The professor opened the door for Mr. Worth. There was no regular porter at Cameron Court, but Dr. James Morris was acting in that capacity.

"All well, professor?"

"All well, sir. The judge and Lady Vincent have gone out for an airing in the close carriage. We expect them, back to dinner, which will be served presently. You are just in time, sir."

Ishmael was for once glad to hear that the judge and his daughter were absent and that the countess was alone. But then, suddenly he reflected that this latter supposition was not so certain, and he anxiously inquired:

"Is the countess at home, professor?"

"Yes, sir; her ladyship is in the library, reading."

"Alone?"

"Quite alone, sir."

"That will do; I can find her," said Ishmael, ascending the stairs and turning in the direction of the library, which was situated on the first floor.

Berenice, dressed in a rich, but simply made, black velvet robe, with delicate white lace under-sleeves and collar, sat near the centre table before the fire, reading. Her head was bent over her book, and her rich black ringlets fell forward, half shading her beautiful dark face. She raised her eyes when Ishmael entered, and seeing who it was, she threw aside her book and started up to meet him.

"Welcome, Mr. Worth; welcome back again," she said, offering her hand.

Ishmael took that beautiful little brown hand and held it within his own as he said:

"Thank you, Lady Hurstmonceux. I am really very glad to get back.

But--"

"What, Mr. Worth?"

"I do not come alone, Lady Hurstmonceux!"

Her countenance suddenly changed. Her voice sank to at whisper as she inquired:

"Who is with you?"

Dropping his voice to the low tone of hers, Ishmael answered:

"Mr. Brudenell."

The countess snatched her hand from his grasp, threw herself into the nearest chair, covered her face with her hands, and so remained for several minutes. At last Ishmael approached and leaned over her, and, speaking in a subdued and gentle voice, said:

"This visit is not wholly unexpected, Lady Hurstmonceux?"

"No, no, Mr. Worth," she murmured, without removing the shield of her hands.

"Nor unwelcome, I hope?"

"No, oh, no!" she said, dropping her hands now and looking up, pale, and faintly smiling.

"You will see him then?" said Ishmael, speaking, as he had spoken throughout the interview, in a low, gentle tone.

"Presently. Give me a little time. Oh, I have waited for him so long, Ishmael," she said, with an involuntary burst of confidence.

But then everyone, even the most reserved, confided in Ishmael Worth.

"I have waited for him so long, so long!" she repeated.

"He has come at last, dearest lady; come to devote his life to you, if you will accept the offering," Ishmael murmured, bending over her.

"Oh, Mr. Worth, I am sure that I owe this happiness to you," the countess exclaimed fervently, clasping his hand and holding it while she repeated, "' Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.'"

Lowly and reverently Ishmael bowed his head at the hearing of these words.

"Where is he, Mr. Worth?" at length breathed Berenice.

"In the carriage outside, awaiting your pleasure."

"Bring him to me, then," she said, pressing his hand warmly before she relinquished it.

Ishmael returned that pressure, and then went out to speak to Mr.

Brudenell.

"Come in, sir. She invites you," he said.

Herman Brudenell stepped out of the carriage and entered with Ishmael. He threw his eyes around upon the magnificence that surrounded him. Was all this really to be his own? the gift of that sweet lady's slighted love? He could scarcely believe it.

Ishmael led him through the halls and upstairs to the library.

"She is in there alone," he whispered.

"Go in with me, Ishmael," whispered the other. But Ishmael shook his head, smiled, opened the door, announced, "Mr. Brudenell, Lady Hurstmonceux," shut it and retired.

Herman Brudenell found himself alone in the library with his long- neglected wife. She was sitting in the armchair, where Ishmael had left her. She arose to meet her visitor; then suddenly turned deadly pale and sunk back in her chair, overcome by her emotions, but even in so sinking she stretched her hands out to him in welcome, in invitation, in entreaty.

Slowly and deferentially he approached this woman, so holy in her immortal love. And dropping on one knee, beside her chair, he bent his head and murmured in a broken voice:

"Berenice, Berenice--can you forgive all these long, long years of cruel injustice?"

"Oh, bless you; bless you, Herman, for coming at last. I am so glad to see you!" she said, drawing his bowed head to her bosom, dropping her face caressingly upon it and bursting into tears. A few minutes passed and he was sitting by her side, with her hand clasped in his, telling her the story of the sinful and sorrowful past, and imploring her forgiveness.

Would she forgive him?

Reader, Berenice was one of those women whom the wisdom of this world can never understand; one of those women who love purely and passionately; who love but once and love forever. She loved Herman Brudenell; and in saying this I answer all questions. She would not acknowledge that she had anything to forgive; she was glad to give him herself and all that she possessed; she was glad to make him the absolute master of her person and her fortune. And in giving all she received all, for as she loved she was happy. After some little time had elapsed, and they had both recovered from the agitation of the meeting, the countess looked up at him and inquired:

"Who is Ishmael Worth? Who is this young man, so stately, yet so gracious? so commanding, yet so meek? who walks among other men as a young king should, but as a young king never does. Who is he?"

"He is my son," said Herman Brudenell, proudly but shyly; "my son, the child of that unfortunate marriage contracted when I supposed that you were lost to me; lost to me in every way, my Berenice. That marriage of which I have already told you. Do you forgive me, for him also, Berenice?"

"I congratulate you on him, for he is a son to be very proud of. I glory in him, for he is now my son also," said this generous woman fervently.

Herman Brudenell raised her hand and pressed it to his lips.