Mr. Middleton fell into deep thought. It was some minutes before he spoke. When he did, it was to say:
"Ishmael, Bee is my eldest daughter and favorite child."
"I know it, sir," answered the young man.
"Parents ought not to have favorites among their children; but how can I help it? Bee is almost an angel."
"I know it, sir," said Ishmael.
"Oh, yes; you know it! you know it!" exclaimed Mr. Middleton, half laughing and not far from crying; "but do you know what you do when you ask a father to give up his best beloved daughter?"
"Indeed I think I do, sir; but—daughters must some time or other become wives," said Ishmael, with a deprecating smile.
"Yes, it is true!" sighed Mr. Middleton. "Well, Ishmael, since in the course of nature I must some day give my dear daughter up, I would rather give her to you than to any man on earth, for I have a great esteem and affection for you, Ishmael."
"Indeed, sir, it is mutual!" replied the young man, grasping the hand of his friend.
"It is just the state of feeling that should exist between father- and son-in-law," said Mr. Middleton.
"I have your sanction, then, to speak to Bee?"
"Yes, Ishmael, yes; I will give her to you! But not yet, my dear boy; for several reasons not just yet! You are both very young yet; you are but little over twenty-one; she scarcely nineteen; and besides her mother still needs her assistance in taking care of the children; and I—must get used to the idea of parting with her; so you must wait a year or two longer, Ishmael! She is well worth waiting for."
"I know it! Oh, I know it well, sir! I have seen women as beautiful, as amiable, and as accomplished; but I never, no, never met with one so 'altogether lovely' as Bee! And I thank you, sir! Oh, I thank you more than tongue can tell for the boon you have granted me. You will not lose your daughter, sir; but you will gain a son; and I will be a true son to you. sir, as Heaven hears me! And to her I will be a true lover and husband. Her happiness shall be the very first object in my life, sir; nothing in this world over which I have the slightest control shall be suffered to come into competition with it."
"I am—I am sure of that, my boy!" replied Mr. Middleton, in a broken voice.
"And I do not presume to wish to hurry either you or her, sir; I am willing to wait your leisure and hers; all I want now is to have an understanding with Bee, and to be admitted to the privileges of an accepted lover. You could trust me so far, sir?"
"Trust you so far! Why, Ishmael, there is no limit to my trust in you!"
"And Mrs. Middleton, sir?"
"Why, Ishmael, she loves you as one of her own children; and I do think you would disappoint and grieve her if you were to marry out of the family. I will break the matter to Mrs. Middleton. Go find Bee, and speak to her of this matter, and when you have won her consent, bring her to me that I may join your hands and bless your betrothal."
Ishmael fervently pressed the hand of his kind friend and left him.
Of course Bee, who was still busy with her maids in the store-room, was not to be spoken to on that subject at that hour. But Ishmael went up to his own room to reflect.
Perhaps the whole key to Ishmael's conduct in this affair might have been found in the words he used when pleading with his father the cause of the Countess of Hurstmonceux; he said:
"It seems to me, if any young lady had loved me so, I must have loved her fondly in return; I could not have helped doing so."
And he could not. There was something too warm, generous, and noble in Nora's son to be so insensible as all that.
His inspiration also instructed him that not the beautiful and imperious Claudia, but the lovely and loving Bee was his Heaven- appointed wife.
He was inspired when in his agony that dreadful night he had cried out: "By a woman came sin and death into the world, and by a woman came redemption and salvation! Oh! Claudia, my Eve, farewell! And Bee, my Mary, hail!"
And now that he was about to betroth himself to Bee, and make her happy, he himself felt happier than he had been for many days. He felt sure, too, that when his heart should recover from its wounds he should love Bee with a deeper, higher, purer, and more lasting affection than ever his fierce passion for Claudia could have become.
The maiden loved the young man well,And pined for many a day,Because that star-eyed, queenly belleHad won his heart away.But now the young man chooses wellBetween the beauteous pair,The proud and brilliant dark-haired belle,And gentle maiden fair.—M. F. Tupper
After tea Ishmael, having missed Bee from the drawing room, went out into the garden, expecting to find her there. Not seeing her, he walked up and down the gravel walk, waiting for her appearance.
Presently she came up, softly and silently, and joined him.
"Thanks, dearest Bee," he said, as he drew her arm within his own.
"It is a beautiful evening, Ishmael; I have never seen the garden look more lovely," said Bee.
And it was indeed a beautiful evening and a lovely scene. The sun had just set; but all the western horizon and the waters of the distant river were aflame with crimson fire of his reflected rays; while over the eastern hills the moon and stars were shining from the dark gray heavens. In the garden, the shrubs and flowers, not yet damp with dew, were sending forth their richest fragrance; the latest birds were twittering softly before settling themselves to sleep in their leafy nests; and the earliest insects were tuning up their tiny, gleeful pipes before commencing their evening concert.
"This garden is a very pleasant place, quite as pleasant asTanglewood, if uncle would only think so," said Bee.
"Yes, it is very pleasant. You do not like the plan of returning to the country, Bee?" said Ishmael.
"No, indeed, I do not; breaking up and parting is always a painful process." And Bee's lips quivered and the tears came into her eyes.
Ishmael pressed the little hand that lay light as a snowflake on his arm, drew it closer within his embrace, and turned down the narrow path that led to the remote arbor situated far down in the angle of the wall in the bottom of the garden.
He led her to a seat, placed himself beside her, took her hand, and said:
"It is here, dearest Bee—here in the scene of my humiliation and of my redemption—that I would say to you all I have to say; that I would lay my heart open before you, and place it at your feet, for spurning, or for blessing."
She looked up at him with surprise, but also with infinite affection in her innocent and beautiful eyes. Then, as she read the truth in his earnest gaze, her eyes fell, and her color rose.
"And dearest Bee, I have your father's sanction for what I do, for without it I would not act."
Her eyes were still fixed upon the ground, but her hand that he clasped in his throbbed like a heart. And oh! he felt how entirely she loved him; and he felt that he could devote his whole life to her.
"Dearest of all dear ones, Bee, listen to me. Not many days have passed, since, one evening, you came to this arbor, seeking one that was lost and found—me!"
She began to tremble.
"You know how you found me, Bee," he said sadly and solemnly.
"Oh, Ishmael, dear!" she cried, with an accent of sharp pain, "do not speak of that evening! forget it and let me forget it! it is past!"
