XXXI. ISHMAEL HEARS A SECRET FROM AN ENEMY…

XXXI. ISHMAEL HEARS A SECRET FROM AN ENEMY

Shame come to Romeo? Blistered be thy tongue For such a wish! He was not born to shame; Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honor may be crowned, Sole monarch of the universal earth!

--Shakspere.

In the interval the drawing room was rapidly cleared out and prepared for dancing. The staging at the upper end, which had been appropriated to the use of the examining committee, was now occupied by a band of six negro musicians, headed by the Professor of Odd Jobs. They were seated all in a row, engaged in tuning their instruments under the instructions of Morris. The room wore a gay, festive, and inviting aspect. It was brightly lighted up; its white walls were festooned with wreaths of flowers; its oak floor was polished and chalked for the dancers; and its windows were all open to admit the pleasant summer air and the perfume of flowers, so much more refreshing in the evening than at any other time of the day.

At a very early hour the young ladies and gentlemen of the school, whose gala dresses needed but the addition of wreaths and bouquets for the evening, began to gather in the drawing room; the girls looking very pretty in their white muslin dresses, pink sashes, and coronets of red roses; and the boys very smart in their holiday clothes, with rosebuds stuck into their buttonholes. Ishmael was made splendid by the addition of his gold watch and chain, and famous by his success of the morning. All the girls, and many of the boys, gathered around him, sympathizing with his triumph and complimenting him upon his abilities. Ishmael was clearly the hero of the evening; but he bore himself with an aspect half of pleasure, half of pain, until Walter Middleton approached him, and taking his arm walked him down the room, until they were out of earshot from the others, when he said:

"Now do, Ishmael, put off that distressed look and enjoy your success as you ought! Make much of your watch, my boy! I know if it were not for thoughts of me, you would enjoy the possession of it vastly--would you not, now?"

"Yes," said Ishmael, "I would."

"You would not be a 'human boy,' if you didn't. I know well enough I was near losing my wits with delight in the first watch I possessed, although it was but a trumpery little silver affair! Well, now, Ishmael, enjoy your possession without a drawback. I assure you, upon record, I am very glad you got the prize. You deserved the honor more than I did, and you needed the watch more. For see here, you know I have a gold one of my own already--my mother's gift to me on my last birthday," continued Walter, taking out and displaying his school watch. "Now what could I do with two? So, Ishmael, let me see you enjoy yours, or else I shall feel unhappy," he concluded, earnestly pressing his friend's hand.

"Walter Middleton, what do you mean, sir, by stealing my thunder in that way? It is my property that you are carrying off! Ishmael is my protege, my liege subject. Bring him back, sir! I want to show his watch to my companions," spoke the imperious voice of Miss Merlin.

"Come, Ishmael; you must make a spectacle of yourself again, I suppose, to please that little tyrant," laughed Walter, as he turned back with his friend towards the group of young girls.

Now in this company was one who looked with the envious malignity of Satan upon the well-merited honors of the poor peasant boy. This enemy was Alfred Burghe, and he was now savagely waiting his opportunity to inflict upon Ishmael a severe mortification.

As Walter and Ishmael, therefore, approached the group of young ladies, Alfred, who was loitering near them, lying in wait for his victim, drew away with an expression of disgust upon his face, saying:

"Oh, if that fellow is to join our circle, I shall feel obliged to leave it. It is degrading enough to be forced to mix with such rubbish in the schoolroom, without having to associate with him in the drawing room."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" demanded Miss Merlin, flashing upon him the lightning of her eyes, before Ishmael had drawn near enough to overhear the words of Alfred.

"I mean that fellow is not fit company for me."

"No; Heavens knows that he is not!" exclaimed Claudia pointedly.

"Never mind, Miss Merlin; do not be angry with him; the beaten have a right to cry out," said Ishmael, who had now come up, and stood smiling among them, totally unconscious of the humiliation that was in store for him.

"I am not angry; I am never angry with such dull pups; though I find it necessary to punish them sometimes," replied Claudia haughtily.

"I say he is no fit company for me; and when I say that, I mean to say that he is no fit company for any young gentleman, much less for any young lady!" exclaimed Alfred.

Ishmael looked on with perfect good humor, thinking only that his poverty was sneered at, and feeling immeasurably above the possibility of humiliation or displeasure upon that account.

Claudia thought as he did, that only his lowly fortunes had exposed him to contempt; so putting her delicate white gloved hand in that of Ishmael, she said:

"Ishmael Worth is my partner in the first dance; do you dare to hint that the youth I dance with is not proper company for any gentleman, or any lady, either?"

"No, I don't hint it; I speak it out in plain words; he is not only not fit company for any gentleman or lady, but he is not even fit company for any decent negro!"

Ishmael, strong in conscious worth, and believing the words of Alfred to be only reckless assertion, senseless abuse, laughed aloud with sincere, boyish mirthfulness at its absurdity.

But Claudia's cheeks grew crimson, and her eyes flashed--bad signs these for the keeping of her temper towards "dull pups."

"He is honest, truthful, intelligent, industrious, and polite. These are qualities which, of course, unfit him for such society as yours, Mr. Burghe; but I do not see why they should unfit him for that of ladies and gentlemen," said Claudia severely.

"He is a ----," brutally exclaimed Alfred, using a coarse word, at which all the young girls started and recoiled, as if each had received a wound, while all the boys exclaimed simultaneously:

"Oh, fie!" or "Oh, Alf, how could you say such a thing!"

"For shame!"

As for Walter Middleton, he had collared the young miscreant before the word was fairly out of his mouth. But an instant's reflection caused the young gentleman to release the culprit, with the words:

"My father's house and the presence of these young ladies protect you for the present, sir."

Ishmael stood alone, in the center of a shocked and recoiling circle of young girls; so stunned by the epithet that had been hurled at him that he scarcely yet understood its meaning or felt that he was wounded.

"What did he say, Walter?" he inquired, appealing to his friend.

Walter Middleton put his strong arm around the slender and elegant form of Ishmael, and held him firmly; but whether in a close embrace or light restraint, or both, it was hard to decide, as he answered:

"He says what will be very difficult for him to explain, when he shall be called to account to-morrow morning; but what, it is quite needless to repeat."

"I say he is a ----! His mother was never married! and no one on earth knows who his father was--or if he ever had a father!" roared Alfred brutally.

Walter's arm closed convulsively upon Ishmael. There was good reason. The boy had given one spasmodic bound forward, as if he would have throttled his adversary on the spot; but the restraining arm of Walter Middleton held him back; his face was pale as marble; a cold sweat had burst upon his brow; he was trembling in every limb as he gasped:

"Walter, this cannot be true! Oh, say it is not true!"

"True! no! I believe it is as false--as false as that young villain's heart! and nothing can be falser than that!" indignantly exclaimed young Middleton.

"It is! it is true! The whole county knows it is true!" vociferated Alfred. "And if anybody here doubts it, let them ask old Hannah Worth if her nephew isn't a ----"

"Leave the room, sir!" exclaimed Walter, interrupting him before he could add another word. "Your language and manners are so offensive as to render your presence entirely inadmissible here! Leave the room, instantly!"

"I won't!" said Alfred stoutly.

Walter was unwilling to release Ishmael from the tight, half-friendly, half-masterly embrace in which he held him; else, perhaps, he might himself have ejected the offender. As it was, he grimly repeated his demand.

"Will you leave the room?"

"No!" replied Alfred.

"James, do me the favor to ring the bell."

James Middleton rang a peal that brought old Jovial quickly to the room.

"Jovial, will you go and ask your master if he will be kind enough to come here; his presence is very much needed," said Walter.

Jovial bowed and withdrew.

"I shall go and complain to my father of the insults I have received!" said Alfred, turning to leave the room; for he had evidently no wish to meet the impending interview with Mr. Middleton.

"I anticipated that you would reconsider your resolution of remaining here!" laughed Walter, as he let this sarcasm off after his retreating foe.

He had scarcely disappeared through one door before Mr. Middleton entered at another.

"What is all this about, Walter?" he inquired, approaching the group of panic-stricken girls and wondering boys.

"Some new rudeness of Alfred Burghe, father; but he has just taken himself off, for which I thank him; so there is no use in saying more upon the subject for the present," replied Walter.

"There is no use, in any case, to disturb the harmony of a festive evening, my son; all complaints may well be deferred until the morning, when I shall be ready to hear them," replied Mr. Middleton, smiling, and never suspecting how serious the offense of Alfred Burghe had been.

"And now," he continued, turning towards the band, "strike up the music, professor! The summer evenings are short, and the young people must make the most of this one. Walter, my son, you are to open the ball with your cousin."

"Thank you very much, uncle; thank you, Walter, but my hand is engaged for this set to Ishmael Worth; none but the winner of the first prize for me!" said Claudia gayly, veiling the kindness that prompted her to favor the mortified youth under a sportive assumption of vanity.

"Very well, then, where is the hero?" said Mr. Middleton.

But Ishmael had suddenly disappeared, and was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he, Walter? He was standing by you," said Claudia.

"I had my arm around him to prevent mischief, and I released him only an instant since; but he seems to have slipped away," answered Walter, in surprise.

"He has gone after Alfred! and there will be mischief done; and no one could blame Ishmael if there was!" exclaimed Claudia.

"It was young Worth, then, that Burghe assailed?" inquired Mr. Middleton.

"Yes, uncle! and if Mr. Burghe is permitted to come to the house after his conduct this evening, I really shall feel compelled to write to my father, and request him to remove me, for I cannot, indeed, indeed, I cannot expose myself to the shock of hearing such language as he has dared to use in my presence this evening!" said Claudia excitedly.

"Compose yourself, my dear girl; he will not trouble us after this evening; he does not return to school after the vacation; he goes to West Point," said her uncle.

"And where I hope the discipline will be strict enough to keep him in order!" exclaimed Claudia.

"But now someone must go after Ishmael. Ring for Jovial, Walter."

"Father, old Jovial will be too slow. Had I not better go myself?" asked Walter, seizing his hat.

Mr. Middleton assented, and the young man went out on his quest.

He hunted high and low, but found no trace of Ishmael. He found, however, what set his mind at ease upon the subject of a collision between the youths; it was the form of Alfred Burghe, stretched at length upon the thick and dewy grass.

"Why do you lie there? You will take cold. Get up and go home," said Walter, pitying his discomfiture and loneliness; for the generous are compassionate even to the evil doer.

Alfred did not condescend to reply.

"Get up, I say; you will take cold," persisted Walter.

"I don't care if I do! I had as lief die as not! I have no friends! nobody cares for me," exclaimed the unhappy youth, in the bitterness of spirit common to those who have brought their troubles upon themselves.

"If you would only reform your manners, Alfred, you would find friends enough, from the Creator, who only requires of you that 'you cease to do evil and learn to do well,' down to the humblest of his creatures--down to that poor boy whom you so heartlessly insulted to-night; but whose generous nature would bear no lasting malice against you," said Walter gravely.

"It is deuced hard, though, to see a fellow like that taking the shine out of us all," grumbled Alfred.

"No, it isn't! it is glorious, glorious indeed, to see a poor youth like that struggling up to a higher life--as he is struggling. He won the prize from me, me, his senior in age and in the school, and my heart burns with admiration for the boy when I think of it! How severely he must have striven to have attained such proficiency in these three years. How hard he must have studied; how much of temptation to idleness he must have resisted; how much of youthful recreation, and even of needful rest, he must have constantly denied himself; not once or twice, but for months and years! Think of it! He has richly earned all the success he has had. Do not envy him his honors, at least until you have emulated his heroism," said Walter, with enthusiasm.

"I think I will go home," said Alfred, to whom the praises of his rival was not the most attractive theme in the world.

"You may return with me to the house now, if you please, since my friend Ishmael has gone home. Keep out of the way of Miss Merlin, and no one else will interfere with you," said Walter, who, when not roused to indignation, had all his father's charity for "miserable" sinners.

Alfred hesitated for a minute, looking towards the house, where the light windows and pealing music of the drawing room proved an attraction too strong for his pride to resist. Crestfallen and sheepish, he nevertheless returned to the scene of festivity, where the young people were now all engaged in dancing, and where, after a while, they all with the happy facility of youth forgot his rudeness and drew him into their sports. All except Claudia, who would have nothing on earth to say to him, and Beatrice, who, though ignorant of his assault upon Ishmael, obeyed the delicate instincts of her nature that warned her to avoid him.

On observing the return of Alfred, Mr. Middleton took the first opportunity of saying to his son:

"I see that you have brought Burghe back."

"Yes, father; since Ishmael is not here to be pained by his presence, I thought it better to bring him back; for I remembered your words spoken of him on a former occasion: 'That kindness will do more to reform such a nature as his than reprobation could.'"

"Yes--very true! But poor Ishmael! Where is he?"

Aye! where, indeed?

XXXII. AT HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE

He sees her lone headstone, 'Tis white as a shroud; Like a pall hangs above it The low, drooping cloud.

'Tis well that the white ones Who bore her to bliss, Shut out from her new life The sorrows of this.

Else sure as he stands here, And speaks of his love, She would leave for his darkness Her glory above.

--E.H. Whittier.

Giddy, faint, reeling from the shock he had received, Ishmael tottered from the gay and lighted rooms and sought the darkness and the coolness of the night without.

He leaned against the great elm tree on the lawn, and wiped the beaded sweat from his brow.

"It is not true," he said. "I know it is not true! Walter said it was false; and I would stake my soul that it is. My dear mother is an angel in heaven; I am certain of that; for I have seen her in my dreams ever since I can remember. But yet--but yet--why did they all recoil from me? Even she--even Claudia Merlin shrank from me as from something unclean and contaminating, when Alfred called me that name. If they had not thought there was some truth in the charge, would they all have recoiled from me so? Would she have shrunk from me as if I had had the plague? Oh, no! Oh, no! And then Aunt Hannah! Why does she act so very strangely when I ask her about my parents? If I ask her about my father she answers me with a blow. If I ask her about my mother, she answers that my mother was a saint on earth and is now an angel in heaven. Oh! I do not need to be told that; I know it already. I always knew it of my dear mother. But to only know it no longer satisfies me; I must have the means of proving it. And to-night, yes, to-night, Aunt Hannah, before either of us sleep, you shall tell me all that you know of my angel mother and my unknown father."

And having recovered his severely shaken strength, Ishmael left the grounds of Brudenell Hall and struck into the narrow foot-path leading down the heights and through the valley to the Hut hill.

Hannah was seated alone, enjoying her solitary cup of tea, when Ishmael opened the door and entered.

"What, my lad, have you come back so early? I did not think the ball would have been over before twelve or one o'clock, and it is not ten yet; but I suppose, being a school ball, it broke up early. Did you get any premiums? How many did you get?" inquired Hannah, heaping question upon question without waiting for reply, as was her frequent custom.

Ishmael drew a chair to the other side of the table and sunk heavily into it.

"You are tired, poor fellow, and no wonder! I dare say, for all the good things you got at the ball, that a cup of tea will do you no harm," said Hannah, pouring out and handing him one.

Ishmael took it wearily and sat it by his side.

"And now tell me about the premiums," continued his aunt.

"I got the first premium in belles-lettres, aunt; and it was Hallam's 'History of Literature.' And I got the first in languages, which was Irving's 'Life of Washington'--two very valuable works, Aunt Hannah, that will be treasures to me all my life."

"Why do you sigh so heavily, my boy? are you so tired as all that? But one would think, as well as you love books, those fine ones would 'liven you up. Where are they? Let me see them."

"I left them at the school, Aunt Hannah. I will go and fetch them to-morrow."

"There's that sigh again! What is the matter with you, child? Are you growing lazy? Who got the gold medal?"

"It wasn't a medal, Aunt Hannah. Mr. Middleton wanted to give something useful as well as costly for the first prize; and he said a medal was of no earthly use to anybody, so he made the prize a gold watch and chain."

"But who got it?"

"I did, aunt; there it is," said Ishmael, taking the jewel from his neck and laying it on the table.

"Oh! what a beautiful watch and chain! and all pure gold! real yellow guinea gold! This must be worth almost a hundred dollars! Oh, Ishmael, we never had anything like this in the house before. I am so much afraid somebody might break in and steal it!" exclaimed Hannah, her admiration and delight at sight of the rich prize immediately modified by the cares and fears that attend the possession of riches.

Ishmael did not reply; but Hannah went on reveling in the sight of the costly bauble, until, happening to look up, she saw that Ishmael, instead of drinking his tea, sat with his head drooped upon his hand in sorrowful abstraction.

"There you are again! There is no satisfying some people. One would think you would be as happy as a king with all your prizes. But there you are moping. What is the matter with you, boy? Why don't you drink your tea?"

"Aunt Hannah, you drink your own tea, and when you have done it I will have a talk with you."

"Is it anything particular?"

"Very particular, Aunt Hannah; but I will not enter upon the subject now," said Ishmael, raising his cup to his lips to prevent further questionings.

But when the tea was over and the table cleared away, Ishmael took the hand of his aunt and drew her towards the door, saying:

"Aunt Hannah, I want you to go with me to my mother's grave. It will not hurt you to do so; the night is beautiful, clear and dry, and there is no dew."

Wondering at the deep gravity of his words and manner, Hannah allowed him to draw her out of the house and up the hill behind it to Nora's grave at the foot of the old oak tree. It was a fine, bright, starlight night, and the rough headstone, rudely fashioned and set up by the professor, gleamed whitely out from the long shadowy grass.

Ishmael sank down upon the ground beside the grave, put his arms around the headstone, and for a space bowed his head.

Hannah seated herself upon a fragment of rock near him. But both remained silent for a few minutes.

It was Hannah who broke the spell.

"Ishmael, my dear," she said, "why have you drawn me out here, and what have you to say to me of such a serious nature that it can be uttered only here?"

But Ishmael still was silent--being bowed down with thought or grief.

Reflect a moment, reader: At this very instant of time his enemy--he who had plunged him in this grief--was in the midst of all the light and music of the ball at Brudenell Hall; but could not enjoy himself, because the stings of conscience irritated him, and because the frowns of Claudia Merlin chilled and depressed him.

Ishmael was out in the comparative darkness and silence of night and nature. Yet he, too, had his light and music--light and music more in harmony with his mood than any artificial substitutes could be; he had the holy light of myriads of stars shining down upon him, and the music of myriads of tiny insects sounding around him. Mark you this, dear reader--in light and music is the Creator forever worshiped by nature. When the sun sets, the stars shine; and when the birds sleep, the insects sing!

This subdued light and music of nature's evening worship suited well the saddened yet exalted mood of our poor boy. He knew not what was before him, what sort of revelation he was about to invoke, but he knew that, whatever it might be, it should not shake his resolve, "to deal justly, love mercy, and walk humbly" with his God.

Hannah, spoke again:

"Ishmael, will you answer me--why have you brought me here? What have you to say to me so serious as to demand this grave for the place of its hearing?"

"Aunt Hannah," began the boy, "what I have to say to you is even more solemn than your words import."

"Ishmael, you frighten me."

"No, no; there is no cause of alarm."

"Why don't you tell me what has brought us here, then?"

"I am about to do so," said Ishmael solemnly. "Aunt Hannah, you have often told me that she whose remains lie below us was a saint on earth and is an angel in heaven!"

"Yes, Ishmael. I have told you so, and I have told you truly."

"Aunt Hannah, three years ago I asked you who was my father. You replied by a blow. Well, I was but a boy then, and so of course you must have thought that that was the most judicious answer you could give. But now, Aunt Hannah, I am a young man, and I demand of you, Who was my father?"

"Ishmael, I cannot tell you!"

With a sharp cry of anguish the youth sprang up; but governing his strong excitement he subsided to his seat, only gasping out the question:

"In the name of Heaven, why can you not?"

Hannah's violent sobs were the only answer.

"Aunt Hannah! I know this much--that your name is Hannah Worth; that my dear mother was your sister; that her name was Nora Worth; and that mine is Ishmael Worth! Therefore I know that I bear yours and my mother's maiden name! I always took it for granted that my father belonged to the same family; that he was a relative, perhaps a cousin of my mother, and that he bore the same name, and therefore did not in marrying my mother give her a new one. That was what I always thought, Aunt Hannah; was I right?"

Hannah sobbed on in silence.

"Aunt Hannah! by my mother's grave, I adjure you to answer me! Was I right?"

"No, Ishmael, you were not!" wailed Hannah.

"Then I do not bear my father's name?"

"No."

"But only my poor mother's?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Heaven! how is that?"

"Because you have no legal right to your father's; because the only name to which you have any legal right is your poor, wronged mother's!"

With a groan that seemed to rend body and soul asunder, Ishmael threw himself upon his mother's grave.

"You said she was an angel! And I know that she was!" he cried, as soon as he had recovered the power of speech.

"I said truly, and you know the truth!" wept Hannah.

"How, then, is it, that I, her son, cannot bear my father's name?"

"Ishmael, your mother was the victim of a false marriage!"

Ishmael sprang up from his recumbent posture, and gazed at his aunt with a fierceness that pierced through the darkness.

"And so pure and proud was she, that the discovery broke her heart!"

Ishmael threw himself once more upon the grave, and clasping the mound in his arms, burst into a passionate flood of tears, and wept long and bitterly. And, after a while, through this shower of tears, came forth in gusty sobs these words:

"Oh, mother! Oh, poor, young, wronged, and broken-hearted mother! sleep in peace; for your son lives to vindicate you. Yes, if he has been spared, it was for this purpose--to honor, to vindicate, to avenge you!" And after these words his voice was again lost and drowned in tears and sobs.

Hannah kneeled down beside him, took his hand, and tried to raise him, saying:

"Ishmael, my love, get up, dear! There was no wrong done, no crime committed, nothing to avenge. Your father was as guiltless as your mother, my boy; there was no sin; nothing from first to last but great misfortune. Come into the house, my Ishmael, and I will tell you all about it."

