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

XLVII.

       CHAPTER XLVIII.

       CHAPTER XLIX.

       CHAPTER L.

       CHAPTER LI

       CHAPTER LII.

       CHAPTER LIII

       CHAPTER LIV.

       CHAPTER LV.

I. RECOVERY II. HERMAN AND ISHMAEL III. FATHER AND SON IV. BEE V. SECOND LOVE VI. AT WOODSIDE VII. AT TANGLEWOOD VIII. WHY CLAUDIA WAS ALONE IX. HOLIDAY X. ISHMAEL AT BRUDENELL XI. THE PROFESSOR OF ODD JOBS XII. THE JOURNEY XIII. LADY VINCENT'S RECEPTION XIV. ROMANCE AND REALITY XV. CASTLE CRAGG XVI. FAUSTINA XVII. THE PLOT AGAINST CLAUDIA XVIII. IN THE TRAITOR'S TOILS XIX. CLAUDIA'S TROUBLES AND PERILS XX. A LINK IN CLAUDIA'S FATE XXI. NEWS FOR ISHMAEL XXII. ISHMAEL'S VISIT TO BEE XXIII. HANNAH'S HAPPY PROGNOSTICS XXIV. THE JOURNEY XXV. THE VOYAGE XXVI. THE STORM XXVII. THE WRECK XXVIII. A DISCOVERY XXIX. A DEEP ONE XXX. A NIGHT OF HORROR XXXI. THE CASTLE VAULT XXXII. THE END OF CLAUDIA'S PRIDE XXXIII. THE COUNTESS OF HURSTMONCEUX, 259 XXXIV. THE RESCUE, 273 XXXV. A FATHER'S VENGEANCE, 283 XXXVI. ON THE VISCOUNT'S TRACK, 296 XXXVII. STILL ON THE TRACK, 306 XXXVIII. CLAUDIA AT CAMERON COURT, 317 XXXIX. SUSPENSE, 327 XL. FATHER AND DAUGHTER, 333 XLI. ARREST OF LORD VINCENT AND FAUSTINA, 345 XLII. A BITTER NIGHT, 357 XLIII. FRUITS OF CRIME, 367 XLIV. NEMESIS, 378 XLV. THE VISCOUNT'S FALL, 392 XLVI. THE FATE OF THE VISCOUNT, 399 XLVII. THE EXECUTION, 410 XLVIII. NEWS FOR CLAUDIA, 419 XLIX. THE FATE OF FAUSTINA, 433 L. LADY HURSTMONCEUX'S REVELATION, 439 LI. ISHMAEL'S ERRAND, 449 LII. THE MEETING OF THE SEVERILD PAIR, 466 LIII. HOME AGAIN, 475 LIV. WHICH IS THE BRIDE? 486 LV. CONCLUSION, 494

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I.

       Table of Contents

      RECOVERY.

      Something I know. Oft, shall it come about

       When every heart is full of hope for man,

       The horizon straight is darkened, and a doubt

       Clouds all. The work the youth so well began

       Wastes down, and by some deed of shame is finished.

       Ah, yet we will not be dismayed:

       What seemed the triumph of the Fiend at length

       Might be the effort of some dying devil,

       Permitted to put forth his fullest strength

       To loose it all forever!

      —Owen Meredith.

      Awful as the anguish of his parting with Claudia had been, it was not likely that Ishmael, with his strength of intellect and will, would long succumb to despair. It was not in Claudia's power to make his life quite desolate; how could it be so while Bee cared for him?

      Bee had loved Ishmael as long as Ishmael had loved Claudia. She had loved him when he was a boy at school; when he was a young country teacher; when he was a law-student; and she loved him now that he was a successful barrister. This love, founded in esteem and honor, had constantly deepened and strengthened. In loving Ishmael, she found mental and spiritual development; and in being near him and doing him good she found comfort and happiness. And being perfectly satisfied with the present, Bee never gave a thought to the future. That she tacitly left, where it belongs, to God.

      Or if at times, on perceiving Ishmael's utter obliviousness of her own kindly presence and his perfect devotion to the thankless Claudia, Bee felt a pang, she went and buried herself with domestic duties, or played with the children in the nursery, or what was better still, if it happened to be little Lu's "sleepy time" she would take her baby-sister up to her own room, sit down and fold her to her breast and rock and sing her to sleep. And certainly the clasp of those baby-arms about her neck, and the nestling of that baby-form to her bosom, drew out all the heart-ache and soothed all the agitation.

      Except these little occasional pangs Bee had always been blessed in loving. Her love, all unrequited, as it seemed, was still the sweetest thing in the world to her; and it seemed thus, because in fact it was so well approved by her mind and so entirely unselfish. It seemed to be her life, or her soul, or one with both; Bee was not metaphysical enough to decide which. She would not struggle with this love, or try to conquer it, any more than she would have striven against and tried to destroy her mental and spiritual life. On the contrary she cherished it as she did her religion, of which it was a part; she cherished it as she did her love of God, with which it was united.

      And loving Ishmael in this way, if she should fail to marry him, Bee resolved never to marry another; but to live and die a maiden; still cherishing, still hiding this most precious love in her heart as a miser hides his gold. Whether benign nature would have permitted the motherly little maiden to have carried out this resolution, I do not know; or what Bee would have done in the event of Ishmael's marrying another, she did not know. When Claudia went away, Bee, in the midst of her regret at parting with her cousin, felt a certain sense of relief: but when she saw the effect of that departure upon Ishmael she became alarmed for him; and after the terrible experiences of that day and night Bee's one single thought in life was—Ishmael's good.

      On the morning succeeding that dreadful day and night, Ishmael awoke early, in full possession of his faculties. He remembered all the incidents of that trying day and night; reflected upon their effects; and prayed to God to deliver him from the burden and guilt of inordinate and sinful affections.

      Then he arose, made his toilet, read a portion of the Scriptures, offered up his morning prayers, and went below stairs.

      In the breakfast parlor he found Bee, the busy little house-keeper, fluttering softly around the breakfast table, and adding a few finishing touches to its simple elegance.

      Very fair, fresh, and blooming looked Bee in her pale golden ringlets and her pretty morning dress of white muslin with blue ribbons. There was no one else in the room; but Bee advanced and held out her hand to him.

      He took her hand, and retaining it in his own for a moment, said:

      "Oh, Bee! yesterday, last night!"

      "'Upbraid not the past; it comes not back again.' Ishmael! bury it; forget it; and press onward!" replied Bee sweetly and solemnly.

      He raised her hand with the impulse to carry it to his lips; but refraining, bowed his forehead over it instead, and then gently released it. For Ishmael's affection for Bee was reverential. To him she appeared saintly, Madonna-like, almost angelic.

      "Let me make breakfast for you at once, Ishmael. It is not of the least use to wait for the others. Mamma, I know, is not awake yet, and none of the gentlemen have rung for their hot water."

      "And you, Bee; you will also breakfast now?"

      "Certainly."

      And she rang and gave her orders. And the coffee, muffins, fried fresh perch, and broiled spring chickens speedily made their appearance.

      "Jim," she said to the waiter who set the breakfast on the table, "tell cook to keep some of the perch and pullets dressed to put over the fire the moment