"Dearest girl, only this once will I pain you by alluding to that sorrowful and degrading hour. You found me—I will not shrink from uttering the word, though it will scorch my lips to speak it and burn your ears to hear it—you found me—intoxicated."
"Oh, Ishmael, dear, you were not to blame! it was not your fault! it was an accident—a misfortune!" she exclaimed, as blushes burned upon her cheeks and tears suffused her eyes.
"How much I blamed, how much I loathed myself, dearest Bee, you can never know! Let that pass. You found me as I said. Actually and bodily I was lying on this bench, sleeping the stupid sleep of intoxication; but morally and spiritually I was slipping over the brink of an awful chasm. Bee, dearest Bee! dearest saving angel! it was this little hand of yours that drew me back, so softly that I scarcely knew I had been in danger of ruin until that danger was past. And, Bee, since that day many days of storm have passed, but the face of my saving angel has ever looked out from among the darkest clouds a bright rainbow of promise. I did not perish in the storm, because her sweet face ever looked down upon me!"
Bee did not attempt to reply; she could not; she sat with her flushed and tearful eyes bent upon the ground.
"Love, do you know this token?" he inquired, in a voice shaking with agitation, as he drew from his bosom a little wisp of white cambric and laid it in her lap.
"It is my—my—" she essayed to answer, but her voice failed.
"It is your dear handkerchief," he said, as he took it, pressed it to his lips, and replaced it in his bosom. "It is your dear handkerchief! When you found me as you did, in your loving kindness you laid it over my face—mine! so utterly unworthy to be so delicately veiled! Oh, Bee, if I could express to you all I felt! all I thought! when I recognized this dear token and so discovered who it was that had sought me when I was lost, and dropped tears of sorrow over me! and then covered my face from the blistering sun and the stinging flies—if I could tell you all that I suffered and resolved, then you would feel and know how earnest and sincere is the heart that at last—at last, my darling, I lay at your beloved feet."
She looked up at him for a moment and breathed a single word—a name that seemed to escape her lips quite involuntarily—"Claudia!"
"Yes, my darling," he said, in tones vibrating with emotion, "it is as you suppose, or rather it was so! You have divined my secret, which indeed I never intended to keep as a secret from you. Yes, Bee; I loved another before loving you. I loved her whom you have just named. I love her no longer. When by her marriage with another my love would have become sinful, it was sentenced to death and executed. But, Bee, it died hard, very hard; and in its violent death-throes it rent and tore my heart, as the evil spirit did the possessed man, when it was driven out of him. Bee, my darling," said Ishmael, smiling for the first time since commencing the interview, "this may seem to you a very fanciful way of putting the case; but is a good one, for in no other manner could I give you to understand how terrible my sufferings have been for the last few weeks, how completely my evil passion has perished; and yet how sore and weak it has left my heart. Bee, it is this heart, wounded and bleeding from a dead love, yet true and single in its affection for you, that I open before you and lay at your feet. Spurn it away from you, Bee, and I cannot blame you. Raise it to your own and I shall love and bless you."
Bee burst into tears.
He put his arm around her and drew her to his side and she dropped her head upon his shoulder and wept passionately. Many times she tried to speak, but failed. At last, when she had exhausted all her passion, she raised her head from its resting-place. He wiped the tears from her eyes and stooping, whispered:
"You will not reject me, Bee, because I loved another woman once?"
"No," she answered softly, "for if you loved another woman before me, you could not help it, Ishmael. It is not that I am concerned about."
"What then, dearest love? Speak out," he whispered.
"Oh, Ishmael, tell me truly one thing;" and she hid her face on his shoulder while she breathed the question: "Isn't it only for my sake, to please me and make me happy, that you offer me your love, Ishmael?" She spoke so low, with her face so muffled on his shoulder, that he scarcely understood her; so he bent his head and inquired:
"What is it that you say, dear Bee?"
She tried to speak more clearly, for it seemed with her a point of principle to put this question; but her voice was, if possible, lower and more agitated than before, so that he had to stoop closely and listen intently to catch her words as she answered:
"Do you not offer me your love, only because—because you have found out—found out somehow or other that I—that I loved you first?"
He clasped her suddenly close to his heart, and whispered eagerly:
"I offer you my love because I love you, best and dearest of all dear ones!" And he felt at that moment that he did love her entirely.
She was sobbing softly on his shoulder; but presently through her tears she said:
"And will my love do you any good, make you any happier, compensate you a little for all that you have missed in losing that brilliant one?"
He held her closely to his heart while he stooped and answered:
"Dearest, your love has always been the greatest earthly blessing Heaven ever bestowed upon my life! I thank Heaven that the blindness and madness of my heart is past and gone, and I am enabled to see and understand this! Your love, Bee, is the only earthly thing that can comfort all the sorrows that may come into my life, or crown all its joys. You will believe this, dearest Bee, when you remember that I never in my life varied from the truth to anyone, and least of all would I prevaricate with you. I love you. Bee, let those three words answer all your doubts!"
Brightly and beautifully she smiled up at him through her tears.
"All is well, then, Ishmael! For all that I desire in this world is the privilege of making you happy!"
"Then you are my own!" he said, stooping and kissing the sparkling tears that hung like dew-drops on the red roses of her cheeks; and holding her to his heart, in profound religious joy and gratitude, he bowed his head and said:
"Oh, Father in Heaven! how I thank thee for this dear girl! Oh, make me every day more worthy of her love, and of thy many blessings!"
And soon after this Ishmael, happier than he ever thought it possible to be in this world, led forth from the arbor his betrothed bride.
He led her at once to the house and to the presence of her parents, whom he found in their private sitting room.
Standing before them and holding her hand, he said:
"She has promised to be my wife, and we are here for your blessing."
"You have it, my children! You have it with all my heart! May theLord in heaven bless with his choicest blessings Ishmael andBeatrice!" said Mr. Middleton earnestly.
"Amen," said Mrs. Middleton.
Later in the evening Judge Merlin was informed of the engagement.And after congratulating the betrothed pair he turned to Mr. andMrs. Middleton and said:
"Heaven knows how I envy you your son-in-law."
The gratified parents smiled, for they were proud of Ishmael, and what he would become. But Walter Middleton grinned and said:
"Heaven may know that, Uncle Merlin; but I know one thing!"
