ISHMAEL; Or, IN THE DEPTHS.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 445, 12 February 1890, Page 6

ISHMAEL; Or, IN THE DEPTHS.

By MRS EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH,

Author of “Self-Raised.” “Fair Play. “The Missing Bride.” “A Noble Lord,” “ How He Won Her.” “The Prince of ‘ Darkness,” “Tried for Her Life.” Etc.. Etc. CHAPTER XX. NEWS FROM HERMAN. But that which keeneth us apart is not Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space or earth. But the distractions of a various lot, As various as the climates of our birth. Mv blood is all meridian—were it not I had not leit my clime, nor should I be, In spite of tortures ne’er to be forgot, A slave again of love, at least of thee! Byron.

The life of Berenice was lonely enough. She had perseveringly rejected the visits of her neighbours, until at length they had taken her at her word and kept away from her house.

She had persistently declined the invitations of Mrs Brudenell to join the family circle at Washington every winter, until at last the lady had cea=ed to repeat them and had also discontinued her visits to Brudenell Hall.

Berenice passed her time in hoping and praying for her husband’s return, and in preparing and adorning her home for his reception ; in training and improving the negroes ; in visiting and relieving the poor; and in walking to the turnstile and watching the high-road. Surely a more harmless and beneficent life could not be led by woman ; yet the poisonous alchemy of detraction turned all her good deeds into evil ones. _ Poor Berenice —poor in love, was rich in gold, and she lavished it with an unsparing hand on the improvement of Brudenell. She did not feel at "liberty to pull down and build up, else had the time-worn old mansion-house disappeared from sight and a new and elegant villa had reared its walls upon Brundenell Heights. But she did everything else she could to enhance the beauty and value of the estate. The bouse was thoroughly repaired, re furnished and decorated with great luxury, richness and splendour. The grounds were laid out, planted and adorned with all the beauty that taste, wealth and skill could produce. Orchards and vineyards were set out. Conservatories and pineries were erected. The negroe=’ squalid lot:-huts were replaced with neat stone cottages, and the shabby wooden fences by substantial stone walls. And all this was done, not for herself, but for her husband, and her constant mental inquiry was : ‘ After all, will Herman be pleased ?’ Yet when the neighbours saw this general renovation of the estate, which could not have been accomplished without considerable expenditure of time, money and labour, they shook their heads in strong disapprobation, and predicted that that woman’s extravagance would bring Herman Brudenell to beggary yet. She sought to raise the condition of the negroes, not only by giving them neat cottages, bub by comfortably furnishing their rooms, and encouraging them to keep their little houses and gardens in order, and rewarding them for neatness and industry, and establishing a school for their children to learn to read and write. But the negroes—hereditary servants of the Brudenells—looked upon this stranger with jealous distrust, as an interloping foreigner, who had, by some means or other, managed to dispossess and drive away the rightful family from the old place. And so they regarded all her favours as a species of bribery and thanked her for none of them. And this was really not ingratitude, but fidelity. The neighbours denounced these well-meant efforts of the mistress as dangerous innovations, incendiarisms, and so forth, and thanked Heaven that the Brudenell negroes were too faithful to be led away by her ! She went out among the poor of her neighbourhood and relieved their wants with such indiscriminate and munificent 'renerosibv as to draw down upon herself the rebuke of the clergy for encouraging habits of improvidence and dependence in the labouring classes. As for the subjects of her benevolence, they received her bounty with the most extravagant expressions of gratitude and the most fulsome flattery. This was so distasteful to Berenice, that she often turned her face away, blushing with embarrassment at having listened to it. Yet such was the gentleness of her spirit, that she never wounded their feelings by letting them see that she distrusted the sincerity of these hyperbolical phrases. ' • poor souls,’ she said to herself, 4 it is the best they have to offer me, and I will take it as if it were genuine.’ Berenice was right in her estimate of their flattery. Astonished at her lavish generosity, and ignorant of her great wealth, which made alms-giving easy, her poor neighbours put their old heads together to find out the solution of this probfem. And they came to the conclusion that this lady must have been a great sinner, whose husband had abandoned very good reason, and who was now endeavouring to atone for her sins by a life of self-denialand benevolence. Thisconelusion seemed too probable to be questioned. This verdict was brought to the knowledge of Berenice in a curious way. Among the recipients of her bounty was Mrs Jones, the ladies’ nurse. The old woman had fallen into a long illness, and consequently into extreme want. Her case came to the knowledge of Berenice, who hastened to relieve her? When the lady had made the invalid comfortable and was about to take leave, the latter said : ‘ Ah, “ charity covers a multitude of sins,” ma’am ! Let us hope that all yours niay be so covered.’ Berenice stared in surprise. It was not the words so much as the manner that shocked her. And Phcebe, who had attended her mistress, scarcely got well out of the house before her indignation bnrstforth in the expletives : ‘ Old brute ! Whatever did she mean by her insolence? My lady, I hope you never will do anything more for the old wretch.’ Berenice walked on in silence until they reached-.the spot where they had left her carriage. And when they had re-entered it* filfi o sftid • ‘Something like this has vaguely met me before; but never so plainly and bluntly as to day; it is unpleasant; but f must not punish one poor old woman for a misapprehension shared by the whole .community.’ So calmly and dispassionately had the countess answered herattendant’s indignant exclamation. But as soon as Berenice cached her own chamber, she dismissed

rhe maid, locked the door, and gave herself up bo a passion of grief. It was but a trifle—that coarse speech of a thoughtless old woman—a mere trifle ; but it overwhelmed her, coming as it did, after all that had gone before. It was but the last feather, you know, only a single feather laid on the pack that broke the camel’s back. It was but a drop of water, a single drop, that made the full cup overflow !

