric connection 
 between these two migrations. 
 
 " It is rather sudden," assented Bertha. " We only 
 decided on the journey this morning. There is little 
 to keep me here just now no social event of any im- 
 portance."
 
 310 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " But Richmond is quite for," murmured Ehrlich, not 
 finding anything more logical to say in his consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl ; " it is a very long ride, and T 
 must leave by daybreak. Unfortunate, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Very," grumbled Ehrlich, with a vague apprehension 
 that if he delayed, his opportunity might be eternally 
 lost. 
 
 " Dear me !" said Bertha, looking at her watch and 
 rising suddenly. " I must go home, or I'll oversleep 
 myself in the morning." 
 
 She glanced into the card-room. 
 
 " Isaac, can you take me home now ? " she asked 
 of her brother. " You know I must get up before day- 
 break." 
 
 Schwartz was scanning his cards. "I'll make it a 
 solo-herz," he said, oblivious to everything but the game. 
 
 Bertha repeated the question. 
 
 " My dear ! " exclaimed Schwartz, greatly surprised ; 
 " are you ' meshugga ' (mad) ? Leave in the middle of 
 a solo-herz ? Wait ten minutes, and I'll go with you." 
 
 Bertha rejoined her silent admirer, who had been 
 pondering how best to break the news of his affection 
 for her. Twice he started a vague declaration; but the 
 words obstinately refused to find utterance. 
 
 Bertha spoke of the last Harmony ball, of Emma's 
 approaching marriage, and of the prospects of amateur 
 theatricals during the winter. The married ladies were 
 discussing the bargains in mantillas at Blumen's. 
 
 Suddenly there was an explosion in the card-room. 
 The voice of Rosenheim was heard in vehement accusa-
 
 The Game of Solo. 311 
 
 tion, while the combined voices of the other men were 
 heard in angry protestations. 
 
 " Who ever saw such playing ? " cried Rosenheim, in- 
 dignantly. " If you had played correctly, I must have 
 von. I had herz-oss, koenig, sechs-mal, ecke-zehn, zu- 
 dritt and shippen-oss, besetzt ! Vouldn't you call dat a 
 good hand for a solo ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Blumen, excitedly, tl if you had played 
 out. But Schwartz led with a small club and you 
 trumped it with your best card. You should have 
 played out the smallest card in your hand. That blun- 
 der cost you ten points." 
 
 The excitement ran high. The gentlemen were fast 
 losing their tempers. Rosenheim had three baits to win 
 back, or his loss would be considerable. 
 
 At this juncture Bertha again appeared at the door, 
 and urged her brother to take her home. It was an in- 
 opportune and inauspicious move on her part. 
 
 " Bertha," ejaculated Schwartz, in surprise, " you 
 ought to know better ! It is as much as my life is 
 worth to stop before Rosenheim gets out of his ' baits.' 
 If you can't wait, go home alone." 
 
 Here Mr. Ehrlich had an inspiration, such as comes 
 to a man but once in a lifetime. 
 
 "Let me see you home, Miss Schwartz," he said, 
 pleadingly. 
 
 Said Bertha coyly, " I should reproach myself for 
 taking you away from such good company." 
 
 To which Ehrlich answered, with inexplicable courage 
 and tact, "With your departure there is no longer any 
 attraction for me here. Let me see you home."
 
 312 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Bertha blushed and accepted. They bade the ladies 
 good-night and went out together. What a relief from 
 the hot and smoke-laden parlor was the cold, invigorat- 
 ing atmosphere of the street ! 
 
 For a time they walked on in silence, a strange emotion 
 overpowering their souls. The moon shone brightly, 
 and its rays lit up the girl's ruddy cheeks, and mirrored 
 itself in her deep brown eyes. She raised her glance to 
 heaven and sighed. " How beautiful it all is ! " she 
 exclaimed, wistfully. " To me there is nothing more 
 eloquent than the sky. Of what distance, what im- 
 mensity, what marvelous order the stars and moon give 
 evidence. I can almost hear the music of the spheres." 
 
 "There is a cloud scudding across the moon," said 
 Ehrlich, catching her mood. "So do doubts and sorrows 
 come to darken our lives." 
 