"What is that, Jackanapes?"
"I know they may thank Bee for their son-in-law, for she did all the courting!"
The panic-stricken party remained silent for a moment, and thenJudge Merlin said:
"Well, sir! I know another thing!"
"And what is that, uncle?"
"That it will be a long time before you find a young lady to do you such an honor!"
Everybody laughed, not at the brilliancy of the joke, for the joke was not brilliant, but because they were happy; and when people are happy they do honor to very indifferent jests.
But Bee turned a ludicrously appalled look upon her lover and whispered:
"Oh, Ishmael! suppose he had known about that little bit of white cambric. He would have said that I had 'thrown the handkerchief' to you! And so I did! it is a dreadful reflection!"
"That handkerchief was a plank thrown to the drowning, Bee. It saved me from being whelmed in the waves of ruin. Oh, dearest, under heaven, you were my salvation!" said Ishmael, with emotion.
"Your comfort, Ishmael—only your comfort. Your own right- mindedness, 'under heaven,' would have saved you."
This was the last and the happiest evening they all spent at the city home together. Early in the morning they separated.
Judge Merlin and his servants started for Tanglewood, and Mr. and Mrs. Middleton and their family for The Beacon, where Ishmael promised as soon as possible to join them. Walter Middleton left for Saratoga. And, last of all, Ishmael locked up the empty house, took charge of the key, and departed to take possession of his new lodgings—alone, but blessed and happy.
Who can describe the sweets of country lifeBut those blest men that do enjoy and taste them?Plain husbandmen, though far below our pitchOf fortune placed, enjoy a wealth above us:They breathe a fresh and uncorrupted air,And in sweet homes enjoy untroubled sleep.Their state is fearless and secure, enrichedWith several blessings such as greatest kingsMight in true justice envy, and themselvesWould count too happy if they truly knew them.—May.
Ishmael was settled in his new apartments on the first floor of a comfortable house on Louisiana Avenue. The front room opening upon the street, and having his name and profession engraved upon a silver plate attached to the door, was his public office; the middle room was his private office; and the back room, which opened upon a pleasant porch leading into the garden, was his bed-chamber.
The house was kept by two sisters, maiden ladies of venerable age, who took no other boarders or lodgers.
So, upon the whole, Ishmael's quarters were very comfortable.
The rapid increase of his business justified him in taking a clerk; and then in a week or two, as he saw this clerk over-tasked, he took a second; both young men who had not been very successful barristers, but who were very good office lawyers.
And Ishmael's affairs went on "swimmingly."
Of course there were hours when he sadly missed the companionship of the congenial family circle with whom he had been so long connected; but Ishmael was not one to murmur over the ordinary troubles of life. He rather made the best of his position and steadily looked on the bright side.
Besides, he maintained a regular correspondence with his friends. That correspondence was the only recreation and solace he allowed himself.
Almost every day he wrote to Bee, and he received answers to every one of his letters—answers full of affection, encouragement, and cheerfulness.
And at least once a week he got letters from Judge Merlin, Mr. Middleton, and Mr. Brudenell, all of whom continued to urge him to pay them visits as soon as his business would permit. Only one more letter he got from Reuben Gray; for letter writing was to poor Reuben a most difficult and dreaded task; and this one was merely to say that they should expect Ishmael down soon.
From Judge Merlin's letters it appeared that Lord and Lady Vincent had extended their tour into Canada East, and were now in the neighborhood of the "Thousand Isles," but that they expected to visit the judge at Tanglewood some time during the autumn; after which they intended to sail for Europe.
Ishmael continued to push his business for six or seven weeks, so that it was near the first of September before he found leisure to take a holiday and pay his promised visits.
Two weeks was the utmost length of time he could allow himself. And there were four places that seemed to have equal claims upon his society. Where should he go first? Truly Ishmael was embarrassed with the riches of his friendships.
At Woodside were Hannah and Reuben, who had cared for him in his orphaned infancy, and who really seemed to have the first right to him.
And at Tanglewood Judge Merlin was alone, moping for the want of his lost daughter and needing the consolation of a visit from Ishmael.
At the Beacon was his betrothed bride, who was also anxious to see him.
And finally, at Brudenell Hall was Herman Brudenell; and HermanBrudenell was—his father!
After a little reflection Ishmael's right-mindedness decided in favor of Woodside. Hannah had stood in his mother's place towards him, and to Hannah he would go first.
So, to get there by the shortest route, Ishmael took passage in the little steamer "Errand Boy," that left Georgetown every week for the mouth of the river, stopping at all the intervening landing-places.
Ishmael started on Friday morning and on Saturday afternoon was set ashore at Shelton, whence a pleasant walk of three miles through the forest that bordered the river brought him to Woodside.
Clean and cheerful was the cottage, gleaming whitely forth here and there from its shadowy green foliage and clustering red roses. The cottage and the fence had been repainted, and the gravel walk that led from the wicket-gate to the front door had been trimmed and rolled. And very dainty looked the white, fringed curtains and the green paper blinds at the front windows.
Evidently everything had been brightened up and put into holiday attire to welcome Ishmael.
While his hand was on the latch of the gate he was perceived from within, and the front door flew open and all the family rushed out to receive him—Reuben and Hannah, and the two children and Sally and the dog—the latter was as noisy and sincere in his welcome as any of the human friends, barking round and round the group to express his sympathy and joy and congratulations.
"I telled Hannah how you'd come to us fust; I did! Didn't I, Hannah, my dear?" said Reuben triumphantly, as he shook both Ishmael's hands with an energy worthy of a blacksmith.
"Well, I knew he would too! It didn't need a prophet nor one to rise from the dead to tell us that Ishmael would be true to his old friends," said Hannah, pushing Reuben away and embracing Ishmael with a—
"How do you do, my boy? You look better than I expected to see you after your hard year's work."
"Oh, I am all right, thank you, Aunt Hannah. Coming to see you has set me up!" laughed Ishmael, cordially returning her embrace.
"You, Sally! what are you doing there? grinning like a monkey? Go directly and make the kettle boil, and set the table. And tell that Jim, that's always loafing around you, to make himself useful as well as ornamental, and open them oysters that were brought from Cove Banks to-day. Why don't you go? what are you waiting for?"
"Please 'm, I hav'n't shook hands long o' Marse Ishmael yet," saidSally, showing all her fine ivories.