Added to bereavement, desertion, loneliness, slander, ingratitude, had coir.e this little bit of insolence to overthrow the firmness that had stood all the rest. And Berenice wept. She had left home, friends and country, for one who repaid the sacrifice by leaving her. She had lavished her wealth upon those who received her bounty with suspicion and repaid her kindness with ingratitude. She had lived a life as blameless and as beneficent as that of any old time saint or martyr, and had won by it nothing but detraction and calumny. Her parents were dead, her husband was gone, her native land far away, her hopes were crushed. No wonder she wept. And then the countess was out of her sphere ; as much out of her sphere in the woods of Maryland as Hans Christian Andersen’s cygnet was in the barnyard full of fowls. She was a swan, and they took her for a deformed duck. And at last she herself began to be vaguely conscious of this. ‘ Why do I remain here ?’ she moaned ; 4 what strange magnetic power is it that holds my very will, fettered here, against ray reason and judgment? That has so held me for long years ? Yes, for long weary years have I been bound to this cross, and lam not dead yet! Heavenly Powers ! what are my nerves and heart made of that I am not dead, or mad, or criminal before this? Steel, and rock, and gutta pereba, I think ! Not mere flesh and blood and bone like other women’s. Oh, why do I stay here? Why do I not go home? 1 have lost everything else ; but I have still a home and country left! Oh, that I could break loose! Oh, that I could free myself ! “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove, for then I would fly away and be at rest!” ’ she exclaimed, breaking into the pathetic language of the psalmist. A voice softly stole upon her ear, a low, plaintive voice singing a homely Scotch i song :

“ ‘Oh, it’s hame. hame, liame, Hame fain would I be; But the wearie never win back To their ain countrio.’” Tears sprang again to the eyes of the countess as she caught up and murmured the last two lines : ‘ “ But the wearie never win back To their ain countrie.”’ Phcebe, tor it was she who was singing, hushed her song as she reached her lady’s door, and knocked softly. The countess unlocked the door to admit her. ‘ It is only the mail bag, my lady, that old Jovial has just brought from the postoffice,’ said the girl. Lady Hurstmonceux listlessly looked over its contents. Several years of disappointment had worn out all expectation of hearing from the only one of whom she cared to receive news. There were home and foreign newspapers that she threw carelessly out. And there was one letter at the bottom of all the rest that she lifted up and looked at with languid curiosity. Bub as soon as her eyes fell upon the handwriting of the superscription, the letter dropped from her hand and she sank back in her chair and quietly fainted away. Phcebe hastened to apply restoratives, and after a few minutes, the lady recovered her consciousness and rallied her faculties. 4 The letter ! the letter, girl! give me the letter !’ she gasped in eager tones. Phcebe picked it up from the carpet, upon which it had fallen, and handed it to her mistress. Berenice, with trembling fingers, broke the seal and read the letter. It was from Herman Brudenell and ran as follows : London, December Ist, 18— Lady Hurstmonceux : If there is one element of saving comfort in my lost, unhappy life, it is the reflection that though in an evil hour I made you my wife, you are not called by my name; but that the courtesy of custom continues to you the title won by your first marriage with the late Earl of Hurstmonceux; and that you cannot therefore so deeply dishonour my family. Mariam, it would give me great pain to write to any other woman, how ever guilty, as I am forced to write to you ; because on any woman I should feel that I was inflicting suffering, which you know too well I have not—never had the nerve to do; hut you, I know, cann -t be hurt; you are callous. If your early youth had not shown you to be so, the last few years of your life would have proved it. If you had not been as insensible to shame as you are to remorse, how could you, after your great crime, take possession of my house, and, by so doing, turn my mother and sisters from their home, and banish me from my country ? For well you know that, while you live at Brudenell Hal), ray family cannot re-enter its ■walls ! Nay, more—while you choose to reside in America, I must remain an exile in Europe. The same hemisphere is not broad enough to contain the Countess of Hurstmonceux and Herman Brudenell. Iha>e given you a long time to come to your senses and. leave my house. Now my patience is exhausted, and I require you to depart. You are not embarrassed for a home or a support; if you were I should afford you both, on condition of your departure from America. But my whole patrimony would he but a mite added to your treasures. You have country-seats in England, Scotland, and Ireland, as well as a town house in London, amarine villa at Boulougne, and a Swiss cottage on Lake Leman. All these are your own ; and you shall never be molested by me in your exclusive possession of them. Choose your residence from among them, and leave me in peaceable possession of the one modest countryhouse I have inherited in my native land. I wish to sell it. But you doubtless have informed yourself before this time, that bv the laws of the State in which my property is situated, a man cannot sell his homestead without the consent of his wife. Your cooperation is therefore necessary in the sale of Brudenell Hall. I wish you to put yourself in immediate communication with my solicitors, Messrs Kage and Kage, Monument-street, Baltimore, who are in possession of my instructions. Do this promptly, and win from me the only return you have left it in my power to make you—oblivion of your crimes and of yourself. Herman Brudenell.

