And coldly from that noble heart,
In all its glowing youth,
His lore had turned and spurned apart
Its tenderness and truth—
Let him alone to live, or die—
Alone!—Yet, who is she?
Some guardian angel from the sky,
To bless and aid him?—Bee!
—Anon.

Ishmael received many other invitations. One morning, while he was seated at the table in his office, Walter Middleton entered, saying:

"Ishmael, leave reading over those stupid documents and listen to me. I am going to Saratoga for a month. Come with me; it will do you good."

"Thank you all the same, Walter; but I cannot leave the city now," said Ishmael.

"Nonsense! there is but little doing; and now, if ever, you should take some recreation."

"But I am busy with getting up some troublesome cases for the next term."

"And that's worse than nonsense! Leave the cases alone until the court sits; take some rest and recreation and you will find it pay well in renewed vigor of body and mind. I that tell you so am an M. D., you know."

"I thank you, Dr. Middleton, and when I find myself growing weak I will follow your prescription," smiled Ishmael, rising and beginning to tie up his documents.

"And that's a signal for my dismissal, I suppose. Off to the City
Hall again this morning?" inquired Walter.

"Yes; to keep an appointment," replied Ishmael. And the friends separated.

Later in the day, when the young attorney had returned and was spending his leisure hour in going on with the book-packing, Judge Merlin entered and threw himself into a chair and for some moments watched the packer.

"What is that you are doing now, Ishmael? Oh, I see; doctoring a sick book!"

"Well, I dislike to see a fine volume that has served us faithfully and seen hard usage perish for the want of a moment's attention; it is but that which is required when we have the mucilage at hand," he said, smiling and pointing to the bottle and brush, and then deposited the book in its packing-case.

"But that is not what I come to talk to you about. Have you found a proper room for an office yet?"

"Yes; I have a suite of rooms on the first floor of a house on Louisiana Avenue. The front room I shall use for a public office, the middle one for a private office, and the back one, which opens upon a pleasant porch and a garden, for a bedchamber; for I shall lodge there and board with the family," replied Ishmael.

"That seems to be a pleasant arrangement. But, Ishmael, take my advice and engage a clerk immediately;—you will want one before long, anyhow—and put him in your rooms to watch your business, and do you take a holiday. Come down to Tanglewood for a month. You need the change. After the wilderness of houses and men you want the world of trees and birds. At least I do, and I judge you by myself."

Ishmael smiled, thanked his kind friend cordially, and then, in terms as courteous as he could devise, declined the invitation, giving the same reasons for doing so that he had already given first to Mr. Brudenell and next to Walter Middleton.

"Well, Ishmael, I will not urge you, for I know by past experience when you have once made up your mind to a course of conduct you deem right, nothing on earth will turn you aside from it. But see here! why do you go through all that drudgery? Why not order Powers to pack those books?"

"Powers is a pearl in his own way; but he cannot pack books; and besides, he has no respect for them."

"No feeling, you mean! he would not dress their wounds before putting them to bed in those boxes!"

"No."

"Well, 'a wilfu' mon maun ha' his way,'" said the judge, taking up the evening paper and burying himself in its perusal. That same night, while Ishmael, having finished his day's work, was refreshing himself by strolling through the garden, inhaling the fragrance of flowers, listening to the gleeful chirp of the joyous little insects, and watching the light of the stars, he heard an advancing step behind him, and presently his arm was taken by Mr. Middleton, who, walking on with him, said:

"What are you going to do with yourself, Ishmael?"

"Put myself to work like a beaver!"

"Humph! that will be nothing new for you. But I came out here to induce you to reconsider that resolution. I wish to persuade you to join us at Beacon House. That high promontory stretching far out to sea and exposed to all the sea breezes will be the very place to recruit your health at. Come, what say you?"

Ishmael's eyes grew moist as he grasped Mr. Middleton's hand and said:

"Three invitations of this sort I have already had—this is the fourth. My friends are too kind. I know not how I have won such friendship or deserved such kindness. But I cannot avail myself of the pleasant quarters they offer me. I cannot, at present, leave Washington, except at such a sacrifice of professional duties as they would not wish me to make. Mr. Middleton, I thank you heartily all the same."

