"Oh, Herman, I knew it! I knew it twenty years ago, when I went to the Hill Hut and begged the babe to bring up as my own," she said.

"You did, Berenice? How divinely good you are."

"Good! Why, I only sought my own comfort in the babe. You were lost to me for the time, and your child was the best consolation I could have found. However, his stern kinswoman would not let me have him; would not even let me help him; denied that he was yours, and almost turned me out of doors."

"That was so like Hannah."

"But now at last he is mine; my gifted son. How I shall rejoice in him."

"He is yours, Berenice, as far as the most profound esteem and love can make him yours. But Ishmael will never consent to be publicly acknowledged by me," said Herman Brudenell sorrowfully.

"But why?" inquired the countess, in astonishment.

"For his mother's sake. Ishmael cherishes the most chivalric devotion for his angel mother, and I think also for all mortal women, for her sake. He bears her name, and is fond of it and will ever bear it, that whatever fame he may win in this world may be identified with it. He has vowed, with the blessing of Heaven, to make the name of Worth illustrious, and he will do so."

"A chivalric devotion, truly; and how beautiful it is. He is already, though so young, a distinguished member of the Washington bar, I hear. How did he get his education and his profession--that poor boy, whom I remember in his childhood as tramping the country with the old odd-job man--that very 'professor' who attends him as his servant now? You found him and educated him at last, I suppose, Herman?"

A fiery flush arose to Mr. Brudenell's brow, displacing its habitual paleness.

"No, Berenice, no! Not to me, not to any human being does Ishmael owe education or profession; but to God and to himself alone. Never was a boy born in this world under more adverse circumstances. His birth, in its utter destitution, reminds me (I speak it with the deepest reverence) of that other birth in the manger of Bethlehem.

His infancy was a struggle for the very breath of life; his childhood for bread; his youth for education; and nobly, nobly has he sustained this struggle and gloriously has he succeeded. We are yet in our prime, my dear Berenice, and I feel sure that, if we live out the three-score years and ten allotted as the term of human life, we shall see Ishmael at the zenith of human greatness."

So carried away had Mr. Brudenell been in making this tribute to Ishmael that he had forgotten to explain the circumstances that would have exonerated him from the suspicion of having culpably neglected his child. Berenice brought him back to his recollection by saying:

"But I am sure you must have made some provision for this boy; how was it then that he never derived any benefit from it? How was it that he was left from the hour of his birth to suffer the cruelest privations, until the age of seven years, when he began to support himself, and to help support his aunt!"

"You are right, Berenice; I made a provision for him; but I left the country, and he never had the good of it. I will explain how that was by and by; but I believe the loss of it was providential. I believe it was intended from the first that Ishmael should 'owe no man anything,' for life, or bread, or education, or profession; but all to God and God's blessing on his own efforts. He is self-made. I know no other man in history to whom the term can be so perfectly well applied."

"Will you tell me all you know of his early struggles? I am so interested in this stately son of yours," said Berenice, who, while admiring Ishmael herself, saw also that he was the theme above all others that Mr. Brudenell loved to dwell upon.

Herman Brudenell told the story of Ishmael's heroic young life, as he had gathered it from many sources. And Berenice listened in admiration, in wonder, and sometimes in tears. And yet it was only the plain story of a poor boy who struggled up out of the depths of poverty, shame, and ignorance, to competence, honor, and distinction; a story that may be repeated again in the person of the obscurest boy that reads these lines.

After a little while, given to meditation on what she had heard, Berenice, with her hand still clasped in that of Herman Brudenell, looked up at him and said:

"Your mother and sisters?"

Slowly and sadly Mr. Brudenell shook his head:

"Ah, Berenice! I shall have to tell you now of a family self marred, as a set-off to the boy self-made."

And then he told the grievous story of the decadence of the Brudenell ladies, not, of course, forgetting the mad marriage of Eleanor Brudenell with the profligate Captain Dugald.

While Bernice was still wondering over these family mistakes and misfortunes, a footman opened the door and said:

"My lady, dinner is served."

"Have Judge Merlin and Lady Vincent returned from their drive?"

inquired the countess.

"Yes, my lady; the judge and her ladyship are in the drawing room with Mr. Worth."

"Mr. Brudenell, will you give me your arm?" said the countess, rising, with a smile.

Herman Brudenell bowed and complied. And they left the library and passed on to the little drawing room. As they entered they saw Judge Merlin, Ishmael, and Claudia standing, grouped in conversation, near the fire.

The situation of this long-severed and suddenly reunited pair was certainly rather embarassing, especially to the lady; and to almost any other one it would have been overwhelming. But Berenice was a refined, cultivated, and dignified woman of society; such a woman never loses her self-possession; she is always mistress of the situation. Berenice was so now. But for the bright light in her usually pensive dark eyes, and the rosy flush on her habitually pale cheeks, there was no difference in her aspect, as, with her hand lightly resting on Mr. Brudenell's arm, she advanced towards the group.

Claudia turned around, not altogether in surprise, for Ishmael had thoughtfully prepared them all for this new addition to the family circle.

"Lady Vincent, I believe you have already met my husband, Mr.

Brudenell," said the countess, gravely presenting him to her guest.

And the form of her words purposely revealed the reconciliation that had just been sealed.

"Oh, yes, I know Mr. Brudenell well, and I am very glad to see him again," said Claudia, offering her hand.

"I had the honor of passing some weeks in Lady Vincent's company at her father's house in Washington," said Mr. Brudenell, gravely bowing. He next turned and shook hands with Judge Merlin. But the old man retained his hand, and took also that of the countess, and as the tears sprang to his aged eyes, he said:

"Dear Brudenell, and dearest lady, I sympathize with you in this reunion with all my heart. May you be very happy; God bless you!"

and pressing both their hands, he relinquished them.

Mr. Brudenell and the countess simultaneously bowed in silent acknowledgment of this benediction.

Claudia involuntarily looked up to Ishmael's face; their eyes met-- hers betraying the yearning anguish of a famishing heart, and his the most earnest sympathy, the most reverential compassion. Why did Claudia look at him so? Ah! because she could not help it. What was she dreaming of? Perhaps of another possible reunion, that should compensate her for all the woeful past, and bless her in all the happy future.

A moment more, and the folding doors connecting The drawing room with the dining room were thrown open.

"Mr. Brudenell, will you take Lady Vincent in to dinner?" said the countess, with a smile, as she herself gave her hand to Ishmael.

And thus they passed into the dining room.

But for the sadness of one mourning spirit present, the dinner was a pleasant one. And the reunion in the drawing room that evening was calmly happy.

CHAPTER LIII

HOME AGAIN.

Home again! home again!

From a foreign shore!

And oh, it fills my heart with joy To greet my friends once more.

Music sweet! music soft!

Lingers round the place; And oh, I feel the childhood's charm, That time cannot efface!

--_M. S. Pike_.