With the calmness of despair, Berenice read this cruel letter through to the end, dropped it on her lap, and sat staring at it in silence. Then, as if incredulous of its contents, or doubtful of its meaning, she took it up and read it again, and again let it fall. And yet a third time—after rapidly passing her hand to and fro across her forehead, as if that action would clear her vision—she raised, re-perused, and laid aside the letter. Then she firmly set her teeth, and slowly nodded her head, while for an instant a startling light gleamed from her deep black eyes. Her faithful attendant, while seeming to be busy arranging the flasks on the dressing table, furtively and anxiously watched her mistress, who at last spoke : * Phoebe!’ * Yes, my lady.’ * Bring me a glass of wine.’ The girl brought the required stimulant, and in handing it to her mistress, noticed how deadly white her face had become. And as the countess took the glass from the little silver waiter her hand came in contact with that of Phoebe, and the girl felt as if an icicle had touched her, so cold it was. ‘ Now wheel my writing-desk forward,’ said the countess, as she sipped her wine. The order was obeyed. ‘ And now,’ continued the lady as she replaced the glass and opened her desk, * pack up my wardrobe and jewels, and your own clothes. Order the carriageb to e

at the door at eight o’clock, take us to to Baymouth. We leave Baymouth for New York to-morrow morning, and New York for Liverpool next Saturday.’ ‘ Now glory be to Heaven for that, my lady, and I wish it had been years ago instead of to-day !’ joyfully exclaimed the girl as she went about her business. ‘ And so do I ! And so do I, with all my heart and soul!’ thought Berenice, as she arranged her papers and took up a pen to write. In an instant she laid it down again, and arose and walked restlessly up and down the floor, wringing her hands, and muttering to herself : ‘ And this is the man for whose sake I sacrificed home, friends, country, and the most splendid prospects that ever dazzled the imagination of woman ! This is the man whom I have loved and watched and prayed for, all these long years, hoping against hope, and believing against knowledge. If he had ceased to love me, grown tired of me, and wished to be rid of me, could he not have told me so, frankly, from the first ? It would have been less cruel than to have inflicted on me this long anguish of suspense ! less cowardly than to have attempted to justify his desertion of me by a charge of crime ! What crime?— he knows no more than Ido ! Oh, Herman ! Herman ! how could you tall so low ? But I will not reproach you even in my thoughts. But I must, I must forget you !’ She returned to her desk, sat down and took up her pen ; but again she dropped it, bowed her head upon her desk, and wept : ‘ Oh, Herman ! Herman ! must I never hope to meet you again ? never look into your dark eyes, never clasp your hand, or hear your voice again ? never more ? never more ? Must mine be the hand that writes our sentence of separation ? 1 cannot! oh ! I cannot do it, Herman ! And yet!—it is you who require it !’ After a few minutes, she took up his letter and read it-over for the fourth time. Its ruthless implacability seemed to give her the strength necessary to obey its behests. As if fearing another failure of her resolution, she seized her pen and wrote : Brudeneli Hall, December 30th, 18— Mr Brudenell,— Your letter has relieved me from an embarrassing position. I beg your pardon for having been for so long a period an unconscious usurper of your premises. I had mistaKen this place for my husband’s house and my proper home. My mistake, however, has not extended to the appropriation of the revenues of the estate. You will find every dollar of those placed to your credit, in the Planters’ Bank ot Baymouth. My mistake has been limited to the occupancy of the house. For that wrong I shall make what reparation remains in my power. _ I shall leave this Friday evening; see your solicitors on Monday ; place in their hands a sum equivalent to the full value of Brudenell Hall, as a compensation to you for my long use of the house ; and then sign w hatever documents may be necessary to renounce all claim upon yourself and your estate, and to free you for ever from Berenice Countess of Hurstmonceux.

She finished the letter, and threw down the pen. What it had cost her to write thus, only her own loving and outraged woman’s heart knew. By the time she had sealed her letter, Phcebe entered to say that the dinner was served—that solitary meal at which she had sat down, heart-broken, for so many weary years. She answered, ‘ Very well,’ but never stirred from her seat. Phcebe fidgetted about the room for a while, and then, with the freedom of a favourite attendant, she came to the side of the countess and, smiling archly, said : ‘ My lady.’ * Well, Phcebe ?’ ‘ Peop’e needn’t starve, need they, because they are going back to their “ ain countrie ?” ’ Lady Hurstmonceux smiled faintly, roused herself, and went down to dinner. On her return to her own room, she found her maid locking the last trunks. ‘ls everything packed, Phcebe?’ * Except the dress you have on, my lady ; and I can lay that on the top of this trunk after you put on your travelling dress.’ ‘Are you glad we are going home, my girl ?’ ‘Oh. my lady, 1 feel as if I could just spread out my arms and fly for joy.’ ‘ Then I am, also, for your sake. What time is it now V ‘ Five o’clock, my lady.’ ‘ Three hours yet. Tell Mrs Spicer to come here.’ Phcebe locked the trunk she had under her hand, and went out to obey. When Mrs Spicer came in she was startled by the intelligence that her lady was going away immediately, and that the house was to be shut up until the arrival of Mr Brudenell or his agents, who would arrange for its future disposition. When Lady Hurstmonceux had finished these instructions, she placed a liberal sum of money in the housekeeper’s hands, with orders to divide it among the house servants.