"Well, Ishmael, I am sorry to lose your company; but not sorry for the cause of the loss. The pressure of business that confines you to the city during the recess argues much for your popularity and success. But, my dear boy, pray consider my invitation as a standing one, and promise me to avail yourself of it the first day you can do so."

"Thank you; that I will gladly do, Mr. Middleton."

"And when you come, remain with us as long as you can without neglecting your duty."

"Indeed I will."

At that moment a light rustle through the bushes was heard and Bee joined them, saying:

"Papa, if I were to tell you the dew is falling heavily and the grass is wet, and it is not good for you or Ishmael to be out here, you might not heed me. But when I say that uncle has gone with General Tourneysee to a political pow-wow, and mamma and myself are quite alone and would like to amuse ourselves with a game of whist, perhaps you will come in and be our partners."

"Why, certainly, Busy Bee; for if anyone in this world deserves play after work it is you," replied Mr. Middleton.

"Right face! forward! march!" then said Bee; and she led her captives out of the night air and into the house.

Early the next morning Ishmael was surprised by a fifth invitation to a country house. It was contained in a letter from Reuben Gray, which was as follows:

"Woodside,—Monday Morning. "My Deer Ishmael:—Hannah and me, we hav bin a havin of a talk about you. You see the judge he wrote to me a spell back, a orderin of me to have the house got reddy for him comin home. And he menshunned, permiskuously like, as you was not lookin that well as you orter. But Hannah and me, we thort as how is was all along o that botheration law business as you was upset on your helth. And as how you'd get better when the Court riz. But now the Court is riz, and pears like you aint no ways better from all accounts. And tell you how we knowed. See Hannah and me, we got a letter from Mrs. Whaley as keeps the 'Farmers.' Well she rote to Hannah and me to send her up some chickins and duks and eggs and butter and other fresh frutes and vegetubbles, which she sez as they doo ask sich onlawful prices for em in the city markits as she cant conshuenshusly giv it. So she wants Hannah and me to soopli her. And mabee we may and mabee we maynt; but that's nyther here nur there. Wot Hannah and me wants to say is this—as how Mrs. Whaley she met you in the street incerdentul. And she sez as how she newer saw no wun look no wusser than you do! Now, Ishmael, Hannah and me, we sees how it is. Youre a-killin of yourself jest as fast as ever you can, which is no better than Susanside, because it is agin natur and agin rillijun to kill wunself for a livin. So Hannah and me, we wants you to drap everythink rite outen your hands and kum home to us. Wot you want is a plenty of good kuntre air and water, and nun o your stifeld up streets and pizen pumps. And plenty o good kuntre eetin and drinkin and nun o your sickly messes. So you kum. Hannah and me is got a fine caff and fat lamm to kill soon as ever you git here. And lots o young chickins and duks. And the gratest kwontity o frute, peeehes, peers, plums, and kanterlopes and warter millions in plenty. And the hamberg grapes is kummin on. And we hav got a noo cow, wun o the sort cawld durrums, which she doo give the richest milk as ever you drinked and if ennything will set you up it is that. And likewise we hav got the noo fashund fowls as people are all runnin mad about. They cawl em shank hyes pun count o there long leggs, which they is about the longest as ever you saw. And the way them fowls doo stryde and doo eet is a cawshun to housekeepers. They gobble up everything. And wot doo you think. You know Sally's brestpin, as Jim bawt her for a kristmus gift. Well she happened to drap it offen her buzzum, inter the poultry yard, and soons ever she mist it she run rite out after it; but the shank-hye rooster he run fastern she did with his long legs and gobbled it rite down, afore his eyes. And the poor gals bin a howlin and bawlin and brakin of her poor hart ebout it ever since. She wanted us—Hannah and me to kill the shank-hye; to git the brestpin; but as we had onlee a pare on em we tolde her how it was too vallabel for that. But Hannah and me we give the shank hye a dose of eepeekak, in hope it would make him throw up the brestpin; but it dident; for the eepeekak set on his stomik like an angel, as likewise did the brestpin; and Hannah and me thinks he diggested em both. Well, they aint daintee in their wittels them shank hyes. Now bee shure to kum, Ishmael. Hannah and me and the young uns and Sally will awl be so glad to see you and you can role in clover awl day if you like. And now I have ralely no more noose to tell you; only that I rote this letter awl outen my own hed without Hannah helpin of me. Dont you think as Ime improvin? Hannah and the little uns and Sally jine me in luv to you mi deer Ishmael. And Ime your effectshunit frend till deth do us part. "Reuben Gray.