Ishmael stepped forward and held out his hand, saying, as he kindly shook the girl's fat paw:
"How do you do, Sally? You grow better looking every day! And I have got a pretty coral breastpin in my trunk for you, to make up for that one the shanghai swallowed."
"Oh, Marse Ishmael, you needn't have taken no trouble, not on my account, sir, I am sure; dough I'm thousand times obleege to you, and shall be proud o' de breas'pin, 'cause I does love breas'pins, 'specially coral," said Sally, courtesying and smiling all over her face.
"Well, well," said Hannah impatiently, "now be off with you directly, and show your thankfulness by getting supper for your Marse Ishmael as quick as ever you can. Never mind the table—I'll set that."
Sally dropped another courtesy and vanished.
"Where did you say your trunk was, Ishmael?" inquired Gray, as they walked into the house.
"He never said it was anywhere; he only said he had a coral breastpin in it for Sally," put in the literal Hannah.
"My trunk is at the Steamboat Hotel in Shelton, Uncle Reuben. I could not at once find a cart to bring it over, for I was too anxious to see you all to spend time looking for one. So I left it with the landlord, with orders to forward it on Monday."
"Oh, sho! And what are you to do in the meantime? And Sally'll go crazy for a sight of her breastpin! So I'll just go out and make Sam put the horse to the light wagon, and go right after it; he'll jest have time to go and get it and come back afore it's dark," said Reuben; and without waiting to hear any of Ishmael's remonstrances, he went out immediately to give his orders to Sam.
Hannah followed Ishmael up to his own old room in the garret, to see that he had fresh water, fine soap, clean towels, and all that was requisite for his comfort.
And then leaving him to refresh himself with a wash, she returned downstairs to set the table for tea.
By the time she had laid her best damask table-cloth, and set out her best japan waiter and china tea-set, and put her nicest preserves in cut glass saucers, and set the iced plumcake in the middle of the table, Ishmael, looking fresh from his renewed toilet, came down into the parlor.
She immediately drew forward the easiest arm-chair for his accommodation.
He sat down in it and called the two children and the dog, who all gathered around him for their share of his caresses.
And at the same moment Reuben, having dispatched Sam on his errand to Shelton, came in and sat down, with his big hands on his knees, and his head bent forward, contemplating the group around Ishmael with immense satisfaction.
Hannah was going in and out between the parlor and the pantry bringing cream, butter, butter-milk, and so forth.
Ishmael lifted John upon his knees, and while smoothing back the flaxen curls from the child's well-shaped forehead, said:
"This little fellow has got a great deal in this head of his! What do you intend to make of him, Uncle Reuben?"
"Law, Ishmael, how can I tell!" grinned Reuben.
"You should give him an education and fit him for one of the learned professions; or, no; I will do that, if Heaven spares us both!" said Ishmael benevolently; then smiling down upon the child, he said:
"What would you like to be when you grow up, Johnny?"
"I don't know," answered inexperience.
"Would you like to be a lawyer?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I wouldn't."
"Satisfactory! Would you like to be a doctor?"
"'No."
"Why?"
"'Cause I wouldn't."
"'As before.' Would you like to be a parson?"
"No."
"Why?"
"'Cause I wouldn't."
"Sharp little fellow, isn't he, Ishmael? Got his answer always ready!" said the father, rubbing his knees in delight.
Ishmael smiled at Reuben Gray and then turned to the child and said:
"What would you like to be, Johnny?"
"Well, I'd like to be a cart-driver like Sam, and drive the ox team!"
"Aspiring young gentleman!" said Ishmael, smiling.
"There now," said Hannah, who had heard the latter part of this conversation, "that's what I tell Reuben. He needn't think he is going to make ladies and gentlemen out of our children. They are just good honest workman's children, and will always be so; for 'what's bred in the bone will never come out in the flesh'; and 'trot mammy, trot daddy, the colt will never pace.' Cart-driver!" mocked Hannah, in intense disgust.
"Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! Why, don't you know that when I was Johnny's age my highest earthly ambition was to become a professor of odd jobs, like the renowned Jim Morris, who was certainly the greatest man of my acquaintance!"
While they were chatting away in this manner Sally brought in the coffee and tea, which was soon followed by dishes of fried oysters, stewed oysters, fried ham, and broiled chicken, and plates of waffles, rolls, and biscuits, and in fact by all the luxuries of a Maryland supper.
Hannah took her place at the head of the table and called her family around her.
And all sat down at the board. Even the dog squatted himself down by the side of Ishmael, where he knew he was sure of good treatment. Sally, neatly dressed, waited on the table. And presently Jim, who had a holiday this Saturday evening and was spending it with Sally, came in, and after shaking hands with "Mr. Ishmael" and welcoming him to the neighborhood, stood behind his chair and anticipated his wants as if he, Jim, had been lord-in-waiting upon a prince.
When supper was over and the service cleared away, Ishmael, Reuben, Hannah, and the children, who had been allowed to sit up a little longer in honor of Ishmael's visit, gathered together on the front porch to enjoy the delicious coolness of the clear, starlit, summer evening.
While they were still sitting there, chatting over the old times and the new days, the sound of wheels were heard approaching, and Sam drove up in the wagon, in which was Ishmael's trunk and a large box.
Jim was called in from the kitchen, where he had been engaged in making love to Sally, to assist in lifting the luggage in.
The trunk and the box were deposited in the middle of the parlor floor to be opened,—because, forsooth, all that simple family wished to be present and look on at the opening.
Ishmael's personal effects were in the trunk they guessed; but what was in the box? that was the riddle and they could not solve it. Both the children pressed forward to see. Even the dog stood with his ears pricked, his nose straight and his eyes fixed on the interesting box as though he expected a fox to break cover from it as soon as it was opened.
Ishmael had mercy on their curiosity and ended their suspense by ripping off the cover.
And lo! a handsome hobby-horse which he took out and set up before the delighted eyes of Johnny.
He lifted the tiny man into the saddle, fixed his feet in the stirrups, gave him the bridle, and showed him how to manage his steed.
"There, Johnny," said Ishmael, "I cannot realize your aspirations in respect to the driver's seat on the ox-cart, but I think this will do for the present."
"Ah, yes!" cried the ecstatic Johnny, "put Molly up behind! put Molly up behind and let her sit and hold on to me! My horse can carry double."
