Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2622, 2 October 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

By Fergus Hume.

& —4, I “Tlie Jew's House,” |

Author of the “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” t£ The 4* T Mandarin’s Fan, ” “ The Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etc. ►l* (All Eights Eeserved) *b

CH APTER V. THE WHITEWASHING OF BENEZRA. Cedar Farm, a s Verilv’s property was called, took its name trom an ancient Lebanon tree, which grow near the gate opening on to the high road. With its horizontal branches and layers of dense foliage, together with its nature of remaining green all the year round, it looked alien and strange amongst the deciduous English trees with their' tangled houghs. It gave somewhat of a Scriptural character to the farm which was quite in keeping with the ..James-version-of-the-Bible speech used !bv its owner. The farm consisted of one hundred acres, stretching from the

filled with extremely solid literature; “Harvey’s Meditations among the Tombs,” Banyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and “Blair’s Grave,” were amongst the titles Wain read. Also ho espied the “Life of Georgo Pox,” which naturally he expected to find in a Quaker household. But that Wain know from the looks of the inhabitants —unworried looks they were —that Verily was prosperous, lie never would have guessed it from the unpretentious and almost poverty-struck aspect of his dwelling. But poor and quaintly ugly ay the room was, the wdiite doves of peace brooded over it, and almost consecrated it as a holy s hrine. Wain had been in churches with a much less reposeful atmosphere. While ho sat in the horse-hair armchair, comfortable, though hideous, Verily extracted from him a full, account of the accident, and how he had been enabled to save the girl’s life. The journalist made light of it, being a modest man, but Verily rebuked him for taking so airy a view of what he had done. “Had not God been with thee, friend Barrington, thou wouldst not have saved the child’s life. Nothing God I doth is little; therefore be not contemptuous of tho courage with which Ho inspired thee.” And Wain acknowledged the justice of the speech. Nevertheless, .Verity's constantly-ex-pressed thanks wei'e Somewhat embarrassing to a modest man, so to escape them Wain rose to examine a photo- { graph, silver-framed, on the mantelpiece. And strange that expensive frame looked in the homely apartment. , The portrait was of the head and shoulders of a clean-shaven, handsome, young man, with a sensitive mouth and deepset eyes. “Lancelot Ashton?” said Wain, who never forgot a face. • “Dost thou know him?” asked Verily, surprised by the recognition. “I met him three or four years ago. He was working to gain admittance to the Bar, I fancy.” “Lancelot has been admitted to the Bar, but as yet has had ill-success. He is clever, nevertheless, and I trust the Lord will afford him his chance of success. Poor lad,” Verily sighed; “his life has been a hard one since tho death of his grandfather fifteen years ago. He was then ten years of age, and brought up to lie upon couches of ivory, and to array himself in purple and fine linen. But, alas!”—the farmer shook hi.s head, and looked into tUe fire —“alas! friend Barrington, these fifteen years he hath been one who hath fallen out with fortune.” “Ben-Ezra mined his grandfather, I hear.”

road to Bruntlea far across a flat, alluvial country, rich in its promise of heavy crops. Verily certainly had no reason to. complain of his harvests, -which were aitway s excellent and due as much to In's agricultural knowledge as -to the fecund properties of tho land. Ho was quite a well-to-do farmer of the old style, when the Napoleonic wars forced England to grow her own corn. The homestead was a long, low, twostorey, weather-board building, painted white, and had quite a colonial look in this country of stone houses, But the red-tiled roof distinguished it very pointedly from the galvanised tin cover- - ings of New Zealand dwellings. It could not bo called picturesque, or even j pretty, it Was hot of a graceful shape, and no ivy covered its painted walls; but it looked comfortable and prosperous. The stables on the right and’’ the cow-byres on the left turned their backs on the house in the shape of red-brick ivalls, which ran down to the road. Between them stretched a low, white-painted fence, with a gate midway, and this shut in a flower-gar-den, now somewhat bare in the bloomless month of November. There was no porch to the door, or overhanging eaves to the square, staring windows, modestly curtained half-way up. A yellow sanded path ran from the gate to the step from which the threshold of the doorway was reached. And near the gate, the ancient cedar kept jealous guard. At the hack of the dwelling-house were mauy out-buildings, and on the hither sides of the red-brick walls stretched tho cattle-yards, wherein cows lowed and horses neighed amidst a noisy assemblage of lions, geese, turkeys, and guinea-fowls. Looking froil the doorway—as V ain did before he stepped within —the stranger could see the white belt of the passing road, and beyond flat miles and miles of waste lands spreading widely towards an horizon silhoutted with the shapes of houses, separately, or gathered together round gquare-towered churches. There was nothing particularly romantic about the view, or about the farmhouse, or the farm. It wa s simply a plain English property, owned by a prosaic husbandman, wiho preferred utility to beauty.

