Speed Claudia felt to be of the utmost importance to her cause. So, after due reflection, she dipped her pen in ink, and commenced as follows:

"Castle Cragg, near Banff, Buchan, Scotland. "My Dearest Father: We are all in good health; therefore do not be alarmed, even though I earnestly implore you to drop everything that you may have in hand, and come over to me immediately, by the very first steamer that sails after your receipt of this letter. Father, you will comply with my entreaty when I inform you that I have been deceived and betrayed by him who swore to protect and cherish me. My life and honor are both imperiled. I will undertake to guard both for a month, until you come. But come at once to your wronged, though "Loving child, "Claudia."

She sealed the letter very carefully, directed it, and gave it into the hands of her old servant, saying:

"Katie, listen to every word I say, and obey to the very letter. Take this downstairs and give it to Jim privately. Let no one see, or hear, or even suspect what you are doing. Tell him to steal out carefully from the castle and walk to the nearest roadside inn, and hire a horse and ride to Banff, and mail this letter there; and then come back and report progress to you. Now, Katie, do you understand what you have got to do?"

"Yes, Miss Claudia."

"Repeat it to me, then."

Katie rehearsed her instructions.

"That will do. Hurry now and obey them."

When Katie had gone Lady Vincent closed her writing desk, threw herself back in her chair, covered her face with her hands, and wept.

She was startled by the entrance of Lord Vincent.

She hastily dried her eyes, and shifted her position so that her back was to the light and her face in deep shadow.

"You are sitting up late, my lady. I should think you would be tired after your long journey," he said, as he took another armchair and seated himself opposite to her.

"I was just thinking of retiring," answered Claudia, putting severe constraint upon herself.

"But since I find you sitting up, if it will not fatigue you too much, I will answer some questions you asked me concerning Mrs. Dugald," said his lordship.

"Yes?" said Claudia, scarcely able to breathe the single syllable.

"Yes. You inquired of me who she was. I told you she was my sister. You did not believe me; but you should have done so, for I told you the truth. She is my sister."

Scarcely able to restrain her indignation at this impudent falsehood, and fearful of trusting the sound of her own voice, Claudia answered in a low tone:

"I supposed that you were jesting with my curiosity. I knew, of course, that your sisters were titled ladies. Mrs. Dugald is an untitled one, therefore she could not be your sister; nor could she be your sister-in-law, since you are an only son."

"You are mistaken in both your premises: Mrs. Dugald is my sister- in-law, and is a titled lady, since she is the widow of my younger half-brother, the Honorable Kenneth Dugald," said the viscount triumphantly.

"I never heard that your deceased brother had been married," answered Claudia coolly.

"No? Why, bless you, yes! About four years ago he married the beauty over whom all Paris was going raving mad. She was the prima donna of the Italian opera in Paris. But the marriage was not pleasing to the earl, who is severely afflicted with the prejudices of his rank. He immediately disowned his son, the Honorable Kenneth, never speaking to him again during his, Kenneth's, life. And more than that, he carried his resentment beyond the grave; for even after Kenneth died of a fever contracted in the Crimea, and his widow was left unprovided for, and with the pleasant alternative of starving to death or dragging the noble name of Dugald before the footlights of the stage, my father politely informed her that she was at liberty to go on the stage or to go to—hem! It was then that I offered La Faustina an asylum in my house, which she accepted. And I hope, Lady Vincent, that you will be good enough to make her welcome," said Lord Vincent.

Claudia could not reply; the anger, scorn, and disgust that filled her bosom fairly choked her voice.

After a struggle with herself, she managed to articulate:

"How does the earl like your protection of this woman?"

"I wish you would not use that word 'protection,' Claudia. It is an equivocal one."

"Then it is the better suited to describe the relation, which is certainly most equivocal!" Claudia, in spite of all her resolutions, could not for the life of her help replying.

"It is false! And I will not permit you to say it. The position of Mrs. Dugald is not an equivocal one. It is clearly defined. She is my brother's widow. When I invited her to take up her residence in this castle I took care to leave it before she arrived. And I never returned to it until to-day, when I brought you with me. Your presence here, of course, renders the residence of my brother's widow beneath my roof altogether proper."

Claudia had much to do to control her feelings, as she said:

"We will waive the question of propriety, which, of course, is settled by my presence in the house; but you have not yet told me how the earl likes this arrangement."

"I have not seen the earl since the arrangement has been made. I fancy he will like it well, since it relieves him of the burden of having her to support, and saves him from the mortification of seeing her return to the boards."

"Good-night, my lord!" said Claudia abruptly, rising and retiring to her bedroom, for she felt that she could not remain another moment in Lord Vincent's presence, without confronting him with her perfect knowledge of his meditated villainy, and thus losing her only chance of defeating it.

Claudia retired to bed, but, though worn out with fatigue, she could not sleep. This, then, was her coming home! She had sold her birthright, and got not even the "mess of pottage," but the cup of poison.

She lay tossing about with fevered veins and throbbing temples until morning, when, at last, she sunk into a sleep of exhaustion.

She awoke with a prostrating, nervous headache. She attempted to rise, but fell helplessly back upon the pillow. Then she reached forth her hand and rang the bell that hung at the side of her bed.

Katie answered it.

"Did Jim succeed in mailing my letter?" was her first question.

"Yes, my ladyship; but he had to wait ever so long before the tide ebbed to let him cross over to the shore; but he got there all right, and in time to save the mail; but he didn't get back here until this morning."

"Did anyone find out his going?"

"Not a living soul, as I knows of, Miss Claudia."

"Thank Heaven!" said Lady Vincent, with a deep sigh.

Old Katie busied herself with bringing her mistress' stockings, soft slippers, and dressing gown to the bedside; but Claudia said:

"Put them away again, Katie; I shall not rise to-day. I have one of my very bad, nervous headaches. You may bring me a cup of strong coffee."

"Ah, honey, no wonder! I go bring it directly," said Katie, hurrying away with affectionate eagerness to bring the fragrant restorative.

A few minutes afterwards Katie entered with the tray, followed by the housekeeper, Mrs. Murdock, who came with anxious inquiries as to Lady Vincent's health.

"I have a very bad, nervous headache, which is not surprising, after all my fatigue," replied Claudia.

"Nay, indeed, and it is not, me leddy; you should lie quietly in bed to-day, and to-morrow you will be well," said the dame.

"Yes."

"And, me leddy, Mrs. Dugald bid me give her compliments to your leddyship, and ask if she should come and sit with you."

"I cannot receive Mrs. Dugald," said Claudia coldly.

"Ah, then I will say your leddyship is na weel enough to receive company?"

"Say what you please. I cannot receive Mrs. Dugald."

Old Katie had gone into the dressing room to stir the fire, which was to warm the whole suite. Taking advantage of her absence the housekeeper sat down beside Lady Vincent's bed, and, while pouring out her coffee, stooped and nodded and whispered:

"Aye! and sma' blame to your leddyship, gin ye never receive the likes of her."

"What do you know of Mrs. Dugald that you should say so?" was Claudia's cold question. For alas, poor lady, she was in sad straits! She had need to glean knowledge of her dangerous enemy from every possible quarter; but—she felt that she must do so without committing herself, or compromising her dignity.

"Nay, I ken naething! I dinna like the quean! that's all!" said the woman, growing all at once reserved.

"She is the widow of the late Honorable Kenneth Dugald?" said Claudia, in a tone that might be received either as a statement or a question.

"Sae it is said. I ken naething anent it," replied the dame, taking up the tray of empty cups. "Will your leddyship ha' anything more?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Murdock," replied Claudia, in a very sweet tone, for she felt that in her pride of place she had repulsed the offered confidence of an honest old creature who might have been of great use to her.

"Will I sit wi' your leddyship?" inquired the dame.

"No, I am much obliged to you. I must rest now; but I should be glad if you would come to me later in the day."

"Yes, me leddy," answered the dame, somewhat mollified, as she courtesied and withdrew from the room, leaving Lady Vincent to the care of her own faithful servant.



CHAPTER XIX.

CLAUDIA'S TROUBLES AND PERILS.

Like love in a worldly breast Alone in my lady's chamber The lamp burns low, suppressed 'Mid satins of broidered amber Where she lies, sore distressed.

My lady here alone May think till her heart is broken Of the love that is dead and done, Of the day that with no token For evermore hath gone. —Owen Meredith.



All day long Claudia lay abed within her darkened chamber, It was a scene of magnificence, luxury, and repose. Scarcely a ray of light stole through the folds of the golden-brown curtains of window and bed. No sound broke the stillness of the air, except the dull, monotonous thunder of the sea upon the rocks below. This at length soothed her nervous excitement and lulled her to repose.

She slept until the evening, and awoke comparatively free from pain.

Her first thought on waking was of the housekeeper, and her first feeling was the desire to see the old creature, and if possible make a friend of her.

Ah! but it was bitterly galling to Lady Vincent's pride to be obliged to stoop to the degradation of questioning a servant concerning the domestic affairs of her own husband's family! But she felt that her life and honor were imperiled, and that she must use such means for her safety as circumstances offered. Mrs. Murdock impressed her as being an honest, truthful, and trustworthy woman. And Claudia wished to discover, by what should seem casual conversation with her, how much or how little truth there might be in Lord Vincent's representations of Mrs. Dugald's position in the family.

She put out her hand and rang the bell that hung just within her reach.

Katie answered it.

"Tell the housekeeper I would like to see her now," said Lady Vincent.

Katie tossed her head and went out. Katie was already jealous of the housekeeper.