 " We must not let them. See, the cloud has gone and 
 the moon is clear again. Trials and cares have no 
 power to darken the soul ; they are but transitory. The 
 brightness of the soul is eternal." 
 
 He felt her arm tremble in his. " Are you cold ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Oh, no ! This is much better than being in the hot 
 room. One can breathe here, one can live." 
 
 " And love," he exclaimed, involuntarily. The word 
 had escaped him, and he wondered at his own temerity. 
 
 " Yes and love," she replied. "Surely Nature teaches 
 us the philosophy of living and loving." 
 
 There was a long silence. Each seemed plunged in 
 reflections they feared to voice. 
 
 Never had Bertha appeared so radiant, so lovable to
 
 The Game of Solo. 313 
 
 Ehrlich as she did with the moonlight streaming upon 
 her. With a start Bertha appeared to realize the 
 seriousness of the situation, and she hastily withdrew 
 her arm from that of the young man. Then, woman- 
 like, she endeavored to draw her companion back to the 
 realities of life by a change of conversation. The transi- 
 tion was sudden and abrupt. 
 
 " I fear we are growing sentimental," she said. "This 
 will never do ! Come, let us talk about something else 
 nbout our friends. How thoroughly interested men be- 
 come when playing cards !" 
 
 Ehrlich came back to earth with a rude mental 
 shock. 
 
 " No wonder," he replied. " To them the game is as 
 suggestive of the philosophy of life as is Nature to you 
 and me. Did it never occur to you that life is very 
 much like a game of solo ? " 
 
 " Never," she replied, smiling. 
 
 " You see," he explained, shyly at first, but more con- 
 fidently as he progressed, " the cards that are dealt are 
 so many opportunities given us by Providence, which 
 may be played for good or evil. Many, I fear, resemble 
 Mr. Rosenheim, and make the worst possible use of the 
 best possible material, and, as a result, they are badly 
 'bait,'" 
 
 " Go on," said Bertha, with manifest interest. 
 
 " There is the ' blind,' which represents those unknown 
 and unforeseen circumstances which often frustrate our 
 best endeavors. How many say, ' I pass.' and wearily 
 lay down their hands, because these circumstances are 
 inimical to their well-being."
 
 314 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 Bertha was surprised to hear him grow so eloquent 
 over a game of cards. 
 
 " In life, too," he continued, " each man must play a 
 solo ; must look out for himself, antagonized by all the 
 rest." 
 
 " And in the end ? " suggested Bertha. 
 
 " In the end, the player passes in his chips, and settles 
 with his Maker." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Don't you think there is an analogy which you have 
 overlooked ? " asked the girl, furtively. " In life, as in 
 solo, the hearts play an inordinately important part." 
 
 " So they do," assented Mr. Ehrlich. 
 
 He looked into her mischievous eyes, as though in 
 doubt, then murmured, with a supreme effort: 
 
 " Bertha, my heart is weary of playing a solo. Will 
 you give me yours to keep it company ? " 
 
 Bertha hung her head demurely, but said nothing. 
 
 " Will you accept my love and my heart ? Will you 
 be my wife ? Do not reject me. I have been in doubt 
 so long, yearning, yet fearing to avow my love. Say 
 you will be my wife." 
 
 Bertha was not unprepared for this confession ; but 
 it was unexpectedly sweet to her, and set her heart 
 bounding none the less. Here was a soul in which she 
 could confide, a man on whom she could lean. There 
 was no difference of creed to forbid the union, no fear 
 for the future to mar the bliss of the moment. She 
 nestled closer to her lover, and he divined rather than 
 heard her reply.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 " Let me attune to lighter lays 
 
 The harp that twanged the dreary dole 
 My footsteps fall in fairer ways, 
 Lit by the dawn of golden days 
 The promise of a quiet soul." 
 
 Felix N. Gerson. 
 
