Ishmael; Or, In the Depths. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

on their faces.

      Hannah was thoroughly self-possessed. Putting her parcels in Nora's hands, she said:

      "Empty these in their boxes, dear, while I speak to Mr. Brudenell." Then turning to the young man, she said: "Sir, your mother, I believe, has asked to see me about some cloth she wishes to have woven. I am going over to her now; will you go with me?"

      "Certainly, Hannah," replied Mr. Brudenell, seizing his hat in nervous trepidation, and forgetting or not venturing to bid good-by to Nora.

      When they had got a little way from the hut, Hannah said:

      "Mr. Brudenell, why do you come to our poor little house so often?"

      The question, though it was expected, was perplexing.

      "Why do I come, Hannah? Why, because I like to."

      "Because you like to! Quite a sufficient reason for a gentleman to render for his actions, I suppose you think. But, now, another question: 'What are your intentions towards my sister?'"

      "My intentions!" repeated the young man, in a thunderstruck manner. "What in the world do you mean, Hannah?"

      "I mean to remind you that you have been visiting Nora for the last two months, and that to-day, when I entered the house, I found you sitting together as lovers sit; looking at each other as lovers look; and speaking in the low tones that lovers use; and when I reached you, you started in confusion—as lovers do when discovered at their love-making. Now I repeat my question, 'What are your intentions towards Nora Worth?'"

      Herman Brudenell was blushing now, if he had never blushed before; his very brow was crimson. Hannah had to reiterate her question before his hesitating tongue could answer it.

      "My intentions, Hannah? Nothing wrong, I do swear to you! Heaven knows, I mean no harm."

      "I believe that, Mr. Brudenell! I have always believed it, else be sure that I should have found means to compel your absence. But though you might have meant no harm, did you mean any good, Mr. Brudenell?"

      "Hannah, I fear that I meant nothing but to enjoy the great pleasure I derived from—from—Nora's society, and—"

      "Stop there, Mr. Brudenell; do not add—mine; for that would be an insincerity unworthy of you! Of me you did not think, except as a marplot! You say you came for the great pleasure you enjoyed in Nora's society! Did it ever occur to you that she might learn to take too much pleasure in yours? Answer me truly."

      "Hannah, yes, I believed that she was very happy in my company."

      "In a word, you liked her, and you knew you were winning her liking! And yet you had no intentions of any sort, you say; you meant nothing, you admit, but to enjoy yourself! How, Mr. Brudenell, do you think it a manly part for a gentleman to seek to win a poor girl's love merely for his pastime?"

      "Hannah, you are severe on me! Heaven knows I have never spoken one word of love to Nora."

      "'Never spoken one word!' What of that? What need of words? Are not glances, are not tones, far more eloquent than words? With these glances and tones you have a thousand times assured my young sister that you love her, that you adore her, that you worship her!"

      "Hannah, if my eyes spoke this language to Nora, they spoke Heaven's own truth! There! I have told you more than I ever told her, for to her my eyes only have spoken!" said the young man fervently.

      "Of what were you talking with your heads so close together this morning?" asked Hannah abruptly.

      "How do I know? Of birds, of flowers, moonshine, or some such rubbish. I was not heeding my words."

      "No, your eyes were too busy! And now, Mr. Brudenell, I repeat my question: Was yours a manly part—discoursing all this love to Nora, and having no ultimate intentions?"

      "Hannah, I never questioned my conscience upon that point; I was too happy for such cross-examination."

      "But now the question is forced upon you, Mr. Brudenell, and we must have an answer now and here."

      "Then, Hannah, I will answer truly! I love Nora; and if I were free to marry, I would make her my wife to-morrow; but I am not; therefore I have been wrong, and very wrong, to seek her society. I acted, however, from want of thought, not from want of principle; I hope you will believe that, Hannah."

      "I do believe it, Mr. Brudenell."

      "And now I put myself in your hands, Hannah! Direct me as you think best; I will obey you. What shall I do?"

      "See Nora no more; from this day absent yourself from our house."

      He turned pale as death, reeled, and supported himself against the trunk of a friendly tree.

      Hannah looked at him, and from the bottom of her heart she pitied him; for she knew what love was—loving Reuben.

      "Mr. Brudenell," she said, "do not take this to heart so much: why should you, indeed, when you know that your fate is in your own hands? You are master of your own destiny, and no man who is so should give way to despondency. The alternative before you is simply this: to cease to visit Nora, or to marry her. To do the first you must sacrifice your love, to do the last you must sacrifice your pride. Now choose between the courses of action! Gratify your love or your pride, as you see fit, and cheerfully pay down the price! This seems to me to be the only manly, the only rational, course."

      "Oh, Hannah, Hannah, you do not understand! you do not!" he cried in a voice full of anguish.

      "Yes, I do; I know how hard it would be to you in either case. On the one hand, what a cruel wrench it will give your heart to tear yourself from Nora—"

      "Yes, yes; oh, Heaven, yes!"

      "And, on the other hand, I know what an awful sacrifice you would make in marrying her—"

      "It is not that! Oh, do me justice! I should not think it a sacrifice! She is too good for me! Oh, Hannah, it is not that which hinders!"

      "It is the thought of your mother and sisters, perhaps; but surely if they love you, as I am certain they do, and if they see your happiness depends upon this marriage—in time they will yield!"

      "It is not my family either, Hannah! Do you think that I would sacrifice my peace—or hers—to the unreasonable pride of my family? No, Hannah, no!"

      "Then what is it? What stands in the way of your offering your hand to her to whom you have given your heart?"

      "Hannah, I cannot tell you! Oh, Hannah, I feel that I have been very wrong, criminal even! But I acted blindly; you have opened my eyes, and now I see I must visit your house no more; how much it costs me to say this—to do this—you can never know!"

      He wiped the perspiration from his pale brow, and, after a few moments given to the effort of composing himself, he asked:

      "Shall we go on now?"

      She nodded assent and they walked onward.

      "Hannah," he said, as they went along, "I have one deplorable weakness."

      She looked up suddenly, fearing to hear the confession of some fatal vice.

      He continued:

      "It is the propensity to please others, whether by doing so I act well or ill!"

      "Mr. Brudenell!" exclaimed Hannah, in a shocked voice.

      "Yes, the pain I feel in seeing others suffer, the delight I have in seeing them enjoy, often leads—leads me to sacrifice not only my own personal interests, but the principles of truth and justice!"

      "Oh, Mr. Brudenell!"

      "It is so, Hannah! And one signal instance of such a sacrifice at once of myself and of the right has loaded my life with endless regret! However, I am ungenerous to say this; for a gift once given, even if it is of that which one holds most precious in the world, should be forgotten or at least not be grudged by the giver! Ah, Hannah—"