In a few minutes Mrs. Murdock entered.

"I hope your leddyship is better," she said, courtesying.

"I am better; do not stand; sit down on that chair beside me," said Claudia kindly.

The dame sank slowly into the offered seat and said: "Will your leddyship please to take onything?"

"Nothing, just yet."

"Can I do naething for you, me leddy?"

"Yes, thank you; you can take that flagon of carmelite water on the stand beside you and bathe my forehead and temples while you sit there," said Claudia slowly and hesitatingly; for she was thinking how best to open the subject that occupied her mind. At length, while the dame was carefully bathing her head, Claudia said, with assumed carelessness:

"Mrs. Dugald is very beautiful."

"Ou, aye, me leddy, she's weel eneugh to look upon, if that was a'," replied the housekeeper dryly.

"Has she been here long?"

"Ever sin' Mr. Kenneth died, me leddy."

"Mr. Kenneth?" echoed Claudia, in an interrogative tone; for she remembered well that Kenneth was the name of Lord Vincent's younger brother, said to have been married to La Faustina; but she wished to hear more without, however, compromising herself by asking direct questions.

"Mr. Kenneth?" she repeated, looking into the housekeeper's face.

"Ou, aye, your leddyship; just the Honorable Kenneth Dugald, puir lad!"

"Why do you say poor lad?"

"I beg your leddyship's pardon. I mean just naething. It's on'y just a way I ha'."

Claudia reflected a moment; and then, though it went sorely against her pride so to speak to a dependent, she said:

"Mrs. Murdock, I am a very young and inexperienced woman; I have been motherless from my infancy; I am 'a stranger in a strange land'; unacquainted even with the members of my husband's family; my meeting with Mrs. Dugald here was unexpected, Lord Vincent never having mentioned her existence to me; my first impression of her was very unfavorable; some words you dropped deepened that impression; and now I feel that there are circumstances with which I ought to be made acquainted and with which you can acquaint me; will you do so?"

"Aye, me leddy, and with the freer conscience that I ken weel his lairdship the airl would approve. Ye ken, me leddy, there were but twa brithers; Laird Vincent and the Honorable Kenneth Dugald?"

"I am aware of that."

"Aweel they were in Paris tegither and fell in somewhere with this quean."

"This—what?"

"This player-bodie, me leddy; who afterwards put the glamour over Mr. Kenneth's eyes to make her Mrs. Dugald."

"Oh," said Claudia to herself, "then that is true; the woman really is the widow of Kenneth Dugald and the sister-in-law of Lord Vincent. Go on, Mrs. Murdock; I am listening."

"Aweel, she had the art, me leddy, to make him marry her. A burning shame it was, me leddy, in one of his noble name, but he did it. He was a minor, ye ken, being but twenty years of age, and sae he could na be lawfu' married in France nor in England, and sae he brought his player-woman to auld Scotland and made her his wife—woe worth the day!"

"This must have been a terrible mortification to the earl?"

"Ye may weel say that, me leddy. His lairdship never saw or spoke to Mr. Kenneth afterwards. But he purchased him a commission in a regiment that was just about to embark for the Crimea, where the young gentleman went, taking his wife with him, and where he died of the fever, leaving his widow to find her way back as she would."

"Poor young man!"

"Aye, puir laddie! nae doubt regret helped the fever to kill him. Aweel, his widow come her ways back to Scotland, as I had the honor to tell your leddyship, and made her appeal to his lairdship the airl for dower. But your leddyship may weel ken that me laird would ha'e naething to say till her. Will I bathe your leddyship's head ony langer?"

"Yes, please, and go on with what you are telling me."

"Aweel, me leddy, failing to come over the airl, she began to cast her spells over his lairdship my Laird Vincent. This gave the airl great oneasiness, for ye ken he feared this woman that she should bewitch the ane as she had the ither, e'en to the length of making him marry her. And to say naething of ony ither reason against siccan a marriage, we think it wrang for ony mon to wed wi' his brother's widow. Sae the airl took short measures wi' his son, Laird Vincent, and stopped his siller; but got him an appointment to carry out papers to the minister, away yonder in the States. Sae the young laird sent his sister-in-law, as he calls her, up here to bide her lane, telling his feyther, the airl, he could na' turn his brither's widow out of doors. Which, ye ken, me leddy, sounded weel eneugh. Sae hither she cam'. And an unco' sair heart she's gi'e us a' sin' ever she cam'!"

"Has she been here ever since?"

"Nay, me leddy; she left hame last August and did na come back till a month."

Claudia was satisfied. This was the same woman that she had seen on the platform of the railway station at Jersey City.

"Does the earl know of this lady's continued residence beneath his roof?"

"I dinna ken, me leddy. But I'm just thinking his lairdship will na care onything about it ony langer, sin' his son is weel married to yoursel', me leddy."

"The earl liked his son's marriage, then?" inquired Claudia, for upon this point she felt anxious for authentic information.

"Aye, did he! didna it keep the lad out o' danger o' the wiles o' siccan a quean as yon? And now, will I bring your leddyship some refreshment ?"

"Yes," said Claudia, "you may bring me a bowl of your oatmeal porridge. I should like to taste your national food."

The housekeeper left the room and Claudia fell into thought. Two important facts she had gained by descending from her dignity to gossip with an upper servant, namely: That La Faustina was really the widow of Kenneth Dugald, and that the Earl of Hurstmonceux was well pleased with his son's marriage to herself, and would therefore be likely to be her partisan in any trouble she might have on account of Mrs. Dugald. She resolved, therefore, to be very wary in her conduct until the arrival of her father, and then to request an introduction to the earl's family. Bitterly galling as it would be to her pride, she even determined to meet Mrs. Dugald in the drawing room and at the table without demur; since she could treat her as the widow of the Honorable Kenneth Dugald without openly compromising her own dignity. Finally she concluded to meet Lord Vincent's treacherous courtesy with assumed civility.

On the third day Lady Vincent felt well enough to join the viscount and Mrs. Dugald at breakfast. Pursuant to her resolution she received their congratulations with smiles, and answered their inquiries as to her health with thanks.

It was a foggy, misty, drizzly day the precursor of a long spell of dark and gloomy weather, that Claudia at length grew to fear would never come to an end.

During this time the monotony of Claudia's life at the castle was really dreadful.

And this was something like it: She would wake about seven o'clock, but knowing that it was hours too early to rise in that house, she would lie and think until she was ready to go mad. At nine o'clock she would ring for her maid, Sally, and spend an hour in dawdling over her toilet. At ten she would go down to breakfast—a miserable, uncomfortable meal of hollow civility or sullen silence. After breakfast she would go into the library and hunt among the old, musty, worm-eaten books for something readable, but without success.

Then, ready to kill herself from weariness of life, she would wrap up in cloak and hood and climb the turret stairs and go out upon the ramparts of the castle and walk up and down with the drizzling mist above and around her and the thundering sea beneath her—up and down—hour after hour—up and down—lashing herself into such excitement that she would be tempted to throw herself from the battlements, to be crushed to death by the rocks or swallowed up by the waves below.

At length, as fearing to trust herself with this temptation, she would descend into the castle again, and go to her own rooms, and try to interest herself in a little needle-work, a little writing, a talk with Katie or with Mrs. Murdock.

At last the creeping hours would bring luncheon, when the same inharmonious party would assemble around the same ungenial table, and eat and drink without enjoyment or gratitude.

After that she would lie down and try to sleep, and then write a letter home, do a little embroidery, yawn, weep, wish herself dead, and wonder how soon she would hear from her father.

The dragging hours would at length draw on the late dinner, when she would make an elaborate toilet, just for pastime, and go to dinner, which always seemed like a funeral feast. Here Claudia formed the habit of drinking much more wine than was good for her: and she did it to blunt her sensibility; to obtund the sharpness of her heartache; to give her sleep.

After dinner they would go into the drawing room, where coffee would be served. And after that, if Mrs. Dugald were in the humor, there would be music. And then the party would disperse. Claudia would go into her own room and pass a long, lonely, wretched evening, sometimes speculating on life, death, and immortality, and wondering whether, in the event of her deciding to walk out of this world with which she was so much dissatisfied, into the other of which she knew nothing, she would be any better off.

At eleven o'clock she always rang for wine and biscuits, and drank enough to make her sleep. Then she would go to bed, sink into a heavy, feverish sleep, that would last until the morning, when she would awake with a headache, as well as a heartache, to pass just such a day as the preceding one.

Such were Claudia's days and nights. Ah! how different to those she had pictured when she sold herself and her fortune for rank and title.

Her days were all so much alike that they could only be distinguished by the change in her dinner dress, and the difference in the bill of fare.

"It is maize-colored moire antique and mutton one day and violet- colored velvet and veal another; that is all!" wrote Claudia in one of her letters home.

That was all! The same leaden sky overhung the land and sea; the same fine, penetrating mist drizzled slowly down and sifted like snow into everything; the same stupid routine of sleeping, walking, dressing, eating, drinking, undressing, and sleeping again, occupied the household.

No visitors ever came to the house, and of course Claudia went nowhere. She was unspeakably miserable, and would have wished for death, had she not been a firm believer in future retribution.

"Misery loves company," it is said. There was one inmate in this unblessed house who seemed quite as miserable as Claudia herself. This was one of the housemaids; the one who had charge of Claudia's own rooms. Lady Vincent had noticed this poor girl, and had observed that she was pale, thin, sad, always with red eyes, and often in tears. Once she inquired kindly:

"What is the matter with you, Ailsie?"

