Chapter XII: Raie’s Dilemma

Zillah Lorm was suffering from _ennui_. Haifa, even with Lady Montella and Lionel close at hand, was monotonous enough, but Haifa without them was simply unbearable. She had never liked Raie Emanuel at the best of times, and to have to be entertained by her was a hardship to which she could scarcely submit. But until the Montellas returned there was no alternative, and she was obliged to resign herself to the inevitable. She managed to spend most of her time with some people whom she had known in England, thus saving her little deputy-hostess a considerable amount of trouble. For several days they scarcely met, except at meals, and even then Zillah did not always choose to remain at home.

The news of Patricia’s departure, however, created a sensation, which both felt too keenly to ignore. Raie’s tender little heart was sincerely grieved, for she possessed a deep affection both for Lionel and his wife. Miss Lorm, on the other hand, seemed almost to exult over the affair, and affected an air of superior wisdom which jarred upon the younger girl.

“What a muddle Lionel has made of his life!” she exclaimed, with unusual complacency. “I always said the marriage would not turn out well—mixed marriages seldom do. I believe in her heart of hearts Patricia hates everything Jewish. I suppose she thought she had had about enough of it here; it _is_ dull in Palestine for a society girl, I must admit. Still, she might have managed to make a more graceful exit; she could have pleaded ill-health as an excuse for returning to Europe. Anything would have been better than this: to be publicly expelled like a naughty schoolgirl!”

Raie gave the cushions on her wicker chair an unnecessary thump.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she returned coldly. “Lady Patricia has been obliged to sacrifice her home and happiness for the sake of her religion. It all seems very quixotic, very unnecessary; but—there it is!”

“Fiddlesticks! Who, in these enlightened days, sacrifices anything for religion? Neither Christians nor Jews; we are all materialists. What we can see and understand we believe—for the rest, it is all in the clouds; let it remain there! No, my dear, you will never get me to believe that. Patricia has evidently been sighing for the fleshpots of Egypt, otherwise the social amenities of English life. She is well-born, beautiful in her way, and has had the _entrée_ to the most exclusive circles of society. Her ladyship felt cramped and bored in this insanitary hole of a place, and surrounded by Jews—always Jews. She longed to get back to her own sphere, to entertain in the parental mansion in Grosvenor Square, to drive in the park, to shop in Regent Street, to feel civilised once more. The desire was perfectly natural; I can even sympathise with her. But religion—no! This is not the age of martyrdom.”

“All the same, you are wrong—quite wrong,” returned Raie, with heat. “Patricia was devoted to her husband and her baby. Do you think she would have given them up for all the Londons in the world? You may be a materialist, but she is an idealist, and with her spiritual things are of vital importance. You do not understand her, but I do; and I am certain that away from her husband she will not go near society or take any part in the London season. She will probably bury herself in Thorpe Burstall for the remainder of her life. I am certain she would never have left Lionel of her own accord; but she was obliged to speak the truth, and the Chief Rabbi sent her away.”

Miss Lorm shrugged her shoulders, still unconvinced, but did not trouble to argue the matter further, and at that moment a masculine figure appeared in the doorway. Possessing fine features, and presumably English, Zillah wondered where he could have come from. Raie had walked to the other end of the garden, and was standing beneath a shady palm.

The stranger advanced with hesitation.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, doffing his white cap. “They told me I should find Miss Emanuel here. I am sorry—”

Zillah favoured him with a quick scrutiny, and decided that he was the handsomest man she had yet met in Palestine.

“Oh, it’s all right,” she answered readily. “Miss Emanuel is here. If you will sit down I will call her.” And making room for him beside her on the settle, she let her musical voice enunciate the name—“Raie!”

Raie turned quickly and came towards them, her simple garden-hat pushed carelessly back, and allowing the dark curls to escape their usual bonds. At sight of the visitor a warm colour leapt into her cheeks, and her eyes unconsciously brightened; but she suppressed the words which rose to her lips, and formally held out her hand.

It was very wrong of him to come in that manner, even if he did know that the Montellas were away. She managed to convey this opinion to him, although she did not put it into actual words. She was embarrassed and shy, and seemed scarcely to know what to say; and when she introduced him—as “Mr. Merryweather”—to Miss Lorm, she did it with a hesitancy which was distinctly noticeable. She wished Zillah would leave them to themselves; but Zillah meant to stop, and to find out as much as ever she could about the stranger, and to see if she could put two and two together to make four. So there was a sense of restraint between them which was uncomfortable in the extreme, and Raie worked herself up almost to the verge of tears. But it was worse still when Zillah, with almost impertinent curiosity, began to cross-question him with regard to his sojourn in the Holy Land. She was not satisfied until she had mentally “placed” him in the order of globe-trotters to which he belonged; and proceeded with such insistence that it needed all Mr. Merryweather’s skill to parry her questions. Raie found herself left out in the cold, and sat, the personification of silent reproach. She was almost glad when he rose to take his leave, and saw him downstairs with an air of dejection. Away from Miss Lorm, however, her spirits soon revived; and seeing that the library was unoccupied, she drew him inside.

He bent down, and raising her face gently with his two hands, looked into her eyes with kindly scrutiny.

“Well?” he interrogated, almost quizzingly. “I have come back. Is not my little Raie pleased?”

“Yes,” she answered, returning his gaze without a smile; “but—”

“‘But me no buts,’” he rejoined lightly. “I have displeased you, little girl. Is not that so? What have I done?”

“You should have let me know that you were coming,” she said, in an aggrieved tone. “You have put me in a difficult position. Miss Lorm is very inquisitive; she will want to know all about you—and our acquaintance—when I go back to her. I would have had her out of the way if I had known. I have been in torture during the last half-hour.”

“Poor child!” He bent still further and kissed her on the forehead. “I ought not to have come at all; but I was told that the Montellas and Anne were in Jerusalem, so I thought the coast was clear. I wanted to give you a pleasant surprise—but there! I always bungle everything I do.”

“Oh, no!” The grasp on his arm tightened. “It _was_ a pleasant surprise, and of course you did not know Miss Lorm was here.” The smile which had been delayed began to play about her mouth and eyes. “Tell me what you have been doing, Ferdinand,” she added eagerly, as he pushed forward a chair. “I am longing to know. Was your mission to England successful?”

“Almost—but not quite. A man I particularly want to consult—he is a solicitor—is at present in New York; but he will be back in about six weeks’ time, when I shall have to go to England again.”

“In six weeks? Then why did you come all this way for so short a time? What trouble and expense—just to see me!”

He smiled affectionately.

“You are worth any amount of trouble and expense,” he rejoined gallantly. “But I must be honest. I have come to Haifa this time for a special purpose; and I believe you can help me, Raie.”

“Yes?” She became serious. “What is it? Of course I will help you if I can.”

He rose from his chair, and closing the door, looked stealthily round the room.

“There are some papers in connection with—the forgery,” he said, in a low but clear voice. “They must be in Lionel’s keeping; unless they have been destroyed, which is unlikely. I want them—I must have them—in order to verify a certain piece of evidence in connection with the case. And as I cannot ask for them without disclosing my identity, I want you to get them for me, dear.”

“I? But how can I?” She looked up with a startled expression on her face. “Lionel keeps most of his documents at the solicitors’—at least he used to do in England. I have not the slightest idea where to look for them. Where do you think they will be?”

For answer, he walked to the iron safe which stood in the opposite corner, and tapped it with his stick.

“This is where they will be—docketed all together with the date 19— and probably labelled ‘Ferdinand.’” He turned towards her with a gesture of appeal, and held out his hands. “Raie, you will manage this for me, dear, won’t you? Oh, you must, you must! It is of such great importance—it will finally vindicate my character—it will mean happiness for us both. Look, this is a patent lock. I don’t know how it works, but you must seize an opportunity of watching Lionel open it; and then by hook or crook you must get hold of the keys. The papers are of no use to him—he will never miss them; but they are of the greatest consequence in the world to me, and it is of no use for me to return to England without them. Afterwards, when the whole thing is cleared up, we will tell him all about it; and I know he will say our action was justified. Raie—don’t look so strange—it’s nothing; and you have pluck. Put yourself in my position—an innocent man falsely accused. Oh, you will do it for me—for _me_! I know you will!”

She stood quite still, and for a moment made no response. Her face was white, and her brown eyes looked preternaturally large and troubled. And when she spoke her voice sounded strangely hoarse.