"Post Cript. Ive jist redd this letter to Hannah. And she doo say as every uther wurd is rote rong. I dont think they is; becawse Ive got a sartain roole to spell rite; which is—I think how a word sownde and then I spell it accordin. But law, Ishmael! ever sense Hannah has been teechin them young uns o ourn to reede there primmers, shes jest got to be the orfullest Bloo Stokkin as evver was. Dont tell her I sed so tho, for she ralely is wun of the finest wimmin livin and Ime prowd of her and her young uns. So no more at present onle kum. "R.G."

Grateful for this kind invitation as he had been for any that had been given him, Ishmael sat down immediately and answered the letter, saying to Reuben, as he had said to others, that he would thankfully accept his offered hospitality as soon as his duties would permit him to do so.

The last day of the family's sojourn in town came. On the morning of that day Mr. Brudenell took leave of his friends and departed, exacting from Ishmael a renewal of his promise to visit Brudenell Hall in the course of the summer. On that last day Ishmael completed the packing of the books and sent them off to the boat that was to convey them to the Tanglewood landing. And then he had all his own personal effects conveyed to his new lodgings. And finally he sought an interview with Bee. That was not so easily obtained, however. Bee was excessively busy on this last day. But Ishmael, with the privilege of an inmate, went through the house, looking for her, until he found her in the family storeroom, busy among the jars and cans, and attended by her maids.

"Come in, Ishmael, for this concerns you," she said pleasantly.

And Ishmael entered, wondering what he could be supposed to have to do with preserved fruits and potted meats.

Bee pointed to a box that was neatly packed with small jars, saying:

"There, Ishmael—there are some sealed fruits and vegetables, and some spiced meats and fish, and a bachelor's lamp and kettle, in that case which Ann is closing down. They are yours. Direct Jim where to find your lodgings, and he will take them there in the wheelbarrow. And there is a keg of crackers and biscuits to go with them."

"Dearest Bee, I am very grateful; but why should you give me all these things?" inquired Ishmael, in surprise.

"Because you are going away from home, and you will want them. Yes, you will, Ishmael, though you don't think so now. Often business will detain you out in the evening until after your boarding-house supper is over. Then how nice to have the means at hand to get a comfortable little meal for yourself in your own room without much trouble. Why, Ishmael, we always put up such a box as this for Walter when he leaves us. And do you think that mamma or I would make any difference between you?"

"You have always been a dear—yes, the dearest of sisters to me! and some day, Bee—" He stopped, and looked around. The maids were at some distance, but still he felt that the family storeroom was not exactly the place to say what was on his heart for her, so he whispered the question:

"How long will you be engaged here, dear Bee?"

"Until tea time. It will take me quite as long as that to get through what I have to do."

"And then, Bee?"

"Then I shall be at leisure to pass this last evening with you, Ishmael," answered Bee, meeting his wish with the frankness of pure affection.

"And will you walk with me in the garden after tea? It will be our last stroll together there," he said rather sadly.

"Yes; I will walk with you, Ishmael. The garden is lovely just at sunset."

"Thank you, dearest Bee. Ah! how many times a day I have occasion to speak these words!"

"I wish you would leave them off altogether, then, Ishmael. I always understand that you thank me far more than I deserve."

"Never! How could I? 'Thank you!' they are but two words. How could they repay you, Bee? Dearest, this evening you shall know how much I thank you. Until then, farewell." He pressed her hand and left her.

Now Ishmael was far too clear-sighted not to have seen that Bee had fixed her pure maidenly affections upon him, and to see also that Bee's choice was well approved by her parents, who had long loved him as a son. While Ishmael's hands had been busy with the book- packing his thoughts had been busy with Bee and with the problem that her love presented him. He had loved Claudia with an all- absorbing passion. But she had left him and married another, and so stricken a deathblow to his love. But this love was dying very hard, and in its death-struggles was rending and tearing the heart which was its death-bed.