Next she sent for Grainger, the overseer, and having given him the same information, and put a similar sum of money in his hands for distribution among the negroes, she dismissed both the housekeeper and the overseer. Then she enclosed a note for a large amount in a letter addressed to the pastor of the parish, with a request that he would appropriate it for the relief of the suffering poor in that neighbourhood. Finally, having completed all her preparations, she took a cup of tea, bade farewell to her dependents, and, attended by Phoebe, entered the carriage and was driven to Baymouth, where she posted her two letters in time for the evening mail, and where the next morning she took the boat fer Baltimore, en route for the North. She stopped in Baltimore only long enough to arrange business with Mr Brudenell’s solicitors, and then proceeded to New Y r ork, whence, at the end of the same week, she sailed for Liverpool. Thus the beautiful young English Jewess, who had dropped for a while like some rich exotic flower, transplanted to our wild Maryland woods, returned to her native land, where, let us hope, she found in an appreciating circle of friends some consolation for the loss of that domestic happiness that had been so cruelly torn from her. We shall meet with Berenice, Countess of Hurstmonceux, again ; but it will be in another sphere, and under other circumstances. It was in the spring succeeding her departure that the house agents and attorneys came down to appraise and sell Brudenell Hall. Since the improvements bestowed upon tho estate by Lady Hurstmonceux, the property had increased its value, so that a purchaser could not at once be found. When this fact was communicated by letter to Mr Brudenell, in London, he wrote and authorised his agent to let the property to a responsible tenant, and if possible to hire the plantation negroes to the same party who should take the house. All this after a while was successfully accomplished. A gentleman from a neighbouring State took the house all furnished as it was, and hired the servants that were attached to the premises. He came early in June, but who or what he was, or when he came, none of the neighbours knew. The arrival of any stranger in a remote country district is always the occasion of much curiosity, speculation, and gossip. But when such a one brings the purse of Fortunatus in his pocket, and takes possession of the finest establishment

in the country-house, furniture, servants, carriages, horses, stock and all, he becomes the subject of the wildest conjecture. It does not require long to get comfortably to housekeeping in a ready-made home ; so it was soon understood in the neighbourhood that the strangers were settled in their new residence, and might be supposed to be ready to receive calls. But the neighbours, though tormented with curiosity, cautiously held aloof, and waited until the Sabbath, when they might expect to see the new-comera, and judge of their appearance and hear their pastor’s opinion of them. So, on the first Sunday after the strangers’ settlement at Brudenell Hall, the Baymouth Church was crowded to excess. But those of the congregation who went there with other motives than to worship their Creator were sadly disappointed. The crimson - lined Brudenell pew remained vacant, as it had remained for several years. 4 Humph ! not church-going people, perhaps ! We had an English Jewess before, perhaps we shall have a Turkish Mohammedan next 1’ was the speculation of one of the disappointed. The conjecture proved false. The next Sunday the Brudenell pew was filled. There was a gentleman and lady, and half-a-dozen girls and boys, all dressed in half-mourning, except one little lady of about ten years old, whose form was enveloped in black bombazine and crape, and whose face, what could be seen of it, was drowned in tears. It needed no seer to tell that she was just left motherless, and placed in charge of her relations. After undergoing the scrutiny of the congregation, this family was unanimously, though silently, voted to be perfectly respectable. CHAPTER XXI. isiimael’s adventure. I almost fancy that the more He was cast, out from men, Nature had made him of her store A worthier denizen; A 3 if it pleased her to caress A piant grown up so wild. As if his being parentless Had made him more her child. Monckton Milnes.

At twelve years of age Ishmael was a tall, thin, delicate looking lad, with regular features, pale complexion, fair hair, and blue eyes. His great, broad forehead and wasted cheeks gave his face almost a triangular shape. The truth is, that up to this age the boy had never had enough food to nourish the healthy growth of the body. And that he lived at all was probably due to some great original vital force in his organisation, and also to the purity of his native air, of which at least he got a plenty. He had learned all the 4 professor ’ could teach him ; had read all the books that Morris could lend him ; and was now hungering and thirsting for more knowledge. At this time a book had such a fascination for Ishmael, that when he happened to bo at Baymouth he would stand gazing, spell-bound, at the volumes exposed for sale in the shop-windows, just as other boys gaze at toys and sweetmeats. But little time had the poor lad tor such peeps into Paradise, for he was now earning about a dollar a week, as Assistant-Pro-fessor of Odd Jobs to Jem Morris, and his professional duties kept him very busy. Baymouth had progressed in all these years, and now actually boasted a fine new shop, with this sign over the door : 4 Book, Stationery and Fancy Bazaar.’ And this to Ishmael seemed a very fairy palace. It attracted him with an irresistible glamour It happened ope burning Saturday afternoon in August that the boy, having a half-holiday, resolved to make the most of it, and enjoy himself by walking to Baymouth, and standing before that shop to gaze at his leisure upon the marvels of literature displayed in its windows. The unshaded village street was hot and dusty, and the unclouded August sun was blazing down upon it ; but Ishmael did not mind that, as he stood devouring with his eyes the unattainable books. While he was thus occupied, a small, open, one-horse carriage drove up and stopped before the shop-door. The gentleman who had driven it alighted, and handed out a lady and a little girl in deep mourning. The lady and the little girl passed immediately into the shop. And oh ! how Ishmael envied them ! They were perhaps going to buy some of those beautiful books !