"Never mind! I've got something for Molly that she will like better than that," said Ishmael, smiling kindly on the little girl, who stood with her finger in her mouth looking as if she thought herself rather neglected.
And he unlocked his trunk and took from the top of it a large, finely painted, substantially dressed wooden doll, that looked as if it could bear a great deal of knocking about without injury.
Molly made an impulsive spring towards this treasure, and was immediately rendered happy by its possession.
Then Sally was elevated to the seventh heaven by the gift of the coral breastpin.
Hannah received a handsome brown silk dress and Reuben a new writing-desk, and Sam a silver watch, and Jim a showy vest-pattern.
And Ishmael, having distributed his presents, ordered his trunk to be carried upstairs, and the box into the outhouse.
When the children were tired of their play Hannah took them off to hear them say their prayers and put them to bed.
And then Ishmael and Reuben were left alone.
And the opportunity that Ishmael wanted had come.
He could have spoken of his parents to either Hannah or Reuben separately; but he felt that he could not enter upon the subject in the presence of both together.
Now he drew his chair to the side of Gray and said:
"Uncle Reuben, I have something serious to say to you."
"Eh! Ishmael! what have I been doing of? I dessay something wrong in the bringing up of the young uns!" said Reuben, in dismay, expecting to be court-martialed upon some grave charge.
"It is of my parents that I wish to speak, Uncle Reuben."
"Oh!" said the latter, with an air of relief.
"You knew my mother, Uncle Reuben; but did you know who my father was?"
"No," said Reuben thoughtfully. "All I knowed was as he married of your mother in a private manner, and from sarcumstances never owned up to it; but left her name and yourn to suffer for it—the cowardly rascal, whoever he was!"
"Hush, Uncle Reuben, hush! You are speaking of my father!"
"And a nice father he wur to let your good mother's fair name come to grief and leave you to perish a'most!"
"Uncle Reuben, you know too little of the circumstances to be able to judge!"
"Law, Ishmael, it takes but little knowledge and less judgment to understand, as when a feller fersakes his wife and child for nothink, and leaves 'em to suffer undesarved scandal and cruel want, he must be an unnatural monster and a parjured vilyun!"
"Uncle Reuben, you are unjust to my father! You must listen to hisvindication from my lips, and then you will acquit him of all blame.But first I must tell you in confidence his name—it is HermanBrudenell!"
"There now!" exclaimed Reuben, dropping his pipe in his astonishment; "to think that I had that fact right afore my eyes all my life and never could see it! Well, of all the blind moles and owls, I must a been the blindest! And to think as I was the very first as warned the poor girl agin him at that birthday feast! But, law, arter that I never saw them together agin, no, not once! So I had no cause to s'picion him, no more nor others! Well and now, Ishmael, tell me all how and about it! Long as it was him, Mr. Herman, there must a been something uncommon about it, for I don't believe he'd do anythink dishonorable, not if he knowed it!"
"Not if he knew it! You are right there, Uncle Reuben," said Ishmael, who immediately related the tragic story of his parents' marriage, ending with the family wreck that had ruined all their happiness.
"Dear me! dear, dear me! what a sorrowful story for all hands, to be sure! Well, Ishmael, whoever was most to be pitied in former times, your father is most to be pitied now. Be good to him," said Reuben.
"You may be sure that I will do all that I can to comfort my father, Uncle Reuben. And now a word to you! Speak of this matter to me alone whenever you like; or to Aunt Hannah alone whenever you like; but to no others; and not even to us when we are together! for I cannot bear that this old tragic history should become the subject of general conversation."
"I know, Ishmael, my boy, I know! Mum's the word!" said Reuben.
And the entrance of Hannah at that moment put an end to the conversation.
There was one subject upon which Ishmael felt a little uneasiness— the dread of meeting Claudia.
He knew that she was not expected at Tanglewood until the first of October; for so the judge had informed him in a letter that he had received the very night before he left Washington. And this was only the first of September; and he intended to give himself but two weeks' holiday and to be back at his office by the fourteenth at farthest, full sixteen days before the expected arrival of Lord and Lady Vincent at Tanglewood.
Yet this dread of meeting Claudia haunted him. His love was dead; but as he had told Bee, it had died hard and rent his heart in its death-struggles, and that heart was sore to the touch of her presence.
The judge's letter wherein he had spoken of the date of his daughter and son-in-law's visit had been written several days previous to this evening, and since that, news might have come from them, speaking of some change of plan, involving an earlier visit.
These Ishmael felt were the mere chimeras of imagination. Still he thought he would inquire concerning the family at Tanglewood.
"They are all well up at the house, I hope, Uncle Reuben?" he asked.
"Famous! And having everything shined up bright as a new shilling, in honor of the arrival of my lord and my lady, who are expected, come first o' next mont'."
"On the first of October? Are you sure?"
"On the first of October, sharp! Not a day earlier or later! I was up to the house yes'day afternoon, just afore you come; and sure enough the judge, he had just got a letter from the young madam,—my lady, I mean,—in which she promised not to disappoint him, but to be at Tanglewood punctually on the first of October to a day!"
Reuben, a hard-working man, who was "early to bed and early to rise," concluded this speech with such an awful, uncompromising yawn that Ishmael immediately took up and lighted his bedroom candle, bid them all good-night, and retired.
He was once more in the humble little attic room where he had first chanced upon a set of old law books and imbibed a taste for the legal profession.
There was the old "screwtaw," as Reuben called it, and there was the old well-thumbed volumes that had constituted his sole wealth of books before he had the range of the well-filled library at Tanglewood.
And there was the plain deal table standing within the dormer window, where he had been accustomed to sit and read and write; or, whenever he raised his head, to gaze out upon the ocean-like expanse of water near the mouth of the Potomac.
After all, this humble attic chamber had many points of resemblance with that more pretentious one he had occupied in Judge Merlin's elegant mansion in Washington. Both were on the north side of the Potomac. Each had a large dormer window looking southwest and commanding an extensive view of the river; within the recess of each window he had been accustomed to sit and read or write.
The only difference was that the window in the Washington attic looked down upon the great city and the winding of the river among wooded and rolling hills; while the window of the cottage here looked down upon broad fields sloping to the shore, and upon the vast sea-like expanse of water stretching out of sight under the distant horizon.
