Ishmael turned and looked at Claudia. She had not once spoken since her name had been introduced into the conversation. She had sat there with her elbow on the table and her head bowed upon her hand, in mournful silence. She was looking perfectly beautiful in her widow's dress and cap--perfectly beautiful with that last divine, perfecting touch that sorrow gives to beauty. Surely Ishmael thought so as he looked at her. She lifted her drooping lids. Their eyes met; hers were suffused with tears; his were full of earnest sympathy.

"You shall not be exposed to shipwreck, Lady Vincent," he said, in a voice rich with tenderness.

Slowly and mournfully she shook her head.

"There are other wrecks," she said:

"'And I beneath a rougher sea, O'erwhelmed in deeper gulfs may be.'"

The last words were breathed in a scarcely audible voice, and her head sank low upon her hand.

With a profound sigh, that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Ishmael turned away. Passing near the Countess of Hurstmonceux, he bent his head and murmured:

"Lady Vincent seems very weary."

The countess took the hint and rang for the bedroom candles, and when they were brought, the party bade each other goodnight, separated, and retired.

Early the next morning they set out for Edinboro', where they arrived about midday.

The Countess of Hurstmonceux's servants, who had received telegraphic orders from her ladyship, were waiting at the station with carriages. The whole party entered these and drove to Cameron Court, where they arrived in time for an early dinner.

After this, Ishmael and Judge Merlin were closeted in the library, and engaged upon the preliminary measures for a final arrangement with the Earl of Hurstmonceux's solicitors.

The judge, in his good opinion of the earl, would have trusted to a simple, informal rendition of his daughter's fortune; but Ishmael, the ever-watchful guardian of her interests, warned her father that every legal form must be scrupulously observed in the restoration of the property, lest in the event of the death of the Earl of Hurstmonceux his brother and successor, the disreputable Captain Dugald, should attempt to disturb her in its possession.

The judge acquiesced, and this business occupied the friends the whole of that afternoon. In the evening they joined the ladies at their tea-table, in the little drawing room. After tea, when the service was removed, they gathered around the table in social converse.

A servant brought in a small parcel that looked like a case of jewelry done up in paper, and laid it before the countess.

She smiled, with a deprecating look, as she took it up and opened it and passed it around to her friends for inspection. It was a miniature of the countess herself, painted on ivory. It was a faithful likeness, apparently very recently taken; for, on looking at it, you seemed to see the beautiful countess herself on a diminished scale, or through an inverted telescope.

"It has been making a visit," smiled the countess. "A poor young artist in Edinboro' is getting up a 'Book of Beauty' on his own account. He came here in person to beg the loan of one of my portraits to engrave from. I gave him this, because it was the last I had taken. I gave it to him because a refusal from me would have wounded his feelings and discouraged his enterprise. Otherwise, I assure you, I should not have let him have it for any such purpose as he designed. For the idea of putting my portrait in a 'Book of Beauty' is a rich absurdity."

"Pardon me; I do not see the absurdity at all," said Ishmael earnestly, as in his turn he received the miniature and gazed with admiration on its beautiful features.

"Young gentleman, I am forty-five," said the countess.

Ishmael gave a genuine start of surprise. He knew of course that she must have been of that age, but he had forgotten the flight of time, and the announcement startled him. He soon recovered himself, however, and answered with his honest smile:

"Well, my lady, if you are still beautiful at forty-five, you cannot help it, and you cannot prevent artistic eyes from seeing it. I, as one of your friends, am glad and grateful for it. And I hope you will remain as beautiful in form as in spirit even to the age of seventy-five, or as long after that as you may live in this world."

"Thank you, Mr. Worth. I really do value praise from you, because I know that it is sincere on your part, if not merited on mine," said Lady Hurstmonceux.

Ishmael bowed low and in silence. Then he resumed his contemplation of the picture. And presently he looked up and said:

"Lady Hurstmonceux, I am going to ask you a favor. Will you lend me this picture for a week?"

The countess was a little surprised at the request. She looked up at Ishmael before answering it.

Their eyes met. Some mutual intelligence passed in those meeting glances. And she then answered:

"Yes, Mr. Worth. I will intrust it to you as long as you would like to keep it; without reserve, and without even asking you what you wish to do with it."

Again Ishmael bowed, and then he closed the case of the miniature and deposited it in his breast-pocket.

"I hope that youth is not falling in love with his grandmother. I have heard of such things in my life," thought the judge crossly within himself, for the judge was growing jealous for Claudia. He had apparently forgotten the existence of Bee.

As Ishmael was to leave Cameron Court at a very early hour of the morning, before any of the family would be likely to be up to see him off, he took leave of his friends upon this evening, and retired early to his room to complete his preparations for the journey.

CHAPTER LI

ISHMAEL'S ERRAND.

I tell thee, friend, I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love; A day in April never came so sweet, To show that costly summer was at hand.

--_Shakespeare._

Ishmael left Edinboro' by the earliest express train for London, where he arrived at nightfall.

He took a cab and drove immediately to Morley's Hotel in the Strand, where Herman Brudenell was stopping.

Carpet-bag in hand, Ishmael was shown into that gentleman's sitting room.

Mr. Brudenell sat writing at a table, but on hearing Mr. Worth announced and seeing him enter, he started up, threw down his pen, and rushed to welcome the traveler.

"My dear, dear boy, a thousand welcomes!" he exclaimed, heartily shaking Ishmael's hands.

"I am very glad to come and see you again, sir. I hope that you are quite well?" said Ishmael, cordially responding to this warm welcome.

"As well as a solitary man can be, my dear boy. How did you leave our friends? In good health, I trust,"

"Yes; in tolerably good health, considering the circumstances. They are of course somewhat shaken by the terrible events of the last few days."

"I should think so. Heaven! what an ordeal to have passed through.

Poor Claudia. How has she borne it all?"

"With the most admirable firmness. Claudia-Lady Vincent, I should say--has come out of her fiery trial like refined gold," said Ishmael warmly.

"A fiery trial, indeed. Ishmael, I have read the full account of the Banff tragedy, as they call it, in all the morning papers; no two of them agreeing in all particulars. The account in the 'Times' I hold to be the most reliable; it is at least the fullest--it occupies nearly two pages of that great paper."

"You are right; the account in the 'Times' is the true one."

"But, bless my life, I am keeping you standing here, carpet-bag in hand, all this time! Have you engaged your room?"