The gentleman paused with the reins in his hands, and looked up and down the bare street, as if in search ot some person. At last, in withdrawing his eyes, they fell upon Ishmael, and he called him. The boy hastened to his side. 4 My lad, do you think you can bold my horse ?’ ‘ Oh, yes, sir.’ 4 Well, and can you lead him out of the road to that stream there under the trees, and let him drink and rest ?’ 4 Yes, sir.’ 4 Very well, go on, then, and mind and watch the carriage well, while we are in the shop ; because, you see, there are tempting parcels in it.’ 4 Yes, sir,’ again said the boy. The gentleman gave him the reins and followed the ladies into the shop. And Ishmael led the horse off to the grove stream, a place much frequented by visitors at Baymouth to rest and water their horses. The thirsty horse had drank his fill, and the kind boy was engaged in rubbing him down with cool, fresh dock leavos, when a voice near the carriage attracted Ishmael’s attention. 4 Oh, cricky, Ben ! if here isn’t old Middy’s pony-chaise standing all alone, and full of good nuggs, he’s been a buying for that tea-party ! Come, let’s have our share beforehand.’ Ishmael, who was partly concealed by his stooping position behind the horse, now raised his head, and saw two young gentlemen, of about twelve and fourteen years of age, whom he recognised as the sons of Commodore Burglie, by having seen them often at church in the commodore’s pew. 4 Oh, I say, Ben here’s a hamper chock full of oranges and figs and nuts and raisins and things 1 let’s got at them,’ said the elder boy, who had climbed upon one wheel and was looking into the carriage. 4 Oh, no, Alf ! don’t meddle with them ! Mr Middleton would be mad,’ replied the younger. 4 Who cares if he is ? Who’s afraid ? Not I!’ exclaimed 4 Alf,’ tearing off the top of the hamper and beginning to help himself. All this passed in the instant that Ishmael was rising up. 4 You must not touch those things, young gentlemen !. You must not, indeed ! Put those figs back again, Master Alfred,’ he said.

‘ Who the blazes are you. pray ?’ inquired ‘ Master Alfred ’ contemptuously, as he coolly proceeded to fill his pockets. ‘ 1 am Ishmael Worth, and I am set here to watch this horse and carriage, and I mean to do it! Put those figs back again, Master Alfred.’ ‘Oh ! you are Ishmael Worth, are you ? The weaver woman’s boy and Jim Morris’ ’prentice. Happy to know you, sir !’ said the lad, sarcastically, as be deliberately spread his handkerchief on the ground and began to fill it with English walnuts.

• Return those things to the hamper, Master Alfred, while times are good,’ said Ishmael, slowly and distinctly. ‘ Oh, I say, Ben, isn’t he a nice one to make acquaintance with ? Let’s ask him to dinner !’ jeered the boy, helping himself to more walnuts. • You had better return those things before worse comes of it,’said Ishmael, slowly pulling off his little jacket and carefully folding it up and laying it on the ground. ‘ I say, Ben ! Jem Morris’ ’prentice is going to fight! Ar’n’t you scared ?’ sneered Master Alfred, tying up his handkerchief full of nuts.

‘ Will you return those things or not?’ exclaimed Ishmael, unbuttoning his little shirt collar and rolling up his sleeves. • Will you tell me who was your father ?’ mocked Master Alfred.

That question was answered by a blow dashed full in the mouth of the questioner, followed instantly by another blow into his right eye and a third into his left. Then Ishmael seized him by the collar, and twisting it, choked and shook him until he dropped his plunder. But it was onlytho suddenness of the assault that had given Ishmael a moment’s advantage. The contest was too unequal. As soon as Master Alfred had dropped his plunder, he seized his assailant. Ben also rushed to the rescue. It was unfair, two boys upon one. They soon threw Ishmael down upon the ground and beat his breath nearly, out of his body. They were so absorbed in their cowardly work that they were unconscious of the approach of the party from the shop, until the gentleman left the ladies and hurried to the scene of action, exclaiming : ‘What’s this? What’s this? What’s all this, young gentlemen ? Let that poor lad alone ! Shame on you both !’ The two culprits ceased their blows and started up, panic-stricken. But only for a moment. The ready and reckless falsehood sprang to Alfred’s lips. ‘Why, sir, you see, we were walking along and saw your carriage standing here and saw that boy stealing the fruit and nuts from it. And we ordered him to stop and he wouldn’t, and wo pitched into him and beat him. Didn’t we, Ben ?'