The comparison between his two study-windows was in Ishmael's mind as he stood gazing upon the shadowy green fields and the starlit sky and water.
Not long he stood there; he was weary with his journey; so he offered up his evening prayers and went to bed and to sleep.
Early in the morning he awoke, and arose to enjoy the beauty of a summer Sunday in the quiet country. It was a deliciously cool, bright, beautiful autumnal morning.
Ishmael looked out over land and water for a little while, and then quickly dressed himself, offered up his morning prayers and went below.
The family were already assembled in the parlor, and all greeted him cordially.
The table was set, and Sally, neat in her Sunday clothes and splendid in her coral brooch, was waiting ready to bring in the breakfast.
And a fine breakfast it was, of fragrant coffee, rich cream, fresh butter, Indian corn bread, Maryland biscuits, broiled birds, boiled crabs, etc.
And Ishmael, upon whom the salt sea air of the coast was already producing a healthful change, did ample justice to the luxuries spread before him.
"For church this morning, Ishmael?" inquired Reuben.
"Yes; but I must walk over to Tanglewood and go with the judge. He would scarcely ever forgive me if I were to go anywhere, even to church, before visiting him."
"No more he wouldn't, that's a fact," admitted Reuben.
Are not the forests, waves and skies, a partOf me and of my soul as I of them?Is not the love of these deep in my heartWith a pure passion? Should I not contemnAll objects if compared with these? and stemA tide of sufferings, rather than foregoSuch feelings for the hard and worldly phlegmOf those whose eyes are only turned below,Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow?—Byron.
After breakfast Ishmael took his hat, and, promising to return in the evening, set out for Tanglewood to spend the day and go to church with the judge.
How he enjoyed that Sunday morning walk through the depths of the forest that lay between Woodside and Tanglewood.
He reached the house just as the judge had finished breakfast. He was shown into the room while the old man still lingered in sheer listlessness over his empty cup and plate.
"Eh, Ishmael! is that you, my boy? Lord bless my soul, how glad I am to see you! Old Jacob was never so glad to see Joseph as I am to see you!" was the greeting of the judge, as he started up, overturning his chair and seizing both his visitor's hands and shaking them vigorously.
"And I am very glad indeed to see you again, sir! I hope you have been well?" said Ishmael warmly, returning his greeting.
"Well? Hum, ha, how can I be well? What is that the poet says?
"'What stamps the wrinkle deepest on the brow,It is to be alone as I am now!'
I miss Claudia, Ishmael. I miss her sadly."
"Lady Vincent will be with you soon, sir," observed Ishmael, in as steady a voice as he could command.
"Yes, she will come on the first of October and stop with me for a month. So her letter of Wednesday received yesterday says. And then I shall lose her forever!" complained the judge, with a deep sigh.
"Ah, but you must look on the bright side, sir! You are independent. You have time and money at your own disposal; and no very strong ties here. You can visit Lady Vincent as often and stay with her as long as you please," smiled Ishmael cheerfully.
"Why, so I can! I never thought of that before! I may certainly pass at least half my time with my daughter if I please!" exclaimed the old man, brightening up.
"Are you going to church this morning, sir?" inquired Ishmael.
"You are, of course!" said the judge; "for you take care never to miss morning service! So I must go!"
"Not on my account. I know the road," smiled Ishmael.
"Oh, in any case I should go. I promised to go and dine at the parsonage, so as to attend afternoon service also. And when I mentioned to Mr. Wynne that I was expecting you down he requested me, if you arrived in time, to bring you with me, as he was desirous of forming your acquaintance. So you see, Ishmael, your fame is spreading."
"I am very grateful to you and to Mr. Wynne," said Ishmael, as his heart suddenly thrilled to the memory that Wynne was the name of the minister who had united his parents in their secret marriage.
"Has Mr. Wynne been long in this parish?" he inquired.
"Some three or four months, I believe. This is his native State, however. He used to be stationed at the Baymouth church, but left it some years ago to go as a missionary to Farther India; but as of late his health failed, he returned home and accepted the call to take charge of this parish."
Ishmael looked wistfully in the face of the judge and said:
"It was very kind in Mr. Wynne to think of inviting me. Why do you suppose he did it?"
"Why, I really do suppose that the report of your splendid successes in Washington has reached him, and he feels some curiosity to see a young man who in so short a time has attained so high a position."
"No, it is not that," said Ishmael, with a genuine blush at this great praise; "but do you really not know what it is?"
"I do not, unless it is what I said," replied the judge, raising his eyebrows.
"He married my parents, and baptized me; he knows that I bear my mother's maiden name; and he was familiar with my early poverty and struggles for life; he left the neighborhood when I was about eight years old," said Ishmael, in a low voice.
The judge opened his eyes and drooped his head for a few moments, and then said:
"Indeed! Your father, when he told me of his marriage with your mother, did not mention the minister's name. Everything else, I believe, he candidly revealed to me, under the seal of confidence; this omission was accidental, and really unimportant. But how surprised Brudenell will be to learn that his old friend and confidant is stationed here."
"Yes."
"And now I can thoroughly understand the great interest Mr. Wynne feels in you. It is not every minister who is the confidant in such a domestic tragedy as that of your poor mother was, Ishmael. It is not only the circumstances of your birth that interest him in you so much, but those taken in connection with your recent successes. I should advise you to meet Mr. Wynne's advances."
"I shall gratefully do so, sir."
"And now I really do suppose it is time to order the carriage, if we mean to go to church to-day," said the judge, rising and touching the bell.
Jim answered it.
"Have the gray horses put to the barouche and brought around. And put a case of that old port wine in the box; I intend to take it as a present to the parson. I always considered port a parsonic wine, and it really is in this case just the thing for an invalid," said the judge, turning to Ishmael as Jim left the room.
In twenty minutes the carriage was ready, and they started for the church, which was some five miles distant. An hour's drive brought them to it.
A picturesque scene that old St. Mary's church presented. It was situated in a clearing of the forest beside the turnpike road. It was built of red brick, and boasted twelve gothic windows and a tall steeple. The church-yard was fenced in with a low brick wall, and had some interesting old tombstones, whose dates were coeval with the first settlement of the State.
Many carriages of every description, from the barouche of the gentleman to the cart of the laborer, were scattered about, drawn up under the shade of the trees. And saddle-horses and donkeys were tied here and there. And groups of negroes, in their gay Sunday attire, stood gossiping among the trees. Some young men, as usual, were loitering at the church door.