"It's just naething, me leddy," was the weeping girl's answer.

"But I am sure it is something. Can you not tell me? What is it troubles you?"

"Just naething, me leddy," was still the answer.

"Are you away from all your friends? Are you homesick?"

"I ha'e naebody belanging to me, me leddy."

"You are an orphan?"

"Aye, me leddy."

"Then you must really tell me what is the matter with you, my poor child; I will help you if I can."

"Indeed I canna tell you, my leddy. Your leddyship maun please to forgi'e me, and not mind me greeting. It's just naething; it's ony a way I ha'e."

And this was all that Claudia could get out of this poor girl.

Once she inquired of Mrs. Murdock: "What ails Ailsie Dunbar? Her looks trouble me."

"Indeed, me leddy, I dinna ken. The lassie is greeting fra morning till night, and will na gie onybody ony satisfaction about it! But I will try to find out." And that was all Lady Vincent could get out of the housekeeper.

The month of November crept slowly by. And December came, darker, duller, drearier than its predecessor. And now anxiety was added to Claudia's other troubles. She had not heard from her father.

The monotony, deepened by suspense, grew horrible. She wished for an earthquake, or an inundation—anything to break the dreadful spell that bound her, to burst the tomb of her buried life and let in air and light.

Sometimes she overheard the precious pair of friends who shared her home murmuring their sinful nonsense together; and she was disgusted.

And sometimes she heard them in angry and jealous altercation; and she grew insane, and wished from the bottom of her heart that one might murder the other, if it were only to break the horrible monotony of the castle life, by bringing into it the rabble rout of inspectors, constables, coroners, and juries. At length there came a day when that frenzied wish was gratified.



CHAPTER XX

A LINK IN CLAUDIA'S FATE.

For who knew, she thought, what the amazement, The irruption of clatter and blaze meant. And if, in this minute of wonder, No outlet 'mid lightning and thunder, Lay broad and her shackles all shivered, The captive at length was delivered? —Robert Browning.



Claudia had awakened one morning with one of those nervous headaches that were becoming habitual to her. She had taken a narcotic sedative and gone to sleep again, and slept throughout the day.

It was night when she awoke again, and became immediately conscious of an unusual commotion in the castle—a commotion that reached her ears, even over the thick drugget with which the stairs and halls were covered, and through the strong doors and heavy hangings with which her chamber was protected. Whether it was this disturbance that had broken her rest, she did not really know. She listened intently. There was a swift and heavy running to and fro, and a confusion of tongues, giving voices in mingled tones of fear, grief, rage, consternation, expostulation, and every key of passionate emotion and excitement.

Lady Vincent reached forth her hand and rang the bell, and then listened, but no one answered it. She rang again, with no better success. After waiting some little time she rang a violent peal, that presently brought the housekeeper hurrying into the room, pale as death, and nearly out of breath.

"Mrs. Murdock, I have rung three times. I have never before had occasion to ring twice for attendance," said Lady Vincent, in a displeased tone.

"Ou, me leddy, ye will e'en forgi'e me this ance, when ye come to hear the cause," panted the housekeeper.

"What has happened?" demanded Claudia.

"Ou, me leddy! sic an' awfu' event."

"What is it, then?"

"Just murther—no less!"

"Murder!" exclaimed Claudia, starting up and gazing at the speaker with horror-distended eyes.

"Just murther!" gasped the housekeeper, sinking down in the armchair beside her lady's bed, because in truth her limbs gave way beneath her.

"Who? what? For Heaven's sake, speak!"

"The puir bit lassie—" began the dame; but her voice failed, and she covered her face with her apron and began to howl.

Claudia gazed at her in consternation and horror for a minute, and then again demanded:

"What lassie? Who is murdered? For the Lord's sake try to answer me!"

"Puir Ailsie! puir wee bit lassie!" wailed the woman.

"Ailsie! what has happened to her?" demanded Lady Vincent, bewildered with panic.

"She's found murthered!" howled the housekeeper.

"Ailsie! Heaven of heavens, no!" cried Claudia, wound up to a pitch of frenzied excitement.

"Aye is she; found lying outside the castle wall, wi' her puir throat cut fra ear to ear!" shrieked the dame, covering up her face to smother the cries she could not suppress.

"Mercy of Heaven, how horrible!" exclaimed Lady Vincent, throwing her hands up to her face, and falling back on her pillow.

"Puir Ailsie! puir, bonnie lassie!" howled the dame, rocking her body to and fro.

"Who did it?" gasped Claudia, under her breath.

"Ah! that's what we canna come at; naebody kens."

"I cannot rest here any longer. Ring the bell, Mrs. Murdock, and hand me my dressing gown. I must get up and go downstairs. Good Heavens! a poor, innocent girl murdered in this house, and her murderer allowed to escape!" exclaimed Claudia, throwing the bed- clothes off her and rising in irrepressible excitement.

"Ah, me leddy, I fear, I greatly fear, she was no that innocent as your leddyship thinks, puir bairn! Nae that I would say onything about it, only it's weel kenned noo. Puir Ailsie! she lost her innocence before she lost her life, me leddy. And I greatly misdoubt, he that reft her of the ane reft her of the ither!" sobbed the dame, as she assisted Claudia to put on her crimson silk dressing gown.

"Now give me a shawl; I must go below."

"Nay, nay, me leddy, dinna gang! It's awfu' wark doon there. They've brought her in, and laid her on the ha' table, and a' the constables and laborers are there, forbye the servants. It's nae place for you, me leddy. Your leddyship could na stand it."

"Anyone who has stood six weeks of the ordinary life in this house can stand anything else under the sun!" exclaimed Claudia, wrapping herself in the large India shawl that was handed her, and hurrying downstairs.

She was met by old Katie, who was on her way to answer the bell that had been rung for her, and who, as soon as she saw her mistress, raised both her hands in deprecation, and in her terror began to speak as if Lady Vincent were still a child and she was still her nurse and keeper:

"Now, Miss Claudia, honey, you jes' go right straight back ag'in! Dis aint no place for sich as you, chile. You mustn't go down dar and look at dat gashly objeck, honey. 'Cause no tellin' what de quoncequinces mightn't be. Now mind what your ole Aunt Katie say to you, honey, and turn back like a good chile."

While old Katie was coaxing her Lady Vincent was looking over the balustrade down into the hall below, which was filled to suffocation with a motley crowd, who were pressing around some object extended upon the table, and which Claudia could only make out in the obscurity by the gleam of the white cloth with which it was covered.

Without stopping to answer old Katie, she pushed her aside and hurried below.

The crowd had done with loud talking and an awe-struck silence prevailed, broken only now and then by a half-suppressed murmur of fear or horror.

Forgetting her fastidiousness for once, Lady Vincent pushed her way through this crowd of "unwashed" workmen, whose greasy, dusty, and begrimed clothes soiled her bright, rich raiment as she passed, and among whom the mingled fumes of tobacco, whisky, garlic, and coal- smoke formed "the rankest compound of villainous smells that ever offended nostrils."

Claudia did not mind all this. She pressed on, and they gave way for her a little as she approached the table. Three constables stood around it to guard the dead body from the touch of meddlesome hands. On seeing Lady Vincent with the air of one having authority, the constable that guarded the head of the table guessed at her rank, and officiously turned down the white sheet that covered the dead body, and revealed the horrible object beneath—the ghastly face fallen back, with its chin dropped, and its mouth and eyes wide open and rigid in death; and the gaping red wound across the throat cut so deep that it nearly severed the head from the body. With a suppressed shriek Claudia clapped her hands to her face to shut out the awful sight.

At the same moment she felt her arm grasped by a firm hand, and her name called in a stern voice: "Lady Vincent, why are you here? Retire at once to your chamber."

Claudia, too much overcome with horror to dispute the point, suffered the viscount to draw her out of the crowd to the foot of the stairs. Here she recovered herself sufficiently to inquire:

"What has been done, my lord? What steps have been taken towards the discovery and arrest of this poor girl's murderer?"

"All that is possible has been done, or is doing. The coroner has been summoned; the inspector has been sent for; a telegram has been dispatched to Scotland Yard in London for an experienced detective. Rest easy, Lady Vincent. Here, Mistress Gorilla! Attend your lady to her apartment."

This last order was addressed to Katie, who was still lingering on the stairs, and who was glad to receive this charge from Lord Vincent.

"Come along, Miss Claudia, honey," she said, as soon as the viscount had left them; "come along. We can't do no good, not by staying here no longer. My lordship was right dar. Dough why he do keep on a- calling of me Mrs. Gorilla is more'n I can 'count for. Not dat I objects to de name; 'cause I do like the name. I think's it a perty name, sweet perty name, so soft and musicky; only you see, chile, it aint mine; and I can't think what could put it in my lordship's head to think it was."

Lady Vincent paid no attention to the innocent twaddle of poor old Katie, though at a less horrible moment it might have served to amuse her. She hurried as fast as her agitation would permit her from the scene of the dreadful tragedy, unconscious how closely this poor murdered girl's fate would be connected with her own future destiny. She gained the shelter of her own apartments and shut herself up there, while the investigations into the murder proceeded.

It is not necessary for us to go deeply into the revolting details of the events that followed. The coroner arrived the same evening, impaneled his jury and commenced the inquest. Soon after the inspector came from Banff. And the next morning a skillful detective arrived from London. And the investigation commenced in earnest. Many witnesses were examined; extensive searches were made, and all measures taken to find out some clew to the murderer, but in vain. The police held possession of the premises for nearly a week, and the coroner's jury sat day after day; but all to no purpose, as far as the discovery of the perpetrator of the crime was concerned. This seemed one of the obstinate murders that, in spite of the old proverb to the contrary, will not "out."