And in the meantime Bee's love was alive and healthy, and it was fixed on him. He was not insensible, indifferent, ungrateful for this dear love. Indeed, it was the sweetest solace that he had in this world. He felt in the profoundest depths of his heart all the loveliness of Bee's nature. And most tenderly he loved her—as a younger sister. What then should he do? Offer to Bee the poor, bleeding heart that Claudia had played with, broken, and cast aside as worthless? All that was true, noble, and manly in Ishmael's nature responded:

"God forbid!"

But what then should he do? Leave her to believe him insensible, indifferent, ungrateful? Strike such a deathblow to her loving heart as Claudia had stricken to his? All that was generous, affectionate and devoted in Ishmael's nature cried out: "No! forbid it, angels in heaven!"

But what then could he do? The magnanimity of his nature answered:

"Open your heart to her; that she may know all that is in it; then lay that heart at her feet, for accepting or rejecting."

And this he resolved to do. And this resolution sent him to beg this interview with Bee. Yet before going to keep it he determined to speak to Mr. Middleton. He felt certain that Mr. Middleton would indorse his addresses to his daughter; yet still his fine sense of honor constrained him to seek the consent of the father before proposing to the daughter. And with this view in mind immediately upon leaving Bee he sought Mr. Middleton.

He found that gentleman walking about in the garden, enjoying his afternoon cigar. In these afternoon promenades Mr. Middleton, who was the shorter and slighter as well as the older man, often did Ishmael the honor of leaning upon his arm. And now Ishmael went up to his side and with a smile silently offered the usual support.

"Thank you, my boy! I was just feeling the want of your friendly arm. My limbs are apt to grow tired of walking before my eyes are satiated with gazing or my mind with reflecting on the beauty of the summer evening," said Mr. Middleton, slipping his arm within that of Ishmael.

"Sir," said the young man, blushing slightly, "a selfish motive has brought me to your side this afternoon."

"A selfish motive, Ishmael! I do not believe that you are capable of entertaining one," smiled Mr. Middleton.

"Indeed, yes, sir; you will say so when you hear of it."

"Let me hear of it, then, Ishmael, for the novelty of the thing."

The young man hesitated for a few moments and then said:

"Mr. Middleton—Mr. Brudenell has, I believe, put you in possession of the facts relative to my birth?"

"Yes, my dear Ishmael; but let me assure you that I did not need to be told of them. Do you remember the conversation we had upon the subject years ago? It was the morning after the school party when that miserable craven, Alfred Burghe, disgraced himself by insulting you. You said, Ishmael, 'My mother was a pure and honorable woman! Oh, believe it!' I did believe it then, Ishmael; for your words and tones and manner carried irresistible conviction to my mind. And every year since I have been confirmed in my belief. You, Ishmael, are the pledge of your parents' honor as well as of their love. 'Men do not gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles,'" said Mr. Middleton earnestly.

"And yet, sir, I have suffered and may again suffer reproach that neither myself nor my parents deserved," said Ishmael gravely.

"You never will again, Ishmael. You have overcome the world."

"Thank you! thank you, sir! I purposely reminded you of this old injustice. You do not regard me the less for having suffered it?"

"The less! No, my boy; but the more, for having overcome it!"

"Again I thank you from the depths of my heart. You have known me from boyhood, Mr. Middleton; and you may be said to know my character and my prospects better than anyone else in the world does; better, even, than I know them myself."

"I think that quite likely to be true."

"Well, sir, I hope in a few years to gain an established reputation and a moderate competency by my practice at the bar."

"You will gain fame and wealth, Ishmael."

"Well, sir, if ever by the blessing of Heaven I do attain these distinctions, taking everything else into consideration, would you, sir, would you then—"

"What, Ishmael? Speak out, my boy?"

"Accept me as a son?"

"Do you want me to give you Bee?" gravely inquired Mr. Middleton.

"When I shall be more worthy of her, I do."

"Have you Bee's consent to speak to me on this subject?"

"No, sir; I have not yet addressed Miss Middleton. I could not venture to do so without your sanction. It is to obtain it that I have come to you this evening. I would like very much to have an understanding with Miss Middleton before we part for an indefinite time."

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.