"Yes; tell me all! tell me every particular; have no more concealments from me!" cried Ishmael, rising to follow his aunt.

"I will not; but oh, my boy! gladly would I have kept the sorrowful story concealed from you forever, but that I know from what I have seen of you to-night, that some rude tongue has told you of your misfortune--and told you wrong besides!" said Hannah, as they re-entered the hut.

They sat down beside the small wood fire that the chill night made not unwelcome, even in August. Hannah sat in her old arm-chair, and Ishmael on the three-legged stool at her feet, with his head in her lap. And there, with her hand caressing his light brown hair, Hannah told him the story of his mother's love and suffering and death.

At some parts of her story his tears gushed forth in floods, and his sobs shook his whole frame. Then Hannah would be forced to pause in her narrative, until he had regained composure enough to listen to the sequel.

Hannah told him all; every particular with which the reader is already acquainted; suppressing nothing but the name of his miserable father.

At the close of the sad story both remained silent for some time; the deathly stillness of the room broken only by Ishmael's deep sighs. At last, however, he spoke:

"Aunt Hannah, still you have not told me the name of him my poor mother loved so fatally."

"Ishmael, I have told you that I cannot; and now I will tell you why I cannot."

And then Hannah related the promise that she had made to her dying sister, never to expose the unhappy but guiltless author of her death.

"Poor mother! poor, young, broken-hearted mother! She was not much older than I am now when she died--was she, Aunt Hannah?"

"Scarcely two years older, my dear."

"So young!" sobbed Ishmael, dropping his head again upon Hannah's knee, and bursting into a tempest of grief.

She allowed the storm to subside a little, and then said:

"Now, my Ishmael, I wish you to tell me what it was that sent you home so early from the party, and in such a sorrowful mood. I knew, of course, that something must have been said to you about your birth. What was said, and who said it?"

"Oh, Aunt Hannah! it was in the very height of my triumph that I was struck down! I was not proud, Heaven knows, that I should have had such a fall! I was not proud--I was feeling rather sad upon account of Walter's having missed the prize; and I was thinking how hard it was in this world that nobody could enjoy a triumph without someone else suffering a mortification. I was thinking and feeling so, as I tell you, until Walter came up and talked me out of my gloom. And then all my young companions were doing me honor in their way, when--"

Ishmael's voice was choked for a moment; but with an effort he regained his composure and continued, though in a broken and faltering voice:

"Alfred Burghe left the group, saying that I was not a proper companion for young ladies and gentlemen. And when--she--Miss Merlin, angrily demanded why I was not, he--Oh! Aunt Hannah!" Ishmael suddenly ceased and dropped his face into his hands.

"Compose yourself, my dear boy, and go on," said the weaver.

"He said that I was a--No! I cannot speak the word! I cannot!"

"A young villain! If ever I get my hands on him, I will give him as good a broomsticking as ever a bad boy had in this world! He lied, Ishmael! You are not what he called you. You are legitimate on your mother's side, because she believed herself to be a lawful wife. You bear her name, and you could lawfully inherit her property, if she had left any. Tell them that when they insult you!" exclaimed Hannah indignantly.

"Ah! Aunt Hannah, they would not believe it without proof!"

"True! too true! and we cannot prove it, merely because your mother bound me by a promise never to expose the bigamy of your father. Oh, Ishmael, to shield him, what a wrong she did to herself and to you!" wept the woman.

"Oh, Aunt Hannah, do not blame her! she was so good!" said this loyal son. "I can bear reproach for myself, but I will not bear it for her! Say anything you like to me, dear Aunt Hannah! but never say a word against her!"

"But, poor boy! how will you bear the sure reproach of birth that you are bound to hear from others? Ah, Ishmael, you must try to fortify your mind, my dear, to bear much unjust shame in this world. Ishmael, the brighter the sun shines the blacker the shadow falls. The greater your success in the world, the bitterer will be this shame! See, my boy, it was in the hour of your youthful triumph that this reproach was first cast in your face! The envious are very mean, my boy. Ah, how will you answer their cruel reproaches!"

"I will tell you, Aunt Hannah! Let them say what they like of me; I will try to bear with them patiently; but if any man or boy utters one word of reproach against my dear mother--" The boy ceased to speak, but his face grew lived.

"Now, now, what would you do?" exclaimed Hannah, in alarm.

"Make him recant his words, or silence him forever!"

"Oh, Ishmael! Ishmael! you frighten me nearly to death! Good Heaven, men are dreadful creatures! They never receive an injury but they must needs think of slaying! Oh, how I wish you had been a girl! Since you were to be, how I do wish you had been a girl! Boys are a dreadful trial and terror to a lone woman! Oh, Ishmael! promise me you won't do anything violent!" exclaimed Hannah, beside herself with terror.

"I cannot, Aunt Hannah! For I should be sure to break such a promise if the occasion offered. Oh, Aunt Hannah! you don't know all my mother is to me! You don't! You think because she died the very day that I was born that I cannot know anything about her and cannot love her; but I tell you, Aunt Hannah, I know her well! and I love her as much as if she was still in the flesh. I have seen her in my dreams ever since I can remember anything. Oh! often, when I was very small and you used to lock me up alone in the hut, while you went away for all day to Baymouth, I have been strangely soothed to sleep and then I have seen her in my dreams!"

"Ishmael, you rave!"

"No, I don't; I will prove it to you, that I see my mother. Listen, now; nobody ever described her to me; not even you; but I will tell you how she looks--she is tall and slender; she has a very fair skin and very long black hair, and nice slender black eyebrows and long eyelashes, and large dark eyes--and she smiles with her eyes only! Now, is not that my mother? For that is the form that I see in my dreams," said Ishmael triumphantly, and for the moment forgetting his grief.

"Yes, that is like what she was; but of course you must have heard her described by someone, although you may have forgotten it. Ishmael, dear, I shall pray for you to-night, that all thoughts of vengeance may be put out of your mind. Now let us go to bed, my child, for we have to be up early in the morning. And, Ishmael?"

"Yes, Aunt Hannah."

"Do you also pray to God for guidance and help."

"Aunt Hannah, I always do," said the boy, as he bade his relative good-night and went up to his loft.

Long Ishmael lay tumbling and tossing upon his restless bed. But when at length he fell asleep a heavenly dream visited him.

He dreamed that his mother, in her celestial robe, stood by his bed and breathed sweetly forth his name:

"Ishmael, my son."

And in his dream he answered:

"I am here, mother."

"Listen, my child: Put thoughts of vengeance from your soul! In this strong temptation think not what Washington, Jackson, or any of your warlike heroes would have done; think what the Prince of Peace, Christ, would have done; and do thou likewise!" And so saying, the heavenly vision vanished.

XXXIII. LOVE AND GENIUS

Her face was shining on him; he had looked Upon it till it could not pass away; He had no breath, no being but in hers; She was his voice: he did not speak to her, But trembled on her words: she was his sight; For his eye followed hers and saw with hers, Which colored all his objects.

--Byron.

Early the next morning Ishmael walked over to Brudenell Hall with the threefold purpose of making an apology for his sudden departure from the ball; taking leave of the family for the holidays; and bringing home the books he had won as prizes.

As he approached the house he saw Mr. Middleton walking on the lawn.

That gentleman immediately advanced to meet Ishmael, holding out his hand, and saying, with even more than his usual kindness of manner:

"Good-morning, my dear boy; you quite distinguished yourself yesterday; I congratulate you."

"I thank you, sir; I thank you very much; but I fear that I was guilty of great rudeness in leaving the party so abruptly last night; but I hope, when you hear my explanation, you will excuse me, sir," said Ishmael, deeply flushing.

Mr. Middleton kindly drew the boy's arm within his own, and walked him away from the house down a shady avenue of elms, and when they had got quite out of hearing of any chance listener, he said gravely:

"My boy, I have heard the facts from Walter, and I do not require any explanation from you. I hold you entirely blameless in the affair, Ishmael, and I can only express my deep regret that you should have received an insult while under my roof. I trust, Ishmael, that time and reflection will convince young Burghe of his great error, and that the day may come when he himself will seek you to make a voluntary apology for his exceeding rudeness."

Ishmael did not reply; his eyes were fixed upon the ground, and his very forehead was crimson. Mr. Middleton saw all this, divined his thoughts, and so gently continued:

"You will be troubled no more with Alfred Burghe or his weak brother; both boys left this morning; Alfred goes to the Military Academy at West Point; Ben to the Naval School at Annapolis; so you will be quite free from annoyance by them."

Still Ishmael hung his head, and Mr. Middleton added:

"And now, my young friend, do not let the recollection of that scapegrace's words trouble you in the slightest degree. Let me assure you, that no one who knows you, and whose good opinion is worth having, will ever esteem your personal merits less, upon account of--" Mr. Middleton hesitated for a moment, and then said, very softly--"your poor, unhappy mother."

Ishmael sprang aside, and groaned as if he had received a stab; and then with a rush of emotion, and in an impassioned manner, he exclaimed:

"My poor, unhappy mother! Oh, sir, you have used the right words! She was very poor and very unhappy! most unhappy; but not weak! not foolish! not guilty! Oh, believe it, sir! believe it, Mr. Middleton! For if you were to doubt it, I think my spirit would indeed be broken! My poor, young mother, who went down to the grave when she was but little older than her son is now, was a pure, good, honorable woman. She was, sir! she was! and I will prove it to the world some day, if Heaven only lets me live to do it! Say you believe it, Mr. Middleton! Oh, say you believe it!"

"I do believe it, my boy," replied Mr. Middleton, entirely carried away by the powerful magnetism of Ishmael's eager, earnest, impassioned manner.

"Heaven reward you, sir," sighed the youth, subsiding into the modest calmness of his usual deportment.

"How do you intend to employ your holidays, Ishmael?" inquired his friend.

"By continuing my studies at home, sir," replied the youth.

"I thought so! Well, so that you do not overwork yourself, you are right to keep them up. These very long vacations are made for the benefit of the careless and idle, and not for the earnest and industrious. But, Ishmael, that little cot of yours is not the best place for your purpose; studies can scarcely be pursued favorably where household work is going on constantly; so I think you had better come here every day as usual, and read in the schoolroom. Mr. Brown will be gone certainly; but I shall be at home, and ready to render you any assistance."

"Oh, sir, how shall I thank you?" joyfully began Ishmael.

"By just making the best use of your opportunities to improve yourself, my lad," smiled his friend, patting him on the shoulder.

"But, sir--in the vacation--it will give you trouble--"

"It will afford me pleasure, Ishmael! I hope you can take my word for that?"

"Oh, Mr. Middleton! Indeed you--how can I ever prove myself grateful enough?"

"By simply getting on as fast as you can, boy! as I told you before. And let me tell you now, that there is good reason why you should now make the best possible use of your time; it may be short."

"Sir?" questioned Ishmael in perplexity and vague alarm.

"I should rather have said it must be short! I will explain. You know Mr. Herman Brudenell?"

"Mr--Herman--Brudenell," repeated the unconscious son, slowly and thoughtfully; then, as a flash of intelligence lighted up his face, he exclaimed: "Oh, yes, sir, I know who you mean; the young gentleman who owns Brudenell Hall, and who is now traveling in Europe."

"Yes! but he is not such a very young gentleman now; he must be between thirty-five and forty years of age. Well, my boy, you know, of course, that he is my landlord. When I rented this place, I took it by the year, and at a very low price, as the especial condition that I should leave it at six months' warning. Ishmael, I have received that warning this morning. I must vacate the premises on the first of next February."

Ishmael looked confounded. "Must vacate these premises the first of next February," he echoed, in a very dreary voice.

"Yes, my lad; but don't look so utterly sorrowful; we shall not go out of the world, or even out of the State; perhaps not out of the county, Ishmael; and our next residence will be a permanent one; I shall purchase, and not rent, next time; and I shall not lose sight of your interests; besides the parting is six months off yet; so look up, my boy. Bless me, if I had known it was going to depress you in this way, I should have delayed the communication as long as possible; in fact, my only motive for making it now, is to give a good reason why you should make the most of your time while we remain here."

"Oh, sir, I will; believe me, I will; but I am so sorry you are ever going to leave us," said the boy, with emotion.

"Thank you, Ishmael; I shall not forget you; and in the meantime, Mr. Brudenell, who is coming back to the Hall, and is a gentleman of great means and beneficence, cannot fail to be interested in you; indeed, I myself will mention you to him. And now come in, my boy, and take luncheon with us. We breakfasted very early this morning in order to get the teachers off in time for the Baltimore boat; and so we require an early luncheon," said Mr. Middleton, as he walked his young friend off to the house.

Mrs. Middleton and all her children and Claudia were already seated around the table in the pleasant morning room, where all the windows were open, admitting the free summer breezes, the perfume of flowers, and the songs of birds.

The young people started up and rushed towards Ishmael; for their sympathies were with him; and all began speaking at once.

"Oh, Ishmael! why did you disappoint me of dancing with the best scholar in the school?" asked Claudia.

"What did you run away for?" demanded James.

"I wouldn't have gone for him," said John.

"Oh, Ishmael, it was such a pleasant party," said little Fanny.

"Alf was a bad boy," said Baby Sue.

"It was very impolite in you to run away and leave me when I was your partner in the first quadrille! I do not see why you should have disappointed me for anything that fellow could have said or done!" exclaimed Claudia.

As all were speaking at once it was quite impossible to answer either, so Ishmael looked in embarrassment from one to the other.

Bee had not spoken; she was spreading butter on thin slices of bread for her baby sisters; but now, seeing Ishmael's perplexity, she whispered to her mother:

"Call them off, mamma dear; they mean well; but it must hurt his feelings to be reminded of last night."

Mrs. Middleton thought so too; so she arose and went forward and offered Ishmael her hand, saying:

"Good-morning, my boy; I am glad to see you; draw up your chair to the table. Children, take your places. Mr. Middleton, we have been waiting for you."

"I know you have, my dear, but cold lunch don't grow colder by standing; if it does, so much the better this warm weather."

"I have been taking a walk with my young friend here," said the gentleman, as he took his seat.

Ishmael followed his example, but not before he had quietly shaken hands with Beatrice.

At luncheon Mr. Middleton spoke of his plan, that Ishmael should come every day during the holidays to pursue his studies as usual in the schoolroom.

"You know he cannot read to any advantage in the little room where Hannah is always at work," explained Mr. Middleton.

"Oh, no! certainly not," agreed his wife.

The family were all pleased that Ishmael was still to come.

"But, my boy, I think you had better not set in again until Monday. A few days of mental rest is absolutely necessary after the hard reading of the last few months. So I enjoin you not to open a classbook before next Monday."

As Mrs. Middleton emphatically seconded this move, our boy gave his promise to refrain, and after luncheon was over he went and got his books, took a respectful leave of his friends and returned home.

"Aunty," he said, as he entered the hut, where he found Hannah down on her knees scrubbing the floor, "what do you think? Mr. Middleton and his family are going away from the Hall. They have had warning to quit at the end of six months."

"Ah," said Hannah indifferently, going on with her work.

"Yes; they leave on the first of February, and the owner of the place, young Mr. Herman Brudenell, you know, is coming on to live there for good!"

"Ah!" cried Hannah, no longer indifferently, but excitedly, as she left off scrubbing, and fixed her keen black eyes upon the boy.

"Yes, indeed! and Mr. Middleton--oh, he is so kind--says he will mention me to Mr Herman Brudenell."

"Oh! will he?" exclaimed Hannah, between her teeth.

"Yes; and--Mr. Herman Brudenell is a very kind gentleman, is he not?"

"Very," muttered Hannah.

"You were very well acquainted with him, were you not?"

"Yes."

"You answer so shortly, Aunt Hannah. Didn't you like young Mr. Herman Brudenell?"

"I--don't know whether I did or not; but, Ishmael, I can't scrub and talk at the same time. Go out and chop me some wood; and then go and dig some potatoes, and beets, and cut a cabbage--a white-head mind! and then go to the spring and bring a bucket of water; and make haste; but don't talk to me any more, if you can help it."

Ishmael went out immediately to obey, and as the sound of his ax was heard Hannah muttered to herself:

"Herman Brudenell coming back to the Hall to live!" And she fell into deep thought.

Ishmael was intelligent enough to divine that his Aunt Hannah did not wish to talk of Mr. Herman Brudenell.

"Some old grudge, connected with their relations as landlord and tenant, I suppose," said Ishmael to himself. And as he chopped away at the wood he resolved to avoid in her presence the objectionable name.

The subject was not mentioned between the aunt and nephew again. Ishmael assisted her in preparing their late afternoon meal of dinner and supper together, and then, when the room was made tidy and Hannah was seated at her evening sewing, Ishmael, for a treat, showed her his prize books; at which Hannah was so pleased, that she went to bed and dreamed that night that Ishmael had risen to the distinction of being a country schoolmaster.

The few days of mental rest that Mr. Middleton had enjoined upon the young student were passed by Ishmael in hard manual labor that did him good. Among his labors, as he had now several valuable books, he fitted up some book shelves over the little low window of his loft, and under the window he fixed a sloping board, that would serve him for a writing-desk.

XXXIV. UNDER THE OLD ELM TREE

She was his life, The ocean to the river of his thoughts, Which terminated all; upon a tone, A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, And his cheek change tempestuously--his heart Unknowing of its cause of agony.

--Byron.

On Monday morning he resumed his attendance at Brudenell Hall. He was received very kindly by the family, and permitted to go up to the empty schoolroom and take his choice among all the vacant seats, and to make the freest use of the school library, maps, globes, and instruments.

Ishmael moved his own desk up under one of the delightful windows, and there he sat day after day at hard study. He did not trouble Mr. Middleton much; whenever it was possible to do so by any amount of labor and thought, he puzzled out all his problems and got over all his difficulties alone.

He kept up the old school hours; punctually, and exactly at noon, he laid aside his books and went out on the lawn for an hour's recreation before lunch.

There he often met his young friends, and always saw Claudia. It was Miss Merlin's good pleasure to approve and encourage this poor but gifted youth; and she took great credit, to herself for her condescension. She seemed to herself like some high and mighty princess graciously patronizing some deserving young peasant. She often called him to her side; interested himself in his studies and in his health, praised his assiduity, but warned him not to confine himself too closely to his books, as ambitious students had been known before now to sacrifice their lives to the pursuit of an unattainable fame. She told him that she meant to interest her father in his fortunes; and that she hoped in another year the judge would be able to procure for him the situation of usher in some school, or tutor in some family. Although she was younger than Ishmael, yet her tone and manner in addressing him was that of an elder as well as of a superior; and blended the high authority of a young queen with the deep tenderness of a little mother. For instance, when he would come out at noon, she would often beckon him to her side, as she sat in her garden chair, under the shadow of the great elm tree, with a book of poetry or a piece of needlework in her hands. And when he came, she would make him sit down on the grass at her feet, and she would put her small, white hand on his burning forehead, and look in his face with her beautiful, dark eyes, and murmur softly:

"Poor boy; your head aches; I know it does. You have been sitting under the blazing sun in that south window of the schoolroom, so absorbed in your studies that you forgot to close your shutters."

And she would take a vial of eau-de-cologne from her pocket, pour a portion of it upon a handkerchief, and with her own fair hand bathe his heated brows; at the same time administering a queenly reprimand, or a motherly caution, as pride or tenderness happened to predominate in her capricious mood.

This royal or maternal manner in this beautiful girl would not have attracted the hearts of most men; but Ishmael, at the age of seventeen, was yet too young to feel that haughty pride of full-grown manhood which recoils from the patronage of women, and most of all from that of the woman they love.

To him, this proud and tender interest for his welfare added a greater and more perilous fascination to the charms of his beautiful love; it drew her nearer to him; it allowed him to worship her, though mutely; it permitted him to sit at her feet, and in that attitude do silent homage to her as his queen; it permitted him to receive the cool touch of her fingers on his heated brow; to hear the soft murmur of her voice close to his ear; to meet the sweet questioning of her eyes.

And, oh, the happiness of sitting at her feet, under the green shadows of that old elm tree! The light touch of her soft fingers on his brow thrilled him to his heart's core; the sweet sound of her voice in his ears filled his soul with music; the earnest gaze of her beautiful dark eyes sent electric shocks of joy through all his sensitive frame.

Ishmael was intensely happy. This earth was no longer a commonplace world, filled with commonplace beings; it was a paradise peopled with angels.

Did Mr. and Mrs. Middleton fear no harm in the close intimacy of this gifted boy of seventeen and this beautiful girl of sixteen?

Indeed, no! They believed the proud heiress looked upon, the peasant boy merely as her protege, her pet, her fine, intelligent dog! they believed Claudia secure in her pride and Ishmael absorbed in his studies. They were three-quarters right, which is as near the correct thing as you can expect imperfect human nature to approach; that is, they were wholly right as to Claudia and half right as to Ishmael. Claudia was secure in her pride; and half of Ishmael's soul--the mental half--was absorbed in his studies; his mind was given to his books; but his heart was devoted to Claudia. And in this double occupation there was no discord, but the most perfect harmony.

But though Claudia, whom he adored, was his watchful patroness, Bee, whom he only loved, was his truest friend. Claudia would warn him against danger; but Bee would silently save him from it. While Claudia would be administering a queenly rebuke to the ardent young student for exposing himself to a sunstroke by reading under the blazing sun in an open south window, Bee, without saying a word, would go quietly into the schoolroom, close the shutters of the sunny windows, and open those of the shady ones, so that the danger might not recur in the afternoon.