On Saturday night the baffled coroner's jury returned their unsatisfactory verdict: "The deceased, Ailsie Dunbar, came to her death by a wound inflicted in her throat with a razor held in the hands of some person unknown to the jury."

And the house was rid of coroner, jury, inspector, detective, country constables and all; and the poor girl's body was permitted to be laid in the earth; and the household breathed freely again.

The same evening Lord Vincent, being alone in his dressing room, rang his bell; and his valet as usual answered it.

"Come in here, Frisbie. Shut the door after you, and stand before me," said his lordship.

"Yes, my lord," answered the servant, securing the door and standing before his master.

Lord Vincent sat with his back to the window and his face in the shadow, while the light from the window fell full on the face of the valet, who stood before him. This was a position Lord Vincent always managed to secure, when he wished to read the countenance of his interlocutor, without exposing his own.

"Well, Frisbie, they are gone," said his lordship, looking wistfully into the face of his servant.

"Yes, my lord," replied the latter, looking down.

"And—without discovering the murderer of Ailsie Dunbar," he continued, in a meaning voice.

"Yes, my lord," replied the valet, with the slightest possible quaver in his tone.

"That must be a very great relief to your feelings, Frisbie," said the viscount.

"I—have not the honor to understand your lordship," faltered Frisbie, changing color.

"Haven't you? Why, that is strange! My meaning is clear enough. I say it must be a very great relief to your feelings, Frisbie, to have the inquest so well over, and all the law-officers out of the house. You must have endured agonies of terror while they were here. I know I should in your place. Why, I expected every day that you would bolt, though that would have been the worst thing you could possibly have done, too, for it would have been sure to direct suspicion towards you, and you would have been certain to be recaptured before you could have got out of England," said Lord Vincent coolly.

"I—I—my lord—I have not the honor—to—to—under——" began the man, but his teeth chattered so that he could not enunciate another syllable.

"Oh, yes! you have the honor, if you consider it such. You understand me well enough. What is the use of attempting to deceive me? Frisbie, I was an eye-witness to the death of Ailsie Dunbar," said his lordship emphatically, and fixing his eyes firmly upon the face of his valet.

Down fell the wretch upon his knees, with his hands clasped, his face blanched, and his teeth chattering.

"Oh, my lord, mercy, mercy! It was unpremeditated, indeed it was! it was an accident! it was done in the heat of passion! and—and—she did it herself!" gasped the wretch, so beside himself with fright that he did not clearly know what he was talking about.

"Frisbie, stop lying. Did it herself, eh? I saw you do the deed. The razor was in your hands. She struggled and begged, poor creature, and cut her poor hands in her efforts to save her throat; but you completed your purpose effectually before I could appear and prevent you from murdering her. Then I kept your secret, since no good could have come of my telling it."

"Mercy, mercy, my lord! indeed it was unpremeditated! It was done in the heat of passion. She had driven me mad with jealousy!"

"Bosh! what do you suppose I care whether you committed the crime in hot blood or cold blood? whether it was the result of a momentary burst of frenzy or of a long premeditated and carefully arranged plan? It is enough for me to know that I saw you do the deed. You murdered that girl, and if the coroner's jury had not been just about the stupidest lot of donkeys that ever undertook to sit on a case, you would be now in jail waiting your trial for murder before the next assizes."

"Mercy, mercy, my lord! I am in your power!"

"Hold your tongue and get up off your knees and listen to me, you cowardly knave. Don't you know that if I had wished to hang you I could have done so by lodging information against you? Nonsense! I don't want to hang you. I think, with the Quaker, that hanging is the worst use you can put a man to. Now, I don't want to put you to that use. I have other uses for you. Get up, you precious knave!"

"Oh, my lord! put me to any use your lordship wishes, and no matter what it is, I will serve you faithfully in it!" said the wretch, rising from his knees and standing in a cowed and deprecating manner before his master.

"It is perfectly clear to me, Frisbie, that you settled that girl to silence a troublesome claimant of whom you could not rid yourself in any other way."

"Your lordship knows everything. It was so, my lord. She was all the time bothering me about broken promises and all that."

"And so you settled all her claims by one blow. Well, you have got rid of the woman that troubled you; and now I mean that you shall help me to get rid of one who troubles me."

"In—in—in the same manner, my lord?" gasped the man, in an accession of deadly terror.

"No, you insupportable fool! I am not a master butcher, to give you such an order as that. Noblemen are not cut-throats, you knave! You shall rid me of my troublesome woman in a safer way than that. And you shall do it as the price of my silence as to your own little affair."

"I am your lordship's obedient, humble servant. Your lordship will do what you please with me. I am absolutely and unreservedly at your lordship's disposal," whined the criminal.

"Well, I should think you were, when I hold one end of a rope of which the other end is around your neck. Come closer and stoop down until you bring your ear to a level with my lips, for I must speak low," said his lordship.

The man obeyed.

And Lord Vincent confided to his confederate a plan against the peace and honor of his viscountess of so detestable and revolting a nature that even this ruthless assassin shrunk in loathing and disgust from the thought of becoming a participator in it. But he was, as he had said, absolutely and unreservedly at the disposal of Lord Vincent, who held one end of the rope of which the other was around his own neck, and so he ended in becoming the confederate and instrument of the viscount.

When this was all arranged Lord Vincent dismissed the valet with the words:

"Now be at ease, Frisbie; for as long as you are faithful to me I will be silent in regard to you."

And as the second dinner-bell had rung some little time before, Lord Vincent stepped before the glass, brushed his hair, and went downstairs.

As soon as he had left the room another person appeared upon the scene. Old Katie came out from the thick folds of a window curtain and stood in the center of the room with up-lifted hands and up- rolled eyes, and an expression of countenance indescribable by any word in our language.

For more than a minute, perhaps while one could slowly count a hundred, she stood thus. And then, dropping her hands and lowering her eyes, she walked soberly up to Lord Vincent's tall dressing- glass, plucked the parti-colored turban off her head and looked at herself, muttering:

"No! it aint white, nor likewise gray! dough I did think, when dat creeping coldness come stealing through to roots of my h'ar, when I heerd dem wilyuns at deir deblish plot, as ebery libbing ha'r on my head was turned on a suddint white as snow; as I've heerd tell of happening to people long o' fright. But dar! my ha'r is as good as new, dough it has had enough to turn it gray on a suddint in dis las' hour! Well, laws! I do think as Marse Ishmael Worth mus' be somefin of a prophet, as well as a good deal of a lawyer! He telled me to watch ober de peace and honor of Lady Vincent. Yes, dem was his berry words—peace and honor. Well, laws! little did I think how much dey would want watching ober. Anyways, I've kep' my word and done my duty. And I've found out somefin as all de crowners, and constables and law-fellows couldn't find out wid all deir larnin'. And dat is who kilt poor misfortunate Miss Ailsie, poor gal! And I've found out somefin worse 'an dat, dough people might think there couldn't be nothing worse; but deir is. And dat is dis deblish plot agin my ladyship. Oh, dem debils! Hanging is too good for my lordship and his sham wally—wally sham! but it's all de same. And now I go right straight and tell my ladyship all about it," said Katie, settling her turban on her head and hurrying from the room.

She met Lady Vincent, elegantly dressed in a rose-colored brocade and adorned with pearls, on her way to the dinner-table.

"Oh, my ladyship, I've found out somefin dreadful! I must tell you all about it!" she exclaimed, in excitement, as she stopped her mistress.

"Not now, Katie. Dinner is waiting. Go into my dressing room and stop there until I come. I will not stay long in the drawing room this evening," said Lady Vincent, who thought that Katie's news would prove to be only some fresh rumors concerning the murder of poor Ailsie.

"My ladyship, you had better stop now and hear me," pleaded the old woman.

"I tell you dinner is waiting, Katie," said Lady Vincent, hurrying past her.

Ah! she had better have stopped then, if she had only known it. Old Katie groaned in the spirit and went to the dressing room as she was bid.

She sat down before the fire and looked at the clock on the chimney piece. It was just seven.

"Dat funnelly dinner will keep my ladyship an hour at the very latest bit. It will be eight o'clock afore she comes back, Laws-a- massy, what shall I do?" grunted the old woman impatiently.

Slowly, slowly, passed that hour of waiting. The clock struck eight.

"She'll be here every minute now," said old Katie, with a sigh of relief.

But minute after minute passed and Claudia did not come. A half an hour slipped away. Old Katie in her impatience got up and walked about the room. She heard the rustle of silken drapery, and peeped out. It was only Mrs. Dugald, in her rich white brocade dress, passing into her own apartments.

"Nasty, wenemous, pison sarpint! I'll fix you out yet!" muttered old Katie between her teeth, with a perfectly diabolical expression of countenance, as she shook her head at the vanishing figure of the beauty; for that was the unlucky way in which poor Katie's black phiz expressed righteous indignation.

"I do wonder what has become of my ladyship. This is a-keeping of her word like a ladyship oughter, aint it now? I go and look for her," said Katie.

But just as she had opened the door for that purpose her eyes fell upon the figure of the viscount, creeping with stealthy, silent, cat-like steps towards the apartments of Mrs. Dugald, in which he disappeared.

"Ah ha! dat's somefin' else. Somefin' goin' on in dere. Well, if I don't ax myself to dat party, my name's not old Aunt Katie Mortimer, dat's all!" said the old woman in glee, as she cautiously stole from the room and approached the door leading into Mrs. Dugald's apartments.