“You want me to—steal some papers out of Lionel’s safe,” she said, with difficulty. “Oh, but, Ferdinand, I—I can’t; it would not be right. Why do you not take him into your confidence instead, and ask him for them yourself? He is such a good man; he would never betray your trust.”

“I do not ask you to _steal_,” he answered, with the faintest touch of irritation. “I merely ask you to borrow the documents for me. When I have done with them—when my counsel have seen them—you can put them back. My dear child, why will you not understand? To approach Lionel at this crisis would be to spoil everything. He may be the best-meaning fellow in the world, but his course of procedure would be the very opposite of mine. Oh, I can’t explain it all; it would take days—weeks! But surely you can trust me—if you love me, dear?”

She took a step forward, and looked at him with doubt in her eyes.

“I do—love you,” she faltered, the colour returning to her cheeks; “but—but I hate anything that is not straightforward—that is underhand. Lady Montella and Lionel have been my best friends ever since I was a tiny girl; I could not bear to think I was perhaps acting as a traitor to them in their own house.”

Loyal little soul! Ferdinand could not help casting her a glance of admiration, even though he was vexed by her dalliance.

“There is nothing traitorous about the action; you exaggerate the importance,” he said; and then approaching nearer, he made her look straight into his eyes. “How can I make you believe in me?” he asked, in a voice which was almost stern, yet sad. “Raie, I swear to you that I am an honourable man, that I too would despise this means were the cause not so vitally urgent. Look!”—he held up the locket on his watch-chain, and opened it to disclose a minute but faithful portrait—“here is a picture of Sir Julian. Remember—I am my father’s son.”

She glanced down at the well-remembered features of the late baronet, and up again at the strong face of the new one, with an indefinable feeling of compunction; and her will gave way. After all, he was right; she ought to trust him—she would trust him, even with her very life. A wave of emotion swept right through her being, and found expression in the depths of her brown eyes. He saw it, and knew that he had conquered, knew too that the struggle had been keen.

“Dear little girl!” he exclaimed softly. “You would never forsake a man in distress. Think of the future; it will mean so much for us both.”

“Very well, I will try to do what you want,” she said, with an effort; “but you must never blame me if any evil comes of it. I cannot pretend to like the commission, even though I am doing it for your sake. But I believe in you—I do believe that you have been cruelly wronged in the past, although you will not tell me all. How much time can you give me? Lionel does not return until next Monday.”

“You can have a whole month, dear,” he returned eagerly, “a few days longer if necessary. I know I can rely on you to use your discretion.”

She nodded.

“Yes; I think I know of a way. Lionel has some letters of mine locked up in that safe. If I ask him, he will give me the keys. I shall do it in less than a month, if I can do it at all. But oh, I wish there were some other means!”

She sighed, and seeing the cloud on her usually bright face, he did his best to drive it away. Then promising to meet her at Lionel’s new house the following day at sunset, he took his departure, and she was left to meditate on the subject of his request. After all, it was not so very dreadful: only to take a few papers out of the safe if she could find them, and to put them back after they had been read. But it was the idea of secrecy that she did not like; of performing an action of which she feared Lionel Montella would not approve. Since she had promised, however, there was no retraction possible, and she reminded herself of the fact with firmly-set lips.

Zillah Lorm could talk of nothing else but “Mr. Merryweather” that night. She considered him distinctly handsome, and although his manners were somewhat colonial, he was evidently cultured and well-read. Raie listened to her eulogy with a feeling akin to jealousy, and refused to state how she had become acquainted with the young man. Whereupon her interlocutor stormed the citadel by making certain suppositions, to be contradicted by Raie if she chose to do so.

“A secret love-affair!” she said, when she had almost exhausted her remarks. “I should not have thought it of you, Raie. And with a man so much older than yourself! Do you know anything of his family?”

“Yes, I know his people very well,” answered the girl, almost petulantly; and then she excused herself and went to bed. She was determined not to discuss Ferdinand with Zillah Lorm.

“Little chit!” exclaimed Zillah to herself, as she left the room. “I shall soon stop her game when Lady Montella comes back. I don’t believe she knows much more about him than I do. And as if a man of his calibre could really be in love with a silly little thing like her! Absurd! He would be much more likely to fancy a beautiful woman—like myself. I wonder—”

And resting her finely chiselled face on her hand, she gave herself up to cogitations which were vague, but pleasant. She was of too unscrupulous a nature to consider the claims of Raie.