“Friend Barrington,” was the grave reply, “there are two sides to every talc.” “I have only heard the worst side of that- concerning the Jew,” said Wain, lightly. “Thou wilt hear nought hut good «f him in this house, friend Barrington. As to the -Hebrew’s dealings with Gene, ral Ashton, I cannot speak, as I have only hoard the common talk which is, mostly, common lies. Ben-Ezra hath never given me to understand how he dealt with the man.” “But Ben-Ezra holds possession of Tanlmck Hall, which should be rights belong to young Ashton,” remonstrated Wain, sitting down again. “So friend Lancelot saith. Let who can tell? General Ashton I give him his vain title from hearing him so spoken of —was a wild and pagan man. “All the same, rumor says that he was,kind to Ben-Ezra.’

But it was when "Wain entered the low-ceilinged sitting-room, in v.Tiich the family lived everlastingly, to the exclusion of using a chilly parlor kept for rare high days and holidays, that the one charm of the place came upon Wain’s receptive mind. This was the intense atmosphere of quiet, which pervaded a somewhat ugly Victorian room. Not silence, fo r the beasts and fowls could he heard very distinctly, and aiso there was plenty of talk in the slow, quaint, Quaker fashion —but a sense of absolute rest and peacefulness, almost uncanny in its insistence. Wain, as a psychist, knew what this meant.

“Thou speakest the truth, friend Barrington,” replied the farmer. I doubt not but what the Hebrew would readily admit the debt.” “He repaid it ill.” “That,” said Verily, with emphasis, “we cannot say for certain, since the Jew is one who keepeth his own counsel. General Ashton gambled and drank away his property, and wasted his substance in riotous living. BenEzra” it was noticeable that Verily did not accord the title of friend to the imprisoned man “Ben-Ezia gave him money, as I know, and lent him much. He but took his own when the aged man died, and Ben-Ezra entered into possession of the Hall. To the day of his death General Ashton spoke well of the man. Thinkest thou, friend Barrington, that if the Hebrew had been usurious, the old man of Belial who died would have spoken good? “No. All the same, Ben-Ezra might have helped young Ashton. ■'Tho boy would not accept vse help, though it was offered, and in my prei*ence,” said the Quaker gravely; “he hateth this Jew greatly, and the soi row that hath befallen the man will be pleasing to his bitter heart. Alas, that men should follow evil.” “It may he evil,” muttered Warn, with a shrug; “but it is very human.” . “And so wicked, since we are born in sin. But I judge no man, and BenEzra can doubtless justify himselr. Wain looked squarely into the sedate countenance of the old Quaker. ny do y ou defend Ben-Ezra when everyone else abuses him?”' he asked, pointedly. “I jud"e but as I knew; I do but as I have been done by. Fifteen years and more ago, I lost my money m the failure of a bank. In my extremity

“You have never had any rows in this house,” he ventured to say. “Nay, friend Barrington, we are peaceful folk,” replied hi s grave host. “I quite believe it. I can feel the absence of evil influences.” “There can be none,” answered Verily, rebukingly, “in any house where tlio Word of the Lord is read and expounded nightly. Art thou a heathen ?”

Wain laughed. “Not exactly, though my beliefs may not run on all fours with yours, Mr Verily.” “Use no vain titles to me, friend Barrington. I am called Pbinea s Verily, after the flesh, so speak with: all simplicity. Come, seat thyself in this armchair near the fire, for the weather i s damp, though seasonable.’ Wain did as he was asked, and looked round the room, while Judith laid the full white cloth for an unfashionable five o’clock tea, and Mrs) Verily repaired to the kitchen cupboards. The apartment, lighted by two square, small-paned windows, curtained halfway up, was crowded with a mahogany liorse-hair suite which showed signs of age and wear, though as polished and brushed as the busy hands of Mrs Verily could make chairs and table and sideboard. Steel-engravings and samplers in frames adorned the red-flock wallpaper, and the floor was hidden by a faded and worn Turkey carpet. The chimney projected from the wall opposite to the entrance door, w T hich gave admittance from a narrow passage, called a hall, and in the recesses on either side were a china cupboard—whence Judith took the cups and saucers for the meal—and a painted deal book-case,

