THE JEW'S HOUSE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2914, 19 January 1910, Page 85

THE JEW'S HOUSE.

By :3?ergu.s Hume,

CHAPTEi^'^t|— THE END. Six months iatefYMr and Mrs Ashton were seated on Trem Grom, the Druidical hill, some miles from St. Ives. There the wearers of the mistletoe wore their crown® and offered up their terrible sacrifices; there, too, the Romans -established acamp, and therefrom dominated the land. But all the doings of those weird days have become a memory, and the hnsbanu and wife who reclined on the springy turf were occupied with different considerations. Judith, looking more imperial and beautiful than ever, stared dreamily into the distance, where St. Michael’s Mount and its fair castle floated in a golden haze. Around her were scattered great blocks of grey stones, and at her feet lay Lancelot, looking much graver than of yore. It was a delightful summer day, with a blue sky and radiant sunshine. The young couple, now married to each other, should have been a,s brilliant and gay as the smiling scene around them. But Judith was weeping, and Lancelot, looking at some letters which they had taken to Trem C-rom to re-ad, had an expression of sadness on his face. “This is the last time we shall speak of these things,” he said quietly, and drew himself up until he was in a- position to slip a kind arm round his wife’s waist. “Don’t- weep, Judith, dearest. 1 ’ “I can’t help it.” she said, hiding her face in his shoulder; “the death of that miserable woman brings it all back to me.” “My dear, it is just as well that Miss Cashel 1 should, die, for she would never have recovered her’- reason. The shock she sustained when she thought that BenEzra could prove her guilty of murder was too much for her.” “Well,” said Judith, drying her eyes, “I agree with you. And after all the loneliness she- has had gave her husband a chance to prove that he was a truer Christian than many who call themselves so.” “Yes,” said Lancelot, emphatically, “there is much truth in Wain’s theosophy, after all”—and he threw back his thoughts to what had happened. Barrington Wain had indeed behaved well. Of course, the death of Ben-Ezra and the discovery of the paper signed by him, stating that Miss C-ashel! was innocent, had ended all chance of her being prosecuted. Lancelot and the journalist had seen Handy Luck, and it was agreed that no further steps should be taken. If they had been it would have done no good, for Ida. Cashell only recovered her health in a measure for her husband to learn that her brain had given way under the stress of circumstances. Her- once brilliant intellect was clouded. Something had snapped in the brain, and for over six months she lingered on, little more than an idiot. To such a doom had all her wickedness brought her. Her husband all the time had looked after her. Secure in his position as editor of the Midnight Sun, and in receipt of a good salary, he took a small villa in Bruntlea, wherein he installed the woman who had ruined his life. He never reproached her; he always acted tenderly towards her, and until he closed her once brilliant eyes he nursed her with unremlttent tenderness. But she never knew how he had forgiven her: she never became aware that he was repaying good for evil by waiting on her hand and foot. From the time she dropped at Ben-Ezra’s feet in the office she was lost as a human being to the world. When she died- —and she passed away very peacefully—Wain disposed of the Bruntlea villa, so filled with painful memories, and took bachelor rooms in London. There be gave himself up to the business of conducting the paper, which now belonged to Judith by the will of her uncle. When the two were on Trem Grom- they had just read the letter which announced the death of Ida Cashell —or Ida Wain, as the deceived husband inscribed the name on her tomb. Wain stated his plans, and detailed his wife’s last moments. It was the reading of the letter which had brought the tears to Judith’s dark eyes. The very sound of Miss Cashell’s name made her think of the sad past, and all the sorrow that followed when the truth was known of the Jew’s life-long sacrifice. “Have you told me everything about my uncle?” she .asked.