When at the door, which was ajar, she peeped in. The suite was arranged upon the same plan as Lady Vincent's own. As Katie peered in, she saw through the vista of three rooms into the dressing room, which was the last of the suite. Before the dressing-room fire she saw the viscount and Mrs. Dugald standing, their faces towards the fire; their backs towards Katie.

She cautiously opened the door and stepped in, closing it silently behind her. Then she crept through the intervening rooms and reached the door of the dressing room, which was draped around with heavy velvet hangings, and she concealed herself in their folds, where she could see and hear everything that passed.

"How long is this to go on? Do you know that the presence of my rival maddens me every hour of the day? Are you not afraid—you would be, if you knew me!—that I should do some desperate deed? I tell you that I am afraid of myself! I cannot always restrain my impulses, Malcolm. There are moments when I doubt whether you are not playing me false. And at such times I am in danger of doing some desperate deed that will make England ring with the hearing of it," said Mrs. Dugald, with passionate earnestness.

"Faustina, you know that I adore you. Be patient a few days longer— a very few days. The time is nearly ripe. I have at last found the instrument of which I have been so much in need. This man, Frisbie. He is completely in my power, and will be a ready tool. I will tell you the whole scheme. But stop! first I must secure this interview from interruption. Not a word of this communication must be overheard by any chance listener," said Lord Vincent.

And to poor old Katie's consternation he passed swiftly to the outer door of the suite of rooms, locked it and put the key in his pocket and returned to the dressing room, the door of which remained open.

"Dere! if I aint cotch like an old rat in a trap, you may take my hat! Don't care! I gwine hear all dey got to say. An' if dey find me dey can't hang me for it, dat's one good thing! And maybe dey won't find me, if I keep still till my lordship—perty lordship he is— unlocks de door and goes out, and den I slip out myself, just as I slipped in, and nobody none de wiser. Only if I don't sneeze. I feel dreadful like sneezing. Nobody ever had such an unlucky nose as I have got. Laws, laws, if I was to sneeze!" thought old Katie to herself as she lurked behind the draperies.

But soon every sense was absorbed in listening to the villainous plot that Lord Vincent was unfolding to his companion. It was the very same plot that he had communicated to his valet, the atrocity of which had shocked even that cut-throat. It did not shock Faustina, however. She listened with avidity. She co-operated with zeal. She suggested such modifications and improvements for securing the success of the conspiracy, and the safety of the conspirators, as only her woman's tact, inspired by the demon, could invent.

"Oh, the she-sarpint! the deadly, wenemous, pisonous sarpint!" shuddered Katie, in her hiding-place. "I've heern enough this night to hang the shamwally, and send all the rest on 'em to Bottommy Bay. And I'll do it, too, if ever I live to get out'n this room alive."

But at that instant the catastrophe that Katie had dreaded occurred. Katie sneezed—once, twice, thrice: "Hick-ket-choo! Hick-ket-choo! Hick-ket-choo!"

Had a bombshell exploded in that room it could not have excited a greater commotion. Lord Vincent sprang up, and in an instant had the eavesdropper by the throat.

"Now, you old devil, what have you got to say for yourself?" demanded the viscount, in a voice of repressed fury, as he shook Katie.

"I say—Cuss my nose! There never was sich a misfortunate nose on anybody's face—a-squoking out dat way in onseasonable hours!" cried Katie.

"How dare you be caught eavesdropping in these rooms, you wretch?" demanded the viscount, giving her another shake.

"And why wouldn't I, you grand vilyun? And you her a-plotting of your deblish plots agin my own dear babyship—I mean my ladyship, as is like my own dear baby! And 'wretch' yourself! And how dare you lay your hands on me? on me, as has heern enough this precious night to send you down to the bottom of Bottommy Bay, to work in de mud, wid a chain and a weight to your leg, you rascal! and a man with a whip over your head, you vilyun! 'Stead o' standin' dere sassin' at me, you ought to go down on your bare knees, and beg and pray me to spare you! Dough you needn't, neither, 'cause I wouldn't do it! no! not if you was to wallow under my feet, I wouldn't. 'Cause soon as eber I gets out'n dis room I gwine right straight to de queen and tell her all about it; and ax her if she's de mist'ess of England and lets sich goings on as dese go on in her kingdom. And if I can't get speech of the queen, I going to tell de fust magistet I can find—dere! And you, too, you whited salt-peter! you ought dis minute to be pickin' of oakum in a crash gown and cropped hair! And you shall be, too, afore many days, ef eber I lives to get out'n dis house alive!" shrieked Katie, shaking her fist first at one culprit and then at the other, and glaring inextinguishable hatred and defiance upon both. For righteous wrath had rendered her perfectly insensible to fear.

Meanwhile the viscount held her in a death-grip; his face was ghastly pale; his teeth tightly clenched; his eyes starting.

"Faustina, she is as ignorant as dirt, but her threats are not vain. If she leaves this room alive all is lost!" he exclaimed in breathless excitement.

"She must not leave it alive!" said the fell woman.

Katie heard the fatal words, and opened her mouth to scream for help. But the fingers of the viscount tightened around her throat and strangled the scream in its utterance. And he bore her down to the floor and placed his knee on her chest. And there was murder in the glare with which he watched her death-throes.

"Faustina!" he whispered hoarsely, "help me! have you nothing to shorten this?"

She flew to a cabinet, from which she took a small vial, filled with a colorless liquid, and brought it to him.

He disengaged one hand to take it, and then stooped over his victim. And in a few moments Katie ceased to struggle.

Then he arose from his knees with a low laugh, whispering.

"It is all right."



CHAPTER XXI

NEWS FOR ISHMAEL.

December's sky is chill and drear, December's leaf is dun and sere; No longer Autumn's glowing red Upon our forest hills is shed; No more beneath the evening beam The wave reflects their crimson gleam; The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold And wraps him closely from the cold: His dogs no merry circles wheel, But shivering follow at his heel; And cowering glances often cast As deeper moans the gathering blast. —Scott.



"Ah what is good must be worked for," wrote the wisest of our sages. Ishmael felt the truth of this, and worked hard.

His first success at the bar had been so brilliant as to dazzle and astonish all his contemporaries; and upon the fame of that success he prospered exceedingly.

But Ishmael well knew that if it needed hard work to win fame, it needed much harder work to keep it.

He felt that if he became idle or careless now, his brilliant success would prove to be but a meteor's flash, instead of the clear and steady planet light he intended it to become.

He read and thought with great diligence and perseverance; and so he often found a way through labyrinths of difficulty that would have baffled any less firmly persistent thinker and worker.

And thus his success, splendid from the first, was gaining permanency every day.

His reputation was established on a firm foundation, and be was building it up strongly as well as highly.

Strangers who had heard of the celebrated young barrister, and had occasion to seek his professional services, always expected to find a man of thirty or thirty-five years old, and were astonished to see one of scarcely twenty-two.

Ishmael was very much admired and courted by the best circles of the Capital; but, though eminently social and affectionate in his nature, he entered only moderately into society. Devotion to company and attention to business were incompatible, he knew.

If there ever happened to be an alternative of a tempting evening party, where he might be sure of meeting many congenial friends on the one hand, and an impending case that required careful preparation on the other, you may rely on it that Ishmael sacrificed pleasure and gave himself up to duty. And this he did, not occasionally, but always; in this way he earned and retained his high position.

And, ambitious young reader, this is the only way.

Thus in useful and successful work Ishmael employed the autumn that Claudia in her distant home was wasting in idleness and repinings.

On the first Monday in December Congress met, as usual. And about the middle of the month the Supreme Court sat.

Therefore Ishmael was not very much surprised when one morning, just after he had brought a very difficult suit to a triumphant termination, he saw his friend Judge Merlin enter his private office.

Ishmael started up joyously to greet his visitor; but stopped short on, seeing how pale, haggard, and feeble the old man looked. And his impulsive exclamation of: "Oh, judge, I am so glad to see you," changed at once to the commiserating words—"How sorry I feel to see you so indisposed! Have you been ill long?" he inquired, as he placed his easiest chair for the supposed invalid.

"Yes, I have been ill, Ishmael, very ill; but not long, and not in body—in mind, Ishmael, in mind!" and the old man sank into the chair and, resting his elbow on the office table, bowed his stricken head upon his hand.

Ishmael drew near and bent over him in respectful sympathy, waiting for his confidence. But as the judge continued overwhelmed and silent, the young man took the initiative, and in A soft and reverential tone said:

"I do hope, sir, that you have met with no serious trouble."

A deep groan was the only answer.

"Can I serve you in any way, sir? You know that I am devoted to your interests."

"Yes, Ishmael, yes. I know that you are the most faithful of friends, as well as the most accomplished of counselors. It is in both characters, my dear boy, that you are wanted to-day."

"Instruct me, sir. Command me. I am entirely at your disposal."

"Even to the extent of going to Europe with me?"

Ishmael hesitated; but only because he was utterly unprepared for the proposal; and then he answered:

"Yes, sir; if it should appear to be really necessary to your interests."

"Oh, Ishmael! I am an old and world-worn man, and I have had much experience; but, indeed, I know not how to break to you the news I have to bring!" groaned the judge.

"If there is any man in the world you can confide in it is surely myself, your friend and your attorney."