which the Lord did send to try my faith) Ben-Ezra came forward and advanced me tlie money which saved me. Else had I been turned out to beg in mine old age. 'Since then I have prospered with tire help of the Lord, hut Ben-Ezra was His instrument.” “At a good percentage. I’ll be bound,” said Wain sharply.. “The man did not demand any interest for his coin, friend Barrington. He paid all things, and supplied me with the wherewithal to carry on my business as a farmer. When the capital was repaid by me, I forced him, unwillingly, to accept 3 per cent —more he refused to take.” “Why did he behave so well to you

and so badly to other people?” “That is a question for Ben-Ezra to answer. But the facts are as I state them, friend Barrington. And to others, as I know, the Jew hath behaved well, only to receive ingratitude.” “Why, I heard on all liandg that he had remorselessly sold up this person and that,” exclaimed Wain, impatiently* Verily sighed. “Art thou also amongst the prophets?” said he, quietly. “Remember thou that Ben-Ezra is a Jew, and to the Jews, by Levitical law, vengeance upon an enemy is permitted. Ben-Ezra did but take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I hold not with him there, hut the Jew hath not seen the light, and go will he beaten with few strijies.” “What do you mean, exactly?” “Those unfortunates whom BenEzra sold Ul3 and rendered homeless were either the old inhabitants of Bruntlea village or their sons and daughters. These, 30 years ago, maltreated the Hebrew vilely, as I know. I rescued the man three times myself from being thrown into the horsepond on the vjllage green, and GeneraLAsh-t-on saved him also from many blows. As these people treated the Jew, so did the Jew treat them.”

“Not the sons and daughters of the original offenders.” “The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children,” said Verily, sententiously; “we have scriptural authority for that. Ben-Ezra did good to those who did him good, and evil to all who behaved with evil.”

“That is not right, We should love our enemies.” “So Saitll the Christians, but how many of them obey the new and merciful law of the Fatherly Dispensation?” answered the Quaker. “In the history of mine own people thou wilt read that those who followed the venerable George Fox were treated as malefactors and worse. Canst thou, then, blame this Jew, who obeys the code of Moses? Ben-Ezra is wrong, as thou and I, having the fuller Light, can say; but the Great Law-giver would find no sin in the man for obeying the commandments of Sinai.”

“Humph! If you look at it in that way, I recognise that Ben-Ezra is not so black a devil as he has been painted.” “Putting out of the question thy reference to the Evil One, * agree,” said the Quaker, twiddling his broad thumbs pensivelj'. “Ben-Ezra hath done right as a Jew ignorant of the Sermon on the Mount. Yet he hath also obeyed that Sermon, unknowingly, bettor than many who hear it weekly. To me, as to many others, this Hebrew hath acted the part of a brother, and those who cry out against him are hut the enemies he hath crushed.” “Until your daughter spoke,” said Wain quietly, “I never heard a single person speak well of Ben-Ezra. He must have many enemies.” “Thou speakest truly, friend Barrington. “Those against whose cruelty Ben-Ezra hath retaliated cry out against him, not remembering their own sins. But many others whom be hath not injured aye, and many whom ho hath benefited—have joined in the cry to hound him down. If thou gives*., a dog a had name, hanging is the outcome.” “Do you think that the Jew will be hanged?” “If he is guilty. WTiat thinkest thou, as an eye-witness?”

Wain looked into the lire. “I don t know what to think,” he muttered, wrinkling his brow. “He seemed to me to be too clever a man to have let himself be taken redhanded, if he were really guilty. And he had time to throw away the revolver and shut the window before Dawkns and I came up.” “The window was broken,” said Verily, suddenly. Wain looked up in surprise'. He had not noticed this himself, because all the time Quill and Dawkins were taking down Ben-Ezra’s story the window had remained open; nor had he heard afterwards of the breakage. “What’s that?”