In September the school was regularly reopened for the reception of the day pupils. Their parents were warned, however, that this was to be the last term; that the school must necessarily be broken up at Christmas, as the house must be given up on the first of February. The return of the pupils, although they filled the schoolroom during study hours, and made the lawn a livelier scene during recess, did not in the least degree interrupt the intimacy of Ishmael and Claudia. He still sat at her feet beneath the green shadows of the old elm tree, often reading to her while she worked her crochet; or strumming upon his old guitar an accompaniment to her song. For long ago the professor had taught Ishmael to play, and loaned him the instrument.

It is not to be supposed that Claudia's favor of Ishmael could be witnessed by his companions without exciting their envy and dislike of our youth. But the more strongly they evinced their disapproval of her partiality for Ishmael, the more ostentatiously she displayed it.

Many were the covert sneers leveled at "Nobody's Son." And often Ishmael felt his heart swell, his blood boil, and his cheek burn at these cowardly insults. And it was well for all concerned that the youth was "obedient" to that "heavenly vision" which had warned him, in these sore trials, not to ask himself--as had been his boyish custom--what Marion, Putnam, Jackson, or any of the "great battle-ax heroes" would have done in a similar crisis; but what Christ, the Prince of Peace, would have done; for Ishmael knew that all these great historical warriors held the "bloody code of honor" that would oblige them to answer insult with death; but that the Saviour of the world "when reviled, reviled not again"; and that he commended all his followers to do likewise, returning "good for evil," "blessings for cursings."

All this was very hard to do; and the difficulty of it finally sent Ishmael to study his Bible with a new interest, to seek the mystery of the Saviour's majestic meekness. In the light of a new experience, he read the amazing story of the life, sufferings, and death of Christ. Oh, nothing in the whole history of mankind could approach this, for beauty, for sublimity, and for completeness; nothing had ever so warmed, inspired, and elevated his soul as this; this was perfect; answering all the needs of his spirit. The great heroes and sages of history might be very good and useful as examples and references in the ordinary trials and temptations of life; but only Christ could teach him how to meet the great trial from the world without, where envy and hate assailed him; or how to resist the dark temptations from the world within, in whose deep shadows rage and murder lurked! Henceforth the Saviour became his own exemplar and the gospel his only guidebook. Such was the manner in which Ishmael was called of the Lord. He became proof against the most envenomed shafts of malice. The reflection: What would Christ have done? armed him with a sublime and invincible meekness and courage.

XXXV. THE DREAM AND THE AWAKENING

The lover is a god,--the ground He treads on is not ours; His soul by other laws is bound, Sustained by other powers; His own and that one other heart Form for himself a world apart.

--Milnes.

Time went on. Autumn faded into winter: the flowers wore withered; the grass dried; the woods bare. Miss Merlin no longer sat under the green shadows of the old elm tree; there were no green shadows there; the tree was stripped of its leaves and seemed but the skeleton of itself, and the snow lay around its foot.

The season, far from interrupting the intimacy between the heiress and her favorite, only served to draw them even more closely together. This was the way of it. At the noon recess all the pupils of the school would rush madly out upon the lawn to engage in the rough, healthful, and exciting game of snowballing each other--all except Claudia, who was far too fine a lady to enter into any such rude sport, and Ishmael, whose attendance upon her own presence she would peremptorily demand.

While all the others were running over each other in their haste to get out, Claudia would pass into the empty drawing room, and seating herself in the deep easy chair, would call to her "gentleman in waiting," saying:

"Come, my young troubadour, bring your guitar and sit down upon this cushion at my feet and play an accompaniment to my song, as I sing and work."

And Ishmael, filled with joy, would fly to obey the royal mandate; and soon seated at the beauty's feet, in the glow of the warm wood fire and in the glory of her heavenly presence, he would lose himself in a delicious dream of love and music. No one ever interrupted their tete-a-tete. And Ishmael grew to feel that he belonged to his liege lady; that they were forever inseparate and inseparable. And thus his days passed in one delusive dream of bliss until the time came when he was rudely awakened.

One evening, as usual, he took leave of Claudia. It was a bitter cold evening, and she took off her own crimson Berlin wool scarf and with her own fair hands wound it around Ishmael's neck, and charged him to hasten home, because she knew that influenza would be lying in wait to seize any loitering pedestrian that night.

Ishmael ran home, as happy as it was in the power of man to make him. How blest he felt in the possession of her scarf--her fine, soft, warm scarf, deliciously filled with the aroma of Claudia's own youth, beauty, and sweetness. He felt that he was not quite separated from her while he had her scarf--her dear scarf, with the warmth and perfume of her own neck yet within its meshes! That night he only unwound it from his throat to fold it and lay it on his pillow that his cheek might rest upon it while he slept--slept the sweetest sleep that ever visited his eyes.

Ah, poor, pale sleeper! this was the last happy night he was destined to have for many weeks and months.

In the morning he arose early as usual to hasten to school and--to Claudia. He wound her gift around his neck and set off at a brisk pace. The weather was still intensely cold; but the winter sky was clear and the sunshine glittered "keen and bright" upon the crisp white snow. Ishmael hurried on and reached Brudenell Hall just in time to see a large fur-covered sleigh, drawn by a pair of fine horses, shoot through, the great gates and disappear down the forest road.

A death-like feeling, a strange spasm, as if a hand of ice had clutched his heart, caught away Ishmael's breath at the sight of that vanishing sleigh. He could not rationally account for this feeling; but soon as he recovered his breath he inquired of old Jovial, who stood gazing after the sleigh.

"Who has gone away?"

"Miss Claudia, sir; her pa came after her last night--"

"Claudia--gone!" echoing Ishmael, reeling and supporting himself against the trunk of the bare old elm tree.

"It was most unexpected, sir; mist'ess sat up most all night to see to the packing of her clothes--"

"Gone--gone--Claudia gone!" breathed Ishmael, in a voice despairing, yet so low, that it did not interrupt the easy flow of Jovial's narrative.

"But you see, sir, the judge, he said how he hadn't a day to lose, 'cause he'd have to be at Annapolis to-morrow to open his court--"

"Gone--gone!" wailed Ishmael, dropping his arms.

"And 'pears the judge did write to warn master and mist'ess to get Miss Claudia ready to go this morning; but seems like they never got the letter--"

"Oh, gone!" moaned Ishmael.

--"Anyways, it was all, 'Quick! march!' and away they went. And the word does go around as, after the court term is over, the judge he means to take Miss Claudia over the seas to forrin parts to see the world."

"Which--which road did they take, Jovial?" gasped Ishmael, striving hard to recover breath and strength and the power of motion.

"Law, sir, the Baymouth road, to be sure! where they 'spects to take the 'Napolis boat, which 'ill be a nigh thing if they get there in time to meet it, dough dey has taken the sleigh an' the fast horses."

Ishmael heard no more. Dropping his books, he darted out of the gate, and fled along the road taken by the travelers. Was it in the mad hope of overtaking the sleigh? As well might he expect to overtake an express train! No--he was mad indeed! maddened by the suddenness of his bereavement; but not so mad as that; and he started after his flying love in the fierce, blind, passionate instinct of pursuit. A whirl of wild hopes kept him up and urged him on--hopes that they might stop on the road to water the horses, or to refresh themselves, or that they might be delayed at the toll-gate to make change, or that some other possible or impossible thing might happen to stop their journey long enough for him to overtake them and see Claudia once more; to shake hands with her, bid her good-by, and receive from her at parting some last word of regard--some last token of remembrance! This was now the only object of his life; this was what urged him onward in that fearful chase! To see Claudia once more--to meet her eyes--to clasp her hand--to hear her voice--to bid her farewell!

On and on he ran; toiling up hill, and rushing down dale; overturning all impediments that lay in his way; startling all the foot-passengers with the fear of an escaped maniac! On and on he sped in his mad flight, until he reached the outskirts of the village. There a sharp pang and sudden faintness obliged him to stop and rest, grudging the few moments required for the recovery of his breath. Then he set off again, and ran all the way into the village--ran down the principal street, and turned down the one leading to the wharf.

A quick, breathless glance told him all. The boat had left the shore, and was steaming down the bay.

He ran down to the water's edge, stretching his arms out towards the receding steamer, and with an agonizing cry of "Claudia! Claudia!" fell forward upon his face in a deep swoon.

A crowd of villagers gathered around him.

"Who is he?"

"What is the matter with him!"

"Is he ill?"

"Has he fainted?"

"Has he been hurt?"

"Has an accident happened?"

"Is there a doctor to be had?"

All these questions were asked in the same breath by the various individuals of the crowd that had collected around the insensible boy; but none seemed ready with an answer.

"Is there no one here who can tell who he is?" inquired a tall, gray-haired, mild-looking man, stooping to raise the prostrate form.

"Yes; it is Ishmael Worth!" answered Hamlin, the bookseller, who was a newcomer upon the scene.

"Ishmael Worth? Hannah Worth's nephew?"

"Yes; that is who he is."

"Then stand out of the way, friends; I will take charge of the lad," said the gray-haired stranger, lifting the form of the boy in his arms, and gazing into his face.

"He is not hurt; he is only in a dead faint, and I had better take him home at once," continued the old man, as he carried his burden to a light wagon that stood in the street in charge of a negro, and laid him carefully on the cushions. Then he got in himself, and took the boy's head upon his knees, and directed the negro to drive gently along the road leading to the weaver's. And with what infinite tenderness the stranger supported the light form; with what wistful interest he contemplated the livid young face. And so at an easy pace they reached the hill hut.

XXXVI. DARKNESS

With such wrong and woe exhausted, what I suffered and occasioned-- As a wild horse through a city, runs, with lightning in his eyes, And then dashing at a church's cold and passive wall impassioned, Strikes the death into his burning brain, and blindly drops and dies-- So I fell struck down before her! Do you blame me, friends, for weakness? 'Twas my strength of passion slew me! fell before her like a stone; Fast the dreadful world rolled from me, on its roaring wheels of blackness! When the light came, I was lying in this chamber--and alone.

--E.B. Browning.

Hannah Worth was sitting over her great wood fire and busily engaged in needlework when the door was gently pushed open and the gray-haired man entered, bearing the boy in his arms.

Hannah looked calmly up, then threw down her work and started from her chair, exclaiming:

"Reuben Gray! you back again! you! and--who have you got there--Ishmael? Good Heavens! what has happened to the poor boy?"

"Nothing to frighten you, Hannah, my dear; he has fainted, I think, that is all," answered Reuben gently, as he laid the boy carefully upon the bed.

"But, oh, my goodness, Reuben, how did it happen? where did you find him?" cried Hannah, frantically seizing first one hand and then the other of the fainting boy, and clapping and rubbing them vigorously.

"I picked him up on the Baymouth wharf about half an hour ago, Hannah, my dear, and--"

"The Baymouth wharf! that is out of all reason! Why it is not more than two hours since he started to go to Brudenell Hall," exclaimed Hannah, as she violently rubbed away at the boy's hands.

Reuben was standing patiently at the foot of the bed, with his hat in his hands, and he answered slowly:

"Well, Hannah, I don't know how that might be; but I know I picked him up where I said."

"But what caused all this, Reuben Gray? What caused it? that's what I want to know! can't you speak?" harshly demanded the woman, as she flew to her cupboard, seized a vinegar cruet, and began to bathe Ishmael's head and face with its stimulating contents.

"Well, Hannah, I couldn't tell exactly; but 'pears to me someone went off in the boat as he was a-pining after."

"Who went off in the boat?" asked Hannah impatiently.

"Law, Hannah, my dear, how can I tell? Why, there wasn't less than thirty or forty passengers, more or less, went off in that boat!"

"What do I care how many restless fools went off in the boat? Tell me about the boy!" snapped Hannah, as she once more ran to the cupboard, poured out a little precious brandy (kept for medicinal purposes) and came and tried to force a teaspoonful between Ishmael's lips.

"Hannah, woman, don't be so unpatient. Indeed, it wasn't my fault. I will tell you all I know about it."

"Tell me, then."

"I am going to. Well, you see, I had just taken some of the judge's luggage down to the boat and got it well on, and the boat had just started, and I was just a-getting into my cart again when I see a youth come a-tearin' down the street like mad, and he whips round the corner like a rush of wind, and streaks it down to the wharf and looks after the boat as if it was a-carrying off every friend he had upon the yeth; and then he stretches out both his arms and cries out aloud, and falls on his face like a tree cut down. And a crowd gathered, and someone said how the lad was your nephew, so I picked him up and laid him in my cart to bring him home. And I made Bob drive slow; and I bathed the boy's face and hands with some good whisky, and tried to make him swallow some; but it was no use."

While Reuben spoke, Ishmael gave signs of returning consciousness, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked around him.

"Drink this, my boy; drink this, my darling Ishmael," said Hannah, raising his head with one hand while she held the brandy to his lips with the other.

Ishmael obediently drank a little and then sank back upon his pillow. He gazed fixedly at Hannah for a few moments, and then suddenly threw his arms around her neck, as she stooped over him, and cried out in a voice piercing shrill with anguish:

"Oh, Aunt Hannah! she is gone; she is gone forever!"

"Who is gone, my boy?" asked Hannah sympathetically.

"Claudia! Claudia!" he wailed, covering his convulsed face with his hands.

"How, my ban upon Brudenell Hall and all connected with it!" exclaimed Hannah bitterly, as the hitherto unsuspected fact of Ishmael's fatal love flashed upon her mind; "my blackest ban upon Brudenell Hall and all its hateful race! It was built for the ruin of me and mine! I was a fool, a weak, wicked fool, ever to have allowed Ishmael to enter its unlucky doors! My curse upon them!"

The boy threw up his thin hand with a gesture of deprecation.

"Don't! don't! don't, Aunt Hannah! Every word you speak is a stab through my heart." And the sentence closed with a gasp and a sob, and he covered his face with his hands.

"What can I do for him?" said Hannah, appealing to Reuben.

"Nothing, my dear, but what you have done. Leave him alone to rest quietly. It is easy to see that he has been very much shaken both in body and hind; and perfect rest is the only thing as will help him," answered Gray.

Ishmael's hands covered his quivering face; but they saw that his bosom was heaving convulsively. He seemed to be struggling valiantly to regain composure. Presently, as if ashamed of having betrayed his weakness, he uncovered his face and said, in a faltering and interrupted voice:

"Dear Aunt Hannah, I am so sorry that I have disturbed you; excuse me; and let me lie here for half an hour to recover myself. I do not wish to be self-indulgent; but I am exhausted. I ran all the way from Brudenell Hall to Baymouth to get--to see--to see--" His voice broke down with a sob, he covered his face with his hands, and shook as with an ague.

"Never mind, my dear, don't try to explain; lie as long as you wish, and sleep if you can," said Hannah.

But Ishmael looked up again, and with recovered calmness, said:

"I will rest for half an hour, Aunt Hannah, no longer; and then I will get up and cut the wood, or do any work you want done."

"Very well, my boy," said Hannah, stooping and kissing him. Then she arranged the pillow, covered him up carefully, drew the curtains and came away and left him.

"He will be all right in a little while, Hannah, my dear," said Reuben, as he walked with her to the fireplace.

"Sit down there, Reuben, and tell me about yourself, and where you have been living all this time," said Hannah, seating herself in her arm-chair and pointing to another.

Reuben slowly took the seat and carefully deposited his hat on the floor by his side.

"I am sorry I spoke so sharply to you about the lad, Reuben; it was a thankless return for all your kindness in taking care of him and bringing him home; but indeed I am not thankless, Reuben; but I have grown to be a cross old woman," she said.

"Have you, indeed, Hannah, my dear?" exclaimed Reuben, raising his eyebrows in sincere astonishment and some consternation.

"It appears to me that you might see that I have," replied Hannah plainly.

"Well, no; seems to me, my dear, you're the same as you allers was, both as to looks and as to temper."

"I feel that I am very much changed. And so are you, Reuben! How gray your hair is!" she said, looking critically at her old admirer.

"Gray! I believe you! Ain't it though?" exclaimed Reuben, smiling, and running his fingers through his blanched locks.

"But you haven't told me all about yourself, yet; where you have been living; how you have been getting along, and what brought you back to this part of the country," said Hannah, with an air of deep interest.

"Why, Hannah, my dear, didn't you know all how and about it?"

"No; I heard long ago, of course, that you had got a place as overseer on the plantation of some rich gentleman up in the forest; but that was all; I never even heard the name of the place or the master."

"Well, now, that beats all! Why, Hannah, woman, as soon as I got settled, I set down and writ you a letter, and all how and about it, and axed you, if ever you changed your mind about what--about the--about our affairs, you know--to drop me a line and I'd come and marry you and the child, right out of hand, and fetch you both to my new home."

"I never got the letter."

"See that, now! Everything, even the post, goes to cross a feller's love! But Hannah, woman, if you had a-got the letter, would you a-called me back?" asked Gray eagerly.

"No, Reuben, certainly not," said Hannah decidedly.

"Then it is just as well you didn't get it," sighed this most faithful, though most unfortunate of suitors.

"Yes; just as well, Reuben," assented Hannah; "but that fact does not lessen my interests in your fortunes, and as I never got the letter I am still ignorant of your circumstances."

"Well, Hannah, my dear, I'm thankful as you feel any interest in me at all; and I'll tell you everything. Let me see, what was it you was wanting to know, now? all about myself; where I was living; how I was getting along; and what fotch me back here; all soon told, Hannah, my dear. First about myself: You see, Hannah, that day as you slammed the door in my face I felt so distressed in my mind as I didn't care what on earth became of me; first I thought I'd just 'list for a soldier; then I thought I'd ship for a sailor; last I thought I'd go and seek my fortun' in Californy; but then the idea of the girls having no protector but myself hindered of me; hows'evar, anyways I made up my mind, as come what would I'd leave the neighborhood first opportunity; and so, soon after, as I heard of a situation as overseer at Judge Merlin's plantation up in the forest of Prince George's County, I sets off and walks up there, and offers myself for the place; and was so fort'nate as to be taken; so I comes back and moves my family, bag and baggage, up there. Now as to the place where I live, it is called Tanglewood, and a tangle it is, as gets more and more tangled every year of its life. As to how I'm getting on, Hannah, I can't complain; for if I have to do very hard work, I get very good wages. As to what brought me back to the neighborhood, Hannah, it was to do some business for the judge, and to buy some stock for the farm. But there, my dear! that boy has slipped out, and is cutting the wood; I'll go and do it for him," said Reuben, as the sound of Ishmael's ax fell upon his ears.

Hannah arose and followed Gray to the door, and there before it stood Ishmael, chopping away at random, upon the pile of wood, his cheeks flushed with fever and his eyes wild with excitement.

"Hannah, he is ill; he is very ill; he doesn't well know what he is about," said Reuben, taking the ax from the boy's hand.

"Ishmael, Ishmael, my lad, come in; you are not well enough to work," said Hannah anxiously.

Ishmael yielded up the ax and suffered Reuben to draw him into the house.

"It is only that I am so hot and dizzy and weak, Mr. Middleton; but I am sure I shall be able to do it presently," said Ishmael apologetically, as he put his hand to his head and looked around himself in perplexity.

"I'll tell you what, the boy is out of his head, Hannah, and it's my belief as he's a going to have a bad illness," said Reuben, as he guided Ishmael to the bed and laid him on it.

"Oh, Reuben! what shall we do?" exclaimed Hannah.

"I don't know, child! wait a bit and see."

They had not long to wait; in a few hours Ishmael was burning with fever and raving with delirium.

"This is a-gwine to be a bad job! I'll go and fetch a doctor," said Reuben Gray, hurrying away for the purpose.

Reuben's words proved true. It was a "bad job." Severe study, mental excitement, disappointment and distress had done their work upon his extremely sensitive organization, and Ishmael was prostrated by illness.

We will not linger over the gloomy days that followed. The village doctor brought by Reuben was as skillful as if he had been the fashionable physician of a large city, and as attentive as if his poor young patient had been a millionaire. Hannah devoted herself with almost motherly love to the suffering boy; and Reuben remained in the neighborhood and came every day to fetch and carry, chop wood and bring water, and help Hannah to nurse Ishmael. And Hannah was absolutely reduced to the necessity of accepting his affectionate services. Mr. Middleton, as soon as he heard of his favorite's illness, hurried to the hut to inquire into Ishmael's condition and to offer every assistance in his power to render; and he repeated his visits as often as the great pressure of his affairs permitted him to do. Ishmael's illness was long protracted; Mr. Middleton's orders to vacate Brudenell Hall on or before the first day of February were peremptory; and thus it followed that the whole family removed from the neighborhood before Ishmael was in a condition to bid them farewell.

The day previous to their departure, however, Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, with Walter and Beatrice, came to take leave of him. As Mrs. Middleton stooped over the unconscious youth her tears fell fast and warm upon his face, so that in his fever dream he murmured:

"Claudia, it is beginning to rain, let us go in."

At this Beatrice burst into a flood of tears and was led away to the carriage by her father.

After the departure of the Middletons it was currently reported in the neighborhood that the arrival of Mr. Herman Brudenell was daily expected. Hannah became very much disturbed with an anxiety that was all the more wearing because she could not communicate it to anyone. The idea of remaining in the neighborhood with Mr. Brudenell, and being subjected to the chance of meeting him, was unsupportable to her; she would have been glad of any happy event that might take her off to a distant part of the State, and she resolved, in the event of poor Ishmael's death, to go and seek a home and service somewhere else. Reuben Gray stayed on; and in answer to all Hannah's remonstrances he said:

"It is of no use talking to me now, Hannah! You can't do without me, woman; and I mean to stop until the poor lad gets well or dies."

But our boy was not doomed to die; the indestructible vitality, the irrepressible elasticity of his delicate and sensitive organization, bore him through and above his terrible illness, and he passed the crisis safely and lived. After that turning point his recovery was rapid. It was a mild, dry mid-day in early spring that Ishmael walked out for the first time. He bent his steps to the old oak tree that overshadowed his mother's grave, and seated himself there to enjoy the fresh air while he reflected.

