5. V.
Amri rose he was commanded, and stood, sullen
and stupified, in silence before the persons to whom he
had purposed so great an injury. His face was full of
shame and humiliation. Not that shame which springs
from the consciousness of, and is followed by the regret
for, error; but that mortified pride which feels disappointment
and defeat, and regrets nothing of the meditated
crime but its nonperformance. The miserable
youth, who had but a little before exulted in the belief
that Melchior of the Desert was in truth at his mercy,
now dared not look the aged Hebrew in the face. He
felt chagrined that his own weakness and vanity had so
far seduced him from prudence as to allow of his exposure
of his secret, and of its place of keeping, to one so
vigilant, and, as it had been shown, one so infinitely superior
in sagacity to himself. Had he but placed the
papers in a keeping beyond the reach of Melchior, but
still within his own control, he might—so he now thought
—have succeeded in his desires. Reflections like these,
however, only came to increase his mortification. They
were too late to avail him now; and, like a base culprit
as he was, he stood in the presence of the men he had
offended so deeply, having no word by which he might
excuse himself to them, and no thought in his mind from
which his own heart could gather the smallest consolation.
The eyes of Melchior rested upon the face of the
youth with an expression of pity and scorn mingled
evenly in their glance. He surveyed him a few moments
in silence ere he spoke—
“Miserable boy!” he exclaimed, while his hands destroyed
the papers which contained the secrets of the
conspirators—“miserable boy, having the weakness of
vice without any of that cunning which may sometimes
supply the place of strength. Didst thou think thyself
one fitted to contend with men—to conceive their plans
—to advise in their counsels—to keep their secrets?
Learn, Amri, false son of a most virtuous and most
abused father—learn that he only is wise who is noble—
he only is fit to counsel who is faithful—he only can
take heed of the hopes, the fortunes, and the fame of
others who is most heedful, yet least selfish, of his own.
When I look upon thee, boy, I know not whether to pity
or to scorn thee most. Thou art stripped of all thy disguises—thou
standest naked in thy shame before us—
and even the pretence of virtue, with which thou wouldst
have deceived me before, and by which thou hast so long
deceived thy father, even that is taken from thee. Thou
hast played for a high stake, but thou hast not played
highly. Know that he whose aim is lofty should be
lofty in soul; for, though the snake may sometimes
reach the nest of the mightiest bird of the mountain, he
still reaches it by crawling, and he still remains a snake.
Wouldst thou win Thyrza, thou shouldst have striven to
be like her—to have in thyself the virtues which thou
didst admire in her. Thou hast erred grievously after
the fashion of that elder born of sin, who would have
wrested the sceptre from Jehovah, having another and
an adverse nature to that which it sought to supersede.”
The hardihood of the youth came back to him as he
listened to this stern and bitter language of the aged man.
“It is well, Melchior—thou hast baffled me in this,
but thou hast baffled me for a season only. I tell thee
now once again, thou shalt yet comply with my demands.
Thy daughter shall yet be mine.”
The fire flashed from the eyes of Melchior as he replied—
“The hour of her wrong by thee, Amri, I swear by
the blessed lamps of the temple, shall be the hour of thy
death, if so be that Heaven denies me not the strength
which should cleave thee to pieces with my weapon.
Beware!”
“And I say to thee, `Beware!”' replied the youth,
with a look of insolent defiance; and, as he spoke, he
would have passed to the entrance of the apartment, but
the strong arm of Melchior grasped him firmly by the
throat. The youth gasped and struggled.
“Release me,” he cried; “wherefore dost thou hold
me now? I have no more of thy papers.”
“But thou hast thy tongue,” was the fierce reply of
Melchior—“thou hast thy tongue—a tongue not too
base for falsehood—not too base to betray the just, and
the just cause, even though thy own father perished by
its words. Thou shalt not leave us, Amri.”
“I do but go into the court—I will return,” said the
youth, and he trembled in the unrelaxing grasp of the
Hebrew.
“We trust thee not,” said the other. “Thou knowest
too much to go forth. Thou wouldst madden until
thou couldst find some enemy to thy people to whom
thou wouldst give up thy stolen burden. No, no!
Thou hast, of thy own head, made thyself a keeper of
our secrets. Thou shalt be taught to keep them safely.”
“I will keep them—I will not unfold them,” promised
the youth, to whom the grasp of Melchior now became
somewhat painful and oppressive.
“Thou shalt. We shall see to that,” said the other,
still continuing his grasp, but now addressing Adoniakim,
who appeared to surrender all charge of the youth
to his brother. “Speak, Adoniakim—thou hast a close
chamber in thy dwelling, from which the inmate may not
fly? Thou hadst such a one of old—thou hast it now.”
This inquiry aroused the farther apprehensions of
Amri, who also addressed his father—
“Thou wilt not suffer this wrong to me, my father.
Thou wilt command that Melchior free me from this
constraint. I will keep thy secret—I will say nothing
to betray thee.”
“I trust thee not now, Amri, no more than Melchior.
I have lost all hope in thee. My heart is shut against
thee—my ear regards not thy prayer. There is a chamber,
Melchior, such as thou demandest.”
“Guide me thither,” was the brief direction of the
latter. Adoniakim led the way into the secret chamber,
and from thence into a narrow apartment, which was entered
through a massive door having a heavy iron bar
across the outside, and holding within but a single window,
grated well with close bars, and looking down upon
a small courtyard, which was formed by the crowding
houses around, many of which were among the very
highest in the Hebrew Quarter. To this chamber Melchior,
with strength which was wonderful to Amri, dragged
the reluctant and still struggling youth; and, thrusting
him in, they both withdrew, and carefully fastened
the bar upon the outside of the door, which secured it
from every effort made from within.