- Lancelot, while he put Wain’s letter into his breast coat pocket. “Yes, dear. But I will explain again if you wish it.” du “I should like ; to hear everything for the last time.’’ 1 " r “It is just as ‘Well that you should,” said Lancelot gravely, “for there is another letter I have ’ received from old Silas which I wish to consult you about. You know how we appointed him agent for the property ?” “Yes, and a very good agent he has been,” said Judith, now more composed ; “no one knew the ins and outs of my uncle’s doings like Silas.” “I am glad,” said Ashton, with a faint smile, “that the business could bear such a close inspection -as it was subjected to. Ben-Ezra’s character came opt nobly, and he is as much respected in his death as he was hated in his life, poor man.” “Tel! me again exactly what took, place when you found-him dead along with your cousin,” urged Judith, leaning her arm on her -husband’s shoulder. “I was so ill when the news came that I didn’t understand half, and since we have married you have not allowed me to speak of it.” “My dear, we are on our honeymoon, so why should wo talk of these sad things which are past ? Even now ” “No. We must talk of them how, and

then can agree to forget tliem. Go on. Lancelot, tell me what happened.” ‘‘You know the most of the events, as I told you before,” said Ashton, putting a blade of grass into his mouth. ‘‘l found Ben-Ezra dead, in one chair and . my cousin 3usan ’in another. At the inquest, it was proyed that they had died from the effects of poison, but the doctors were unable to find out what kind of a poison had been used.” ■‘l remember,” said Judith quickly; “and it was reported that my uncle had taken . poison to Miss Merton when she asked him to tea.” “Afterwards public opinion changed,” said Lancelot. “When I learned how BenEzra bad acted in collusion with my grandfather to redeem the Ashtons from their spendthrift habits I made it public, so that everyone should know what a good man Ben-Ezra was. Wain wrote a very clever article in the Midnight Sira on the business. I owed that much explanation to Ben-Ezra:s memory.” “But what did my uncle do, exactly?” asked Judith, who in reality knew very little of the truth, since her husband had always kept it back from her. “Well, Ben-Ezra wished to benefit the General and myself, because he thought that he owned a debt of gratitude. Aware of the reckless habits of my father and of the frivolity of my mother, and knowing also that money ran through General Ashton’s fingers like water, he proposed a scheme so that I might be trained in a different school.” “What school?” “That of poverty. He represented to my grandfather that if I grew up as a rich man’s son I would turn out like the rest of the Ashtons, and would complete the ruin of the race. And that is verytrue,” said Lancelot dreamily, with his eyes on the golden distance. “I had in me all the instincts to live an idle life and waste money. Ben-Ezra’s wise schooling of me in the depths rooted out those instincts, and you know how careful I am now.” “Much too careful,” she said, kissing him. “No, dear. I know now that money is given to us to help others, and that we have no right to live selfish lives. I have known what it is to suffer poverty, to see people look askance at one and to findno soul to help one when in the direst needs. Ben-Ezra taught me all that, bless him,” and the young man raised hie hat reverently. “How did he arrange it, Lancelot?” “Very cleverly ; but then Ben-Ezra was always uncommonly clever. He talked the matter over with General Ashton, and, after much persuasion, brought the old man round to his way of thinking. In fact, much as my grandfather loved me, he loved his pleasure more, so on condition that Ben-Ezra allowed him a really splendid income of two thousand a year he handed over what was left of the property. How long Ben-Ezra would have kept to the arrangement of allowing the General two thousand a year, which he spent in gambling and eating and drinking, I don’t know. But remember, my grandfather died within a year of the arrangement, living at the Hall with myself and Miss Merton to the end. Then, when the old man was safely buried, BenEzra put his plans into practice, and turned Susan and myself out of the Hall.” Judith shocked her bead vigorously. “Say what you like, Lancelot, it was cruel to condemn two people brought up luxuriously to such poverty.” “Dear, Ben-Ezra was only cruel to be kind. He reduced us both to dire straits, but offered to help Susan, as he did not wish her to suffer during the time he experimented with me. She refused all help, and so did I, child as I was. Then BenEzra invented Randall, of Devonshire, and managed to pay for my education. I never thought, nor did Susan, that our relative was really your uncle.” “Why didn’t you go to Devonshire and see?” “There was no reason to. Randall if there was such a persoreacting for BenEzra, and I presume to carry out the plot there must have