Ishmael took himself severely to task for what he called the blindness, the weakness, and the folly with which he had permitted himself to fall into a hopeless, mad, and nearly fatal passion for one placed so high above him that indeed he might as well have loved some "bright particular star," and hoped to win it. And here on the sacred turf of his mother's grave he resolved once for all to conquer this boyish passion, by devoting himself to the serious business of life.

Hannah and Reuben were left alone in the hut.

"Now, Reuben Gray," began Hannah, "no tongue can tell how much I feel your goodness to me and Ishmael; but, my good man, you mustn't stay in this neighborhood any longer; Ishmael is well and does not need you; and your employer's affairs are neglected and do need you. So, Reuben, my friend, you had better start home as soon as possible."

"Well, Hannah, my dear, I think so too, and I have thought so for the last week, only I did not like to hurry you," said Reuben acquiescently.

"Didn't like to hurry me, Reuben? how hurry me? I don't know what you mean," said Hannah, raising her eyes in astonishment.

"Why, I didn't know as you'd like to get ready so soon; or, indeed, whether the lad was able to bear the journey yet," said Reuben calmly and reflectively.

"Reuben, I haven't the least idea of your meaning."

"Why, law, Hannah, my dear, it seems to me it is plain enough; no woman likes to be hurried at such times, and I thought you wouldn't like to be neither; I thought you would like a little time to get up some little finery; and also the boy would be the better for more rest before taking of a long journey; but hows'ever, Hannah, if you don't think all these delays necessary, why I wouldn't be the man to be a-making of them. Because, to tell you the truth, considering the shortness of life, I think the delays have been long enough; and considering our age, I think we have precious little time to lose. I'm fifty-one years of age, Hannah; and you be getting on smart towards forty-four; and if we ever mean to marry in this world, I think it is about time, my dear."

"Reuben Gray, is that what you mean?"

"Sartin, Hannah! You didn't think I was a-going away again without you, did you now?"

"And so that was what you meant, was it?"

"That was what I meant, and that was what I still mean, Hannah, my dear."

"Then you must be a natural fool!" burst forth Hannah.

"Now stop o' that, my dear! 'taint a bit of use! all them hard words might o' fooled me years and years agone, when you kept me at such a distance that I had no chance of reading your natur'; but they can't fool me now, as I have been six weeks in constant sarvice here, Hannah, and obsarving of you close. Once they might have made me think you hated me; but now nothing you can say will make me believe but what you like old Reuben to-day just as well as you liked young Reuben that day we first fell in love long o' one another at the harvest home. And as for me, Hannah, the Lord knows I have never changed towards you. We always liked each other, Hannah, and we like each other still. So don't try to deceive yourself about it, for you can't deceive me!"

"Reuben Gray, why do you talk so to me?"

"Because it is right, dear."

"I gave you your answer years ago."

"I know you did, Hannah; because there were sartain circumstances, as you chose to elewate into obstacles against our marriage; but now, Hannah, all these obstacles are removed. Nancy and Peggy married and went to Texas years ago. And Kitty married and left me last summer. She and her husband have gone to Californy; where, they do tell me, that lumps of pure gold lay about the ground as plenty as stones do around here! Anyways, they've all gone! all the little sisters as I have worked for, and cared for, and saved for--all gone, and left me alone in my old age!"

"That was very ungrateful, and selfish, and cruel of them, Reuben! They should have taken you with them! At least little Kitty and her husband should have done so," said Hannah, with more feeling than she had yet betrayed.

"Law, Hannah, why little Kitty and her husband couldn't! Why, child, it takes mints and mints of money to pay for a passage out yonder to Californy! and it takes nine months to go the v'y'ge--they have to go all around Cape--Cape Hoof, no, Horn--Cape Horn! I knowed it wor somethin' relating to cattle. Yes, Hannah--hundreds of dollars and months of time do it take to go to that gold region! and so, 'stead o' them being able to take me out, I had to gather up all my savings to help 'em to pay their own passage."

"Poor Reuben! poor, poor Reuben!" said Hannah, with the tears springing to her eyes.

"Thank you, thank you, dear; but I shall not be poor Reuben, if you will be mine," whispered Gray.

"Reuben, dear, I would--indeed I would--if I were still young and good-looking; but I am not so, dear Reuben; I am middle-aged and plain."

"Well, Hannah, old sweetheart, while you have been growing older, have I been going bac'ards and growing younger? One would think so to hear you talk. No, Hannah! I think there is just about the same difference in our ages now as there was years ago; and besides, if you were young and handsome, Hannah, I would never do such a wrong as to ask you to be the wife of a poor old man like me! It is the fitness of our ages and circumstances, as well as our long attachment, that gives me the courage to ask you even at this late day, old friend, to come and cheer my lonely home. Will you do so, Hannah?"

"Reuben, do you really think that I could make you any happier than you are, or make your home any more comfortable than it is?" asked Hannah, in a low, doubting voice.

"Sartain, my dear."

"But, Reuben, I am not good-tempered like I used to be; I am very often cross; and--"

"That is because you have been all alone, with no one to care for you, Hannah, my dear. You couldn't be cross, with me to love you," said Reuben soothingly.

"But, indeed, I fear I should; it is my infirmity; I am cross even with Ishmael, poor dear lad."

"Well, Hannah, even if you was to be, I shouldn't mind it much. I don't want to boast, but I do hope as I've got too much manhood to be out of patience with women; besides, I aint easy put out, you know."

"No, you good fellow; I never saw you out of temper in my life."

"Thank you, Hannah! Then it's a bargain?"

"But, Reuben! about Ishmael?"

"Lord bless you, Hannah, why, I told you years ago, when the lad was a helpless baby, that he should be as welcome to me as a son of my own; and now, Hannah, at his age, with his larnin', he'll be a perfect treasure to me," said Reuben, brightening up.

"In what manner, Reuben?"

"Why, law, Hannah, you know I never could make any fist of reading, writing, and 'rithmetic; and so the keeping of the farm-books is just the one torment of my life. Little Kitty used to keep them for me before she was married (you know I managed to give the child a bit of schooling); but since she have been gone they haven't been half kept, and if I hadn't a good memory of my own I shouldn't be able to give no account of nothing. Now, Ishmael, you know, could put all the books to rights for me, and keep them to rights."

"If that be so, it will relieve my mind very much, Reuben," replied Hannah.

The appearance of Ishmael's pale face at the door put an end to the conversation for the time being. And Reuben took up his hat and departed.

That evening, after Reuben had bid them good-night, and departed to the neighbor's house where he slept, Hannah told Ishmael all about her engagement to Gray. And it was with the utmost astonishment the youth learned they were all to go to reside on the plantation of Judge Merlin--Claudia's father! Well! to live so near her house would make his duty to conquer his passion only the more difficult, but he was still resolved to effect his purpose.

Having once given her consent, Hannah would not compromise Reuben's interest with his employer by making any more difficulties or delays. She spent the remainder of that week in packing up the few effects belonging to herself and Ishmael. The boy himself employed his time in transplanting rosebushes from the cottage-garden to his mother's grave, and fencing it around with a rude but substantial paling. On Sunday morning Reuben and Hannah were married at the church; and on Monday they were to set out for their new home.

Early on Monday morning Ishmael arose and went out to take leave of his mother's grave; and, kneeling there, he silently renewed his vow to rescue her name from reproach and give it to honor.

Then he returned and joined the traveling party.

Before the cottage door stood Reuben's light wagon, in which were packed the trunks with their wearing apparel, the hamper with their luncheon, and all the little light effects which required care. Into this Gray placed Hannah and Ishmael, taking the driver's seat himself. A heavier wagon behind this one contained all Hannah's household furniture, including her loom and wheel and Ishmael's home-made desk and book-shelf, and in the driver's seat sat the negro man who had come down in attendance upon the overseer.

The Professor of Odd Jobs stood in the door of the hut, with his hat in his hand, waving adieu to the departing travelers. The professor had come by appointment to see them off and take the key of the hut to the overseer at the Hall.

The sun was just rising above the heights of Brudenell Hall and flooding all the vale with light. The season was very forward, and, although the month was March, the weather was like that of April. The sky was of that clear, soft, bright blue of early spring; the sun shone with dazzling splendor; the new grass was springing up everywhere, and was enameled with early violets and snow-drops; the woods were budding with the tender green of young vegetation. Distant, sunny hills, covered with apple or peach orchards all in blossom, looked like vast gardens of mammoth red and white rose trees.

Even to the aged spring brings renewal of life, but to the young--not even poets have words at command to tell what exhilaration, what ecstatic rapture, it brings to the young, who are also sensitive and sympathetic.

Ishmael was all these; his delicate organization was susceptible of intense enjoyment or suffering. He had never in his life been five miles from his native place; he had just risen from a sick-bed as from a grave; he was going to penetrate a little beyond his native round of hills, and see what was on the other side; the morning was young, the season was early, the world was fresh; this day seemed a new birth to Ishmael; this journey a new start in his life; he intensely enjoyed it all; to him all was delightful: the ride through the beautiful, green, blossoming woods; the glimpses of the blue sky through the quivering upper leaves; the shining of the sun; the singing of the birds; the fragrance of the flowers.

To him the waving trees seemed bending in worship, the birds trilling hymns of joy, and the flowers wafting offerings of incense! There are times when earth seems heaven and all nature worshipers. Ishmael was divinely happy; even the lost image of Claudia reappeared now surrounded with a halo of hope, for to-day aspirations seemed prophecies, will seemed power, and all things possible. And not on Ishmael alone beamed the blessed influence of the spring weather. Even Hannah's care-worn face was softened into contentment and enjoyment. As for Reuben's honest phiz, it was a sight to behold in its perfect satisfaction. Even the negro driver of the heavy wagon let his horses take their time as he raised his ear to catch some very delicate trill in a bird's song, or turned his head to inhale the perfume from some bank of flowers.

Onward they journeyed at their leisure through all that glad morning landscape.

At noon they stopped at a clearing around a cool spring in the woods, and while the negro fed and watered the horses, they rested and refreshed themselves with a substantial luncheon, and then strolled about through the shades until "Sam" had eaten his dinner, re-packed the hamper, and put the horses to the wagons again. And then they all returned to their seats and recommenced their journey.

On and on they journeyed through the afternoon; deeper and deeper they descended into the forest as the sun declined in the west. When it was on the edge of the horizon, striking long golden lines through the interstices of the woods, Hannah grew rather anxious, and she spoke up:

"It seems to me, Reuben, that we have come ten miles since we saw a house or a farm."

"Yes, my dear. We are now in the midst of the old forest of Prince George's, and our home is yet about five miles off. But don't be afraid, Hannah, woman; you have got me with you, and we will get home before midnight."

"I am only thinking of the runaway negroes, Reuben; they all take refuge in these thick woods, you know; and they are a very desperate gang; their hands against everybody and everybody's hands against them, you may say."

"True, Hannah; they are desperate enough, for they have everything to fear and nothing to hope, in a meeting with most of the whites; but there is no danger to us, child."

"I don't know; they murdered a harmless peddler last winter, and attacked a peaceable teamster this spring."

"Still, my dear, there is no danger; we have a pair of double-barreled pistols loaded, and also a blunderbuss; and we are three men, and you are as good as a fourth; so don't be afraid."

Hannah was silenced, if not reassured.

They journeyed on at a rate as fast as the rather tired horses could be urged to make. When the sun had set it grew dark, very dark in the forest. There was no moon; and although it was a clear, starlight night, yet that did not help them much. They had to drive very slowly and carefully to avoid accidents, and it was indeed midnight when they drove up to the door of Hannah's new home. It was too dark to see more of it than that it was a two-storied white cottage with a vine-clad porch, and that it stood in a garden on the edge of the wood.

XXXVII. THE NEW HOME

It is a quiet picture of delight, The humble cottage, hiding from the sun In the thick woods. You see it not till then, When at its porch. Rudely, but neatly wrought, Four columns make its entrance; slender shafts, The rough bark yet upon them, as they came From the old forest. Prolific vines Have wreathed them well and half obscured the rinds Original, that wrap them. Crowding leaves Or glistening green, and clustering bright flowers Of purple, in whose cups, throughout the day, The humming bird wantons boldly, wave around And woo the gentle eye and delicate touch. This is the dwelling, and 'twill be to them Quiet's especial temple.

--W.G. Simms.

"Welcome home, Hannah! welcome home, dearest woman! No more hard work now, Hannah! and no more slaving at the everlasting wheel and loom! Nothing to do but your own pretty little house to keep, and your own tidy servant girl to look after! And no more anxiety about the future, Hannah; for you have me to love you and care for you! Ah, dear wife! this is a day I have looked forward to through all the gloom and trouble of many years. Thank God, it has come at last, more blessed than I ever hoped it would be, and I welcome you home, my wife!" said Reuben Gray, as he lifted his companion from the wagon, embraced her, and led her through the gate into the front yard.

"Oh, you dear, good Reuben, what a nice, large house this is! so much better than I had any reason to expect," said Hannah, in surprise and delight.

"You'll like it better still by daylight, my dear," answered Gray.

"How kind you are to me, dear Reuben."

"It shall always be my greatest pleasure to be so, Hannah."

A negro girl at this moment appeared at the door with a light, and the husband and wife entered the house.

Ishmael sprang down from his seat, stretched his cramped limbs, and gazed about him with all the curiosity and interest of a stranger in a strange scene.

The features of the landscape, as dimly discerned by starlight, were simple and grand.

Behind him lay the deep forest from which they had just emerged. On its edge stood the white cottage, surrounded by its garden. Before him lay the open country, sloping down to the banks of a broad river, whose dark waves glimmered in the starlight.

So this was Judge Merlin's estate--and Claudia's birthplace!

"Well, Ishmael, are you waiting for an invitation to enter? Why, you are as welcome as Hannah herself, and you couldn't be more so!" exclaimed the hearty voice of Reuben Gray, as he returned almost immediately after taking Hannah in.

"I know it, Uncle Reuben. You are very good to me; and I do hope to make myself very useful to you," replied the boy.

"You'll be a fortun' to me, lad--an ample fortun' to me! But why don't you go in out of the midnight air? You ain't just as strong as Samson, yet, though you're agwine to be," said Gray cheerily.

"I only stopped to stretch my limbs, and--to help in with the luggage," said Ishmael, who was always thoughtful, practical, and useful, and who now stopped to load himself with Hannah's baskets and bundles before going into the house.

"Now, then, Sam," said Gray, turning to the negro, "look sharp there! Bring in the trunks and boxes from the light wagon; take the furniture from the heavy one, and pile it in the shed, where it can stay until morning; put both on 'em under cover, feed and put up the horses; and then you can go to your quarters."

The negro bestirred himself to obey these orders, and Reuben Gray and Ishmael entered the cottage garden.

They passed up a gravel walk bordered each side with lilac bushes, and entered by a vine-shaded porch into a broad passage, that ran through the middle of the house from the front to the back door.

"There are four large rooms on this floor, Ishmael, and this is the family sitting room," said Gray, opening a door on his right.

It was a very pleasant front room, with a bright paper on its walls, a gay homespun carpet on the floor; pretty chintz curtains at the two front windows; chintz covers of the same pattern on the two easy-chairs and the sofa; a bright fire burning in the open fireplace, and a neat tea-table set out in the middle of the floor.

But Hannah was nowhere visible.

"She has gone in her room, Ishmael, to take off her bonnet; it is the other front one across the passage, just opposite to this; and as she seems to be taking of her time, I may as well show you your'n, Ishmael. Just drop them baskets down anywhere, and come with me, my lad," said Gray, leading the way into the passage and up the staircase to the second floor. Arrived there, he opened a door, admitting himself and his companion into a chamber immediately over the sitting-room.

"This is your'n, Ishmael, and I hope as you'll find it comfortable and make yourself at home," said Reuben, hastily, as he introduced Ishmael to this room.

It was more rudely furnished than the one below. There was no carpet except the strip laid down by the bedside; the bed itself was very plain, and covered with a patchwork quilt; the two front windows were shaded with dark green paper blinds; and the black walnut bureau, washstand, and chairs were very old. Yet all was scrupulously clean; and everywhere were evidences that the kindly care of Reuben Gray had taken pains to discover Ishmael's habits and provide for his necessities. For instance, just between the front windows stood an old-fashioned piece of furniture, half book-case and half writing-desk, and wholly convenient, containing three upper shelves well filled with books, a drawer full of stationery, and a closet for waste paper.

Ishmael walked straight up to this.

"Why, where did you get this escritoire, and all these books, Uncle Reuben?" he inquired, in surprise.

"Why, you see, Ishmael, the screwtwar, as you call it, was among the old furnitur' sent down from the mansion-house here, to fit up this place when I first came into it; you see, the housekeeper up there sends the cast-off furniture to the overseer, same as she sends the cast-off finery to the niggers."

"But the books, Uncle Reuben; they are all law books," said the boy, examining them.

"Exactly; and that's why I was so fort'nate as to get 'em. You see, I was at the sale at Colonel Mervin's to see if I could pick up anything nice for Hannah; and I sees a lot of books sold--laws! why, the story books all went off like wildfire; but when it come to these, nobody didn't seem to want 'em. So I says to myself: These will do to fill up the empty shelves in the screwtwar, and I dare say as our Ishmael would vally them. So I up and bought the lot for five dollars; and sent 'em up here by Sam, with orders to put 'em in the screwtwar, and move the screwtwar out'n the sitting room into this room, as I intended for you."

"Ah, Uncle Reuben, how good you are to me! Everybody is good to me."

"Quite nat'rel, Ishmael, since you are useful to everybody. And now, my lad, I'll go and send Sam up with your box. And when you have freshed up a bit you can come down to supper," said Gray, leaving Ishmael in possession of his room.

In a few minutes after the negro Sam brought in the box that contained all Ishmael's worldly goods.

"Missus Gray say how the supper is all ready, sir," said the man, setting down the box.

As Ishmael was also quite ready, he followed the negro downstairs into the sitting room.

Hannah was already in her seat at the head of the table; while behind her waited a neat colored girl. Reuben stood at the back of his own chair at the foot of the table, waiting for Ishmael before seating himself. When the boy took his own place, Reuben asked a blessing, and the meal commenced. The tired travelers did ample justice to the hot coffee, broiled ham and eggs and fresh bread and butter before them.

After supper they separated for the night.

Ishmael went up to his room and went to bed, so very tired that his head was no sooner laid upon his pillow than his senses were sunk in sleep.

He was awakened by the caroling of a thousand birds. He started up, a little confused at first by finding himself in a strange room; but as memory quickly returned he sprang from his bed and went and drew up his blind and looked out from his window.

It was early morning; the sun was just rising and flooding the whole landscape with light. A fine, inspiring scene lay before him--orchards of apple, peach, and cherry trees in full blossom; meadows of white and red clover; fields of wheat and rye, in their pale green hue of early growth; all spreading downwards towards the banks of the mighty Potomac that here in its majestic breadth seemed a channel of the sea; while far away across the waters, under the distant horizon, a faint blue line marked the southern shore.

Sailing up and down the mighty river were ships of all nations, craft of every description, from the three-decker East India merchantman, going or returning from her distant voyage, to the little schooner-rigged fishermen trading up and down the coast. These were the sights. The songs of birds, the low of cattle, the hum of bees, and the murmur of the water as it washed the sands--these were the sounds. All the joyous life of land, water, and sky seemed combined at this spot and visible from this window.

"This is a pleasant place to live in; thank the Lord for it!" said Ishmael fervently, as he stood gazing from the window. Not long, however, did the youth indulge his love of nature; he turned away, washed and dressed himself quickly and went downstairs to see if he could be useful.

The windows were open in the sitting room, which was filled with the refreshing fragrance of the lilacs. The breakfast table was set; and Phillis, the colored girl, was bringing in the coffee. Almost at the same moment Hannah entered from the kitchen and Reuben from the garden.

"Good-morning, Ishmael!" said Reuben gayly. "How do you like Woodside? Woodside is the name of our little home, same as Tanglewood is the name of the judge's house, a half a mile back in the forest, you know. How do you like it by daylight?"

"Oh, very much, indeed, uncle. Don't you like it, Aunt Hannah? Isn't it pleasant?" exclaimed the youth, appealing to Mrs. Gray.

"Very pleasant, indeed, Ishmael!" she said. "Ah, Reuben," she continued, turning to her husband, "you never let me guess what a delightful home you were bringing me to! I had no idea but that it was just like the cottages of other overseers that I have known--a little house of two or three small rooms."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Gray, "I knew you too well, Hannah! I knew if I had let you know how well off I was, you would never have taken me; your pride would have been up in arms and you would have thought besides as how I was comfortable enough without you, which would have been an idee as I never could have got out of your head! No, Hannah, I humored your pride, and let you think as how you were marrying of a poor, miserable, desolate old man, as would be apt to die of neglect and privations if you didn't consent to come and take care of him. And then I comforted myself with thinking what a pleasant surprise I had in store for you when I should fetch you here. Enjoy yourself, dear woman! for there isn't a thing as I have done to this house I didn't do for your sake!"

"But, Reuben, how is it that you have so much better a house than other men of your station ever have?"

"Well, Hannah, my dear, it is partly accident and partly design in the judge. You see, this house used to be the mansion of the planters theirselves, until the present master, when he was first married, built the great house back in the woods, and then, 'stead of pulling this one down, he just 'pointed it to be the dwelling of the overseer; for it is the pleasure of the judge to make all his people as comfortable as it is possible for them to be," answered Reuben. As he spoke, Phillis placed the last dish upon the table, and they all took their seats and commenced breakfast.

As soon as the meal was over, Ishmael said:

"Now, Uncle Reuben, if you will give me those farm books you were wanting me to arrange, I will make a commencement."