‘ Yes, we beat him,’ said Ben, evasively. ‘ Humph ! And he stole the very articles that he was put here to guard ! Sad ! sad ! but the fault was mine ! He is but a child ! a poor child, and was most likely hungry. I should not have left the fruit right under his keen young nose to tempt him ! Boys, you did very wrong to beat him so ! You, who are pampered so much, know little of the severe privation and great temptations of the poor. And we cannot expect children to resist their natural appetites,’ said the gentleman, gently, as he stooped to examine the condition of the fallen boy. Ishmael was half stunned, exhausted and bleeding; but his confused senses had gathered the meaning of the false accusation made against him. And, through the blood bursting from his mouth, he gurgled forth the words :

‘ I didn’t, sir ! The Lord above,He knows I didn’t !’ ‘ He did I he did ! Didn’t he, Ben ?’ cried Master Alfred. Ben was silent. ‘And we beat him! Didn’t we, Ben?’ questioned the young villain, who well understood his weak younger brother. ‘ Yes,’ replied Ben, who was always willing to oblige his elder brother if he could do so without telling an out-and-out falsehood— ‘ we did beat him.’ The gentleman raised the battered boy to his feet, took a look at him and murmured bo himself, ‘ Well, if this lad is a thief and a liar, there is no truth in phrenology or physiognomy either.’ Then, speaking aloud, he said : ‘My boy ! I am very sorry for what has just happened ! You were placed here to guard my property. Y r ou betrayed your trust ! You, yourself, stole it! And you have told a falsehood to conceal your theft. No ! do not attempt to deny it ! Here are two young gentlemen of position who are witnesses against you !’ Ishmael attempted to gurgle some denial, but his voice was drowned in the blood that still filled his mouth. ‘ My poor boy,’ continued the gentleman —‘ for I see you are poor, if you had simply eaten the fruit and nuts, that would have been wrong certainly, being a breach of trust; but it would have been almost excusable, for you might have been hungry and been tempted by the smell of the fruit and by the opportunity of tasting it. And if you had confessed it frankly, I should as frankly have forgiven you. But lam sorry to say that you have attempted to conceal your fault by falsehood. And do you know what that falsehood has done ? It has converted the act, that I should have construed as a mere trespass, into a theft !’ Ishmael stooped down and bathed his bloody face in the stream, and then wiped it clean with his coarse pocket handkerchief. And then he raised his head with a childish dignity most wonderful to see, and said :

‘ Listen to me, sir, if you please. I did not take the fruit or the nuts, or anything that was yours. It is true, sir, as you said, that lam poor. And I was hungry, very hungry indeed, because 1 have had nothing to eat since six o’clock this morning. And the oranges and figs did smell nice, and I did want them very much. But I did not touch them, sir ! I could better bear hunger than I could bear shame ! And I should have suffered shame if I had taken your things ! Yes, even though you might have never found out the loss of them. Because —/ should have known myself to be a thief, and I could not have borne that, sir ! I did not take your property, sir; I hope you will believe me.’

‘ He did ! he did ! he did ! didn’t he now, Ben ?’ cried Alfred. Ben was silent. ‘ And we beat him for it, didn’t we, Ben ?’ ‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘ There now, you see, my boy ! I would be glad to believe you ; but here are two witnesses against you 1 two young gentlemen of rank, who would not stoop to falsehood !’ said the gentleman, sadly. ‘ Sir,’replied Ishmael, calmly, ‘ be pleased to listen to me, while I tell you what really happened. When you left me in charge of this horse, I led him to this stream and gave him water, and I was rubbing him down with a handful of fresh dock leaves, when these two young gentlemen came up. And the elder one proposed to help himself to the contents of the hamper. But the younger one would not agree to the plan. And I, for my part, toldhimto let the things alone. But he wouldn’tmindme. linsisted, but he laughed at me and helped himself to the oranges, figs, walnuts, and raisins. I told him to put them back directly ; but he wouldn’t. And then I struck him and collared him, sir ; for I thought it was my duty to fight for the property that had been left in my care. But he was bigger than I was, and his brother came to help him, and they were too many for me, and between them they threw me down. And then you came up. And that is the whole truth, sir.

‘ It isn’t! it isn’t! He stole the things, and now he wants to lay it on us ! that is the worst of all! But we can prove that he did it, because we are two witnesses against one!' said Master Alfred, excitedly. ‘ Yes ; that is the worst of all, my boy; it was bad to take the things, but you were

tempted by hunger ; it was worse to deny the act, but you were tempted by fear ; ibis the worst of all to try to lay your fault upon the shoulders of others. I fear I shall be obliged to punish you,’ said the gentleman, gravely. ‘ Sir, punish me for the loss of the fruit if you please ; but believe me, for I speak the truth,’ said Ishmael, firmly. At that moment he felt a little soft hand steal into his own, and heard a gentle voice whisper in his ear: * I believe you, poor boy, if they don’t.’ He turned, and saw at his side the little orphan girl in deep mourning. She was a stately little lady, with black eyes and black ringlets, and with the air of a little princess.

‘ Come, Claudia ! Come away, my love,’ said the lady, who had just arrived at the spot. ‘ No, aunt, if you please ; I am going to stand by this poor boy here ! Ho has gob no friend ! He is telling the truth, and nobody will believe him !’ said the little girl, tossing her head, and shaking back her black ringlets haughtily. It was easy to see that this little lady had had her own royal will ever since she was one day old, and cried for a light until it was brought. ‘ Claudia, Claudia, you are very naughty to disobey your aunt,’ said the gentleman, gravely. The little lady lifted her jetty eyebrows in simple surprise. ‘ “ Naughty,” uncle ! How can you say such things to me? Mamma never did; and papa never does ! Pray do nob say such things again to me, uncle ! I have not been used to hear them.’