The judge's carriage drew up under the shade of a forest tree, and the judge and Ishmael then alighted, and leaving the horses in the care of the coachman went into the church.
The congregation were already assembled, and soon after Judge Merlin and his guest took their seats the minister entered and took his place at the reading-desk and the services commenced.
There was little in this Sunday morning's service to distinguish it from others of the same sort. The minister was a good man and a plodding country parson. He read the morning prayers in a creditable but by no means distinguished manner. And he preached a sermon, more remarkable for its practical bearing than for its eloquence or originality, his text being in these words: "Faith without works is dead."
At the conclusion of the services, while the congregation were leaving the church, the minister descended from his pulpit and advanced towards Judge Merlin, who was also hastening to meet his pastor.
There was a shaking of hands.
Judge Merlin, who was an eminently practical man in all matters but one, complimented the preacher on his practical sermon.
And then without waiting to hear Mr. Wynne's disclaimer, he beckoned Ishmael to step forward, and the usual formula of introduction was performed.
"Mr. Wynne, permit me—Mr. Worth, Mr. Wynne!"
And then were two simultaneous bows and more handshaking.
But both the judge and Ishmael noticed the wistful look with which the latter was regarded by the minister.
"He is comparing likenesses," thought the judge.
"He is thinking of the past and present," thought Ishmael.
And both were right.
Mr. Wynne saw in Ishmael the likeness to both his parents, and noted how happily nature had distinguished him with the best points of each. And he was wondering at the miracle of seeing that the all- forsaken child, born to poverty, shame, and obscurity, was by the Lord's blessing on his own persevering efforts certainly rising to wealth, honor, and fame.
Mr. Wynne renewed his pressing invitation to Judge Merlin and Mr.Worth to accompany him home to dinner.
And as they accepted the minister's hospitality the whole party moved off towards the parsonage, which was situated in another clearing of the forest about a quarter of a mile behind the church.
The parson was blessed with the parson's luck of a large family, consisting of a wife, several sisters and sisters-in-law, and nieces, and so many sons and daughters of all ages, from one month old to twenty years, that the judge, after counting thirteen before he came to the end of the list, gave up the job in despair.
Notwithstanding, or perhaps because of, this, for "the more, the merrier," you know, the family dinner passed off pleasantly. And after dinner they all returned to church to attend the afternoon service.
And when that was ended Judge Merlin and Ishmael took leave of the parson and his family and returned home.
When they reached Tanglewood and alighted, the judge, who was first out, was accosted by his servant Jim, who spoke a few words in a low tone, which had the effect of hurrying the judge into the house.
Ishmael followed at his leisure.
He entered the drawing room and was walking slowly and thoughtfully up and down the room, when the sound of voices in the adjoining library caught his ear and transfixed him to the spot.
"Yes, papa, I am here, and alone—strange as this may seem!"
It was the voice of Claudia that spoke these words.
Be not amazed at life. 'Tis stillThe mode of God with his elect:Their hopes exactly to fulfill,In times and ways they least expect.
Who marry as they choose, and choose,Not as they ought, they mock the priest,And leaving out obedience, loseThe finest flavor of the feast.—Coventry Patmore.
Ishmael stood transfixed to the spot—for a moment, and then, breaking the spell with which the sound of Claudia's voice had bound him, he passed into the hall, took his hat from the rack, and said to Jim, who was still in attendance there:
"Give my respects to your master, and say that I have an engagement this evening that obliges me to withdraw. And give him my adieus."
"But, Mr. Ishmael, sir, you will wait for tea. Lady Vincent is here, sir, just arrived—" began Jim, with the affectionate freedom of a petted servant.
But Ishmael had left the hall, to keep his promise of spending the evening with Reuben and Hannah.
Claudia, standing by her father's side in the library, had also heard the sound of Ishmael's voice, as he spoke to the servant in the hall; and she suddenly ceased talking and looked as if turned to stone.
"Why, what is the matter, my dear?" inquired the judge, surprised at the panic into which she had been cast.
"Papa, he here!" she said.
"Who?"
"Ishmael!"
"Yes. Why?"
"Papa, make some excuse and get rid of him. I must not, cannot, will not, meet him now!" she exclaimed, in a half breathless voice of ill-suppressed excitement.
The judge looked at his daughter wistfully, painfully, for a moment, and then, as something like the truth in regard to Claudia's feelings broke upon him, he replied very gravely:
"My dear, you need not meet him; and he has saved me the embarrassment of sending him away. He has gone, if I mistake not."
"If you 'mistake' not. There must be no question of this, sir! See! and if he has not gone, tell him to go directly!"
"Claudia!"
"Oh, papa, I am nearly crazy! Go!"
The judge stepped out into the hall and made the necessary inquiries.
And Jim gave Ishmael's message.
With this the judge returned to Claudia.
"He is gone. And now, my dear, I wish to know why it is that you are here alone? I never in my life heard of such a thing. Where is Vincent?"
"Papa, I am nearly fainting with fatigue. Will you ring for one of the women to show Ruth my room? I suppose I have my old one?" she said, throwing herself back in her chair.
"Why—no, my dear; I fancy I saw Katie and the maids decorating the suite of rooms on the opposite side of the hall on this floor for you. I'll see."
"Anywhere, anywhere—'out of the world,'" sighed Claudia, as the judge sharply rang the bell.
Jim answered it.
"Tell Katie to show Lady Vincent's maid to her ladyship's chamber, and do you see the luggage taken there."
Jim bowed and turned to go.
"Stop," said the judge. "Claudia, my dear, what refreshment will you take before going up? A glass of wine? a cup of tea?" he inquired, looking anxiously upon the harassed countenance and languid figure of his daughter.
"A cup of coffee, papa, if they have any ready; if not, anything they can bring quickest."
"A cup of coffee for Lady Vincent in one minute, ready or not ready!" was the somewhat unreasonable command of the judge.
Jim disappeared to deliver all his master's orders.
And it seemed that the coffee was ready, for he almost immediately reappeared bearing a tray with the service arranged upon it.
"Is it strong, Jim?" inquired Claudia, as she raised the cup to her lips.
"Yes, miss—ma'am—my ladyship, I mean!" said poor Jim, who was excessively bothered by Claudia's new title and the changes that were rung upon it.