"No, you won't, Ishmael, my lad. You have worked yourself nearly to death this winter and spring, and now, please the Lord, you shall do no more work for a month. When I picked you up for dead that day, I promised the Almighty Father to be a father to you; so, Ishmael, you must regard me as such, when I tell you that you are to let the books alone for a whole month longer, until your health is restored. So just get your hat and come with us; I am going to show your aunt over the place."

Ishmael smiled and obeyed. And all three went out together. And oh! with how much pride Reuben displayed the treasures of her little place to his long-loved Hannah. He showed her her cows and pigs and sheep; and her turkeys and geese and hens; and her beehives and garden and orchard.

"And this isn't all, either, Hannah, my dear! We can have as much as we want for family use, of all the rare fruits and vegetables from the greenhouses and hotbeds up at Tanglewood; and, besides that, we have the freedom of the fisheries and the oyster beds, too; so you see, my dear, you will live like any queen! Thank the Lord!" said Reuben, reverently raising his hat.

"And oh, Reuben, to think that you should have saved all this happiness for me, poor, faded, unworthy me!" sighed his wife.

"Why, law, Hannah, who else should I have saved it for but my own dear old sweetheart? I never so much as thought of another."

"With all these comforts about you, you might have married some blooming young girl."

"Lord, dear woman, I ha'n't much larnin', nor much religion, more's the pity; but I hope I have conscience enough to keep me from doing any young girl so cruel a wrong as to tempt her to throw away her youth and beauty on an old man like me; and I am sure I have sense enough to prevent me from doing myself so great an injustice as to buy a young wife, who, in the very natur' of things, would be looking for'ard to my death as the beginning of her life; for I've heard as how the very life of a woman is love, and if the girl-wife cannot love her old husband--Oh, Hannah, let us drop the veil--the pictur' is too sickening to look at. Such marriages are crimes. Ah, Hannah, in the way of sweethearting, age may love youth, but youth can't love age. And another thing I am sartin' sure of--as a young girl is a much more delicate cre'tur' than a young man, it must be a great deal harder for her to marry an old man than it would be for him to marry an old woman, though either would be horrible."

"You seem to have found this out somehow, Reuben."

"Well, yes, my dear; it was along of a rich old fellow, hereaway, as fell in love with my little Kitty's rosy cheeks and black eyes, and wanted to make her Mrs. Barnabas Winterberry. And I saw how that girl was at the same time tempted by his money and frightened by his age; and how in her bewitched state, half-drawn and half-scared, she fluttered about him, for all the world like a humming-bird going right into the jaws of a rattlesnake. Well, I questioned little Kitty, and she answered me in this horrid way--'Why, brother, he must know I can't love him; for how can I? But still he teases me to marry him, and I can do that; and why shouldn't I, if he wants me to?' Then in a whisper--'You know, brother, it wouldn't be for long; because he is ever so old, and he would soon die; and then I should be a rich young widow, and have my pick and choose out of the best young men in the country side.' Such, Hannah, was the evil state of feeling to which that old man's courtship had brought my simple little sister! And I believe in my soul it is the natural state of feeling into which every young girl falls who marries an old man."

"That is terrible, Reuben."

"Sartinly it is."

"What did you say to your sister?"

"Why, I didn't spare the feelings of little Kitty, nor her doting suitor's nyther, and that I can tell you! I talked to little Kitty like a father and mother, both; I told her well what a young traitress she was a-planning to be; and how she was fooling herself worse than she was deceiving her old beau, who had got into the whit-leathar age, and would be sartin' sure to live twenty-five or thirty years longer, till she would be an old woman herself, and I so frightened her, by telling her the plain truth in the plainest words, that she shrank from seeing her old lover any more, and begged me to send him about his business. And I did, too, 'with a flea in his ear,' as the saying is; for I repeated to him every word as little Kitty had said to me, as a warning to him for the futur' not to go tempting any more young girls to marry him for his money and then wish him dead for the enjoyment of it."

"I hope it did him good."

"Why, Hannah, he went right straight home, and that same day married his fat, middle-aged housekeeper, who, to tell the solemn truth, he ought to have married twenty years before! And as for little Kitty, thank Heaven! she was soon sought as a wife by a handsome young fellow, who was suited to her in every way, and who really did love her and win her love; and they were married and went to Californy, as I told you. Well, after I was left alone, the neighboring small farmers with unprovided daughters, seeing how comfortable I was fixed, would often say to me--'Gray, you ought to marry.' 'Gray, why don't you marry?' 'Gray, your nice little place only needs one thing to make it perfect, a nice little wife.' 'Why don't you drop in and see the girls some evening, Gray? They would always be glad to see you.' And all that. I understood it all, Hannah, my dear; but I didn't want any young girls who would marry me only for a home. And, besides, the Lord knows I never thought of any woman, young or old, except yourself, who was my first love and my only one, and whose whole life was mixed up with my own, as close as ever warp and woof was woven in your webs, Hannah."

"You have been more faithful to me than I deserved, Reuben; but I will try to make you happy," said Hannah, with much emotion.

"You do make me happy, dear, without trying. And now where is Ishmael?" inquired Reuben, who never in his own content forgot the welfare of others.

Ishmael was walking slowly and thoughtfully at some distance behind them. Reuben called after him:

"Walk up, my lad. We are going in to dinner now; we dine at noon, you know."

Ishmael, who had lingered behind from the motives of delicacy that withheld him from intruding on the confidential conversation of the newly-married pair, now quickened his steps and joined them, saying, with a smile:

"Uncle Reuben, when you advised me not to study for a whole month you did not mean to counsel me to rust in idleness for four long weeks? I must work, and I wish you would put me to that which will be the most useful to you."

"And most benefital to your own health, my boy! What would you say to fishing? Would that meet your wishes?"

"Oh, I should like that very much, if I could really be of use in that way, Uncle Reuben," said the youth.

"Why, of course you could; now I'll tell you what you can do; you can go this afternoon with Sam in the sailboat as far down the river as Silver Sands, where he hopes to hook some fine rock fish. Would that meet your views?"

"Exactly," laughed Ishmael, as his eyes danced with the eagerness of youth for the sport.

They went into the house, where Phillis had prepared a nice dinner, of bacon and sprouts and apple dumplings, which the whole party relished.

Afterwards Ishmael started on his first fishing voyage with Sam. And though it was a short one, it had for him all the charms of novelty added to the excitement of sport, and he enjoyed the excursion excessively. The fishing was very successful, and they filled their little boat and got back home by sunset. At supper Ishmael gave a full account of the expedition and received the hearty congratulations of Reuben. And thus ended the holiday of their first day at home.

The next morning Reuben Gray went into the fields to resume his oversight of his employer's estate.

Hannah turned in to housework, and had all the furniture she had brought from the hill hut moved into the cottage and arranged in one of the empty rooms upstairs.

Ishmael, forbidden to study, employed himself in useful manual labor in the garden and in the fields.

And thus in cheerful industry passed the early days of spring.

XXXVIII. ISHMAEL'S STRUGGLES

Yet must my brow be paler! I have vowed To clip it with the crown that shall not fade When it is faded. Not in vain ye cry, Oh, glorious voices, that survive the tongue From whence was drawn your separate sovereignty, For I would stand beside you!

--E.B. Browning.

Ishmael continued his work, yet resumed his studies. He managed to do both in this way--all the forenoon he delved in the garden; all the afternoon he went over the chaotic account-books of Reuben Gray, to bring them into order; and all the evening he studied in his own room. He kept up his Greek and Latin. And he read law.

No time to dream of Claudia now.

One of the wisest of our modern philosophers says that we are sure to meet with the right book at the right time. Now whether it were chance, fate, or Providence that filled the scanty shelves of the old escritoire with a few law books, is not known; but it is certain that their presence there decided the career of Ishmael Worth.

As a young babe, whose sole object in life is to feed, pops everything it can get hold of into its mouth, so this youthful aspirant, whose master-passion was the love of learning, read everything he could lay his hands on. Prompted by that intellectual curiosity which ever stimulated him to examine every subject that fell under his notice, Ishmael looked into the law books. They were mere text-books, probably the discarded property of some young student of the Mervin family, who had never got beyond the rudiments of the profession; but had abandoned it as a "dry study."

Ishmael did not find it so, however. The same ardent soul, strong mind, and bright spirit that had found "dry history" an inspiring heroic poem, "dry grammar" a beautiful analysis of language, now found "dry law" the intensely interesting science of human justice. Ishmael read diligently, for the love of his subject!--at first it was only for the love of his subject, but after a few weeks of study he began to read with a fixed purpose--to become a lawyer. Of course Ishmael Worth was no longer unconscious of his own great intellectual power; he had measured himself with the best educated youth of the highest rank, and he had found himself in mental strength their master. So when he resolved to become a lawyer, he felt a just confidence that he should make a very able one. Of course, with his clear perceptions and profound reflections he saw all the great difficulties in his way; but they did not dismay him. His will was as strong as his intellect, and he knew that, combined, they would work wonders, almost miracles.

Indeed, without strength of will, intellect is of very little effect; for if intellect is the eye of the soul, will is the hand; intellect is wisdom, but will is power; intellect may be the monarch, but will is the executive minister. How often we see men of the finest intellect fail in life through weakness of will! How often also we see men of very moderate intellect succeed through strength of will!

In Ishmael Worth intellect and will were equally strong. And when in that poor chamber he set himself down to study law, upon his own account, with the resolution to master the profession and to distinguish himself in it, he did so with the full consciousness of the magnitude of the object and of his own power to attain it. Day after day he worked hard, night after night he studied diligently.

Ishmael did not think this a hardship; he did not murmur over his poverty, privations, and toil; no, for his own bright and beautiful spirit turned everything to light and loveliness. He did not, indeed, in the pride of the Pharisee, thank God that he was not as other men; but he did feel too deeply grateful for the intellectual power bestowed upon him, to murmur at the circumstances that made it so difficult to cultivate that glorious gift.

One afternoon, while they were all at tea, Reuben Gray said:

"Now, Ishmael, my lad, Hannah and me are going over to spend the evening at Brown's, who is overseer at Rushy Shore; and you might's well go with us; there's a nice lot o' gals there. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Uncle Reuben, but I wish to read this evening," said the youth.

"Now, Ishmael, what for should you slave yourself to death?"

"I don't, uncle. I work hard, it is true; but then, you know, youth is the time for work, and besides I like it," said the young fellow cheerfully.

"Well, but after hoeing and weeding and raking and planting in the garden all the morning, and bothering your brains over them distracting 'count books all the afternoon, what's the good of your going and poring over them stupid books all the evening?"

"You will see the good of it some of these days, Uncle Reuben," laughed Ishmael.

"You will wear yourself out before that day comes, my boy, if you are not careful," answered Reuben.

"I always said the fetched books would be his ruin, and now I know it," put in Hannah.

Ishmael laughed good-humoredly; but Reuben sighed.

"Ishmael, my lad," he said, "if you must read, do, pray, read in the forenoon, instead of working in the garden."

"But what will become of the garden?" inquired Ishmael, with gravity.

"Oh, I can put one of the nigger boys into it."

"And have to pay for his time and not have the work half done at last."

"Well, I had rather it be so, than you should slave yourself to death."

"Oh, but I do not slave myself to death! I like to work in the garden, and I am never happier than when I am engaged there; the garden is beautiful, and the care of it is a great pleasure as well as a great benefit to me; it gives me all the outdoor exercise and recreation that I require to enable me to sit at my writing or reading all the rest of the day."

"Ah, Ishmael, my lad, who would think work was recreation except you? But it is your goodness of heart that turns every duty into a delight," said Reuben Gray; and he was not very far from the truth.

"It is his obstinacy as keeps him everlasting a-working himself to death! Reuben Gray, Ishmael Worth is one of the obstinatest boys that ever you set your eyes on! He has been obstinate ever since he was a baby," said Hannah angrily. And her mind reverted to that old time when the infant Ishmael would live in defiance of everybody.

"I do believe as Ishmael would be as firm as a rock in a good cause; but I don't believe that he could be obstinate in a bad one," said Reuben decidedly.

"Yes, he could! else why does he persist in staying home this evening when we want him to go with us?" complained Hannah.

Now, strength of will is not necessarily self-will. Firmness of purpose is not always implacability. The strong need not be violent in order to prove their strength. And Ishmael, firmly resolved as he was to devote every hour of his leisure to study, knew very well when to make an exception to his rule, and sacrifice his inclinations to his duty. So he answered:

"Aunt Hannah, if you really desire me to go with you, I will do so of course."

"I want you to go because I think you stick too close to your books, you stubborn fellow; and because I know you haven't been out anywhere for the last two months; and because I believe it would do you good to go," said Mrs. Gray.

"All right, Aunt Hannah. I will run upstairs and dress," laughed Ishmael, leaving the tea-table.

"And be sure you put on your gold watch and chain," called out Hannah.

Hannah also arose and went to her room to change her plain brown calico gown for a fine black silk dress and mantle that had been Reuben Gray's nuptial present to her, and a straw bonnet trimmed with blue.

In a few minutes Ishmael, neatly attired, joined her in the parlor.

"Have you put on your watch, Ishmael?"

"Yes, Aunt Hannah; but I'm wearing it on a guard. I don't like to wear the chain; it is too showy for my circumstances. You wear it, Aunt Hannah; and always wear it when you go out; it looks beautiful over your black silk dress," said Ishmael, as he put the chain around Mrs. Gray's neck and contemplated the effect.

"What a good boy you are!" said Hannah; but she would not have been a woman if she had not been pleased with the decoration.

Reuben Gray came in, arrayed in his Sunday suit, and smiled to see how splendid Hannah was, and then drawing his wife's arm proudly within his own, and calling Ishmael to accompany them, set off to walk a mile farther up the river and spend a festive evening with his brother overseer. They had a pleasant afternoon stroll along the pebbly beach of the broad waters. They sauntered at their leisure, watching the ships sail up or down the river; looking at the sea-fowl dart up from the reeds and float far away; glancing at the little fish leaping up and disappearing in the waves; and pausing once in a while to pick up a pretty shell or stone; and so at last they reached the cottage of the overseer Brown, which stood just upon the point of a little promontory that jutted out into the river.

They spent a social evening with the overseer and his wife and their half a dozen buxom boys and girls. And about ten o'clock they walked home by starlight.

Twice a week Reuben Gray went up the river to a little waterside hamlet called Shelton to meet the mail. Reuben's only correspondent was his master, who wrote occasionally to make inquiries or to give orders. The day after his evening out was the regular day for Reuben to go to the post office.

So immediately after breakfast Reuben mounted the white cob which he usually rode and set out for Shelton.

He was gone about two hours, and returned with a most perplexed countenance. Now "the master's" correspondence had always been a great bother to Reuben. It took him a long time to spell out the letters and a longer time to indite the answers. So the arrival of a letter was always sure to unsettle him for a day or two. Still, that fact did not account for the great disturbance of mind in which he reached home and entered the family sitting-room.

"What's the matter, Reuben? Any bad news?" anxiously inquired Hannah.

"N-n-o, not exactly bad news; but a very bad bother," said Gray, sitting down in the big arm-chair and wiping the perspiration from his heated face.

"What is it, Reuben?" pursued Hannah.

"Where's Ishmael?" inquired Gray, without attempting to answer her question.

"Working in the garden, of course. But why can't you tell me what's the matter?"

"Botheration is the matter, Hannah, my dear. Just go call Ishmael to me."

Hannah left the house to comply with his request, and Reuben sat and wiped his face and pondered over his perplexities. Reuben had lately given to rely very much upon Ishmael's judgment, and to appeal to him in all his difficulties. So he looked up in confidence as the youth entered with Hannah.

"What is it, Uncle Reuben?" inquired the boy cheerfully.

"The biggest botheration as ever was, Ishmael, my lad!" answered Gray.

"Well, take a mug of cool cider to refresh yourself, and then tell me all about it," said Ishmael.

Hannah ran and brought the invigorating drink, and after quaffing it Gray drew a long breath and said:

"Why, I've got the botherationest letter from the judge as ever was. He says how he has sent down a lot of books, as will be landed at our landing by the schooner 'Canvas Back,' Capt'n Miller; and wants me to take the cart and go and receive them, and carry them up to the house, and ask the housekeeper for the keys of the liber-airy and put them in there," said Reuben, pausing for breath.

"Why, that is not much bother, Uncle Reuben. Let me go and get the books for you," smiled Ishmael.

"Law, it aint that; for I don't s'pose it's much more trouble to cart books than it is to cart bricks. You didn't hear me out: After I have got the botheration things into the liber-airy, he wants me to unpack them, and also take down the books as is there already, and put the whole lot on 'em in the middle of the floor, and then pick 'em out and 'range 'em all in separate lots, like one would sort vegetables for market, and put each sort all together on a different shelf, and then write all their names in a book, all regular and in exact order! There, now, that's the work as the judge has cut out for me, as well as I can make out his meaning from his hard words and crabbed hand; and I no more fit to do it nor I am to write a sarmon or to build a ship; and if that aint enough, to bother a man's brains I don't know what is, that's all."

"But it is no part of your duty as overseer to act as his librarian," said Ishmael.

"I know it aint; but, you see, the judge he pays me liberal, and he gives me a fust-rate house and garden, and the liberty of his own orchards and vineyards, and a great many other privileges besides, and he expects me to 'commodate him in turn by doing of little things as isn't exactly in the line of my duty," answered Gray.

"But," demurred Ishmael, "he ought to have known that you were not precisely fitted for this new task he has set you."

"Well, my lad, he didn't; 'cause, you see, the gals as I edicated, you know, they did everything for me as required larning, like writing letters and keeping 'counts; and as for little Kitty, she used to do them beautiful, for Kitty was real clever; and I do s'pose the judge took it for granted as the work was all my own, and so he thinks I can do this job too. Now, if the parish school wa'n't broke up for the holidays, I might get the schoolmaster to do it for me and pay him for it; but, you see, he is gone North to visit his mother and he won't be back until September, so the mischief knows what I shall do. I thought I'd just ask your advice, Ishmael, because you have got such a wonderful head of your own."

"Thank you, Uncle Reuben. Don't you be the least distressed. I can do what is required to be done, and do it in a manner that shall give satisfaction, too," said Ishmael.

"You! you, my boy! could you do that everlasting big botheration of a job?"

"Yes, and do it well, I hope."

"Why, I don't believe the professor himself could!" exclaimed Gray, in incredulous astonishment.

"Nor I, either," laughed Ishmael; "but I know that I can."

"But, my boy, it is such a task!"

"I should like it, of all things, Uncle Reuben! You could not give me a greater treat than the privilege of overhauling all those books and putting them in order and making the catalogue," said the youth eagerly.

And besides he was going to Claudia's house!

Reuben looked more and more astonished as Ishmael went on; but Hannah spoke up:

"You may believe him, Reuben! He is book-mad; and it is my opinion, that when he gets into that musty old library, among the dusty books, he will fancy himself in heaven."

Reuben looked from the serious face of Hannah to the smiling eyes of Ishmael, and inquired doubtfully:

"Is that the truth, my boy?"

"Something very near it, Uncle Reuben," answered Ishmael.

"Very well, my lad," exclaimed the greatly relieved overseer, gleefully slapping his knees, "very well! as sure as you are horn, you shall go to your heaven."

XXXIX. ISHMAEL IN TANGLEWOOD

Into a forest far, they thence him led Where stood the mansion in a pleasant glade, With great hills round about environed And mighty woods which did the valley shade, And like a stately theater it made, Spreading itself into a spacious plain, And in the midst a little river played Amongst the pumy stones which seemed to 'plain With gentle murmur that his course they did restrain.

--Spenser.

The next morning Ishmael Worth went down to the shore, carrying' a spy-glass to look out for the "Canvas Back." There was no certainty about the passing of these sailing packets; a dead calm or a head wind might delay them for days and even weeks; but on this occasion there was no disappointment and no delay, the wind had been fair and the little schooner was seen flying before it up the river. Ishmael seated himself upon the shore and drew a book from his pocket to study while he waited for the arrival of the schooner. In less than an hour she dropped anchor opposite the landing, and sent off a large boat laden with boxes, and rowed by four stout seamen. As they reached the sands Ishmael blew a horn to warn Reuben Gray of their arrival.

Three or four times the boat went back and forth between the schooner and the shore, each time bringing a heavy load. By the time the last load was brought and deposited upon the beach, Reuben Gray arrived at the spot with his team. The sailors received a small gratuity from Gray and returned to the schooner, which immediately raised anchor and continued her way up the river.

Ishmael, Reuben, and Sam, the teamster, loaded the wagon with the boxes and set out for Tanglewood, Sam driving the team, Ishmael and Reuben walking beside it.

Through all the fertile and highly cultivated fields that lay along the banks of the river they went, until they reached the borders of the forest, where Reuben's cottage stood. They did not pause here, but passed it and entered the forest. What a forest it was! They had scarcely entered it when they became so buried in shade that they might have imagined themselves a thousand miles deep in some primeval wilderness, where never the foot of man had trod. The road along which they went was grass-grown. The trees, which grew to an enormous size and gigantic height, interwove their branches thickly overhead. Sometimes these branches intermingled so low that they grazed the top of the wagon as it passed, while men and horses had to bow their heads.

"Why isn't this road cleared, Uncle Reuben?" inquired Ishmael.

"Because it is as much as a man's place is worth to touch a tree in this forest, Ishmael," replied Reuben.

"But why is that? The near branches of these trees need lopping away from the roadside; we can scarcely get along."

"I know it, Ishmael; but the judge won't have a tree in Tanglewood so much as touched; it is his crochet."

"True, for you, Marse Gray," spoke up Sam; "last time I trimmed away the branches from the sides of this here road, ole marse threatened if I cut off so much as a twig from one of the trees again he'd take off a joint of one of my fingers to see how I'd like to be 'trimmed', he said."