 BY seven in the morning the news of the engage- 
 ment had spread from Pearl Street to Cedar, and had 
 then been disseminated through every other street in 
 which Israelites lived. Even Mrs. Lazinsky, in her 
 court off Oak Street, heard of it, and ran over to the 
 Schwartz domicile to wish them " masseltof." An en- 
 gagement in a family as prominent as the Schwartzes 
 was an event of importance. That evening the house 
 was again crowded, as it had been on the day of Bertha's 
 arrival. A case of champagne the first that many 
 of these good people had ever tasted unloosened a 
 score of tongues, and jollity reigned supreme. The 
 Rabbi, true to his profession, waxed eloquent and made 
 a speech, modeled after the dissertations of the Midrash, 
 in which the names of Ehrlich (honest) and Schwartz 
 (dark) lent themselves to some clever punning. Then 
 Mr. Rosenheim, as president of the congregation, arose, 
 rather unsteadily. 
 
 315
 
 316 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 " I rise up," said he, " like a palloon, but not filled 
 mit gas, but mit friendship for de ' Chusen und Kalle ' 
 (bride and groom) vot celebrate der engagement to- 
 night. Vot does de Talmud say? Kivan Shenosah 
 Adam. Veil, never mind vot de Talmud says. It 
 means matrimony is an end of all trouble, bud it's 
 hard to tell vich end. I have had experience mit 
 matrimony, und can tell de groom some t'ings he don'd 
 know yed. A 'chochem' (wise man) never tries to give 
 a voman a satisfactory answer. It is vorse den useless. 
 Don'd keep nodding secret from your vife. Dere may 
 be some t'ings no man can find out ; bud it's different 
 mit a voman. Alvays gif your vife her own vay. It 
 vill prevent her from being opliged to take it, anyhow. 
 Before de vedding de girl is very dear to a man's heart ; 
 aber after de vedding she is dearer yet to his pocket- 
 book." 
 
 Here Mr. Rosenheim became diffuse, and his wife, 
 gently but firmly urged him back into his chair. 
 
 The Rabbi, acting as toastmaster, called upon Mr. 
 Basch to make a few remarks. That gentleman merely 
 looked at his wife, and regretted that he was not prepared. 
 
 Mr. Bergthal was next invited to say a word. It was 
 quite a relief to him ; for he desired, if possible, to out- 
 do his friend Rosenheim. 
 
 " I didn'd expect to be called on," he said, naively, 
 "or I vould have prepared myself; bud I remember a 
 liddle poem vot might do for dis occasion." And he de- 
 livered himself of a carefully prepared doggerel, in a 
 mixture of German, English and Hebrew, the conclud- 
 ing lines of which,
 
 The Conclusion. 317 
 
 " Massel und Brocha 
 Der ganzen Meschpocha," 
 
 elicited much applause. 
 
 A month later Louis Ehrlich and Bertha Schwartz 
 were married at the synagogue, which was resplendent 
 with new paint and hangings. Submitting to an earnest 
 request on the part of the groom, the board passed a 
 resolution allowing men and their wives to sit side by 
 side during the ceremony, and thus inaugurated a re- 
 form which filled the souls of the ultra pious with 
 dismay, but which became popular with the younger 
 element, and still survives. 
 
 The wedding dinner was served in sumptuous fashion 
 at the Harmony Club, and Louis Ehrlich and Bertha, 
 his wife, embarked with most favorable winds on their 
 voyage of conjugal bliss. 
 
 Isaac Schwartz, the philanthropist, sat with his 
 patient, affectionate helpmate at the head of the table, 
 respected and venerated. Few knew his secret, few 
 suspected the misery he had endured. " A lucky man ! " 
 folks called him ; and now that his troubles were at an 
 end, he deemed himself lucky indeed. On the day of 
 Bertha's wedding a sum of money was anonymously 
 distributed through the dwellings of the needy, and 
 
 every poor Israelite in B rejoiced. They did not 
 
 need to be told the name of their benefactor ; they 
 divined it, and remembered him and the newly-married 
 couple in their prayers. 
 
 Isaac's philanthropy continued unabated. Doing 
 good had become habitual with him, and each deed 
 rebounded a blessing.
 
 318 A Victim of Conscience. 
 
 One day, a year or so later, August Kern called to 
 see Bertha. He was on his wedding trip, and intro- 
 duced his wife, a pretty blonde, totally unlike Bertha, 
 but whom he loved devotedly, and who, moreover, 
 offered up her prayers to the same Saviour and found 
 salvation in the same faith. If there remained in his 
 heart a trace of his former passion, his wife never dis- 
 covered it. 
 
 THE END.
 
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