Ishmael hastily glanced over the accounts of the affair as contained in each of these. But though the articles were long and wordy they afforded him no new information.

They told him what he already knew; that the Viscount Vincent had filed a petition for divorce from his viscountess on the ground of infidelity; that the lady was the daughter of an American chief- justice; that she was a beauty and an heiress; that Lord Vincent had formed her acquaintance at the President's house during his official visit to Washington; that he had married her during the past summer; and after an extended bridal tour had brought her in October to Castle Cragg, when the suspicions that led to subsequent discovery and ultimate separation were first aroused, etc., etc., etc.

"All that is very unsatisfactory. I wish we knew the suspicious circumstances," said Mr. Brudenell.

"I believe there were no suspicious circumstances. I believe the whole affair to be a conspiracy against Lady Vincent," said Ishmael.

"But what motive could the viscount have for conspiracy against her?"

"The motive of getting rid of her, while he retains her fortune, which most unluckily was not settled upon herself."

While Mr. Brudenell stood gazing with consternation upon the speaker, there came flying from the house a negro boy, who said that he was sent to tell them that the breakfast was ready.

They returned to the house and joined the family at the cheerful breakfast table. It was a large party that met in the parlor afterwards to go to church.

And a gig in addition to the capacious family carriage was in attendance.

"Ishmael," said Mr. Middleton, in the kindly thoughtfulness of his nature, "you will drive Bee in the gig. The rest of us will go in the carriage."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Middleton," answered the young man, as he smilingly led his betrothed to the gig, placed her in it and seated himself beside her.

"Go on--go on ahead! We shall not ride over you in our lumbering old coach!" said Mr. Middleton.

Ishmael nodded, took the reins, and started. The road lay along the high banks of the river above the sands.

"How delightful it is to spend this day with you, dear Bee!" he said, as they bowled along.

"Oh, yes! and it is delightful to us all to have you here, Ishmael!"

she said; and then, with a slight depression in her tone, she inquired:

"Will you be gone to Europe long?"

"No, dearest Bee. I shall dispatch the business that takes me there as quickly as I can and hasten back," he replied; but he forbore to hint the nature of this business; it was a subject with which he did not wish to wound the delicate ear of Bee Middleton.

"I hope you will enjoy your voyage," she said, smiling on him.

"I wish you were going with me, dearest Bee. I had looked forward to the pleasure of our seeing Europe together when we should go there for the first time. And the continent we will see together; for I shall go no farther than England. I shall reserve France, Italy, Germany, and Russia for our tour next autumn, dear Bee."

She smiled on him with sympathetic delight. But as the road here, quite on the edge of the banks, required the most careful driving, the lovers' conversation ceased for a while.

And presently they were at the Shelton church. The congregation were in luck that day. A celebrated preacher, who happened to be visiting the neighborhood, occupied the pulpit. He preached from the text, "Come up higher." And his discourse was a stirring call upon his hearers to strive after perfection. All were pleased, instructed, and inspired.

When the services were concluded, our party returned home in the same order in which they had come. And as there was no afternoon service, they spent the remainder of the day in the enjoyment of each other's company and conversation.

Bee and Ishmael were mercifully left to themselves, to make the most of the few hours before their separation. They were not morbid sentimentalists--those two young people; they were not fearful, or doubtful, or exacting of each other. If you had chanced to overhear their conversation, you would have heard none of those entreaties, warnings, and protestations that often make up the conversation of lovers about to part for a time, and a little uncertain of each other's fidelity. They had faith, hope, and love for, and in, each other and their Creator. Ishmael never imagined such a thing as that Bee could form another attachment, or go into a decline while he was gone. And Bee had no fears either that the sea would swallow her lover, or that a rival would carry him off.

So at the end of that evening they bade each other a cheerful good- night. And the next morning, when Ishmael had bid farewell to all the family, herself included, and was in the saddle, she sent him off with a brilliant smile and a joyous:

"Heaven bless you, Ishmael! I know you will enjoy the trip."

But when he had ridden away and disappeared down the path leading through the pine woods, Bee turned into the house, ran into her mother's chamber, threw herself into her mother's arms, and burst into a flood of tears.

It is the mother that always comes in for this sort of thing. Women spare men--sometimes; but never spare each other.

"My poor child! but it isn't far, you know!"

"Oh, mamma, such a long way! I never expected to be separated so far from Ishmael."

"My dear, steam annihilates distance. Only think, it is a voyage of but ten days."

"I know. Oh, it was very foolish in me to cry. Thank Heaven, Ishmael didn't see me," said Bee, wiping her eyes, and smiling through her wet eyelashes, like a sunbeam through the rain-sprinkled foliage.

Bee would scarcely have been flesh and blood if she had not indulged in this one hearty cry; but it was the last.

She left her mother's side and went about her household duties cheerfully, and very soon she was as happy as if Ishmael had not come and gone; happier, for she followed him in imagination over the ocean and sympathized in his delight.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HANNAH'S HAPPY PROGNOSTICS.

The morn is tip again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the night away with playful scorn, Rejoicing as if earth contained no tomb And glowing into day.

--_Byron_.

Ishmael had also keenly felt the parting with Beatrice. But accustomed to self-government, he did not permit his feelings to overcome him. And indeed his mind was too well balanced to be much disturbed by what he believed would be but a short separation from his betrothed.

He rode on gayly that pleasant winter morning, through the leafless woods, until he came to those cross-roads of which we have so often spoken.

Here he paused; for here it was necessary, finally, to decide a question that he had been debating with himself for the last two days.

And that was whether or not he should take the time to go to see Hannah and Reuben and bid them good-by, before proceeding on his long journey.

To go to Woodside he must take the road through Baymouth, which would carry him some miles out of the direct road to Washington, and consume several hours of that time of which every moment was now so precious. But to leave the country without saying farewell to the friends of his infancy was repugnant to every good feeling of his heart. He did not hesitate long. He turned his horse's head towards Baymouth and put him into a gallop. The horse was fresh, and Ishmael thought he would ride fast until he got to Woodside and then let the horse rest while he talked to Hannah.

He rode through Baymouth without drawing rein; only giving a rapid glance of recognition as he passed the broad show-window of Hamlin's bookstore, which used to be the wonder and delight of his destitute boyhood.

It was still early in the morning when he reached Woodside and rode up to the cottage gate. How bright and cheerful the cottage looked that splendid winter morning. The evergreen trees around it and the clusters of crimson rose-berries on the climbing rosevines over its porch, making quite a winter verdure and bloom against its white walls.

Ishmael dismounted, tied his horse, and entered the little gate.

Hannah was standing on the step of the porch, holding a tin pan of chicken food in her hands, and feeding two pet bantams that she kept separate from the shanghais, which beat them cruelly whenever they got a chance.

On seeing Ishmael she dropped her pan of victuals and made a dash at him, exclaiming:

"Why, Ishmael! Good fathers alive! is this you? And where did you drop from?"