The coffee must have been strong, to judge by its effects uponClaudia.
"Take it away," she said, after having drunk two cupfuls. "Papa, I feel better; and while Ruth is unpacking my clothes I may just as well sit here and tell you why, if indeed I really know why, I am here alone. We were at Niagara, where we had intended to remain throughout this month of September. All the world seemed to know where we were and how long we intended to stay; for you are aware how absurdly we democratic and republican Americans worship rank and title; and how certain our reporters would be to chronicle the movements of Lord and Lady Vincent," said Claudia, with that air of world-scorn and self-scorn in which she often indulged.
"Well, Lady Vincent cannot consistently find fault with that," said the judge, with a covert smile.
"Because Lady Vincent shares the folly or has shared it," said Claudia; "but Lord Vincent did find fault with it; great fault—much greater fault than was necessary, I thought, and grumbled incessantly at our custom of registering names at the hotels, and at 'American snobbery and impertinence' generally."
"Bless his impudence! Who sent for him?"
"Papa, we should have quarreled upon this subject in our honeymoon, if I had had respect enough for him to hold any controversy with him."
"Claudia!"
"Well, I cannot help it, papa! I must speak out somewhere and to someone! Where so well as here in the woods; and to whom so well as to you?"
"You have not yet told me why you are here alone. And I assure you, Claudia, that the fact gives me uneasiness; it is unusual— unprecedented!"
"I am telling you, papa. One morning while we were still at Niagara I was sitting alone in our private parlor, when our mail was brought in—your letter for me, and three letters for 'my lord.' Of the latter, the first bore the postmark of Banff, the second that of Liverpool, and the third that of New York. They were all superscribed by the same hand; all were evidently from the same person. After turning them over and over in my hand, and in my mind, I came to the conclusion that the first dated was written to announce the writer as starting upon a journey; the second to announce the embarkment at Liverpool; and the third the arrival at New York; and that these letters, though posted at different times and places, had by the irregularities of the ocean mails happened to arrive at their final destination the same day. Lord Vincent has a mother and several sisters; yet I felt very sure that the letters never came from either of them, because in fact I had seen the handwriting of each in their letters to him. While I was still wondering over these rather mysterious letters my lord lounged into the room.
"I handed him the letters, the Banff one being on the top. As soon as he saw the handwriting he gave vent to various exclamations of annoyance, such as I had never heard from a gentleman, and scarcely ever expected to hear from a lord. 'Bosh!' 'Bother!' 'Here's a go!' 'Set fire to her,' etc., being among the most harmless and refined. But presently he saw the postmarks of Liverpool and New York on the other letters, and, after tearing them open and devouring their contents, he gave way to a fury of passion that positively appalled me. Papa, he swore and cursed like a pirate in a storm!"
"At you?"
"At me? I think not," answered Claudia haughtily; "but at some person or persons unknown. However, as he forgot himself so far as to give vent to his passion in my presence, I got up and retired to my chamber. Presently he came in, gracefully apologized for his violence,—did not explain the cause of it, however,—but requested me to give orders for the packing of our trunks and be ready to leave for New York in one hour."
"Did he give you no reason for his sudden movement?"
"Not until I inquired; then he gave me the general, convenient, unsatisfactory reason 'business.' In an hour we were off to New York. But now, papa, comes the singular part of the affair. When we reached the city, instead of driving to one of the best hotels, as had always been his custom, he drove to quite an inferior place, and registered our names—'Captain and Mrs. Jenkins.'"
"What on earth did he do that for?"
"How can I tell? When I made the same inquiry of him he merely answered that he was tired of being trumpeted to the world by these 'impertinent Yankee reporters!' The next day he left me alone in that stupid place and went out on his 'business,' whatever that was. And when he returned in the evening he told me that the 'business' was happily concluded, and that we might as well go on to Washington and Tanglewood to pay our promised visit to you. I very readily acceded to that proposition, for, papa, I was pining to see you."
"My dear child!" said the judge, with emotion.
"So next morning we started for the Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington station. We were in good time, and were just comfortably seated in one of the best cars when Lord Vincent caught sight of someone on the platform. And papa, with a muttered curse he started up and hurried from the car, throwing behind to me the hasty words, 'I'll be back soon.' Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and he did not come. And while I was still anxiously looking for him the train started. It was the express, and came all the way through. And that is why myself and attendants are here alone."
"All this seems very strange, Claudia," said the judge, with a troubled countenance.
"Yes, very."
"What do you make of it? Of course you, knowing more of the circumstances, are better able to judge than I am."
"Papa, I do not know."
"Who was it that he caught sight of on the platform?"
"A tall, handsome, imperious-looking woman between thirty and forty years of age, I should say; a sort of Cleopatra; very dark, very richly dressed. She was looking at him intently when he caught sight of her and rushed out as I said."
"And you can make nothing of it?"
"Nothing. I do not know whether he missed the train by design or accident; or whether he is at this moment on board the cars steaming to Washington or on board one of the ocean packets steaming to Liverpool."
"A bad, bad business, Claudia; all this grieves me much. You have been but two months married, and you return to me alone and your husband is among the missing; a bad, bad business, Claudia," said the judge very gravely.
"Not so bad as your words would seem to imply, papa. At least I hope not. I am inclined to think the detention was accidental; and that Lord Vincent will arrive by the next boat," said Claudia.
"But how coolly and dispassionately you speak of an uncertainty that would drive any other woman almost mad. At this moment you do not know whether you are abandoned or not, and to be candid with you, you do not seem to care," said the judge austerely.
"Papa, what I paid down my liberty for,—this rank, I mean—is safe! And so whether he goes or stays I am Lady Vincent; and nothing but death can prevent my becoming Countess of Hurstmonceux and a peeress of England," said Claudia defiantly, as she arose and drew her shawl around her shoulders and looked about herself.
"What is it that you want, my dear?" inquired the judge.
"Nothing. I was taking a view of the old familiar objects. How much has happened since I saw them last. It seems to me as if many years had passed since that time. Well, papa, I suppose Ruth has unpacked and put away my clothes by this time, and so I will leave you for the present."
And with a weary, listless air Claudia left the room and turned to go upstairs.
"Not there, not there, my dear, I told you. The rooms on this floor have been prepared for you," said the judge, who had followed her to the door.