The gentleman shrugged his shoulders, and burned to Ishmael, saying : ‘ I am more grieved than angry, my boy, to see you stand convicted of theft and falsehood.’ ‘ I never was guilty of either in my life, sir,’ said Ishmael. ‘He was! he was! He stole the things, and then told stories about it, and tried to lay it on us! But we can prove it was himself! We are two witnesses against one ! two gente\ witnesses against one loro one! We are gentleman’s sons ; and who is he ? He’s a thief! He stole the things, didn’t he, Ben r questioned Master Alfred. Ben turned away. ‘And we thrashed him well for it, didn’t we, Ben ?’ ‘ \ T es,’ said Ben. ‘ So you see, sir, it is true ! there are two witnesses against you ; do not tneefore, make your case quite hopeless by a persistence in falsehood,’ said the 'gentleman? speaking sternly for the first time. Ishmael dropped his head, and the Burghe boys laughed. Little Claudia’s eyes blazed. * Shame on you, Alfred Burghe ! and you too, Ben ! I know that you have told stories yourselves, for I see it in both your faces, just as I see that this poor boy has told the truth by his face!’ she exclaimed. Then putting her arm around Ishmael’s neck in the tender motherly way that such little women will use to boys in distress, she said : ‘There! hold up your head, and look them in the face. It is true, they are all against you ; but, then, what of that, when I am on your side? It is a great thing, let me tell you, to have me on your side ! I am Miss Merlin, my father’s heiress ; and lie is the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. And lam nob sure but tha f I might make my papa have these two bad boys hanged if I insisted upon it ! And I stand by you because I know you are telling the truth, and because my mamma always told me it would be my duty, as the first lady in the country, to protect the poor and the persecuted ! So hold up your head, and look them in the face, and answer them !’ said the young lady, throwing up her own head and shaking back her rich ringlets. CHAPTER XXII. ISHMAEL GAINS HIS FIRST VERDICT. Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, The rest is all but leather and prunella. Pope. So conjured, Ishmael lifted his face and confronted his accusers. It was truth and intellect encountering falsehood and stupidity. Who could doubt the issue ? ‘ Sir,’ said the boy, ‘ if you will look into the pockets of that young gentleman, Master Alfred, you will find the stolen fruit upon him.’ Alfred Burghe started and turned bo run. Bub the gentleman was too quick to let him escape, and caught him by the arm. ‘What, sir! Mr Middleton! would you search me at his bidding ? Search the son of Commodore Burghe at the bidding of—nobody's son ?’ exclaimed the youth, struggling to free himself, while the blood seemed ready to burst from his red and swollen face. ‘ For your vindication, young sir ! For your vindication,’ replied Mr Middleton, proceeding to turn out the young gentleman’s pockets, when lo ! oranges, figs and nubs rolled upon the ground. *lt is infamous ! so it is !’ exclaimed Master Alfred, mad with shame and rage. ‘ Yes, it is infamous,’ sternly replied Mr Middleton. ‘ I mean it is infamous to treat a commodore’s son in this way !’ ‘ And I mean it is infamous in any body’s son to behave as you have, sir !’ ‘ I bought the things at Nutt’s shop ! I bought them with my own money ! They are mine ! I never touched your things. That fellow did ! He took them and then told falsehoods about it.’

•Sir,’said Ishmael, ‘ if you will examine that bundle lying under that bush, you will find something there to prove which of us speaks the truth.’ Master Alfred made a dash alter the bundle ; but again Mr Middleton was too quick for him, and caught it up. It was a red bandana silk handkerchief stuffed full of parcels and tied at the corners. The handkerchief had the name of Alfred Burghe on one corner ; the small parcels of nuts and raisins it contained were at once recognissd by Mr Middleton as his own. ‘ Oh, sir ! sir !’ began that gentleman, severely, turning upon the detected culprit; but the young villain was at bay ! ‘Well?’ he growled, in defiance —‘what now? what’s all the muss about? Those parcels were what I took off his person when 'he was running away with them. Didn’t I, Ben ?’ Ben grumbled some inaudible answer, which Alfred assumed to be an assent, for he immediately added : ‘ And I tied them up in my handkerchief to give them back to you. Didn’t I, Ben ?’ Ben mumbled something or other. ‘ And then I beat him for stealing. Didn’t I, Ben ?’ ‘Yes, you beat him,’ sulkily answered the younger brother. Mr Middleton gazed at the two boys in amazement; not that he entertained the slightest doubt of innocence of Ishmael and the guilt of Alfred, but that he wa3 simply struck with consternation at this instance of hardened juvenile depravity. ‘Sir,’ continued the relentless young prosecutor, ‘if you will please to question