"I feel sure of that, Ishmael, quite sure of that. Well, I do not see any better way of putting you in possession of the facts than by letting you read these letters. When you have read them all, you will know as much as I do," said the judge, as he drew from his pocket a parcel of papers and looked over them. "There, read that first," he continued, placing one in Ishmael's hand.

Ishmael opened the letter and read as follows:

"Castle Cragg, near Banff, Buchan, Scotland. "My Dearest Father: We are all in good health; therefore do not be alarmed, even though I earnestly implore you to drop everything you may have in hand and come over to me immediately, by the very first steamer that sails after your receipt of this letter. Father, you will comply with my entreaty when I inform you that I have been deceived and betrayed by him who swore to cherish and protect me. My life and honor are both imperiled. I will undertake to guard both for a month, until you come. But come at once to your wronged but "Loving child, "Claudia."

"Good Heaven, sir, what does this mean?" exclaimed Ishmael, looking up, after he had read the letter.

"I do not clearly know myself. It is what I wish you to help me to find out."

"But—when was this letter received?"

"On Monday last."

"On Monday last," repeated Ishmael, glancing at the envelope; "that was the 5th of December; and it is postmarked 'Banff, October 15th.' Is it possible that this important letter has been seven weeks on its way?"

"Yes, it is quite possible. If yea look at the envelope closely you will see that it is stamped 'Missent,' and remailed from San Francisco, California, to which place it was sent by mistake. You perceive it has traveled half around the world before coming here."

"How very unfortunate! and a letter so urgent as this! Sir, can you give me any idea of the danger that threatens Lady Vincent?" inquired Ishmael, raising his eyes for a moment from his study of the letter.

"Read this second letter; I received it, and a third one, by the very same mail that brought the long-delayed first one," replied the judge.

Ishmael took this letter also, and read:

"McGruder's Hotel, Edinboro', Scotland, "November 25, 184—. "My Dearest Father: I wrote to you about six weeks ago, informing you that I was in sorrow and in danger, and imploring you to come and comfort and protect me. And since that time I have been waiting with the most acute anxiety to hear from you by letter or in person. Expecting this with confidence, I did not think it necessary to write again. But, as so long a time has elapsed, I begin to fear that you have not received my letter, and so I write again. Oh, my father! if you should not be already on your way to my relief—if you should be still lingering at home on the receipt of this letter, fly to me at once! My situation is desperate; my danger imminent; my necessity extreme. Oh, sir! an infamous plot has been hatched against me; I have been driven with ignominy from my husband's house; my name has gone over the length and breadth of England, a by-word of reproach! I am alone and penniless in this hotel; in which I know not how short the time may be that they will permit me to stay. Come! Come quickly! Come and save, if it be possible, your wretched child, "Claudia."

"Heaven of heavens! how can this be?" cried Ishmael, looking up from these fearful lines into the woe-worn face of the judge.

"Oh, I know but little more than yourself. Head this third letter."

Ishmael eagerly took and opened it and read:

"Cameron Court, near Edinboro', "November 27, l84—, "Judge Merlin—Sir: Your unhappy daughter is under my roof. As soon as I heard what had happened at Castle Cragg, and learned that she was alone and unprotected at McGruder's, I lost no time in going to her and offering my sympathy and protection. I induced her to come with me to my home. I have heard her story from her own lips. And I believe her to be the victim of a cunningly contrived conspiracy. Lord Vincent has filed a petition for divorce, upon the ground of alleged infidelity. Therefore I join my urgent request to hers that, if this finds you still in America, you will instantly on its receipt leave for England. I write in great haste to send my letter by the Irish Express so as it may intercept the steamer at Queenstown and reach you by the same mail that carries hers of the 25th; and so mitigate your anxiety by assuring you of her personal safety, with sympathizing friends; although her honor is endangered by a diabolical conspiracy, from which it will require the utmost legal skill to deliver her. "With great respect, sir, I remain, "Berenice, Countess of Hurstmonceux."

"You will go by the first steamer, sir," said Ishmael.

"Certainly. This is Saturday morning; one sails at noon from New York to-day; but I could not catch that."

"Of course not; but the 'Oceana' sails from Boston on Wednesday."

"Yes; I shall go by her. But, Ishmael, can you go with me?" inquired the judge, with visible anxiety.

"Certainly," promptly replied the young man, never hinting at the sacrifices he would have to make in order to accompany his friend on so long a journey.

"Thank you, thank you, my dear Ishmael! I knew you would. You will be of great assistance. Of course we must oppose this rascally viscount's petition, and do our best to unmask his villainy. But how to do it? I was never very quick-witted, Ishmael; and now my faculties are blunted with age. But I have much to hope from your aid in this case. I know that you cannot appear publicly for Lady Vincent; but at the same time you may be of inestimable value as a private counselor. Your genius, acumen, and wonderful insight will enable us to expose this conspiracy, defeat the viscount, and save Claudia, if anything on earth can do so. Thank you, thank you, good and noble young friend!" said the judge, taking and cordially pressing his hand.

"Judge, you know that you are most heartily welcome to all my services. There is no one in the world that I would work for with more pleasure than for you," replied the young man, returning the pressure.

"I know it, my boy. Heaven bless you!"

"And now let us arrange for our journey. As the steamer leaves Boston on next Wednesday morning, we should leave here on Tuesday morning at latest."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Therefore, you see, we have but three days before us; and, as the Sabbath intervenes, we have really but two for preparation—to-day and Monday."

"That will be sufficient."

"Yes, sir. But, judge, I must run down into St. Mary's, and take leave of my betrothed, before starting on so long a journey."

"Oh, Ishmael, you will not have time. Suppose you should be too late to meet the steamer?"

"I will not be too late, Judge Merlin. I will hire a horse and start this morning. I can get fresh horses at several places on the road, and reach the Beacon before twelve o'clock at night. I can spend the Sabbath there, and go to church with the family. And on Monday morning I will make an early start, so as to be here on Monday night."

"Oh, Ishmael, it will be a great risk."

"Not at all; I shall be sure to come up in time. And, besides, you know I must see Bee before I go," said Ishmael, with that confiding smile that no one could resist.

"Well, well, I suppose it must be so; so go on; but only be punctual."

"I surely will."

"And oh, by the way, Ishmael, tell Mr. Middleton all about it; that is, all we know, which is very little, since neither Lady Vincent nor Lady Hurstmonceux has given us any details."

"Then Mr. Middleton knows nothing of this?"

"Not a syllable. I left the neighborhood without breathing a hint of it to any human being. I did not even think of doing so. Oh, Ishmael, I was in a state of distraction when I left home! Think of it! I had been tormented with anxiety for weeks before the receipt of these letters. For, listen: you know that Claudia sailed on the first of October. Well; I calculated it would take about two weeks for her to reach Liverpool, and about two more weeks for a letter to return. So I made myself contented until the first of November, when, as I expected, I received my first letter from her. It was a very long letter, dated at various times from the sea, and written during the voyage, and mailed at Queenstown. Three days later I received another and shorter letter, merely advising me of her safe arrival in England, and mailed from Liverpool. Still three days later a letter dated Aberdeen, and informing me of her journey to Scotland. A whole week later—for it appeared this last letter was much delayed on its route—I got a short letter from her dated Banff, and telling me that she had arrived that far on her journey, and expected to be at Castle Cragg the same evening. Now these letters were all dated within one or two days of each other, though there was a longer time between the reception of each; a fact, I suppose, to be accounted for by the irregularity of the ocean mails. The last letter, dated October 14th, did not reach me until November 12th. And after that I received no more letters, until I got these three all by one mail. You may judge how intense my anxiety was until these letters came; and how distracted my mind, as soon as I had read them."

"Oh, yes, sir, yes!"

"Therefore, you see, I never thought of what was due to Middleton, or anybody else. So just tell him all about it, but in strict confidence; for Claudia must not become the subject of gossip here, poor child!"

"No, sir; certainly she must not. I will bind Mr. Middleton to secrecy before I tell him anything about it."

"Yes, and—stop a moment! You had better just show him these letters. They will speak for themselves and save you the trouble. Tell him that we know no more than these letters reveal."

"I will do so, Judge Merlin."

"And now, Ishmael, I must return to my hotel, where I expect to meet my old friend, General Tourneysee. When do you start for St. Mary's?"

"Within an hour from this."

"Well, then, call at the hotel on your way and take leave of me."

"I will do so."

"Good-by, for the present," said the judge, shaking hands with his young friend.

As soon as Judge Merlin had left the office Ishmael sank down into his chair and yielded up his mind to intense thought.

It was true, then, the terrible presentiment of evil that had haunted his imagination in regard to Claudia was now realized! The dark storm cloud that his prophetic eye had seen lowering over her had now burst in ruin on her head! How strange! how unexplainable by human reason were these mysteries of the spirit! But Ishmael lost no time in fruitless speculations. He arose quickly and rang the bell.

The professor answered it.

"Morris, I wish you to go around to Bellingby's stables and ask them to send me a good, fresh horse, immediately, to go into the country. I shall want him for three days. Tell them to send me the brown horse, Jack, if he is not in use; but if he is, tell them to send the strongest and fastest horse they have."

"Yes, sir," answered the professor, hurrying off.

Ishmael went up to his chamber and packed his valise, and then returned to the office and summoned his first clerk, told him that he was going into the country immediately, for three days, and that after his return he should start for Europe, to be gone for a few weeks, and gave him instructions regarding the present conduct of the office business, and promised directions respecting the future administration of professional affairs when he should return from the country before starting for Europe.

When he had got through his conference with his clerk, and the latter had left the private office, the professor, who had come back and was waiting his turn, entered.