Ishmael laughed and remarked:

"But the road will soon be closed unless the trees are cut away."

"Sartin it will; but he don't care for consequences; he will have his way; that's the reason why he never could keep any overseer but me; there was always such a row about the trees and things, as he always swore they should grow as they had a mind to, in spite of all the overseers in the world. I let him have his own will; it's none of my business to contradict him," said Reuben.

"But what will you do when the road closes, how will you manage to get heavy boxes up to the house?" laughed Ishmael.

"Wheel 'em up in a hand-barrow, I s'pose, and if the road gets too narrow for that, unpack 'em and let the niggers tote the parcels up piece-meal."

Thicker and thicker grew the trees as they penetrated deeper into the forest; more obstructed and difficult became the road. Suddenly, without an instant's warning, they came upon the house, a huge, square building of gray stone, so overgrown with moss, ivy, and creeping vines that scarcely a glimpse of the wall could be seen. Its colors, therefore, blended so well with the forest trees that grew thickly and closely around it, that one could scarcely suspect the existence of a building there.

"Here we are," said Reuben, while Sam dismounted and began to take off the boxes.

The front door opened and a fat negro woman, apparently startled by the arrival of the wagon, made her appearance, asking:

"What de debbil all dis, chillun?"

"Here are some books that are to be put into the library, Aunt Katie, and this young man is to unpack and arrange them," answered the overseer.

"More books: my hebbinly Lord, what ole marse want wid more books, when he nebber here to read dem he has got?" exclaimed the fat woman, raising her hands in dismay.

"That is none of our business, Katie! What we are to do is to obey orders; so, if you please, let us have the keys," replied Gray.

The woman disappeared within the house and remained absent for a few minutes, during which the men lifted the boxes from the wagon.

By the time they had set down the last one Katie reappeared with her heavy bunch of keys and beckoned them to follow her.

Ishmael obeyed, by shouldering a small box and entering the house, while Reuben Gray and Sam took up a heavy one between them and came after.

It was a noble old hall, with its walls hung with family pictures and rusty arms and trophies of the chase; with doors opening on each side into spacious apartments; and with a broad staircase ascending from the center.

The fat old negro housekeeper, waddling along before the men, led them to the back of the hall, and opened a door on the right, admitting them into the library of Tanglewood.

Here the men set down the boxes. And when they had brought them all in, and Sam, under the direction of Gray, had forced off all the tops, laying the contents bare to view, the latter said:

"Now then, Ishmael, we will leave you to go to work and unpack; but don't you get so interested in the work as to disremember dinner time at one o'clock precisely; and be sure you are punctual, because we've got veal and spinnidge."

"Thank you, Uncle Reuben, I will not keep you waiting," replied the youth.

Gray and his assistant departed, and Ishmael was left alone with the wealth of books around him.

XL. THE LIBRARY

Round the room are shelves of dainty lore, And rich old pictures hang upon the walls, Where the slant light falls on them; and wrought gems, Medallions, rare mosaics and antiques From Herculaneum, the niches fill; And on a table of enamel wrought With a lost art in Italy, do lie Prints of fair women and engravings rare.

--N.P. Willis.

It was a noble room; four lofty windows--two on each side--admitting abundance of light and air; at one end was a marble chimney-piece, over which hung a fine picture of Christ disputing with the doctors in the temple; on each side of this chimney-piece were glass cases filled with rare shells, minerals, and other curiosities; all the remaining spaces along the walls and between the windows were filled up with book-cases; various writing tables, reading stands, and easy-chairs occupied the center of the floor.

After a curious glance at this scene, Ishmael went to work at unpacking the boxes. He found his task much easier than he had expected to find it. Each box contained one particular set of books. On the top of one of the boxes he found a large strong blank folio, entitled--"Library Catalogue."

Ishmael took this book and sat down at one of the tables and divided it into twelve portions, writing over each portion the name of the subject to which he proposed to devote it, as "Theology," "Physics," "Jurisprudence," etc. The last portion he headed "Miscellaneous." Next he divided the empty shelves into similar compartments, and headed each with thy corresponding names. Then he began to make a list of the books, taking one set at a time, writing their names in their proper portion of the catalogue and then arranging them in their proper compartment of the library.

Ishmael had just got through with "Theology," and was about to begin to arrange the next set of books in rotation, when he bethought himself to look at the timepiece, and seeing that it was after twelve, he hurried back to Woodside to keep his appointment with Reuben.

But he returned in the afternoon and recommenced work; and not only on this day, but for several succeeding days, Ishmael toiled cheerfully at this task. To arrange all these books in perfect order and neatness was to Ishmael a labor of real love; and so when one Saturday afternoon he had completed his task, it was with a feeling half of satisfaction at the results of his labor, half of regret at leaving the scene of it, that he locked up the library, returned the key to Aunt Katie, and took leave of Tanglewood.

Walking home through the forest that evening Ishmael thought well over his future prospects. He had read and mastered all those text-books of law that he had found in the old escritoire of his bedroom; and now he wanted more advanced books on the same subject. Such books he had seen in the library at Tanglewood; and he had been sorely tempted to linger as long as possible there for the sake of reading them: but honest and true in thought and act, he resisted the temptation to appropriate the use of the books, or the time that he felt was not his own.

On this evening, therefore, he meditated upon the means of obtaining the books that he wanted. He was now about eighteen years of age, highly gifted in physical beauty and in moral and intellectual excellence; but he was still as poor as poverty could make him. He worked hard, much harder than many who earned liberal salaries; but he earned nothing, absolutely nothing, beyond his board and clothing.

This state of things he felt must not continue longer. It was now nearly nine months since he had left Mr. Middleton's school, and there was no chance of his ever entering another; so now he felt he must turn the education he had received to some better account than merely keeping Reuben Gray's farm books; that he must earn something to support himself and to enable him to go on with his law studies; and he must earn this "something" in this neighborhood, too; for the idea of leaving poor Reuben with no one to keep his accounts never entered the unselfish mind of Ishmael.

Various plans of action as to how he should contrive to support himself and pursue his studies without leaving the neighborhood suggested themselves to Ishmael. Among the rest, he thought of opening a country school. True, he was very young, too young for so responsible a post; but in every other respect, except that of age, he was admirably well qualified for the duty. While he was still meditating upon this subject, he unexpectedly reached the end of his walk and the gate of the cottage.

Reuben and Hannah were standing at the gate. Reuben's left arm was around Hannah, and his right hand held an open letter, over which both their heads were bent. Hannah was helping poor Reuben to spell out its contents.

Ishmael smiled as he greeted them, smiled with his eyes only, as if his sweet bright spirit had looked out in love upon them; and thus it was that Ishmael always met his friends.

"Glad you've come home so soon, Ishmael--glad as ever I can be! Here's another rum go, as ever was!" said Gray, looking up from his letter.

"What is it, Uncle Reuben?"

"Why, it's a sort of notice from the judge. 'Pears like he's gin up his v'y'ge to forrin parts; and 'stead of gwine out yonder for two or three years, he and Miss Merlin be coming down here to spend the summer--leastways, what's left of it," said Gray.

Ishmael's face flushed crimson, and then went deadly white, as he reeled and leaned against the fence for support. Much as he had struggled to conquer his wild passion for the beautiful and high-born heiress, often as he had characterized it as mere boyish folly, or moon-struck madness, closely as he had applied himself to study in the hope of curing his mania, he was overwhelmed by the sudden announcement of her expected return: overwhelmed by a shock of equally blended joy and pain--joy at the prospect of soon meeting her, pain at the thought of the impassable gulf that yawned them--"so near and yet so far!"

His extreme agitation was not observed by either Reuben or Hannah, whose heads were again bent over the puzzling letter. While he was still in that half-stunned, half-excited and wholly-confused state of feeling, Reuben went slowly on with his explanations:

"'Pears like the judge have got another gov'ment 'pointment, or some sich thing, as will keep him here in his natyve land; so he and Miss Claudia, they be a-coming down here to stop till the meeting of Congress in Washington. So he orders me to tell Katie to get the house ready to receive them by the first of next week; and law! this is Saturday! Leastways, that is all me and Hannah can make out'n this here letter, Ishmael; but you take it and read it yourself," said Gray, putting the missive into Ishmael's hands.

With a great effort to recover his self-possession, Ishmael took the letter and read it aloud.

It proved to be just what Reuben and Hannah had made of it, but Ishmael's clear reading rendered the orders much plainer.

"Now, if old Katie won't have to turn her fat body a little faster than she often does, I don't know nothing!" exclaimed Gray, when Ishmael had finished the reading.

"I will go up myself this evening and help her," said Hannah kindly.

"No, you won't, neither, my dear! Old Katie has lots of young maid servants to help her, and she's as jealous as a pet cat of all interference with her affairs. But we will walk over after tea and let her know what's up," said Gray.

After tea, accordingly, Reuben, Hannah, and Ishmael took a pleasant evening stroll through the forest to Tanglewood, and told Katie what was at hand.

"And you'll have to stir round, old woman, and that I tell you, for this is Saturday night, and they may be here on Monday evening," said Gray.

"Law, Marse Reuben, you needn't tell me nuffin 'tall 'bout Marse Judge Merlin! I knows his ways too well; I been too long use to his popping down on us, unexpected, like the Day of Judgment, for me to be unprepared! The house is all in fust-rate order; only wantin' fires to be kindled to correct de damp, and windows to be opened to air de rooms; and time 'nuff for dat o' Monday," grinned old Katie, taking things easy.

"Very well, only see to it! Come, Hannah, let us go home," said Gray.

"But, Uncle Reuben, have you no directions for the coachman to meet the judge at the landing?" inquired Ishmael.

"No, my lad. The judge never comes down by any of these little sailing packets as pass here. He allers comes by the steamboat to Baymouth, and then from there to here by land."

"Then had you not better send the carriage to Baymouth immediately, that it may be there in time to meet him? It will be more comfortable for the judge and--and Miss--and his daughter to travel in their own easy carriage than in those rough village hacks."

"Well, now, Ishmael, that's a rale good idee, and I'll follow it, and the judge will thank you for it. If he'd took a thought, you see, he'd a-gin me the order to do just that thing. But law! he's so took up along of public affairs, as he never thinks of his private comfort, though he is always pleased as possible when anybody thinks of it for him."

"Then, Uncle Reuben, had you not better start Sam with the carriage this evening? It is a very clear night, the roads are excellent, and the horses are fresh; so he could easily reach Baymouth by sunrise, and put up at the 'Planter's Rest,' for Sunday, and wait there for the boat."

"Yes, Ishmael, I think I had better do so; we'll go home now directly and start Sam. He'll be pleased to death! If there's anything that nigger likes, it's a journey, particular through the cool of the night; but he'll sleep all day to-morrow to make up for his lost rest," returned Reuben, as they turned to walk back to the cottage.

Sam was found loitering near the front gate. When told what he was to do, he grinned and started with alacrity to put the horses to the carriage and prepare the horse feed to take along with him.

And meanwhile Hannah packed a hamper full of food and drink to solace the traveler on his night journey.

In half an hour from his first notice to go, Sam drove the carriage up to the cottage gate, received his hamper of provisions and his final orders, and departed.

Hannah and Reuben, leaning over the gate, watched him out of sight, and then sat down in front of their cottage door, to enjoy the coolness of the summer evening, and talk of the judge's expected arrival.

Ishmael went up to his room, lighted a candle, and sat down to try to compose his agitated heart and apply his mind to study. But in vain; his eyes wandered over the pages of his book; his mind could not take in the meaning. The thought of Claudia filled his whole soul, absorbed his every faculty to the exclusion of every other idea.

"Oh, this will never, never do! It is weakness, folly, madness! What have I to do with Miss Merlin that she takes possession of my whole being in this manner! I must, I will conquer this passion!" he exclaimed, at last, starting up, throwing aside his book, and pacing the floor.

"Yes, with the Lord's help, I will overcome this infatuation!" he repeated, as he paused in his hasty walk, bowed his head, and folded his hands in prayer to God for deliverance from the power of inordinate and vain affections.

This done, he returned to his studies with more success. And long after he heard Hannah and Reuben re-enter the cottage and retire to their room, he continued to sit up and read. He read on perseveringly, until he had wearied himself out enough to be able to sleep. And his last resolution on seeking his bed was:

"By the Lord's help I will conquer this passion! I will combat it with prayer, and study, and work!"

XLI. CLAUDIA

But she in those fond feelings had no share; Her sighs were not for him; to her he was Even as a brother; but no more; 'twas much, For brotherless she was save in the name Her girlish friendship had bestowed on him; Herself the solitary scion left Of a time-honored race.

--Byron's Dream.

Ishmael applied himself diligently to active outdoor work during the morning and to study during the evening hours.

Thus several days passed. Nothing was heard from Sam, the carriage, or the judge.

Reuben Gray expressed great anxiety--not upon account of the judge, or Miss Merlin, who, he averred, were both capable of taking care of themselves and each other, but on account of Sam and his valuable charge that he feared had in some way or other come to harm.

Ishmael tried to reassure him by declaring his own opinion that all was right, and that Sam was only waiting at Baymouth for the arrival of his master.

Reuben Gray only shook his head and predicted all sorts of misfortunes.

But Ishmael's supposition was proved to be correct, when late Wednesday night, or rather--for it was after midnight--early Thursday morning, the unusual sound of carriage wheels passing the road before the cottage waked up all its inmates, and announced to them the arrival of the judge and his daughter.

Reuben Gray started up and hurried on his clothes.

Ishmael sprang out of bed and looked forth from the window. But the carriage without pausing for a moment rolled on its way to Tanglewood House.

The startled sleepers finding their services not required returned to bed again.

Early that morning, while the family were at the breakfast table, Sam made his appearance and formally announced the arrival of the judge and Miss Merlin at Tanglewood.

"How long did you have to wait for them at Baymouth?" inquired Reuben Gray.

"Not a hour, sar. I arrove about sunrise at the 'Planter's,' just the 'Powhatan' was a steaming up to the wharf; and so I druv on to the wharf to see if de judge and his darter was aboard, and sure nuff dere dey was! And mightily 'stonished was dey to see me and de carriage and de horses; and mightily pleased, too. So de judge he put his darter inter de inside, while I piled on de luggage a-hind and a-top; and so we goes back to de 'Planters,'" said Sam.

"But what kept you so long at Baymouth?"

"Why, law bless you, de judge, he had wisits to pay in de neighborhood; and having of me an' de carriage dere made it all de more convenienter. O' Monday we went over to a place called de Burrow, and dined long of one Marse Commodore Burghe; and o' Tuesday we went and dined at Brudenell Hall with young Mr. Herman Brudenell."

At this name Hannah started and turned pale; but almost immediately recovered her composure.

Sam continued:

"And o' Wednesday, that is yesterday morning airly, we started for home. We laid by during the heat of the day at Horse-head, and started again late in de arternoon; dat made it one o'clock when we arrove at home last night, or leastways this morning."

"Well, and what brought you down here? Has the judge sent any messages to me?"

"Yes, he have; he want you to come right up to de house and fetch de farm books, so he can see how the 'counts stands."

"Very well; they're all right!" said Reuben confidently, as he arose from the table, put on his hat, took two account-books from the shelf, and went out followed by Sam.

Ishmael as usual went into the garden to work, and tried to keep his thoughts from dwelling upon Claudia.

At dinner-time Gray returned, and Ishmael met him at the table. And Gray could talk of nothing but the improvement, beauty, and the grace of Miss Merlin.

"She is just too beautiful for this world, Hannah," he concluded, after having exhausted all his powers of description upon his subject.

After dinner Ishmael went upstairs to his books, and Hannah took advantage of his absence to say to Gray:

"Reuben, I wish you would never mention Miss Claudia Merlin's name before Ishmael."

"Law! why?" inquired Gray.

"Because I want him to forget her."

"But why so?"

"Oh, Reuben, how dull you are! Well, if I must tell you, he likes her."

"Well, so do I! and so do everyone!" said honest Reuben.

"But he likes her too well! he loves her, Reuben!"

"What! Ishmael love Judge Merlin's daughter! L-a-w! Why I should as soon think of falling in love with a royal princess!" exclaimed the honest man, in extreme astonishment.

"Reuben, hush! I hate to speak of it; but it is true. Pray, never let him know that we even suspect the truth; and be careful not to mention her name in his presence. I can see that he is struggling to conquer his feelings; but he can never do it while you continue to ding her name into his ears foreverlasting."

"I'll be mum! Ishmael in love with Miss Merlin! I should as soon suspicion him of being in love with the Queen of Spain! Good gracious! how angry she'd be if she knew it."

After this conversation Reuben Gray was very careful to avoid all mention of Claudia Merlin in the hearing of Ishmael.

The month of August was drawing to a close. Ishmael had not once set eyes on Claudia, though he had chanced to see the judge on horseback at a distance several times. Ishmael busied himself in seeking out a room in the neighborhood, in which to open a school on the first of September. He had not as yet succeeded in his object, when one day an accident occurred that, as he used it, had a signal effect on his future life.

It was a rather cool morning in the latter part of August when he, after spending an hour or two of work in the garden, dressed himself in his best clothes and set off to walk to Rushy Shore farm, where he heard there was a small schoolhouse ready furnished with rough benches and desks, to be had at low rent. His road lay along the high banks of the river, above the sands. He had gone about a mile on his way when he heard the sound of carriage wheels behind him, and in a few minutes caught a glimpse of an open barouche, drawn by a pair of fine, spirited gray horses, as it flashed by him. Quickly as the carriage passed, he recognized in the distinguished looking young lady seated within it--Claudia!--recognized her with an electric shock that thrilled his whole being, paralyzed him where he stood and bound him to the spot! He gazed after the flying vehicle until it vanished from his sight. Then he sank down where he stood and covered his face with his hands and strove to calm the rising emotion that swelled his bosom. It was minutes before he recovered self-possession enough to arise and go on his way.

In due time he reached the farm--Rushy Shore--where the schoolhouse was for rent. It was a plain little log house close to the river side and shaded by cedars. It had been built for the use of a poor country master who had worn out his life in teaching for small pay the humbler class of country children. He rested from his earthly labors, and the school was without a teacher. Ishmael saw only the overseer of the farm, who informed him that he had authority to let the schoolroom only until Christmas, as the whole estate had just been sold and the new owner was to take possession at the new year.

"Who is the new owner?" inquired Ishmael.

"Well, sir, his name is Middleton--Mr. James Middleton, from St. Mary's County: though I think I did hear as he was first of all from Virginia."

"Mr. Middleton! Mr. James Middleton!" exclaimed Ishmael, catching his breath for joy.

"Yes, sir; that is the gentleman; did you happen to know him?"

"Yes: intimately; he is one of the best and most honored friends I have in the world!" said Ishmael warmly.

"Then, sir, maybe he wouldn't be for turning you out of the schoolhouse even when the time we can let it for is up?"

"No, I don't think he would," said Ishmael, smiling, as he took his leave and started on his return. He walked rapidly on his way homeward, thinking of the strange destiny that threw him again among the friends of his childhood, when he was startled by a sound as of the sudden rush of wheels. He raised his head and beheld a fearful sight! Plunging madly towards the brink of the high bank were the horses of Claudia's returning carriage. The coachman had dropped the reins, which were trailing on the ground, sprung from his seat and was left some distance behind. Claudia retained hers, holding by the sides of the carriage; but her face was white as marble; her eyes were starting from their sockets; her teeth were firmly set; her lips drawn back; her hat lost and her black hair streaming behind her! On rushed the maddened beasts towards the brink of the precipice! another moment, and they would have dashed down into certain destruction!

Ishmael saw and hurled himself furiously forward between the rushing horses and the edge of the precipice, seizing the reins as the horses dashed up to him, and threw all his strength into the effort to turn them aside from their fate.

He did turn them from the brink of destruction, but alas! alas! as they were suddenly and violently whirled around they threw him down and passed, dragging the carriage with them, over his prostrate body!

At the same moment some fishermen on the sands below, who had seen the impending catastrophe, rushed up the bank, headed the maddened horses and succeeded in stopping them.

Then Miss Merlin jumped from the carriage, and ran to the side of Ishmael.

In that instant of deadly peril she had recognized him; but all had passed so instantaneously that she had not had time to speak, scarcely to breathe.

Now she kneeled by his side and raised his head. He was mangled, bleeding, pallid, and insensible.

"Oh, for the love of God, leave those horses and come here, men! Come instantly!" cried Claudia, who with trembling hands was seeking on the boy's face and bosom for some signs of life.

Two of the men remained with the horses, but three rushed to the side of the young lady.

"Oh, Heaven! he is crushed to death, I fear! He was trampled down by the horses, and the whole carriage seemed to have passed over him! Oh, tell me! tell me! is he killed? is he quite, quite dead?" cried Claudia breathlessly, wringing her hands in anguish, as she arose from her kneeling posture to make room for the man.

The three got down beside him and began to examine his condition.

"Is he dead? Oh! is he dead?" cried Claudia.

"It's impossible to tell, miss," answered one of the men, who had his hand on Ishmael's wrist; "but he haint got no pulse."

"And his leg is broken, to begin with," said another, who was busy feeling the poor fellow's limbs.

"And I think his ribs be broken, too," added the third man, who had his hand in the boy's bosom.

With a piercing scream Claudia threw herself down on the ground, bent over the fallen body, raised the poor, ghastly head in her arms, supported it on her bosom, snatched a vial of aromatic vinegar from her pocket, and began hastily to bathe the blanched face; her tears falling fast as she cried:

"He must not die! Oh, he shall not die! Oh, God have mercy on me, and spare his life! Oh, Saviour of the world, save him! Sweet angels in heaven, come to his aid! Oh, Ishmael, my brother! my treasure! my own, dear boy, do not die! Better I had died than you! Come back! come back to me, my own! my beautiful boy, come back to me! You are mine!"