“ The girl Eliza James was permitted to leave Tanbuck Hall this morning,” said the Quaker calmly' “and came to see Ruth, who procured her the situation. She told us 'all that had happened, and how the window had been broken by that furious man Sir Giles.” “How did she know that Sir Giles broke it?” “She was awake, as was Mrs Jorvin, the housekeeper, for both women knew that Sir Giles—to give him lii s vain title, which benefits him nothing now—and Ben-Ezra were enemies, and feared lest 'anything should happen. They came to the head of the stairs and heard Sir Giles depart, raging furiously. When Ben-Ezra came out of the drawing-room to go to his study at the hack of the house, they retired, but afterwards came out again.” “Mrs Jorvin came further than the head of the stairs; she was listening at the door.” “Thou dost speak truly,” Verily assented. “It is as thou sayest, from the report of Eliza James. But Mrs Jorvin fled when her master came out

to the head of .the stairs, and there Eliza James rejoined her. They heard the smashing of glass, but feared to give the alarm..” “Did they .know Sir Giles had returned?’ “Nay. Until they heard of his death they knew not that lie had come back. The first revolver-shot startled them, and when it sounded they were sore afraid, as befits wdmenkind. Why dost thou start?” t “I sec a chance for Ben-Ezra to prove his innocence,” said Wain, much excited and rising in. his excitement. “If the women saw him leave the draw-

ing-room and go to his study at the back «f the house—and that is his own story to Inspector Quill, remember—he must be innocent.” “Nay! nay! friend Barrington, for the women did not see him return.” “Then he is innocent, and—” “Wait, friend Barrington. Thou art too impetuous. Mrs Jorvin fled up the stair when her master came cut, and Eliza James joined her on the landing. But afterwards, when they heard the crash oil glass, they fieri to their rooms and there heard —if the woman James is to be believed —the three shots fired. There was quite ten minutes when they were absent from the stair-head for Ben-Ezra to return to the drawing-room.” “Then you believe him to be guilty?” “Nay, for the man hath been good unto mo,” wa s the reply; “but it might be that Sir Giles furiously broke the . window, and Ben-Ezra returning took him for a burglar, whereupon *to fired to protect his goods.”

“Ben-Ezra said nothing in his story about the broken glass, and declares that he did not shoot the man,” said Wain, quickly. “Had lie pitched your yarn, Mr Verily, it would have sounded better. I am more convinced than over of the man’s innocence. Ben-Ezra is too clever a man to have lost a chance of exonerating himself, Mr Verily.”

“Call me Phineas, for that is my name,” said the Quaker, phlegmatical]y, and in no wise moved by his visitor’s excitement; “but it is idle to ; udge before the truth becomes apparent. Let us wait until the inquest taketh place to-morrow.” “I believe Ben-Ezra to be innocent,” persisted Barrington Wain. “Then thou dost faithfully follow thy Master in judging leniently. Come, the viands are on the table. Let us render thanks unto God for Hi.s mercies.”

During the entire conversation, although‘'Mrs Verily and her daughter had flitted in and out of the room, pie paring the meal, they made no comment, not even when Wain grew excited. Yet Ben-Ezra was a valued frieifd t-o the household, which would not haw been in existence but for the kind-hearted Jew. Nevertheless, Verily took his place at the head of a wellspread table, and asked a long blessing perfectly calmly, as though his benefactor—as Ben-Ezra assuredly was —had no sword of Damocles swinging over bis head. Mrs Verily was likewise unmov-

ed, and Judith’s lovely face did not betray her inward feelings. It was all very strange to an emotional man such as Wain was, to behold this marvellous composure. The meal was abundant and wellcooked, and was oaten for the most part in silence, Wain was too much taken up with his new feelings regarding the persecuted Jew to chatter much, and the Quakers devoted themselves to eating deliberately. W ain, for all his agitation, made an excellent meal, much to the satisfaction of the farmer, and partook of eggs, bread-and-butter, honey, and fragrant tea with a keen appetite. Yet all through the peaceful meal he had a feeling that Fate lequired him to aid the Jew. But how? Whxin could see no light. “Thou wilt come again?” said Verily, when his visitor prepared to depart. “Thank you. I shall be delighted.” “And if thou wilt come in two days thou wilt meet Lancelot. I should Ike thee to speak to him thy mind about the Hebrew, since he, being in the law, may aid the right”—from which speech it may be assumed that Verily was not so heartless as his composure made him appear to he. Judith took leave of W r ain at the gate, while her parents waved farewell on the doorstep. She had thus time to whisper, between loudly-expressed thanks that he had saved her life; “Get Lancelot to save Mr Ben-Ezra’s life. He hates him so much that he must help him,” and leaving W r ain to puzzle over the contradiction, she left him hastily, so that he could make no comment: (To be Continued.)