Self-Raised; Or, From the Depths. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

I always considered port a parsonic wine, and it really is in this case just the thing for an invalid," said the judge, turning to Ishmael as Jim left the room.

      In twenty minutes the carriage was ready, and they started for the church, which was some five miles distant. An hour's drive brought them to it.

      A picturesque scene that old St. Mary's church presented. It was situated in a clearing of the forest beside the turnpike road. It was built of red brick, and boasted twelve gothic windows and a tall steeple. The church-yard was fenced in with a low brick wall, and had some interesting old tombstones, whose dates were coeval with the first settlement of the State.

      Many carriages of every description, from the barouche of the gentleman to the cart of the laborer, were scattered about, drawn up under the shade of the trees. And saddle-horses and donkeys were tied here and there. And groups of negroes, in their gay Sunday attire, stood gossiping among the trees. Some young men, as usual, were loitering at the church door.

      The judge's carriage drew up under the shade of a forest tree, and the judge and Ishmael then alighted, and leaving the horses in the care of the coachman went into the church.

      The congregation were already assembled, and soon after Judge Merlin and his guest took their seats the minister entered and took his place at the reading-desk and the services commenced.

      There was little in this Sunday morning's service to distinguish it from others of the same sort. The minister was a good man and a plodding country parson. He read the morning prayers in a creditable but by no means distinguished manner. And he preached a sermon, more remarkable for its practical bearing than for its eloquence or originality, his text being in these words: "Faith without works is dead."

      At the conclusion of the services, while the congregation were leaving the church, the minister descended from his pulpit and advanced towards Judge Merlin, who was also hastening to meet his pastor.

      There was a shaking of hands.

      Judge Merlin, who was an eminently practical man in all matters but one, complimented the preacher on his practical sermon.

      And then without waiting to hear Mr. Wynne's disclaimer, he beckoned Ishmael to step forward, and the usual formula of introduction was performed.

      "Mr. Wynne, permit me—Mr. Worth, Mr. Wynne!"

      And then were two simultaneous bows and more handshaking.

      But both the judge and Ishmael noticed the wistful look with which the latter was regarded by the minister.

      "He is comparing likenesses," thought the judge.

      "He is thinking of the past and present," thought Ishmael.

      And both were right.

      Mr. Wynne saw in Ishmael the likeness to both his parents, and noted how happily nature had distinguished him with the best points of each. And he was wondering at the miracle of seeing that the all- forsaken child, born to poverty, shame, and obscurity, was by the Lord's blessing on his own persevering efforts certainly rising to wealth, honor, and fame.

      Mr. Wynne renewed his pressing invitation to Judge Merlin and Mr.

       Worth to accompany him home to dinner.

      And as they accepted the minister's hospitality the whole party moved off towards the parsonage, which was situated in another clearing of the forest about a quarter of a mile behind the church.

      The parson was blessed with the parson's luck of a large family, consisting of a wife, several sisters and sisters-in-law, and nieces, and so many sons and daughters of all ages, from one month old to twenty years, that the judge, after counting thirteen before he came to the end of the list, gave up the job in despair.

      Notwithstanding, or perhaps because of, this, for "the more, the merrier," you know, the family dinner passed off pleasantly. And after dinner they all returned to church to attend the afternoon service.

      And when that was ended Judge Merlin and Ishmael took leave of the parson and his family and returned home.

      When they reached Tanglewood and alighted, the judge, who was first out, was accosted by his servant Jim, who spoke a few words in a low tone, which had the effect of hurrying the judge into the house.

      Ishmael followed at his leisure.

      He entered the drawing room and was walking slowly and thoughtfully up and down the room, when the sound of voices in the adjoining library caught his ear and transfixed him to the spot.

      "Yes, papa, I am here, and alone—strange as this may seem!"

      It was the voice of Claudia that spoke these words.

CHAPTER VIII.

       Table of Contents

      WHY CLAUDIA WAS ALONE.

      Be not amazed at life. 'Tis still

       The mode of God with his elect:

       Their hopes exactly to fulfill,

       In times and ways they least expect.

      Who marry as they choose, and choose,

       Not as they ought, they mock the priest,

       And leaving out obedience, lose

       The finest flavor of the feast.

      —Coventry Patmore.

      Ishmael stood transfixed to the spot—for a moment, and then, breaking the spell with which the sound of Claudia's voice had bound him, he passed into the hall, took his hat from the rack, and said to Jim, who was still in attendance there:

      "Give my respects to your master, and say that I have an engagement this evening that obliges me to withdraw. And give him my adieus."

      "But, Mr. Ishmael, sir, you will wait for tea. Lady Vincent is here, sir, just arrived—" began Jim, with the affectionate freedom of a petted servant.

      But Ishmael had left the hall, to keep his promise of spending the evening with Reuben and Hannah.

      Claudia, standing by her father's side in the library, had also heard the sound of Ishmael's voice, as he spoke to the servant in the hall; and she suddenly ceased talking and looked as if turned to stone.

      "Why, what is the matter, my dear?" inquired the judge, surprised at the panic into which she had been cast.

      "Papa, he here!" she said.

      "Who?"

      "Ishmael!"

      "Yes. Why?"

      "Papa, make some excuse and get rid of him. I must not, cannot, will not, meet him now!" she exclaimed, in a half breathless voice of ill-suppressed excitement.

      The judge looked at his daughter wistfully, painfully, for a moment, and then, as something like the truth in regard to Claudia's feelings broke upon him, he replied very gravely:

      "My dear, you need not meet him; and he has saved me the embarrassment of sending him away. He has gone, if I mistake not."

      "If you 'mistake' not. There must be no question of this, sir! See! and if he has not gone, tell him to go directly!"

      "Claudia!"

      "Oh, papa, I am nearly crazy! Go!"

      The judge stepped out into the hall and made the necessary inquiries.

      And Jim gave Ishmael's message.

      With this the judge returned to Claudia.

      "He is gone. And now, my dear, I wish to know why it is that you are here alone? I never in my life heard of such a thing. Where is Vincent?"

      "Papa, I am nearly fainting with fatigue. Will you ring for