"Lady Vincent fell into trouble. She needed the help of a man with a strong arm, wise head, and pure heart. You were that man, Ishmael.

At her first cry for help wafted across the Atlantic, you threw up all your professional prospects, left your office and your clients to take care of themselves, and flew to her relief. It was to your wonderful intelligence, inspired, no doubt, by your pure love, that she owed her deliverance from all the snares laid for her destruction. You have rescued her and brought her safely home. Are you listening, Ishmael?"

"I am listening, sir," answered the young man very gravely. By this time he had begun to understand the drift of Mr. Middleton's discourse, and had recovered his composure, and his look was somewhat stern.

"Well, then, in a word--Lord Vincent is dead, Claudia is free, you have been her constant companion since her widowhood. Now, then, Ishmael, if in these days of close companionship with Lady Vincent your love for Claudia Merlin has revived--"

"Mr. Middleton, how can you speak to me thus?" interrupted Ishmael, in a stern voice, and with flashing eyes, and in very righteous indignation. The next instant, however, he recovered himself. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said sorrowfully. "I should not have spoken so to the father of my betrothed--to my own father, I might almost say.

I beg your pardon sincerely."

"Compose yourself, Ishmael, and listen to me. I speak the words of truth and soberness, and you must hear them. I say if in these days of intimate association with Lady Vincent your love for Claudia Merlin has revived, you must break with Bee."

"Mr. Middleton!"

"Gently, Ishmael! If this is so, it cannot be helped, and none of us blame you. The human heart should be free. Nay, it will be free. So--"

"But, Mr. Middleton--"

"Gently, gently, Ishmael, I beg; hear me out. I know what you were about to say. You were about to talk of your plighted word, of fidelity, and of honor. But I think, Ishmael, that, if it is as I suppose, there would be more honor in frankly stating the case to Bee, and asking for the release that she would surely give you than there would be in marrying her while you love another. You should not offer her a divided love. Bee is worthy of a whole heart."

"Do I not know it?" broke forth Ishmael, in strong emotion. "Oh, do I not know it? And do I not give her my whole, unwavering, undivided heart? Mr. Middleton, look at me," said the young man, fixing his truthful, earnest, eloquent eyes upon that gentleman's face. "Look at me! It is true that I once cherished a boyish passion for Lady Vincent--unreasoning, ardent, vehement as such boyish passions are apt to be. But, sir, her marriage with Lord Vincent killed that passion quite. It was dead and buried, without the possibility of resurrection. It was impossible for me to love another man's wife.

Every honorable principle, every delicate instinct of my nature forbade it. On her marriage day my boyish flame burned to ashes; and, sir, such ashes as are never rekindled again. Never, under any circumstances. It is true that I have felt the deepest sympathy for Lady Vincent in her sorrows; but not more, sir, than it is my nature to feel for any suffering woman; not more, sir, I assure you, than I felt for that poor, little middle-aged widow who was my first client; not more, scarcely so much, as I felt for Lady Hurstmonceux in her desertion. Oh, sir, the love that I gave to Bee is not the transient passion of a boy, it is the steadfast affection of a man.

And since the blessed day of our betrothal my heart has known no shadow of turning from its fidelity to her. Sir, do you believe me?"

"I do, I do, Ishmael, and I beg you to forgive me for my doubts of you."

"For myself, I have nothing to forgive. But, sir, I hope, I trust, that you have not disturbed Bee with these doubts."

"Well, Ishmael, you know, I felt it my duty gradually to prepare her mind for the shock that she might have received had those old coals of yours been rekindled."

"Then Heaven forgive you, Mr. Middleton! Where is she? Can I see her now?"

"Of course you can, Ishmael. In any case, you should have seen her once more. If you had been going to break with her, you would have had to see her to ask from her own lips your release."

"Where is she--where?"

"In the drawing room--waiting, like the good girl that she is, to give you your freedom, should you desire it of her."

"I say--God forgive you, Mr. Middleton!" said Ishmael, starting off.

Suddenly he stopped; he was very much agitated, and he did not wish to break in on Bee in that disturbed state. He poured out a large glass of water and drank it off; stood still a minute to recover his composure, and then went quietly to the drawing room. Very softly he opened the door.

There she was. Ah, it seemed ages since he had seen her last. And now he stood for a moment looking at her, before he advanced into the room.

She was standing at the west window, apparently looking out at the wintry, red sunset. Although it was afternoon, she still wore a long, flowing, white merino morning dress, and her bright golden brown hair was unwound, hanging loose upon her shoulders. The beams of the setting sun, streaming in full upon her, illumined the outlines of her beautiful head and graceful form. A lovely picture she made as she stood there like some fair spirit.

