



Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (Harvard University)











Transcriber's Notes:
   1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=emlLN6DE1I
      (Harvard University)
   2. This book was also published as "Aaron the Jew. A Novel," in
      London by Hutchinson & Co. in 1895.





A Fair Jewess



BY
B. L. FARJEON,

_Author of "The Last Tenant" Etc_.




NEW YORK:
THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY.






Copyright, 1894, by
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.

_All rights reserved_.






CONTENTS.

CHAPTER
I.         The Poor Doctor
II.        Dr. Spenlove's Visitor
III.       Dr. Spenlove Undertakes a Delicate Mission
IV.        "One More Unfortunate"
V.         "Come! We Will End It"
VI.        The Friend in Need
VII.       The Result of Dr. Spenlove's Mission
VIII.      What was Put in the Iron Box
IX.        Mr. Moss Plays his Part
X.         The Vision in the Churchyard
XI.        Mr. Whimpole Introduces Himself
XII.       The Course of the Seasons
XIII.      Aaron Cohen Preaches a Sermon on Large Noses
XIV.       A Proclamation of War
XV.        The Battle is Fought and Won
XVI.       Joy and Sorrow
XVII.      Divine Consolation
XVIII.     In the New House
XIX.       The Doctor Speaks Plainly to Aaron Cohen
XX.        A Momentous Night
XXI.       The Temptation
XXII.      The Living and the Dead
XXIII.     Plucked from the Jaws of Death
XXIV.      The Curtain Falls
XXV.       After Many Years
XXVI.      The Foundation of Aaron's Fortune
XXVII.     The Farewell
XXVIII.    Revisits Gosport
XXIX.      What Shall be Done to the Man whom the
              King Delighteth to Honor?
XXX.       The Honorable Percy Storndale
XXXI.      The Spirit of the Dead Past
XXXII.     Before All, Duty
XXXIII.    A Cheerful Doctor
XXXIV.     Ruth's Secret
XXXV.      The Honorable Percy Storndale Makes an
              Appeal
XXXVI.     A Duty Performed
XXXVII.    The Mother's Appeal
XXXVIII.   A Mother's Joy
XXXIX.     A Panic in the City
XL.        "Can you Forgive me?"
XLI.       A Poisoned Arrow
XLII.      Retribution






A FAIR JEWESS.




CHAPTER I.
THE POOR DOCTOR.


On a bright, snowy night in December, some years ago, Dr. Spenlove,
having been employed all the afternoon and evening in paying farewell
visits to his patients, walked briskly toward his home through the
narrowest and most squalid thoroughfares in Portsmouth.

The animation of his movements may be set down to the severity of the
weather, and not to any inward cheerfulness of spirits, for as he
passed familiar landmarks he looked at them with a certain regret
which men devoid of sentiment would have pronounced an indication of a
weak nature. In this opinion, however, they would have been wrong, for
Dr. Spenlove's intended departure early the following morning from a
field which had strong claims upon his sympathies was dictated by a
law of inexorable necessity. He was a practitioner of considerable
skill, and he had conscientiously striven to achieve a reputation in
some measure commensurate with his abilities.

From a worldly point of view his efforts had been attended with
mortifying failure; he had not only been unsuccessful in earning a
bare livelihood, but he had completely exhausted the limited resources
with which he had started upon his career; he had, moreover, endured
severe privation, and an opening presenting itself in the wider field
of London he had accepted it with gladness and reluctance. With
gladness because he was an ambitious man, and had desires apart from
his profession; with reluctance because it pained him to bid farewell
to patients in whom he took a genuine interest, and whom he would have
liked to continue to befriend. He had, indeed, assisted many of them
to the full extent of his power, and in some instances had gone beyond
this limit, depriving himself of the necessaries of life to supply
them with medicines and nourishing food, and robbing his nights of
rest to minister to their woes. He bore about him distinguishing marks
of the beautiful self-sacrifice.

On this last night of his residence among them his purse was empty,
and inclement as was the weather he wore, on his road home, but one
thin coat which was but a feeble protection from the freezing air
which pierced to his skin, though every button was put to its proper
use. A hacking cough, which caused him to pause occasionally, denoted
that he was running a dangerous risk in being so insufficiently clad;
but he seemed to make light of this, and smiled when the paroxysm was
over. In no profession can be found displayed a more noble humanity
and philanthropy than in that which Dr. Spenlove practiced, and needy
as he was, and narrow as had been his means from the start, his young
career already afforded a striking example of sweet and unselfish
attributes. In the divine placing of human hosts the poor doctor and
the poor priest shall be found marching in the van side by side.

During the whole of the day snow had been falling, and during the
whole of the day Dr. Spenlove had had but one meal. He did not
complain; he had been accustomed to live from hand to mouth, and well
knew what it was to go to bed hungry; and there was before him the
prospect of brighter times.

But cheering as was this prospect his walk home through the falling
snow was saddened by the scenes he had witnessed in the course of the
day, and one especially dwelt in his mind.

"Poor creature!" he mused. "What will become of her and her baby? Oh,
pitiless world! Does it not contain a single human being who will hold
out a helping hand?"

Before one of the poorest houses in one of the poorest streets he
paused, and, admitting himself with a private latchkey, unlocked a
door on the ground floor, and entered a room which faced the street.
There was a wire blind to the window, on which was inscribed,
"Consultations from 9 till 11 A. M." This room, with a communicating
bedroom at the back, comprised his professional and private residence.

Dr. Spenlove groped in the dark for the matches, and, lighting a
candle, applied a match to a fire laid with scrupulous economy in the
matter of coals. As he was thus employed his landlady knocked at the
door and entered.

"Is it you, Mrs. Radcliffe?" he asked, not turning his head.

"Yes, sir. Let me do that, please."

The paper he had lit in the grate was smoldering away without kindling
the wood; the landlady knelt down, and with a skillful touch the flame
leaped up. Dr. Spenlove, unbuttoning his thin coat, spread out his
hands to the warmth.

"Any callers, Mrs. Radcliffe?"

"A gentleman, sir, who seemed very anxious to see you. He did not
leave his name or card, but said he would call again this evening."

"Did he mention the hour?"

"Nine, sir."

Dr. Spenlove put his hand to his waistcoat pocket, and quickly
withdrew it, with a smile of humor and self-pity. The landlady noticed
the action, and dolefully shook her head.

"Very anxious to see me, you say, Mrs. Radcliffe?"

"Very anxious, indeed, sir. Dear, dear, you're wet through!"

"It is a bitter night," he said, coughing.

"You may well say that, sir. Bad weather for you to be out, with that
nasty cough of yours."

"There are many people worse off than I am, without either fire or
food."

"We all have our trials, sir. It's a hard world."

"Indeed, indeed," he said, thinking of the female patient whom he had
last visited.

"Where's your overcoat, sir? I'll take it down to the kitchen; it'll
dry sooner there." She looked around in vain for it.

"Never mind my overcoat, Mrs. Radcliffe."

"But you had it on when you went out, sir!"

"Did I? Don't trouble about it. It will dry quickly enough where it
is."

He was now busily employed making a parcel of books and instruments
which he had taken from different parts of the room, and which were
the only articles of value belonging to himself it contained. The
landlady stood for a moment or two watching his movements, and then
she hurried