"Well, Morris?"

"Well, sir, the brown horse will be here as soon as he is fed, and watered, and saddled, and bridled. He is in good condition, sir, and quite fresh, as he hasn't been in use for two days, sir."

"All right, professor, sit down; I have something to tell you."

"Yes, sir? Indeed, sir!" said Jim Morris, taking his seat and feeling sure he should presently hear Mr. Worth was going down into the country for the purpose of marrying Miss Middleton and bringing her home. But the news that he really heard astonished him more than this would have done.

"I shall start for Europe on Wednesday, Morris."

"You don't say so, sir!" exclaimed the old man.

"Yes; sudden business. But I promised you, professor, that if ever I should go to Europe you should go with me, if you should please to do so. Now I will give you your choice. You shall attend me to Europe, or stay here and take care of my rooms while I am gone."

The professor's eyes fairly danced at the idea of crossing the mighty Atlantic and seeing glorious old Europe; but still he had sense of propriety and self-denial enough to say:

"I am willing to do that which will be of the most use to yourself, sir."

"Morris, you would be of great use to me in either position. If you should stay here, I should feel sure that my rooms were safe in the care of a faithful keeper."

"Then, sir, I prefer to stay."

"Yes, but stop a moment. If you should go with me, I should enjoy the trip much more. I should enjoy it myself and enjoy your enjoyment of it also. And, besides, it would be so pleasant to feel that I had an attached friend always with me."

"Then, Mr. Worth, as there is about as much to be said on one side as there is on the other, I'll do whichever you prefer."

"I greatly prefer that you should go with me, professor," said Ishmael, who read the old man's eager desire to travel.

"Then I'll go, sir; and with the greatest of pleasure."

"Can you be ready to leave for Boston on Tuesday morning, to catch the steamer that sails on Wednesday?"

"Law, yes, sir! what's to hinder? Why, I would be ready in ten minutes, sooner than miss going to Europe. What's to do but just pitch my clothes into a trunk and lock it?"

"Well, Morris, I will give you time enough to pack your clothes carefully, and mine also. There is the horse!" exclaimed Ishmael, rising and locking his desk.

"Sure enough, there he is, and looking as gay as a lark, this bright morning. You will have a pleasant ride, sir," said the professor, looking from the window.

"Yes; fetch my overcoat from the passage, Morris."

"Yes, sir; here it is. But won't you take just a bit of luncheon before you go? I am sure the ladies would get it ready for you quick, and glad to do it."

"No, thank you, Morris. You know I ate breakfast only two hours ago, and a very hearty one, too, as I always do. So I shall not require anything until I get to Horsehead," said Ishmael, buttoning up his greatcoat. Then he drew on his gloves and shook hands with the professor.

"Good-by, Morris! God bless you! Think of going to Europe."

"Oh, sir, you may be sure I shan't think of anything else all day, nor dream of anything else all night. To think of my seeing the Tower of London! Well, sir, good-by! And the Lord bless you and give you a pleasant journey," said the professor as he handed his master's hat.



CHAPTER XXII

ISHMAEL'S VISIT TO BEE.

Thank Heaven my first love failed, As every first love should. —Palmore.



Ishmael mounted and rode off, calling only at the hotel to say good- by to the judge and renew his promise of a punctual return.

Then he galloped blithely away; crossed the beautiful Anacostia, by the Navy Yard bridge; and gayly took the road to the old St. Mary's.

Gayly? Yes, gayly, notwithstanding all.

To be sure he was sorry for Claudia; and he proved it by consenting, at a great sacrifice of his personal interests, to cross the ocean and go to her assistance. But he had faith in the doctrine that— "Ever the right comes uppermost"; and he believed that she would be delivered from her troubles. And his compassion for Claudia did not prevent him from rejoicing exceedingly in the speedy prospect of meeting Bee. Besides he no longer loved Claudia, except with that Christian kindliness which he cherished for every member of the human family.

You may be sure that the sickly, sentimental, sinful folly of loving another man's wife, even if she had been, before her marriage, his own early passion, was very far below Ishmael's healthy, rational, and honorable nature. No nerve in his bosom vibrated to the sound of Claudia's name. The passion of his heart was perfectly cured; its wounds were quite healed; even its scars were effaced. He could have smiled at the memory of that ill-starred passion now.

He was heart-whole, and his whole heart—his sound, large loving heart—was unreservedly given to Bee.

And therefore, notwithstanding his compassion for the misfortunes of Claudia, he rode gayly on to his anticipated meeting with his betrothed.

It was a fine, frosty, bracing, winter morning; the roads were good; and the horse was fresh; and he enjoyed his ride exceedingly, rejoicing in his youth, health, and happy, well-placed love.

He galloped all the way to Horsehead, where he arrived at noon, took an early dinner, procured a fresh horse and continued his journey.

He rode all the short, bright winter afternoon, and at dusk reached his second stopping-place, where he took an early tea, changed his horse, and started afresh.

Four more hours of riding through the leafless forest, and under the starlit sky, brought him in sight of the water; and a few minutes brought him to the door of the Beacon.

Here he sprung from his saddle; secured his horse to a post; and rushed up the front steps to the hall door and rang. An old servant opened it.

"Oh, Mr. Ishmael, sir! what a surprise! I am so glad to see you, sir."

"Thank you, Ben. How are the family?"

"All well, sir. Walk in, sir. Won't they be delighted to see you!" said the old man, opening a side door leading into the lighted drawing room, and announcing:

"Mr. Worth!"

There was a general jumping up of the party around the fireside, and a hasty rushing towards the visitor.

Mr. Middleton was foremost, holding out both his hands, and exclaiming:

"Why, how do you do? Is this you? This is a surprise! Where did you drop from?"

"Washington, sir," replied Ishmael, returning the handshaking, and then passing on to meet the ready welcome of Mrs. Middleton and the young folks.

"How do you do, Mrs. Middleton? Dearest Bee—it is such joy to meet you!" he said, as he returned the lady's greeting, and pressed the maiden's hand to his lips.

Bee was fairer, fresher, and lovelier than ever, as she stood there, blushing, but delighted to see him.

"How do you do, Worth?" spoke another deep voice.

Ishmael looked up suddenly, and saw his father standing before him. The latter had approached from a distant part of the room.

"Mr. Brudenell—you here? This is indeed a pleasant surprise!" said the young man joyfully.

"Mutually so, I assure you, Ishmael."

"When did you arrive, sir?"

"Only this afternoon. I came up to take the Shelton boat, that goes to Washington on Monday. My dislike to Sunday traveling decided me to come up to-day, and quarter myself on our friend Middleton for the Sabbath, so as to be in readiness to catch the 'Errand Boy' on Monday."

"You were coming to see me, I hope, sir?"

"Not purposely, my dear fellow. I had other business, less pleasant but more pressing. I should have called on you, however, though I could not have stayed long; for I must go by the Monday evening train to Boston, in order to catch the 'Oceana,' that sails on Wednesday morning. I am off by her."

"Indeed, sir!" exclaimed Ishmael, in surprise and delight. "Why, I am going to Europe by the 'Oceana '!"

"You!" responded the elder man, in equal surprise and pleasure. "Why, what on earth should take you to Europe?"

"I go on strictly confidential business with Judge Merlin."

"Merlin going to England, too? Oh, I see!"

The last three words were uttered in a low tone, and with a total change of manner, that struck Ishmael with the suspicion that Mr. Brudenell knew more of Lady Vincent's troubles than anyone on this side of the ocean, except her father and himself, was supposed to know.

"Going to Europe, Ishmael? you and the judge? Well, Merlin did start off at a tangent yesterday from Tanglewood. I suppose he is pining after his child, and has taken a sudden freak to rush over and see her. And as you are the staff of his age, of course, he would not think of undertaking so long a journey without the support of your company. Am I right?" inquired Mr. Middleton jollily.

"Judge Merlin is going to see Lady Vincent, and has invited me to accompany him, and I have accepted the invitation," answered the young man.

"Exactly, precisely, just so. But I wonder how the son of Powhatan, Merlin of Tanglewood, who could scarcely breathe out of the boundless wilderness, will like to sojourn in that cleared-up, trim, tidy, well-packed little island!" laughed Mr. Middleton; while Mr. Brudenell looked down, and slowly nodded his head.

Meanwhile Bee's careful, affectionate eyes noticed that Ishmael was very tired, and she said something in a low voice to her father.

"To be sure—to be sure, my dear. I ought to have thought of that myself. Ishmael, my boy, you have ridden hard to-day; you look fagged. Go right up into your own room now—you know where to find it; it is the same one you occupied when you were here last, kept sacred to you; and I will send up Ben to rub you down and curry you well; and by the time he has done that Bee will have the provender ready," said Mr. Middleton, whose delight at seeing his welcome visitor hurried him into all sorts of absurdities.

Ishmael smiled, bowed, and withdrew.

Half an hour afterwards, when he returned to the drawing room, looking, as Mr. Middleton said, "well-groomed and much refreshed," Mrs. Middleton touched the bell; the doors leading into the dining room were thrown open; and the guests were invited to sit down to a delicious supper of fresh fish, oysters, crabs, and waterfowl, which had been spread there in honor of Mr. Brudenell's arrival; but which was equally appropriate to Ishmael's welcome presence.

After supper, when they returned to the drawing room, Ishmael found an opportunity of saying aside to his host that he wished to have some private conversation with him that night.

Accordingly, when the evening circle had broken up and each had withdrawn to his or her own apartment, and Ishmael found himself alone in his chamber, he heard a rap at his door, and on bidding the rapper come in, saw Mr. Middleton enter.