Master Ben, I think he will tell you the truth. He has not told a downright story yet.’ ‘ What! why, he has been corroborating his brother’s testimony all along 1’ said Mr Middleton. ‘ Only as bo the assault, sir ; nob as to the theft. Pleaso question him, sir, to finish this business.’ ‘ I will! Ben ! Who stole the fruit and nuts from my carriage ?’ Ben dug his hands into his pockets and turned sullenly away. ‘ Did this poor boy steal them ? For if I find he did, I will send him to prison. And I know you wouldn’t like to see an innocent boy sent to prison. So tell me the truth ; —did he, or did he not, steal the articles in question ?’ *He did not ; not so much as one of them,’ replied the younger Burghe. ‘ Did Alfred take them ?’ Ben was sullenly silent. ‘ Did Alfred take them V repeated Mr Middleton. ‘ I won’t tell you ! So there now ! I told you that fellow didn't / but I won’t tell you who did ! It is real hard of you to want me to tell on my own brother !’ exclaimed Master Ben, walking offindignanbly. ‘That is enough ; indeed, the finding of the articles upon Alfred’s person was enough,’ said Mr Middleton. * I think this poor boy’s word ought to have been enough !’ said Claudia. ' And now, sir !’ continued Mr Middleton, turning to Master Burghe—‘you have been convicted of theft, falsehood, and cowardice —yes, and of the meanest falsehood and of the basest cowardice I ever heard of. Under these circumstances, I cannot permit your future attendance upon my school. You are no longer a proper companion for my pupils. Tomorrow 1 shall call upon your father, to tell him what has happened, and advise him to send you to sea, under some strict captain, for a three or a five years’ cruise !’ ‘lf you blow me to the governor, I’ll be shot to death if I don’t knife you, old fellow !’ roared the young reprobate. ‘ Begone, sir!’ was the answer of Mr Middleton. ‘ Oh, I can go ! But you look out t You’re all a set of radicals, anyhow 1 making equals of all the i - ag, bag and bobtail about. Look at Claudia there ! What would Judge Merlin say if he was to see bis daughter with her arm around that boy’s neck ?’

Claudia’s eyes kindled dangerously, and she made one step towards the offender, saying : ‘ Hark you, Master Alfred Burghe. Don’t you dare bo take my name between your lips again ! and don't you dare to come near me as long as you live, or even to say to any body that you were ever acquainted with me ! If you do I will make my papa have you hanged ! For I do nob choose to know a thief, liar and coward.’ * Claudia ! Claudia ! Claudia ! You shock me, beyond all measure, my dear!’ exclaimed the lady, in a tone of real pain, and then lowering her voice, she whispered —‘ “Thief, liar, and coward !” what shocking words to issue from a young lady’s lips.’ ‘ I know they are nob nice words, Aunt Middleton, and if you will only teach me nicer ones I will use them instead. But are there any pretty words for ugly tricks ?' As this question was a * poser ’ that Mrs Middleton did not attempt to answer, the little lady continued very demurely : ‘ I will look in “ Webster ” when I get home, and see if there are.’ * My boy,’ said Mr Middleton, approaching our lad, ‘ I have accused you wrongfully. I am very sorry for it, and I beg your pardon.’ Ishmael looked up in surprise, and with an ‘ Oh, sir! please don’t,’ blushed and hung his head. It seemed really dreadful to this poor boy that this grave and dignified gentleman should ask his pardon! AndyetMr Middleton lost no dignity in this simple act, because it was right; he had wronged the poor lad and owed an apology just as much as if he had wronged the greatest man in the country. j ‘ And now, my boy,’ continued the gentleman, ‘be always as honest, as truthful and as fearless as you have shown yourself to-day, and though your lob in life may be very humble aye, of the very humblest yet you will be respected in your lowly sphere.’ Here the speaker opened his portmonnaie and took from it a silver dollar, saying, ‘ Take this, my boy, nob as a reward for your integrity— that, understand, is a matter of more worth than to be rewarded with money—bub simply as payment for your time and trouble in defending my property. ’ ‘ Oh, sir, please don’t. I really don’t want the money,’ said Ishmael, shrinking from the offered coin.

' ‘ Oh, nonsense, my boy ! You must be paid, you know,’said Mr Middleton, urging the dollar upon him. ‘ But I do not want pay for a mere act of civility ’persisted Ishmael, drawing back. ‘ But your time and trouble, child ; they are money to lads in your line of life.’ ‘lf you please, sir, it was a holiday, and I had nothing else to do.’ ‘ But take this to oblige me.’ ‘ Indeed, sir, I don’t want it. The professor. is very free-hearted and pays me well for my work.’ ‘The professor? What professor, my boy ? I thought/had the honour to be the only professor in the neighbourhood,’said the gentleman, smiling. * I mean Professor Jim Morris, sir,’ replied Ishmael, in perfect good faith. ‘Oh ! yes, exactly ; I have heard of that ingenious and useful individual, who seems to have served his time at all trades, and taken degrees in all arts and sciences ; but. I did not know he was called a professor.. So you are a student in his college !’ smiled Mr "Middleton. ‘I help him, sir, and he pays me,’ answered the boy. ‘ And what i 3 your name, my good little fellow ?’ ‘ Ishmael Worth, sir.’ ‘ Oh, yes, exactly; you are the son of the little weaver up on Hut Hill, just across the valley from Brudenell Heights ?’ ‘ I am nephew, sir.’ ‘ Are your parents living ?’ ‘ No, sir ; I have been an orphan from my birth.’ ‘ Poor boy ! And you are depending on your aunt for a home, and on your own. labour for a support ?’ ‘Ye3, sir.’ ‘ Well, Ishmael, as you very rightfully take pay from my brother professor, I do not know why you should refuse it from me.’ (To be continued.)