"Can I help that, father? Such as I am, I am his. If all Prague were mine I would give it to him."
The old man shook his head. "A Christian thinks that it is too much honour for a Jew to marry a Christian, though he be rich, and she have not a ducat for her dower."
"Father, your words are cruel. Do you believe I would give Anton my hand if I did not love him? I do not know much of his wealth; but, father, I might be the promised wife of a Christian to-morrow, who is, perhaps, as rich as he--if that were anything."
"And who is that other lover, Nina?"
"It matters not. He can be nothing to me--nothing in that way. I love Anton Trendellsohn, and I could not be the wife of any other but him."
"I wish it were otherwise. I tell you so plainly to your face. I wish it were otherwise. Jews and Christians have married in Prague, I know, but good has never come of it. Anton should find a wife among his own people; and you--it would be better for you to take that other offer of which you spoke."
"It is too late, father."
"No, Nina, it is not too late. If Anton would be wise, it is not too late."
"Anton can do as he pleases. It is too late for me. If Anton thinks it well to change his mind, I shall not reproach him. You can tell him so, father--from me."
"He knows my mind already, Nina. I will tell him, however, what you say of your own friends. They have heard of your engagement, and are angry with you, of course."
"Aunt Sophie and her people are angry."
"Of course they will oppose it. They will set their priests at you, and frighten you almost to death. They will drive the life out of your young heart with their curses. You do not know what sorrows are before you."
"I can bear all that. There is only one sorrow that I fear. If Anton is true to me, I will not mind all the rest."
The old man"s heart was softened towards her. He could not bring himself to say a word to her of direct encouragement, but he kissed her before she went, telling her that she was a good girl, and bidding her have no care as to the house in the Kleinseite. As long as he lived, and her father, her father should not be disturbed. And as for deeds, he declared, with something of a grim smile on his old visage, that though a Jew had always a hard fight to get his own from a Christian, the hard fighting did generally prevail at last. "We shall get them, Nina, when they have put us to such trouble and expense as their laws may be able to devise. Anton knows that as well as I do."
At the door of the house Nina found the old man"s grand-daughter waiting for her. Ruth Jacobi was the girl"s name, and she was the orphaned child of a daughter of old Trendellsohn. Father and mother were both dead; and of her father, who had been dead long, Ruth had no memory. But she still wore some remains of the black garments which had been given to her at her mother"s funeral; and she still grieved bitterly for her mother, having no woman with her in that gloomy house, and no other child to comfort her. Her grandfather and her uncle were kind to her--kind after their own gloomy fashion; but it was a sad house for a young girl, and Ruth, though she knew nothing of any better abode, found the days to be very long, and the months to be very wearisome.
"What has he been saying to you, Nina?" the girl asked, taking hold of her friend"s dress, to prevent her escape into the street. "You need not be in a hurry for a minute. He will not come down."
"I am not afraid of him. Ruth."
"I am, then. But perhaps he is not cross to you."
"Why should he be cross to me?"
"I know why, Nina, but I will not say. Uncle Anton has been out all the day, and was not home to dinner. It is much worse when he is away."
"Is Anton ever cross to you, Ruth?"
"Indeed he is--sometimes. He scolds much more than grandfather. But he is younger, you know."
"Yes; he is younger, certainly."
"Not but what he is very old, too; much too old for you, Nina. When I have a lover I will never have an old man."
"But Anton is not old."
"Not like grandfather, of course. But I should like a lover who would laugh and be gay. Uncle Anton is never gay. My lover shall be only two years older than myself. Uncle Anton must be twenty years older than you, Nina."
"Not more than ten--or twelve at the most."
"He is too old to laugh and dance."
"Not at all, dear; but he thinks of other things."
"I should like a lover to think of the things that I think about. It is all very well being steady when you have got babies of your own; but that should be after ever so long. I should like to keep my lover as a lover for two years. And all that time he should like to dance with me, and to hear music, and to go about just where I would like to go."
"And what then, Ruth?"
"Then? Why, then I suppose I should marry him, and become stupid like the rest. But I should have the two years to look back at and to remember. Do you think, Nina, that you will ever come and live here when you are married?"
"I do not know that I shall ever be married, Ruth."
"But you mean to marry uncle Anton?"
"I cannot say. It may be so."
"But you love him, Nina?"
"Yes, I love him. I love him with all my heart. I love him better than all the world besides. Ruth, you cannot tell how I love him. I would lie down and die if he were to bid me."
"He will never bid you do that."
"You think that he is old, and dull, and silent, and cross. But when he will sit still and not say a word to me for an hour together, I think that I almost love him the best. I only want to be near him, Ruth."
"But you do not like him to be cross."
"Yes, I do. That is, I like him to scold me if he is angry. If he were angry, and did not scold a little, I should think that he was really vexed with me."
"Then you must be very much in love, Nina?"
"I am in love--very much."
"And does it make you happy?"
"Happy! Happiness depends on so many things. But it makes me feel that there can only be one real unhappiness; and unless that should come to me, I shall care for nothing. Good-bye, love. Tell your uncle that I was here, and say--say to him when no one else can hear, that I went away with a sad heart because I had not seen him."
It was late in the evening when Anton Trendellsohn came home, but Ruth remembered the message that had been intrusted to her, and managed to find a moment in which to deliver it. But her uncle took it amiss, and scolded her. "You two have been talking nonsense together here half the day, I suppose."
"I spoke to her for five minutes, uncle; that was all."
"Did you do your lessons with Madame Pulsky?"
"Yes, I did, uncle--of course. You know that."
"I know that it is a pity you should not be better looked after."