Her tears fell like rain; and utterly careless of the eyes gazing in wonder upon her, she covered his cold, white face with kisses.

Those warm tears, those thrilling kisses, falling on his lifeless, face, might have called back the boy's spirit, had it been waiting at the gates of heaven!

To Claudia's unutterable joy his sensitive features quivered, his pale cheeks flushed, his large, blue eyes opened, and with a smile of ineffable satisfaction he recognized the face that was bending over him. Then the pallid lips trembled and unclosed with the faintly uttered inquiry:

"You are safe, Miss Merlin?"

"Quite safe, my own dear boy! but oh! at what a cost to you!" she answered impulsively and fervently.

He closed his eyes, and while that look of ineffable bliss deepened on his face, he murmured some faint words that she stooped to catch:

"I am so happy--so happy--I could wish to die now!" he breathed.

"But you shall not die, dear Ishmael! God heard my cry and sent you back to me! You shall live!"

Then turning to the gaping men, she said:

"Raise him gently, and lay him in the barouche. Stop a moment!--I will get in first and arrange the cushions for him."

And with that she tenderly laid the boy's head back upon the ground, and entered the carriage, and with her own hands took all the cushions from the tops of the seats, and arranged them so as to make a level bed for the hurt boy. Then she placed herself in the back seat, and, as they lifted him into the carriage, she took his head and shoulders and supported them upon her lap.

But Ishmael had fainted from the pain of being moved. And oh! what a mangled form he seemed, as she held him in her arms upon her bosom, while his broken limbs lay out upon the pile of cushions.

"One of you two now take the horses by the head, and lead them slowly, by the river road, towards Tanglewood House. It is the longest road, but the smoothest," said Miss Merlin.

Two of the men started to obey this order, saying that it might take more than one to manage the horses if they should grow restive again.

"That is very true; besides, you can relieve each other in leading the horses. And now one of the others must run directly to the house of the Overseer Gray, and tell him what has happened, and direct him to ride off immediately to Shelton and fetch Dr. Jarvis to Tanglewood."

All three of the remaining men started off zealously upon this errand. Meanwhile Sam, the craven coachman, came up with a crestfallen air to the side of the carriage, whimpering:

"Miss Claudia, I hope nobody was dangerous hurt?"

"Nobody dangerously hurt? Ishmael Worth is killed for aught I know! Keep out of my way, you cowardly villain!" exclaimed Claudia angrily, for you know the heiress was no angel.

"'Deed and 'deed, Miss Claudia, I didn't know what I was a-doing of no more than the dead when I jumped out'n the b'rouche! 'Clare to my Marster in heben I didn't!" whined Sam.

"Perhaps not; but keep out of my way!" repeated Claudia, with her eyes kindling. .

"But please, miss, mayn't I drive you home now?"

"What? after nearly breaking my neck, which was saved only at the cost of this poor boy's life, perhaps?"

"Please, Miss Claudia, I'll be careful another time--"

"Careful of your own life!"

"Please, miss, let me drive you home this once."

"Not to save your soul!"

"But what'll ole Marse say?" cried Sam, in utter dismay.

"That is your affair. I advise you to keep out of his way also! Begone from my sight! Go on, men!" finally ordered Miss Merlin.

Sam, more ashamed of himself than ever, slunk away.

And the fishermen started to lead the horses and carriage towards Tanglewood.

Meanwhile the messengers dispatched by Claudia hurried on towards Reuben Gray's cottage. But before they got in sight of the house they came full upon Reuben, who was mounted on his white cob, and riding as if for a wager.

"Hey! hallo! stop!" cried the foremost man, throwing up his arms before the horse, which immediately started and shied.

"Hush, can't ye! Don't stop me now! I'm in a desp'at hurry! I'm off for the doctor! My wife's taken bad, and may die before I get back!" exclaimed Reuben, with a scared visage, as he tried to pass the messengers.

"Going for the doctor! There's just where we were going to send you! Go as fast as you can, and if your wife isn't very bad indeed, send him first of all to Tanglewood, where he is wanted immediately."

"Who is ill there?" inquired Reuben anxiously.

"Nobody! but your nephew has been knocked down and trampled nearly to death while stopping Miss Merlin's horses that were running away with her."

"Ishmael hurt! Good gracious! there's nothing but trouble in this world! Where is the poor lad?"

"Miss Merlin has taken him to Tanglewood. The doctor is wanted there."

"I'll send him as soon as ever I can; but I must get him to Hannah first! I must indeed!" And with that Reuben put whip to his horse and rode away; but in a moment he wheeled again and rode back to the fishermen, saying:

"Hallo, Simpson! are you going past our place?"

"Yes," replied the man.

"Well, then, mind and don't breathe a word about Ishmael's accident to Hannah, or to anybody about the place as might tell her; because she's very ill, and the shock might be her death, you know," said Reuben anxiously.

"All right! we'll be careful," replied the man. And Reuben rode off.

He was so fortunate as to find Dr. Jarvis at his office and get him to come immediately to Woodside. But not until the doctor had seen Hannah and had given her a little medicine, and declared that his farther services would not be required by her for several hours yet, did Reuben mention to him the other case that awaited his attention at Tanglewood. And Dr. Jarvis, with a movement of impatience at the unnecessary delay, hurried thither.

XLII. ISHMAEL AT TANGLEWOOD

There was an ancient mansion, and before Its walls there was a steed caparisoned. Within an antique oratory lay The boy of whom I spake; he was alone, And pale and tossing to and fro....

--Byron.

Meanwhile the carriage traveling slowly reached Tanglewood. Slowly pacing up and down the long piazza in front of the house was Judge Merlin. He was a rather singular-looking man of about forty-five years of age. He was very tall, thin, and bony, with high aquiline features, dark complexion, and iron-gray hair, which he wore long and parted in the middle. He was habited in a loose jacket, vest, and trousers of brown linen, and wore a broad-brimmed straw hat on his head, and large slippers, down at the heel, on his feet. He carried in his hand a lighted pipe of common clay, and he walked with a slow, swinging gait, and an air of careless indifference to all around him. Altogether, he presented the idea of a civilized Indian chief, rather than that of a Christian gentleman. Tradition said that the blood of King Powhatan flowed in Randolph Merlin's veins, and certainly his personal appearance, character, tastes, habits, and manners favored the legend.

On seeing the carriage approach he had taken the clay pipe from his mouth and sauntered forward. On seeing the strange burden that his daughter supported in her arms, he came down to the side of the carriage, exclaiming:

"Who have you got there, Claudia?"

"Oh, papa, it is Ishmael Worth! He has killed himself, I fear, in saving me! My horses ran away, ran directly towards the steeps above the river, and would have plunged over if he had not started forward and turned their heads in time; but the horses, as they turned, knocked him down and ran over him!" cried Claudia, in almost breathless vehemence.

"What was Sam doing all this time?" inquired the judge, as he stood contemplating the insensible boy.

"Oh, papa, he sprang from the carriage as soon as the horses became unmanageable and ran away! But don't stop here asking useless questions! Lift him out and take him into the house! Gently, papa! gently," said Claudia, as Judge Merlin slipped his long arms under the youth's body and lifted him from the carriage.

"Now, then, what do you expect me to do with him?" inquired Judge Merlin, looking around as if for a convenient place to lay him on the grass.

"Oh, papa, take him right into the spare bedroom on the lower floor! and lay him on the bed. I have sent for a doctor to attend him here," answered Claudia, as she sprang from the carriage and led the way into the very room she had indicated.

"He is rather badly hurt," said the judge, as he laid Ishmael upon the bed and arranged his broken limbs as easily as he could.

"'Rather badly!' he is crushed nearly to death! I told you the whole carriage passed over him!" cried Claudia, with a hysterical sob, as she bent over the boy.

"Worse than I thought," continued the judge, as he proceeded to unbutton Ishmael's coat and loosen his clothes. "Did you say you sent for a doctor?"

"Yes! as soon as it happened! He ought to be here in an hour from this!" replied Claudia, wringing her hands.

"His clothes must be cut away from him; it might do his fractured limbs irreparable injury to try to draw off his coat and trousers in the usual manner. Leave him to me, Claudia, and go and tell old Katie to come here and bring a pair of sharp shears with her," ordered the judge.

Claudia stooped down quickly, gave one wistful, longing, compassionate gaze at the still, cold white face of the sufferer, and then hurried out to obey her father's directions. She sent old Katie in, and then threw off her hat and mantle and sat down on the step of the door to watch for the doctor's approach, and also to be at hand to hear any tidings that might come from the room of the wounded boy.

More than an hour Claudia remained on the watch without seeing anyone. Then, when suspense grew intolerable, she impulsively sprang up and silently hastened to the door of the sick-room and softly rapped.

The judge came and opened it.

"Oh, papa, how is he?"

"Breathing, Claudia, that is all! I wish to Heaven the doctor would come! Are you sure the messenger went after him!"

"Oh, yes, papa, I am sure! Do let me come in and see him!"

"It is no place for you, Claudia; he is partially undressed; I will take care of him."

And with these words the judge gently closed the door in his daughter's face.

Claudia went back to her post.

"Why don't the doctor come! And oh! why don't Reuben Gray or Hannah come? It is dreadful to sit here and wait!" she exclaimed, as with a sudden resolution she sprang up again, seized her hat and ran out of the house with the intention of proceeding directly to the Gray's cottage.

But a few paces from the house she met the doctor's gig.

"Oh, Doctor Jarvis, I am so glad you have come at last!" she cried.

"Who is it that is hurt?" inquired the doctor.

"Ishmael Worth, our overseer's nephew!"

"How did it happen?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"No."

"Oh, poor boy! He threw himself before my horses to stop them as they were running down the steeps over the river; and he turned them aside, but they knocked him down and ran over him!"

"Bad! very bad! poor fellow!" said the doctor, jumping from his gig as he drew up before the house.

Claudia ran in before him, leading the way to the sick chamber, at the door of which she rapped to announce the arrival. This time old Katie opened the door, and admitted the doctor.

Claudia, excluded from entrance, walked up and down the hall in a fever of anxiety.

Once old Katie came out and Claudia arrested her.

"What does the doctor say, Katie?"

"He don't say nothing satisfactory, Miss Claudia. Don't stop me, please! I'm sent for bandages and things!"

And Katie hurried on her errand, and presently reappeared with her arms full of linen and other articles, which she carried into the sick-room. Later, the doctor came out attended by the judge.

Claudia waylaid them with the questions:

"What is the nature of his injuries? are they fatal?"

"Not fatal; but very serious. One leg and arm are broken; and he is very badly bruised; but worst of all is the great shock to his very sensitive nervous system," was the reply of Doctor Jarvis.

"When will you see him again, sir?" anxiously inquired Claudia.

"In the course of the evening. I am not going back home for some hours, perhaps not for the night; I have a case at Gray's."

"Indeed! that is the reason, then, I suppose, why no one has answered my message to come up and see Ishmael. But who is sick there?" inquired Claudia.

"Mrs. Gray. Good-afternoon, Miss Merlin," said the doctor shortly, as he walked out of the house attended by the judge.

Claudia went to the door of Ishmael's room and rapped softly.

Old Katie answered the summons.

"Can I come in now, Katie?" asked Miss Merlin, a little impatiently.

"Oh, yes, I s'pose so; I s'pose you'd die if you didn't!" answered this privileged old servant, holding open the door for Claudia's admittance.

She passed softly into the darkened room, and approached the bedside. Ishmael lay there swathed in linen bandages and extended at full length, more like a shrouded corpse than a living boy. His eyes were closed and his face was livid.

"Is he asleep?" inquired Claudia, in a tone scarcely above her breath.

"Sort o' sleep. You see, arter de doctor done set his arm an' leg, an' splintered of 'em up, an' boun' up his wounds an' bruises, he gib him some'at to 'pose his nerves and make him sleep, an' it done hev him into dis state; which you see yourse'f is nyder sleep nor wake nor dead nor libe."

Claudia saw indeed that he was under the effects of morphia. And with a deep sigh of strangely blended relief and apprehension, Claudia sank into a chair beside his bed.

And old Katie took that opportunity to slip out and eat her "bit of dinner," leaving Claudia watching.

At the expiration of an hour Katie returned to her post. But Claudia did not therefore quit hers. She remained seated beside the wounded boy. All that day he lay quietly, under the influence of morphia. Once the judge looked in to inquire the state of the patient, and on being told that the boy still slept, he went off again. Late in the afternoon the doctor came again, saw that his patient was at ease, left directions for his treatment, and then prepared to depart.

"How is the sick woman at Gray's?" inquired Claudia.

"Extremely ill. I am going immediately back there to remain until it is over; if I should be particularly wanted here, send there for me," said the doctor.

"Yes; but I am very sorry Mrs. Gray is so ill! She is Ishmael's aunt. What is the matter with her?"

"Humph!" answered the doctor. "Good-night, Miss Claudia. You will know where to send for me, if I am wanted here."

"Yes; but I am so sorry about Gray's wife! Is she in danger?" persisted Claudia.

"Yes."

"I am very sorry; but what ails her?" persevered Claudia.

"Good-evening, Miss Merlin," replied the doctor, lifting his hat and departing.

"The man is half asleep; he has not answered my question," grumbled Claudia, as she returned to her seat by the sick-bed.

Just then the bell rung for the late dinner, and Claudia went out and crossed the hall to the dining room, where she joined her father. And while at dinner she gave him a more detailed account of her late danger, and the manner in which she was saved.

Once more in the course of that evening Claudia looked in upon the wounded boy, to ascertain his condition before retiring to her room. He was still sleeping.

"If he should wake up, you must call me, no matter what time of night it is, Katie," said Miss Merlin, as she left the sick-chamber.

"Yes, miss," answered Katie, who nevertheless made up her mind to use her own discretion in the matter of obedience to this order.

Claudia Merlin was not, as Ishmael was, of a religious disposition, yet nevertheless before she retired to bed she did kneel and pray for his restoration to life and health; for, somehow, the well-being of the peasant youth was very precious to the heiress. Claudia could not sleep; she lay tumbling and tossing upon a restless and feverish couch. The image of that mangled and bleeding youth as she first saw him on the river bank was ever before her. The gaze of his intensely earnest eyes as he raised them to hers, when he inquired, "Are you safe?"--and the deep smile of joy with which they closed again when she answered, "I am safe"--haunted her memory and troubled her spirit. Those looks, those tones, had made a revelation to Claudia!--That the peasant boy presumed to love her!--her! Claudia Merlin, the heiress, angel-born, who scarcely deemed there was in all democratic America a fitting match for her!

During the excitement and terror of the day, while the extent of Ishmael's injuries was still unknown and his life seemed in extreme danger, Claudia had not had leisure to receive the fact of Ishmael's love, much less to reflect upon its consequences. But now that all was known and suspense was over, now in the silence and solitude of her bed-chamber, the images and impressions of the day returned to her with all their revelations and tendencies, and filled the mind of Claudia with astonishment and consternation! That Ishmael Worth should be capable of loving her, seemed to Miss Merlin as miraculous as it would be for Fido to be capable of talking to her! And in the wonder of the affair she almost lost sight of its presumption!

But how should she deal with this presuming peasant boy, who had dared to love her, to risk his life to save hers, and to let the secret of his love escape him?

For a long time Claudia could not satisfactorily answer this question, and this was what kept her awake all night. To neglect him, or to treat him with marked coldness, would be a cruel return for the sacrifice he had rendered her; it would be besides making the affair of too much importance; and finally, it would be "against the grain" of Claudia's own heart; for in a queenly way she loved this Ishmael very dearly indeed; much more dearly than she loved Fido, or any four-footed pet she possessed; and if he had happened to have been killed in her service, Claudia would have abandoned herself to grief for weeks afterwards, and she would have had a headstone recording his heroism placed over his grave.

After wearying herself out with conjectures as to what would be the becoming line of conduct in a young princess who should discover that a brave peasant had fallen in love with her, Claudia at length determined to ignore the fact that had come to her knowledge and act just as if she had never discovered or even suspected its existence.

"My dignity cannot suffer from his presumptuous folly, so long as I do not permit him to see that I know it; and as for the rest, this love may do his character good; may elevate it!" And having laid this balm to her wounded pride, Claudia closed her eyes.

So near sunrise was it when Miss Merlin dropped off that, once asleep, she continued to sleep on until late in the day.

Meanwhile all the rest of the family were up and astir. The doctor came early and went in to see his patient. The judge breakfasted alone, and then joined the doctor in the sick-room. Ishmael was awake, but pale, languid, and suffering. The doctor was seated beside him. He had just finished dressing his wounds, and had ordered some light nourishment, which old Katie had left the room to bring.

"How is your patient getting along, doctor?" inquired the judge.

"Oh, he is doing very well--very well indeed," replied the doctor, putting the best face on a bad affair, after the manner of his class.

"How do you feel, my lad?" inquired the judge, bending over the patient.

"In some pain; but no more than I can very well bear, thank you, sir," said Ishmael courteously. But his white and quivering lip betrayed the extremity of his suffering, and the difficulty he experienced in speaking at all.

"I must beg, sir, that you will not talk to him; he must be left in perfect quietness," whispered the doctor.

At this moment old Katie returned with a little light jelly on a plate. The doctor slowly administered a few teaspoonfuls to his patient, and then returned the plate to the nurse.

"Miss Claudia ordered me to call her as soon as the young man woke; and now as his wounds is dressed, and he has had somethin' to eat, I might's well go call her," suggested Katie.

At the hearing of Claudia's name Ishmael's eyes flew open, and a hectic spot blazed upon his pale cheek. The doctor, who had his eye upon his patient, noticed this, as he replied:

"Upon no account! Neither Miss Merlin nor anyone else must be permitted to enter his room for days to come--not until I give leave. You will see this obeyed, judge?" he inquired, turning to his host.

"Assuredly," replied the latter.

At these words the color faded from Ishmael's face and the light from his eyes.

The doctor arose and took leave.

The judge attended him to the door, saw him depart, and was in the act of turning into his own house when he perceived Reuben Gray approaching.

Judge Merlin paused to wait for his overseer. Reuben Gray came up, took off his hat, and stood before his employer with the most comical blending of emotions on his weather-beaten countenance, where joy, grief, satisfaction, and anxiety seemed to strive for the mastery.

"Well, Gray, what is it?" inquired the judge.

"Please, sir, how is Ishmael?" entreated Reuben, anxiety getting the upper hand for the moment.

"He is badly hurt, Gray; but doing very well, the doctor says."

"Please, sir, can I see him?"

"Not upon any account for the present; he must be left in perfect quiet. But why haven't you been up to inquire after him before this?"

"Ah, sir, the state of my wife."

"Oh, yes, I heard she was ill; but did not know that she was so ill as to prevent your coming to see after your poor boy. I hope she is better now?"

"Yes, sir, thank Heaven, she is well over it!" said Reuben, satisfaction now expressed in every lineament of his honest face.

"What was the matter with her? Was it the cholera morbus, that is so prevalent at this season?"

Reuben grinned from ear to ear; but did not immediately reply.

The judge looked as if he still expected an answer. Reuben scratched his gray head, and looked up from the corner of his eye, as he at length replied:

"It was a boy and a gal, sir!"

"A what?" questioned the judge--perplexity.

"A boy and a gal, sir; twins, sir, they is," replied Reuben Gray, joy getting the mastery over every other expression in his beaming countenance.

"Why--you don't mean to tell me that your wife has presented you with twins?" exclaimed the judge, both surprised and amused at the announcement.

"Well, yes, sir," said Reuben proudly.

"But you are such an elderly couple!" laughed the judge.

"Well, yes, sir, so we is! And that, I take it, is the very reason on't. You see, I think, sir, because we married very late in life--poor Hannah and me--natur' took a consideration on to it, and, as we hadn't much time before us, she sent us two at once! at least, if that aint the reason, I can't account for them both in any other way!" said Reuben, looking up.

"That's it! You've hit it, Reuben!" said the judge, laughing. "And mind, if they live, I'll stand godfather to the babies at the christening. Are they fine healthy children?"

"As bouncing babies, sir, as ever you set eyes on!" answered Reuben triumphantly.

"Count on me, then, Gray."

"Thank you, sir! And, your honor--"

"Well, Gray?"

"Soon as ever Ishmael is able to hear the news, tell him, will you, please? I think it will set him up, and help him on towards his recovery."

"I think so, too," said the judge.

Reuben touched his hat and withdrew. And the judge returned to the house.

Claudia had come down and breakfasted, but was in a state of great annoyance because she was denied admittance to the bedside of her suffering favorite.

The judge, to divert her thoughts, told her of the bountiful present nature had made to Hannah and Reuben Gray. At which Miss Claudia was so pleased that she got up and went to hunt through all her finery for presents for the children.

XLIII. THE HEIRESS

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent, Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

--Tennyson.

Almost any other youth than Ishmael Worth would have died of such injuries as he had sustained. But owing to that indestructible vitality and irrepressible elasticity of organization which had carried him safely through the deadly perils of his miserable infancy, he survived.

About the fourth day of his illness the irritative fever of his wounds having been subdued, Judge Merlin was admitted to see and converse with him.

Up to this morning the judge had thought of the victim only as the overseer's nephew, a poor, laboring youth about the estate, who had got hurt in doing his duty and stopping Miss Merlin's runaway horses; and he supposed that he, Judge Merlin, had done his part in simply taking the suffering youth into his own house and having him properly attended to. And now the judge went to the patient with the intention of praising his courage and offering him some proper reward for his services--as, for instance, a permanent situation to work on the estate for good wages.

And so Judge Merlin entered the sick-chamber, which was no longer darkened, but had all the windows open to admit the light and air.

