Ishmael started and turned towards her; but she had arisen from the table and withdrawn to the window-seat.

Judge Merlin continued to press his gift upon the young man. But though Ishmael had almost a passion for fine horses, he hesitated to accept this munificent present until he saw that his refusal would give the judge great pain. Then, with sincere expressions of gratitude, he frankly accepted it.

The judge rang a bell and ordered Mahomet saddled and brought around for Mr. Worth, and a groom's horse for his servant.

Ishmael put on his riding-coat and took his hat and gloves. When the horses were announced, Ishmael went and shook hands with his host.

"God bless you, Ishmael; God bless you, my dear boy, for all that you have done for me and for mine! Yea, God bless you, and speed the time when you shall be nearer to me than at present," said the judge, pressing both Ishmael's hands before be dropped them.

Ishmael then crossed the room to take leave of Claudia. She was sitting in the armchair, within the recess of the bay window; her elbow rested on a little stand at her side, and her head was bowed upon her hand; this was her usual attitude now.

"Farewell, Lady Vincent," said Ishmael, in a grave, sweet voice, as he stood before her. She raised her head and looked at him. Oh, what a world of grief, despair, and passionate remorse was expressed in those large, dark, tearless eyes!

"Farewell, Lady Vincent," said Ishmael, deferentially taking her hand.

Her fingers closed spasmodically upon his, as though she would have held him to her side forever.

"Oh, must it be indeed farewell, Ishmael?" she breathed in a voice expiring with anguish.

"Farewell," he repeated gravely, kindly, reverentially; bowing low over the throbbing hand he held; and then he turned and softly left the room.

"It is his sense of honor. Oh, it is his chivalric, nay, his fanatical sense of honor that is ruining us! Unless Bee has the good taste and modesty to release him voluntarily, he will sacrifice me, himself, and her, to the Moloch, Honor," wailed Claudia, as she dropped her head upon her hands in a grief too deep for tears.

Was she right?

CHAPTER LIV.

WHICH IS THE BRIDE?

His horse went on, hoof after hoof, Went on and never stopped, Till down behind the Mansion roof, At once, the red sun dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head!-- "Oh, Heaven!" to himself he cried, "If--if she should be dead!"

--_Wordsworth_.

Ishmael galloped along the road leading to The Beacon, followed at a short distance by the professor, who found some difficulty in keeping up with his master.

Ishmael's aspect was not altogether that of a happy lover going to see his beloved; for his countenance was thoughtful, grave, and sad.

How could it be otherwise with him, after the scene he had left? His thoughts, his sympathies, his regrets were with Claudia, the earliest friend of his friendless childhood; with Claudia, grand, noble, and beautiful, even in the wreck of her happiness; with Claudia, loving now as she had never loved before. Yes, his thoughts, his regrets, his sympathies were with her, but where were his love, his esteem, and his admiration?

As he rode on the figure of Claudia, in her woe, became lost in a shadow that was gradually stealing over his soul-one of those mysterious shadows that approaching misfortunes are said to cast before them. In vain he tried by reason to dispel this gloom. The nearer he approached The Beacon, the deeper it settled upon his spirit!

What could it mean? Was all well at The Beacon? Was all well with Bee?

Reuben Gray, when questioned, had said that he had not heard from them in a week. And what might not have happened in a week? At that thought a pang like death shot through his heart, and he put spurs to his horse and urged him forward at his best speed, but with all his haste, the short February day was drawing to its close, and the descending sun was sinking behind the mansion-house and its group of out-buildings when Ishmael rode into the front yard, followed closely by his servant. It was but the work of a moment to spring from his horse, throw the reins to the professor, bound Tip the steps to the front door and ring the bell. The door was opened by Mr. Middleton in person. This was an unprecedented, and ominous circumstance.

Bee's father looked very grave as he held out his hand, saying:

"How do you do, Ishmael? I am glad that you have all returned safely."

"How do you do, Mr. Middleton? I hope--I hope that I find you all well?" said Ishmael, striving to speak composedly.

"Y-yes. Come into the library, my young friend; I wish to speak with you alone before you see any other member of the family," said Mr.

Middleton.

Nearly overwhelmed with his emotions, dreading, he knew not what, Ishmael followed Mr. Middleton into the library and dropped into the chair that gentleman pushed towards him.

"Bee-Bee! For Heaven's sake tell me? Is she well?" he asked.

"Y-yes," answered Mr. Middleton hesitatingly, gravely. "Bee is well."

"Good Heaven, sir, can you not speak plainly? We say of the sainted dead that they are well; that it is well with them. Oh, tell me, tell me, is Bee alive and well?" exclaimed the young man, as drops of sweat, forced forth by his great agony of suspense, started from his brow.

"Yes, yes! Bee is alive and well."

Ishmael dropped his head upon his hands and breathed a fervent:

"Thanks be to God!"

"I have given you unintentional alarm, Ishmael."

"Oh, sir, alarm does not begin to express what I have suffered. You have wrung my heart. But let that pass, sir. What is it that you wished to say to me?" said Ishmael, raising his head.

"Take a glass of wine first," said Mr. Middleton, bringing a decanter and glasses from a side-table.

"Thank you, sir, I never touch it. Pray do not regard me; but go on with what you were about to say."

"I will then, Ishmael. And I hope you will forgive me if I speak very plainly."

"Speak then, sir; Bee's father has a holy right to speak plainly to Bee's betrothed," replied Ishmael, wondering what portentous communication these words prefaced.

"It is as Bee's father, and no less as your friend, Ishmael, that I do speak. Ishmael," continued Mr. Middleton solemnly, "we all knew your strong, your very strong attachment to Claudia Merlin before she became Lady Vincent--'

"Well, sir?" said the young man gravely.

"We all knew how nearly heart-broken you were for a considerable time after her marriage, and indeed until you found consolation and healing in the sympathy and affection of my daughter Beatrice."

"Yes, sir," said Ishmael, speaking low and bending his head.

"You possibly mistook this sisterly love of the companion of your childhood for that deeper love that should bind husband and wife together for time and for eternity. And you asked me to give you Bee, and I, rashly perhaps, consented--for who could foresee the end?"

Ishmael grew very pale, but compressed his lips, and governed his strong emotions.

Mr. Middleton continued: