Simon Eichelkatz; The Patriarch. Two Stories of Jewish LifeFrank, Ulrich
Religion
Simon Eichelkatz; The Patriarch. Two Stories of Jewish Life
Frank, Ulrich
Jewish fiction; Jews -- Fiction
It was the first of January. Rita sat reading in the small, cozy
drawing-room. A bright wood fire crackled upon the hearth, lit for cheer
only; for the house was well heated otherwise. Rita could not bear a
cold and desolate fire-place, especially on a day like this, when the
cold out of doors was severe. On such days only a flood of light and
warmth could bring comfort indoors. It was hardly four o'clock, but the
lamps were lit, and the electric light, shaded by bright bell-shaped
glass globes, produced a pleasant effect.
Through the windows draped with costly lace curtains the waning daylight
peeped and the flurries of large snow-flakes. Rita put her book aside,
and gazed thoughtfully at the falling snow. How beautiful the flakes
were!--the white floating crystals, that played at tag, and chased each
other, and then fell so silently and so calmly. The snug comfort of a
warm room was peculiarly attractive in contrast to the scene outside.
Suddenly she thought of those who might be out in the cold. She glanced
at the clock; it was almost four o'clock. "Mother must be just arriving
now," she said to herself.
"I hope the snowdrifts will not cause delays." She looked worried and
arose to go to the window.
At this moment a rap came at the door, and the servant handed her a
card, and announced Dr. Weilen.
"Ask him in."
And then he stood before her, and grasped her hand, and pressed it to
his lips.
"May I personally repeat the good wishes I sent in writing this
morning?"
Early in the day he had sent beautiful flowers with the compliments of
the season.
"That is very kind of you," she answered, trying to overcome a slight
embarrassment. "I am glad to have the opportunity to return your kind
wishes and to thank you. But you must be satisfied with my company
to-day. Yesterday my mother decided to take a short journey on which she
started this morning, and my father and my brother are not likely to
return until dinner time, at six o'clock."
He gazed at her without speaking, and the delicate blush that suffused
her face assured him that his unspoken answer was understood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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