been—wrote and declined to see me when I wished to come and thank him. When my education was completed and I was admitted to the Bar, Randall conveniently died, so that was the end of him. Afterwards Susan and I had much to put up with, but I believe that Ben-Ezra watched over us all the time. He seized his chance of getting me a start when he -was tried for his life. Tire chance came off, as you know, and I have plenty of work waiting for me when I return to London.” “But where did you learn all this, Lancelot?” “The ylbole story has been written out, by Ben-Ezra, and was found in his strong box by:-Silas, along with -his will, which left everything, apart from the Hall and the increased income belonging to me, to you. Then there was my grandfather’s will, which placed me in possession, since Ben-Ezra was merely a trustee, who nursed the estate. But, by Jove! he nursed it to some purpose, for we have seven thousand a year clear, and the Hall also. You have the Midnight Sun, which was all you would accept.” Judith nodded, well pleased. “I quite understand how kind my uncle was,” she remarked dreamily, “and bow lie has saved you. But he was cruel to other people, and I did not like to take -money begotten by usury. Of course, the paper was a different thing, as I took it so that Air Wain might continue to be editor.” “Well, it’s a splendid property, for Wain has worked up the circulation wonderfully; in fact, Judith, you and I are a kind of double millionaire, thanks to the man we maligned.” “Ab, I was never just to him,” said Judith sadly. “Now I won’t hear that/’ cried her husband vigorously. “You were always kind to him, until I came along to make you think badly of him. But now I know the truth, I say bless Joab Ben-Ezra.” Ho lifted hie hat- again. “He was a good man, who saved me from being an idler and wastrel.” Judith leaned her elbow on her knee,

and looked at the bright, handsome fnco of her young husband. “Why did he die of poison?” Ashton’s face fell. “I’ll tell you,” he said 1 cautiously, looking round, “but 1 don't wish to tell anyone, else. Susan .poisoned him with those South American drops, of which she once spoke to you as a cure for headache. When the kind of poison used could not be named, I guessed that she had killed Ben-Ezra; but, of course, 1 said nothing for my own "But why should she poison him?” asked Judith, with great awe Lancelot shrugged his shouldeis. v\ n can tell?” ho said idly. “Susan always hated Ben-Ezra, even more, than i dietI expect she thought that he would stop our marriage, and so asked him to tea with the express idea of poisoning him and herself. Thus she thought—at least, 1 suppose so—that she would remove an obstacle from our paths. But as I said, who can tell?” ended the young man ; “the reason of the deaths is a mystery. And it was a much greater one than he supposed. As Ben-Ezra and Miss Merton. were both dead, and as. Dailey was m his quiet grave, no one ever knew that the woman had murdered Sir Giles, or that she had also murdered Ben-Ezra, although Lancelot suspected this latter, as has been seen. Miss Merton was buried in, the Ashton vault, and Ben-Ezra. occupied a quiet grave in Kensal Green, near his. beloved sister, and under the splendid monument which his love had long since erected to her memory. The stone-cutter had only to carve the name of Joab BenEzra beside the inscription, “Rachel Harkne&s,” and brother and sister slept together in peace. They were divided in life, but in death they were united. “Who do you think murdered Sir Giles?” asked Judith, after a pause. “Baxley, undoubtedly,” said Ashton readily. “That paper signed by your poor uncle found on the tea table said that Miss Cashel! was innocent, so undoubtedly Baxley’s confession was correct. ’ ’ “But the bracelet?” “Mabel said that she stole it from Mie.s Gashed, and afterwards gave it either to her father or my cousin. Of course, as. you know, the poor little thing was seriously ill because of her early privations, and forgot, or became confused. Certain,ly she could not have given it to Susan, as it then could not have been dropped in the Tan,buck Had drawing room. I expect it was her father she gave it to, as 'Susan assuredly would never have accepted stolen goods, and so must have seen it on Miss Cashell’s wrist. I daresay Baxley slipped it into his, pocket or wore it on his wrist—dr, perhaps, knowing it was Miss Cashell’s, purposely dropped it in the drawing room. He doubtless wished to lend colour to his accusation of her, should he have to accuse her.” “Why should he accuse her?” “He left that paper