Ishmael advanced softly towards her, stood behind her.

"Bee; dear, dear Bee!" he said, putting his arms around her.

She turned in a moment, exclaiming:

"Dear Ishmael; dearest brother!" and was caught to his bosom. She dropped her head upon his shoulder, and burst into a flood of tears.

She wept long and convulsively, and he held her closely to his heart, and soothed her with loving words. It seemed she did not take in the full purport of those words, for presently she ceased weeping, gently disengaged herself from his embrace, and sat down upon the corner of the sofa, with her elbow resting on his arm, and her head leaning upon her hand. And then, as he looked at her, Ishmael saw for the first time how changed, how sadly changed she was.

Bee's face had always been fair, clear, and delicate, but now it was so white, wan, and shadowy that her sweet blue eyes seemed preternaturally large, bright, and hollow. She began to speak, but with an effort that was very perceptible:

"Dear Ishmael, dearest and ever dearest brother, I did not mean to weep so; it was very foolish; but then you know we girls weep for almost anything, or nothing; so you--"

Her voice sank into silence.

"My darling, why should you weep at all? and why do you call me brother?" whispered Ishmael, sitting down beside her, and drawing her towards him.

But again she gently withdrew herself from him, and looking into his face with her clear eyes and sweet smile, she said:

"Why? Because, dear Ishmael, though we shall never meet again after to-day--though it would not be right that we should--yet I shall always hold you as the dearest among my brothers. Oh, did you think; did you think it could be otherwise? Did you think this dispensation could turn me against you? Oh, no, no, no, Ishmael; it could not.

Nothing that you could do could turn me against you, because you would do no wrong. You have not done wrong now, dear; do not imagine that any of us think so. We do not presume to blame you--none of us; not my father, not my mother--least of all myself. It was---"

Again her sinking voice dropped into silence. "Bee; darling, darling Bee, you do not know what you are talking about. I love you, Bee; I love you," said Ishmael earnestly, again trying to draw her to his heart; but again she gently prevented him, as with a wan smile, and in a low voice, she answered:

"I know you do, dear; I never doubted that you did. You always loved me as if I were your own little sister. But not as you loved her, Ishmael."

"Bee---"

"Hush, dear, let me speak while I have strength to do so. She was your first love, Ishmael; your first friend, you remember. With all her faults--and they are but as the spots upon the sun--she is a glorious creature, and worthy of you. I always knew that I was not to be compared to her."

"No, Heaven knows that you were not," breathed Ishmael inaudibly, as he watched Bee.

"All your friends, Ishmael--all who love you and who are interested in your welfare--if they could influence your choice, would direct it to her, rather than to me. You are making your name illustrious; you will some time attain a high station in society. And who is there so worthy to bear your name and share your station as that queenly woman?"

"Bee, Bee, you almost break my heart. I tell you I love you, Bee. I love you!"

"I know you do, dear; I have said that you do; and you are distressed about me; but do not be so, dear. Indeed I shall be very well; I shall have work to occupy me and duties to interest me; indeed I shall be happy, Ishmael; indeed I shall; and I shall always love you, as a little sister loves her dearest brother; so take your trothplight back again, dear, and with it take my prayers for your happiness," said Bee, beginning to draw the engagement ring from her finger.

"Bee, Bee, what are you doing? You will not listen to me. I love you, Bee! I love you. Hear me! There is no woman in the world that can rival you for an instant in my heart; no, not one; and there has never been one. That boyish passion I once cherished for another, and that haunts your imagination so fatally, was but a blaze of straw that quickly burned out. It was a fever common to boyhood. Few men, arrived at years of discretion, Bee, would like to marry their first follies--for it is a misnomer to call them first loves. Yes, very few men would like to do so, Bee, least of all would I. What I give you, Bee, is a constant, steadfast love, a love for time and for eternity. Oh, my dearest, hear me, and believe me," he said, speaking fervently, earnestly, forcibly.

She had started and caught her breath; and now she was looking and listening, as though she doubted the evidence of her own eyes and ears.

He had taken her hand and was resetting the ring more firmly on the finger, from which, indeed, she had not quite withdrawn it.

"Do you believe me now, dear Bee?" he softly inquired.

"Believe you? Why, Ishmael, I never doubted your word in all my life. But--but I cannot realize it. I cannot bring it home to my heart yet. How is it possible it should be true? How is it possible you should choose me, when you might marry her?" said Bee, with large, wondering eyes.

"How is it possible, my darling one, that you should not know how much more lovely you are than any other girl, or woman, I have ever seen--except one."

"Except one, Ishmael?" she inquired, with a faint smile.

"Except the Countess of Hurstmonceux, who is almost as good and as beautiful as you. Bee, my darling, are you satisfied now?"