"I have come at your request, Ishmael," he said, taking the chair that the young man immediately placed for him.

"Thank you, sir; I wished to confide to you the cause of Judge Merlin's sudden journey to England," said Ishmael gravely.

"Why, to see his daughter!" exclaimed Mr. Middleton, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, it is to see Lady Vincent. But Mr. Middleton, her ladyship is in great sorrow and greater danger," said the young man, speaking more gravely than before.

"Sorrow and danger! What are you talking of, Ishmael?" inquired Mr. Middleton, knitting his brows in perplexity.

"Lady Vincent is separated from her husband, who has filed a petition for divorce from her," said Ishmael solemnly.

The exclamation of amazement and indignation that burst from Mr. Middleton's lips was rather too profane to be recorded here.

"Yes, sir; it is so," sighed Ishmael.

"Who says this?" demanded Mr. Middleton, in a voice of suppressed fury.

"She herself says it, sir, in a letter to her father, who has commissioned me to impart the facts in confidence to yourself. Here are the letters he received and desired me to hand to you for perusal. They are numbered one, two, three. Read them in that order, and they will put you in possession of the whole affair, as far as is known to any of us over here."

Mr. Middleton grasped the letters, and one after another devoured their contents.

"This first letter is nearly two months old! Why has it not been acted upon before?" he demanded, in an angry manner, that proved he would have liked to quarrel with somebody.

"It was not received until two days since. It was miscarried and it went half around the world before it reached its proper destination," said Ishmael equably.

"But what does it all mean, then? What plot is this alluded to? And who is in it?"

"Mr. Middleton, we know no more than you now do. We know no more than the letters that you have just read tell us."

"But why, in the name of Heaven, then, could these letters not have been more explicit? Claudia was alone at McGruder's Hotel! Where were her servants? A plot was formed against her! Who formed it? Why could she not have satisfied us upon these subjects?" exclaimed Mr. Middleton vehemently.

"Sir, each letter seems to have been written under the spur of imminent necessity. Perhaps there was no time to enter fully upon the subject; perhaps also it was one that could not be discussed through an epistolary correspondence."

"Perhaps they were all raving mad!" exclaimed Mr. Middleton excitedly. "Now what are you all to do?"

"Judge Merlin and myself are going to England, as I told you. He will support his daughter in opposing Lord Vincent's application for a divorce. I will give them all the assistance in my power to render. Of course, as I am not a member of any English bar, I cannot appear as her public advocate; but I will serve her to the utmost of my ability as a private counselor. I will make myself master of the case and use my best efforts to discover and expose the conspiracy against her. And if I succeed, I will do my best to have the conspirators punished. For in England, fortunately, conspiracy against the life, property, or character of any person or persons is a felony, punishable by penal servitude. Fortunately, also, in the criminal courts of England the peer finds no more favor than the peasant. And if the Lord Viscount Vincent is prosecuted to conviction he will stand as good a chance of transportation to the penal colonies as the meanest confederate he has employed," said Ishmael.

"I wish he may be! I'd make a voyage to Sydney myself for the sake of seeing him working in a chain-gang. I hate the fellow, and always did."

"I never liked him," candidly admitted Ishmael; "but still it is not in the spirit of vengeance, but of stern justice, that I shall devote every faculty of my mind and body to the duty of exposing and convicting him."

"I declare to you, Ishmael, 'vengeance' and 'stern justice' look so much alike to me, that, as the darkies say, I cannot tell 't'other from which.'"

"There is a distinction, however," said Ishmael.

"But, under either name, I hope the villainous Viscount Vincent (I didn't mean to make that alliteration, however) will get his full measure of retribution! You go by the 'Oceana' on Wednesday, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, success to you! Poor Claudia! I hope she will be vindicated. I will talk farther of this with you to-morrow, after church. Now I see that you are very weary and need repose. Good-night! God bless you, my dear boy."

Very early the next morning Ishmael arose, and after making his toilet and offering up his devotions, he went out to refresh himself by a stroll on the beach that fine winter morning.

Very exhilarating it was to him, coming from the crowded city, to saunter up and down the sands, letting his eyes wander over the broad, sun-lit waters and the winding, wooded shores.

He watched the latest, hardier fish, not yet driven to warmer climes, leap up through the sparkling ripples and disappear again.

He watched the waterfowl start up in flocks from some near brake, and, spreading their broad wings, sail far away over the bright emerald-green waves.

Along the shore he noted the sly, brown squirrel peep at him from her hole, and then hop quickly out of sight; and the hardy little snow-bird light at his feet and then dart swiftly away.

Very dear to Ishmael were all these little darlings of nature. They had been the playfellows of his boyhood; and something of the boy survived in Ishmael yet, as it does in every pure young man. It is only sin that destroys youthfulness.

Sometimes he watched a distant sail disappear below the horizon, and followed her in imagination over the seas, and thought with youthful delight how soon he too would be on the deep blue waves of mid- ocean.

A step and a voice roused him from his reverie.

"Good-morning, Ishmael! I saw you walking here from my window and came out to join you."

"Oh, good-morning, Mr. Brudenell!" exclaimed the young man, turning with a glad smile to meet the elder one.

Mr. Brudenell took the arm of Ishmael, and, leaning rather heavily on it, joined him in his walk.

"I know why Judge Merlin and yourself are going to England," he said.

"I thought you did. But I could not, and cannot now, conceive how you should have found out; since we ourselves knew nothing about the unfortunate affair until a day or two since; and it is one of a strictly private and domestic nature," replied Ishmael.

"Strictly private and domestic? Why, Ishmael, it may have been so in the beginning; but now it is public and patent. All England is ringing with the affair. It is the last sensation story that the reporters have got hold of. It was from the London papers received by the last mail that I learned the news," said Mr. Brudenell, taking from his pocket the "Times," "Post," and "Chronicle."

Ishmael hastily glanced over the accounts of the affair as contained in each of these. But though the articles were long and wordy they afforded him no new information.

They told him what he already knew; that the Viscount Vincent had filed a petition for divorce from his viscountess on the ground of infidelity; that the lady was the daughter of an American chief- justice; that she was a beauty and an heiress; that Lord Vincent had formed her acquaintance at the President's house during his official visit to Washington; that he had married her during the past summer; and after an extended bridal tour had brought her in October to Castle Cragg, when the suspicions that led to subsequent discovery and ultimate separation were first aroused, etc., etc., etc.

"All that is very unsatisfactory. I wish we knew the suspicious circumstances," said Mr. Brudenell.

"I believe there were no suspicious circumstances. I believe the whole affair to be a conspiracy against Lady Vincent," said Ishmael.

"But what motive could the viscount have for conspiracy against her?"

"The motive of getting rid of her, while he retains her fortune, which most unluckily was not settled upon herself."

While Mr. Brudenell stood gazing with consternation upon the speaker, there came flying from the house a negro boy, who said that he was sent to tell them that the breakfast was ready.

They returned to the house and joined the family at the cheerful breakfast table. It was a large party that met in the parlor afterwards to go to church.

And a gig in addition to the capacious family carriage was in attendance.

"Ishmael," said Mr. Middleton, in the kindly thoughtfulness of his nature, "you will drive Bee in the gig. The rest of us will go in the carriage."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Middleton," answered the young man, as he smilingly led his betrothed to the gig, placed her in it and seated himself beside her.

"Go on—go on ahead! We shall not ride over you in our lumbering old coach!" said Mr. Middleton.

Ishmael nodded, took the reins, and started. The road lay along the high banks of the river above the sands.

"How delightful it is to spend this day with you, dear Bee!" he said, as they bowled along.

"Oh, yes! and it is delightful to us all to have you here, Ishmael!" she said; and then, with a slight depression in her tone, she inquired:

"Will you be gone to Europe long?"

"No, dearest Bee. I shall dispatch the business that takes me there as quickly as I can and hasten back," he replied; but he forbore to hint the nature of this business; it was a subject with which he did not wish to wound the delicate ear of Bee Middleton.

"I hope you will enjoy your voyage," she said, smiling on him.

"I wish you were going with me, dearest Bee. I had looked forward to the pleasure of our seeing Europe together when we should go there for the first time. And the continent we will see together; for I shall go no farther than England. I shall reserve France, Italy, Germany, and Russia for our tour next autumn, dear Bee."

She smiled on him with sympathetic delight. But as the road here, quite on the edge of the banks, required the most careful driving, the lovers' conversation ceased for a while.

And presently they were at the Shelton church. The congregation were in luck that day. A celebrated preacher, who happened to be visiting the neighborhood, occupied the pulpit. He preached from the text, "Come up higher." And his discourse was a stirring call upon his hearers to strive after perfection. All were pleased, instructed, and inspired.

When the services were concluded, our party returned home in the same order in which they had come. And as there was no afternoon service, they spent the remainder of the day in the enjoyment of each other's company and conversation.

Bee and Ishmael were mercifully left to themselves, to make the most of the few hours before their separation. They were not morbid sentimentalists—those two young people; they were not fearful, or doubtful, or exacting of each other. If you had chanced to overhear their conversation, you would have heard none of those entreaties, warnings, and protestations that often make up the conversation of lovers about to part for a time, and a little uncertain of each other's fidelity. They had faith, hope, and love for, and in, each other and their Creator. Ishmael never imagined such a thing as that Bee could form another attachment, or go into a decline while he was gone. And Bee had no fears either that the sea would swallow her lover, or that a rival would carry him off.