which we got from Mabel, don’t you remember? If Miss Cashed didn’t look after the child it was to be produced.” “Oh, yes!” Mrs Ashton suddenly recollected. “I remember now. What will become of the bracelet?” “Oh, I found' it in Ben-Ezra’s strongbox along with the papers, and I gave it back to. Lady Dove, who was delighted to. get it .again.” “What of her son, Sir Reginald? He ha.s quite got over his sorrow at Ida’s sickness. ’ ’ “He- has no brains to be sorrowful. I daresay be cared very little about her, else he would not have fallen in love with you. He may give a passing sigh for her death, but as he is now enjoying the delights, of Paris, along with his mother and sister, he’ll soon forget. Lady Bove has him in hand now, and will marry him to some pauper titled girl.” “Does Lady Bove still want Tanbuck Hall?” “No, dear,” said Lancelot gravely; “and that brings me to the letter of Silas. He writes that Lady Dove refuses to buy the Hall, saying that it is unlucky. You refuse, to live there, and so do I.” “I can’t remain in a house where a murder has taken place,” she shuddered. “Oh! I don’t mind that so much,” said her husband,“ but I don’t wish to live in Bruntlea after my cousin’s unpleasant death. People will always talk, and there is always scandal. So, with your, permission, dear, I wish to give Silas orders to pull the old Hall down and to let the ■fjroundi out in plots for building purposes.” “Oh! but Lancelot, such a. lovely old place,” cried his wife, much shocked ; “it is a shame to destroy it.” Lancelot rose, tall and straight, and helped his wife to her feet. “No, dear, it is not. I am an Ashton of the new type, thanks to Ben-Ezra, and I wish to be amidst new surroundings. I intend to go on with my legal work, in spite of our great income. But we can buy a place in, the- Marshlands, away from all old associations, and begin afresh. Let Tanbuck Hall, which hais sheltered so many careless futile spendthrifts, be destroyed, and let the plough pass over its park.” “What?” said Judith, trying to laugh ; “will you let it to Mr Verify?” “No,” laughed Lancelot, in reply; “he is quite content with the acres he has, and if he wants more he can have them, for, as you know, I have placed my purse at his disposal. But we’ll talk about things when we return, and then they can come to see ns in bur new home.” “I don’t think they will, dear. Ruth and Phineas are home-staying people. I know they will be always glad to see us, but they will not move. And now that my foster-mother has lost me, she intends to bring up Miss, Mabel to assist her. That illness, strange as it appears, did the

child good, as it seemed to radicate all her thievish instincts.” “It has placed a bar between the old and the new,” said Lancelot; “but it is growing chilly, dear, and the sun is setting. Come down to the. carriage,— I told the man that we would only .be an hour, and. we have been tw0,.,:-sO:-. Jt. is time we got back to- St. Ives.;-- Is-there anything else you wish to know before we close the subject of the sad past?” “No,” said Judith, as they descended a hill through the gateway of the- Roman camp. “Mies Ca-shell is dead, poor soul, Mr Wain is all right ; father and mother are happy, and we have talked of the Bove family. Oh —” she stopped ■short—“one thing, I should like to know. Did my uncle always intends we should marry in spite of his saying that he disapproved ?’ ’ “Yes, he did,” answered the young man smiling; “it was part of his design to test my will-power. He knew if he said no that I would love you all the more. I stood the test. Then” —Lancelot laughed as he looked at her—“there is another reason. I will whisper it.” He did, and Judith grew a bright purple. “Jewish blood, indeed!” “It will keep them wise and make them clever.” “Keep who wise and ” “Oh, Judith! Judith! when the days come, and on your knee ” She broke from him and ran. laughing and blushing, down the hill to the waiting carriage. Lancelot followed at a more sober pace, for be- saw the great advantage of the children, having in them a drop of the noble Jewish blood. “The spendthrift Ashtons end in me,” lie said aloud; “and, please God, I shall build up a noble house in a new home.” “The Jewess’s House,” whispered Judith at his elbow. She had returned. “Not the Jew’s House, certainly,” said the young man, “for that will soon be a thing of the past. Come, dear/ let us go on.” “Towards the new life,” said Judith, and arm in arm they descended the hill, while the golden lights faded from the sky and the stars came out one by one to light them on their homeward way. (The End.)