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THE HEART OF A JEWESS
107
"I'm not coming to the synagogue," he cried. "Go back and tell them all there'll be no wedding today."
The girl on the bed stirred feebly, her eyes struggling open. A gleam of memory washed her face with pain. The limp hand lifted, faintly pointing. "Go back to your wedding," said Rebecca, clearly, scorning him from the threshold of death.
Of the following days — or were they weeks? — she knew nothing, drifting out on a timeless sea under blank, unremembering skies: of how Jacob did go back abjectly to his unloved, deserted bride ; how even she would have none of him, and her friends fell upon his sleek, craven person with long-delayed punishment ; of her father's grief beside her, or the grave consulting of physicians and nurses around her bed. And then.
one day, as she was drifting almost across the furthermost bar, a voice came out to her and called her home. She opened dreamy eyes. Above her bent a dark face aquiver with all the tenderness that her sick soul longed for. Her homesick heart crept into the warmth and shelter of his gaze.
"Rebecca! Sweetheart!" cried David Cohen, huskily, and gathered her into his hungry arms. ' ' I read of the accident and came to you — dont you know me, dear?"
She gazed up at him, smiling tranquilly. Of course she knew him, not quite yet as a person, but as a peace, a comfort, a happiness. She put both weak arms up, seeking him. The hollow of her soft cheek pressed against his.
"Why, yes, I know you!" cried Rebecca, joyously. ' ' You 're my man ! ' '
The Honeymoon
By GEORGE WILDEY ing lio! for the beautiful, blushing bride, Bedight in her bridal veil ; Sing ho ! for the lucky groom at her side
With face so pale, so pale. And ho ! for the preacher who tied the knot
And did the trick so nice; And the wedding-feast of they knew not what, And the showering bags of rice.
And what of the wonderful honeymoon,
A journey just for two — Delectable hours to coo and spoon.
And fair, strange sights to view? The marvels they saw on land and sea
And the famous works of art Would enchant the souls of such as we,
Who ne'er from home depart.
They gazed on the sights of London town
And Paris, bright and gay ; On the Alps, with eternal snow-white crown,
And they sailed Vesuvius Bay. Thru the jungles of Africa they went,
They choked on the desert sand ; They traveled afar in the Orient,
They wandered to No-Man's Land.
They stood in the shadow of Gibraltar's Rock,
They loitered awhile in Rome; And then — it was nearly twelve o'clock —
They sauntered blithely home. They had had a perfectly lovely time,
And the cost was very low — They saw it all for the price of a dime
At a Moving Picture show!