He took a chair and seated himself by the bedside of the patient, and for the first time took a good look at him.

Ishmael's handsome face, no longer distorted by suffering, was calm and clear; his eyes were closed in repose but not in sleep, for the moment the judge "hemmed" he raised his eyelids and greeted his host with a gentle smile and nod.

Judge Merlin could not but be struck with the delicacy, refinement, and intellectuality of Ishmael's countenance.

"How do you feel yourself this morning, my lad?" he inquired, putting the usual commonplace question.

"Much easier, thank you, sir," replied the youth, in the pure, sweet, modulated tones of a highly-cultivated nature.

The judge was surprised, but did not show that he was so, as he said:

"You have done my daughter a great service; but at the cost of much suffering to yourself, I fear, my lad."

"I consider myself very fortunate and happy, sir, in having had the privilege of rendering Miss Merlin any service, at whatever cost to myself," replied Ishmael, with graceful courtesy.

More and more astonished at the words and manner of the young workman, the judge continued:

"Thank you, young man; very properly spoken--very properly: but for all that, I must find some way of rewarding you."

"Sir," said Ishmael, with gentle dignity, "I must beg you will not speak to me of reward for a simple act of instinctive gallantry that any man, worthy of the name, would have performed."

"But with you, young man, the case was different," said the judge loftily.

"True, sir," replied our youth, with sweet and courteous dignity, "with me the case was very different; because, with me, it was a matter of self-interest; for the service rendered to Miss Merlin was rendered to myself."

"I do not understand you, young man," said the judge haughtily.

"Pardon me, sir. I mean that in saving Miss Merlin from injury I saved myself from despair. If any harm had befallen her I should have been miserable; so you perceive, sir, that the act you are good enough to term a great service was too natural and too selfish to be praised or rewarded; and so I must beseech you to speak of it in that relation no more."

"But what was my daughter to you that you should risk your life for her, more than for another? or that her maimed limbs or broken neck should affect you more than others?"

"Sir, we were old acquaintances; I saw her every day when I went to Mr. Middleton's, and she was ever exceedingly kind to me," replied Ishmael.

"Oh! and you lived in that neighborhood?" inquired Judge Merlin, who immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ishmael had been employed as a laborer on Mr. Middleton's estate; though still he could not possibly account for the refinement in Ishmael's manner nor the excellence of his language.

"I lived in that neighborhood with my Aunt Hannah until Uncle Reuben married her, when I accompanied them to this place," answered Ishmael.

"Ah! and you saw a great deal of Mr. Middleton and--and his family?"

"I saw them every day, sir; they were very, very kind to me."

"Every day! then you must have been employed about the house," said the judge.

An arch smile beamed in the eyes of Ishmael as he answered:

"Yes, sir, I was employed about the house--that is to say, in the schoolroom."

"Ah! to sweep it out and keep it in order, I suppose; and, doubtless, there was where you contracted your superior tone of manners and conversation," thought the judge to himself, but he replied aloud:

"Well, young man, we will say no more of rewards, since the word is distasteful to you; but as soon as you can get strong again, I should be pleased to give you work about the place at fair wages. Our miller wants a white boy to go around with the grist. Would you like the place?"

"I thank you, sir, no; my plans for the future are fixed; that is, as nearly fixed as those of short-sighted mortals can be," smiled Ishmael.

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the judge, raising his eyebrows, "and may I, as one interested in your welfare, inquire what those plans may be?"

"Certainly, sir, and I thank you very much for the interest you express, as well as for all your kindness to me." Ishmael paused for a moment and then added:

"On the first of September I shall open the Rushy Shore schoolhouse, for the reception of day pupils."

"Whe-ew!" said the judge, with a low whistle, "and do you really mean to be a schoolmaster?"

"For the present, sir, until a better one can be found to fill the place; then, indeed, I shall feel bound in honor and conscience to resign my post, for I do not believe teaching to be my true vocation."

"No! I should think not, indeed!" replied Judge Merlin, who of course supposed the overseer's nephew, notwithstanding the grace and courtesy of his speech and manner, to be fit for nothing but manual labor. "What ever induces you to try school-keeping?" he inquired.

"I am driven to it by my own necessities, and drawn to it by the necessities of others. In other words, I need employment, and the neighborhood needs a teacher--and I think, sir, that one who conscientiously does his best is better than none at all. Those are the reasons, sir, why I have taken the school, with the intention of keeping it until a person more competent than myself to discharge its duties shall be found, when I shall give it up; for, as I said before, teaching is not my ultimate vocation."

"What is your 'ultimate vocation,' young man? for I should like to help you to it," said the judge, still thinking only of manual labor in all its varieties; "what is it?"

"Jurisprudence," answered Ishmael.

"Juris--what?" demanded the judge, as if he had not heard aright.

"Jurisprudence--the science of human justice; the knowledge of the laws, customs, and rights of man in communities; the study above all others most necessary to the due administration of justice in human affairs, and even in divine, and second only to that of theology," replied Ishmael, with grave enthusiasm.

"But--you don't mean to say that you intend to become a lawyer?" exclaimed the judge, in a state of astonishment that bordered on consternation.

"Yes, sir; I intend to be a lawyer, if it please the Lord to bless my earnest efforts," replied the youth reverently.

"Why--I am a lawyer!" exclaimed the judge.

"I am aware that you are a very distinguished one, sir, having risen to the bench of the Supreme Court of your native State," replied the youth respectfully.

The judge remained in a sort of panic of astonishment. The thought in his mind was this: What--you? you, the nephew of my overseer, have you the astounding impudence, the madness, to think that you can enter a profession of which I am a member?

Ishmael saw that thought reflected in his countenance and smiled to himself.

"But--how do you propose ever to become a lawyer?" inquired the judge, aloud.

"By reading law," answered Ishmael simply.

"What! upon your own responsibility?"

"Upon my own responsibility for a while. I shall try afterwards to enter the office of some lawyer. I shall use every faculty, try every means and improve every opportunity that Heaven grants me for this end. And thus I hope to succeed," said Ishmael gravely.

"Are you aware," inquired the judge, with a little sarcasm in his tone, "that some knowledge of the classics is absolutely necessary to the success of a lawyer?"

"I am aware that a knowledge of the classics is very desirable in each and all of what are termed the 'learned professions'; but I did not know, and I do not think, that it can be absolutely necessary in every grade of each of these; but if so, it is well for me that I have a fair knowledge of Latin and Greek," replied Ishmael.

"What did you say?" inquired the judge, with ever-increasing wonder.

Ishmael blushed at the perception that while he only meant to state a fact, he might be suspected of making a boast.

"Did you say that you knew anything of Latin and Greek?" inquired the judge, in amazement.

"Something of both, sir," replied Ishmael modestly.

"But surely you never picked up a smattering of the classics while sweeping out Middleton's family schoolroom!"

"Oh, no, sir!" laughed Ishmael.

"Where then?"

Ishmael's reply was lost in the bustling entrance of Doctor Jarvis, whom Judge Merlin arose to receive.

The doctor examined the condition of his patient, found him with an accession of fever, prescribed a complete repose for the remainder of the day, left some medicine with directions for its administration, and departed. The judge accompanied the doctor to the door.

"That is a rather remarkable boy," observed Judge Merlin, as they went out together.

"A very remarkable one! Who is he?" asked Doctor Jarvis.

"The nephew of my overseer, Reuben Gray. That is absolutely all I know about it."

"The nephew of Gray? Can it be so? Why, Gray is but an ignorant boor, while this youth has the manners and education of a gentleman--a polished gentleman!" exclaimed the doctor, in astonishment.

"It is true, and I can make nothing of it," said Judge Merlin, shaking his head.

"How very strange," mused the doctor, as he mounted his horse, bowed and rode away.

XLIV. CLAUDIA'S PERPLEXITIES

Oh, face most fair, shall thy beauty compare With affection's glowing light? Oh, riches and pride, how fade ye beside Love's wealth, serene and bright.

--Martin F. Tupper.

Judge Merlin went into his well-ordered library, rang the bell, and sent a servant to call his daughter.

The messenger found Claudia walking impatiently up and down the drawing-room floor and turning herself at each wall with an angry jerk. Claudia had not yet been admitted to see Ishmael. She had just been refused again by old Katie, who acted upon the doctor's authority, and Claudia was unreasonably furious with everybody.

Claudia instantly obeyed the summons. She entered the library with hasty steps, closed the door with a bang, and stood before her father with flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and heaving bosom.

"Hey, dey! what's the matter?" asked the judge, taking his pipe from his mouth and staring at his daughter.

"You sent for me, papa! I hope it is to take me in to see that poor, half-crushed boy! What does old Katie mean by forever denying me entrance? It is not every day that a poor lad risks his life and gets himself crushed nearly to death in my service, that I should be made to appear to neglect him in this way! What must the boy think of me? What does old Katie mean, I ask?"

"If your nature requires a vehement expression, of course I am not the one to repress it! Still, in my opinion, vehemency is unworthy of a rational being, at all times, and especially when, as now, there is not the slightest occasion for it. You have not willfully neglected the young man; it is not of the least consequence whether he thinks you have, or not; and, finally, Katie means to obey the doctor's orders, which are to keep every living soul out of the sick-room to secure the patient needful repose. I believe I have answered you, Miss Merlin," replied the judge, smiling and coolly replacing his pipe in his mouth.

"Papa, what a disagreeable wet blanket you are, to be sure!"

"It is my nature to be so, my dear; and I am just what you need to dampen the fire of your temperament."

"Are those the orders of the doctor?"

"What, wet blankets for you?"

"No; but that everybody must be excluded from Ishmael's room?"

"Yes; his most peremptory orders, including even me for the present."

"Then I suppose they must be submitted to?"

"For the present, certainly."

Claudia shrugged her shoulders with an impatient gesture, and then said:

"You sent for me, papa. Was it for anything particular?"

"Yes; to question you. Have you been long acquainted with this Ishmael Gray?"

"Ishmael Worth, papa! Yes, I have known him well ever since you placed me with my Aunt Middleton," replied Claudia, throwing herself into a chair.

The judge was slowly walking up and down the library, and he continued his walk as he conversed with his daughter.

"Who is this Ishmael Worth, then?"

"You know, papa; the nephew of Reuben Gray, or rather of his wife; but it is the same thing."

"I know he is the nephew of Reuben Gray; but that explains nothing! Gray is a rude, ignorant, though well-meaning boor; but this lad is a refined, graceful, and cultivated young man."

Claudia made no comment upon this.

"Now, if you have known him so many years, you ought to be able to explain this inconsistency. One does not expect to find nightingales in crows' nests," said the judge.

Still Miss Merlin was silent.

"Why don't you speak, my dear?"

Claudia blushed over her face, neck, and bosom as she answered:

"Papa, what shall I say? You force me to remember things I would like to forget. Socially, Ishmael Worth was born the lowest of all the low. Naturally, he was endowed with the highest moral and intellectual gifts. He is in a great measure self-educated. In worldly position he is beneath our feet: in wisdom and goodness he is far, far above our heads. He is one of nature's princes, but one of society's outcasts."

"But how has the youth contrived to procure the means of such education as he has?" inquired the judge, seating himself opposite his daughter.

"Papa, I will tell you all I know about him," replied Claudia. And she commenced and related the history of Ishmael's struggles, trials, and triumphs, from the hour of her first meeting with him in front of Hamlin's book shop to that of his self-immolation to save her from death. Claudia spoke with deep feeling. As she concluded her bosom was heaving, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes tearful with emotion.

"And now, papa," she said, as she finished her narrative, "you will understand why it is that I cannot, must not, will not, neglect him! As soon as he can bear visitors I must be admitted to his room, to do for him all that a young sister might do for her brother; no one could reasonably cavil at that. Papa, Ishmael believes in me more than anyone else in the world does. He thinks more highly of me than others do. He knows that there is something better in me than this mere outside beauty that others praise so foolishly. And I would not like to lose his good opinion, papa. I could not bear to have him think me cold, selfish, or ungrateful. So I must and I will help to nurse him."

"Miss Merlin, you have grown up very much as my trees have, with every natural eccentricity of growth untrimmed; but I hope you will not let your branches trail upon the earth."

"What do you mean, papa?"

"I hope you do not mean to play Catherine to this boy's Huon in a new version of the drama of 'Love; or, The Countess and the Serf!"

"Papa! how can you say such things to your motherless daughter! You know that I would die first!" exclaimed the imperious girl indignantly, as she bounced up and flung herself into a passion and out of the room. She left the door wide open; but had scarcely disappeared before her place in the doorway was filled up by the tall, gaunt figure, gray head, and smiling face of Reuben.

"Well, Gray?"

"Well, sir, I have brought the farm books all made up to the first of this month, sir," said the overseer, laying the volumes on the table before his master.

"And very neatly and accurately done, too," remarked the judge, as he turned over the pages and examined the items. "It is not your handwriting, Gray?"

"Dear, no, sir! not likely!"

"Nor little Kitty's?"

"Why, law, sir! little Kitty has been in Californy a year or more! How did you like the 'rangement of your liber-airy, sir?" inquired Gray, with apparent irrelevance, as he glanced around upon the book-lined walls.

"Very much, indeed, Gray! I never had my books so well classified. It was the work of young Ramsey, the schoolmaster, I suppose, and furnished him with employment during the midsummer holidays. You must tell him that I am very much pleased with the work and that he must send in his account immediately."

"Law bless you, sir; it was not Master Ramsey as did it," said Gray, with a broad grin.

"Who, then? Whoever it was, it is all the same to me; I am pleased with the work, and willing to testify my approval by a liberal payment."

"It was the same hand, sir, as made out the farm-books."

"And who was that?"

"It was my nephew, Ishmael Worth, sir," replied Reuben, with a little pardonable pride.

"Ishmael Worth again!" exclaimed the judge.

"Yes, sir; he done 'em both."

"That is an intelligent lad of yours, Gray."

"Well, sir, he is just a wonder."

"How do you account for his being so different from--from--"

"From me and Hannah?" inquired the simple Reuben, helping the judge out of his difficulty. "Well, sir, I s'pose as how his natur' were diff'ent, and so he growed up diff'ent accordin' to his natur'. Human creeters differ like wegetables, sir; some one sort and some another. Me and Hannah, sir, we's like plain 'tatoes; but Ishmael, sir, is like a rich, bright blooming peach! That's the onliest way as I can explain it, sir."

"A very satisfactory explanation, Gray! How are Hannah and those wonderful twins?"

"Fine, sir; fine, thank Heaven! Miss Claudia was so good as to send word as how she would come to see Hannah as soon as she was able to see company. Now Hannah is able to-day, sir, and would be proud to see Miss Claudia and to show her the babbies."

"Very well, Gray! I will let my daughter know," said the judge, rising from his chair.

Reuben took this as a hint that his departure was desirable, and so he made his bow and his exit.

In another moment, however, he reappeared, holding his hat in his hand and saying:

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"Well, what now? what is it, Gray? What's forgotten?"

"If you please, sir, to give my duty to Miss Claudia, and beg her not to let poor Hannah know as Ishmael has been so badly hurt. When she missed him we told her how he was staying up here long of your honor, and she naturally thinks how he is a-doing some more liber-airy work for you; and we dar'n't tell her any better or how the truth is, for fear of heaving of her back, sir."

"Very well; I will caution Miss Merlin."

"And I hope, sir, as you and Miss Claudia will pardon the liberty I take in mentioning of the matter; which I wouldn't go for to do it, if poor Hannah's safety were not involved."

"Certainly, certainly, Gray, I can appreciate your feelings as a husband and father."

"Thank your honor," said Reuben, as he departed.

The judge kept his word to the overseer, and the same hour conveyed to his daughter the invitation and the caution.

Claudia was moped half to death, and desired nothing better than a little amusement. So the same afternoon she set out on her walk to Woodside, followed by her own maid Mattie, carrying a large basket filled with fine laces, ribbons, and beads to deck the babies, and wines, cordials, and jellies to nourish the mother.

On arriving at Woodside Cottage Miss Merlin was met by Sally, the colored maid of all work, and shown immediately into a neat bedroom on the ground floor, where she found Hannah sitting in state in her resting-chair beside her bed, and contemplating with maternal satisfaction the infant prodigies that lay in a cradle at her feet.

"Do not attempt to rise! I am so glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Gray! I am Miss Merlin," was Claudia's frank greeting, as she approached Hannah, and held out her hand.

"Thank you, miss; you are very good to come; and I am glad to see you," said the proud mother, heartily shaking the hand offered by the visitor.

"I wish you much joy of your fine children, Mrs. Gray."

"Thank you very much, miss. Pray sit down. Sally, hand a chair."

The maid of all work brought one, which Claudia took, saying:

"Now let me see the twins."

Hannah stooped and raised the white dimity coverlet, and proudly displayed her treasures--two fat, round, red-faced babies, calmly sleeping side by side.

What woman or girl ever looked upon sleeping infancy without pleasure? Claudia's face brightened into beaming smiles as she contemplated these children, and exclaimed:

"They are beauties! I want you to let me help to dress them up fine, Mrs. Gray! I have no little brothers and sisters, nor nephews and nieces; and I should like so much to have a part property in these!"

"You are too good, Miss Merlin."

"I am not good at all. I like to have my own way. I should like to pet and dress these babies. I declare, for the want of a little brother or sister to pet, I could find it in my heart to dress a doll! See, now, what I have brought for these babies! Let the basket down, Mattie, and take the things out."

Miss Merlin's maid obeyed, and displayed to the astonished eyes of Hannah yards of cambric, muslin, and lawn, rolls of lace, ribbon, and beads, and lots of other finery.

Hannah's eyes sparkled. That good woman had never been covetous for herself, but for those children she could become so. She had too much surly pride to accept favors for herself, but for those children she could do so; not, however, without some becoming hesitation and reluctance.

"It is too much, Miss Merlin. All these articles are much too costly for me to accept, or for the children to wear," she began.

But Claudia silenced her with:

"Nonsense! I know very well that you do not in your heart think that there is anything on earth too fine for those babies to wear. And as for their being costly, that is my business. Mattie, lay these things on Mrs. Gray's bureau."

Again Mattie obeyed her mistress, and then set the empty basket down on the floor.

"Now, Mattie, the other basket."

Mattie brought it.

"Mrs. Gray, these wines, cordials, and jellies are all of domestic manufacture--Katie's own make; and she declares them to be the best possible supports for invalids in your condition," said Miss Merlin, uncovering the second basket.

"But really and indeed, miss, you are too kind. I cannot think of accepting all these good things from you."

"Mattie, arrange all those pots, jars, and bottles on the mantel shelf, until somebody comes to take them away," said Claudia, without paying the least attention to Hannah's remonstrances.

When this order was also obeyed, and Mattie stood with both baskets on her arms, waiting for further instructions, Miss Merlin arose, saying:

"And now, Mrs. Gray, I must bid you good-afternoon. I cannot keep papa waiting dinner for me. But I will come to see you again to-morrow, if you will allow me to do so."

"Miss Merlin, I should be proud and happy to see you as often as you think fit to come."

"And, mind, I am to stand god-mother to the twins."

"Certainly, miss, if you please to do so."

"By the way, what is to be their names?"

"John and Mary, miss--after Reuben's father and my mother."

"Very well; I will be spiritually responsible for John and Mary! Good-by, Mrs. Gray."

"Good-by, and thank you, Miss Merlin."

Claudia shook hands and departed. She had scarcely got beyond the threshold of the chamber door when she heard the voice of Hannah calling her back:

"Miss Merlin!"

Claudia returned.

"I beg your pardon, miss; but I hear my nephew, Ishmael Worth, is up at the house, doing something for the judge."

"He is up there," answered Claudia evasively.

"Well, do pray tell him, my dear Miss Merlin, if you please, that I want to see him as soon as he can possibly get home. Oh! I beg your pardon a thousand times for taking the liberty of asking you, miss."

"I will tell him," said Claudia, smiling and retiring.

When Miss Merlin had gone Hannah stooped and contemplated her own two children with a mother's insatiable pride and love. Suddenly she burst into penitential tears and wept.

Why?

She was gazing upon her own two fine, healthy, handsome babies, that were so much admired, so well beloved, and so tenderly cared for; and she was remembering little Ishmael in his poor orphaned infancy--so pale, thin, and sickly, so disliked, avoided, and neglected! At this remembrance her penitent heart melted in remorseful tenderness. The advent of her own children had shown to Hannah by retrospective action all the cruelty and hardness of heart she had once felt and shown towards Ishmael.

"But I will make it all up to him--poor, dear boy! I will make it all up to him in the future! Oh, how hard my heart was towards him! as if he could have helped being born, poor fellow! How badly I treated him! Suppose now, as a punishment for my sin, I was to die and leave my babes to be despised, neglected, and wished dead by them as had the care of 'em! How would I feel? although my children are so much healthier and stronger, and better able to bear neglect than ever Ishmael was, poor, poor fellow! It is a wonder he ever lived through it all. Surely, only God sustained him, for he was bereft of nearly all human help. Oh, Nora! Nora! I never did my duty to your boy; but I will do it now, if God will only forgive and spare me for the work!" concluded Hannah, as she raised both her own children to her lap.

Meanwhile, attended by her maid, Miss Merlin went on her way homeward. She reached Tanglewood in time for dinner, at six o'clock.

At table the judge said to her:

"Well, Claudia! the doctor has been here on his evening visit, and he says that you may see our young patient in the morning, after he has had his breakfast; but that no visitor must be admitted to his chamber at any later hour of the day."

"Very well, papa. I hope you will give old Katie to understand that, so she may not give me any trouble when I apply at the door," smiled Claudia.

"Katie understands it all, my dear," said the judge.

And so it was arranged that Claudia should visit her young preserver on the following morning.