THE INTERVIEW.
The lady of his love re-entered there;
She was serene and smiling then, and yet
She knew she was by him beloved--she knew,
For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart
Was darken'd by her shadow; and she saw
That he was wretched; but she saw not all.
He took her hand, a moment o'er his face
A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, and then it faded as it came.
--_Byron_.
It was as yet early morning; but the day promised to be sultry, and all
the windows of Ishmael's chamber were open to facilitate the freest
passage of air. Ishmael lay motionless upon his cool, white bed, letting
his glances wander abroad, whither his broken limbs could no longer
carry him.
His room, being a corner one, rejoiced in four large windows, two
looking east and two north. Close up to these windows grew the
clustering woods. Amid their branches even the wildest birds built
nests, and their strange songs mingled with the rustle of the golden
green leaves as they glimmered in the morning sun and breeze.
It was a singular combination, that comfortable room, abounding in all
the elegancies of the highest civilization, and that untrodden
wilderness in which the whip-poor-will cried and the wild eagle
screamed.
And Ishmael, as he looked through the dainty white-draped windows into
the tremulous shadows of the wood, understood how the descendant of
Powhatan, weary of endless brick walls, dusty streets, and crowded
thoroughfares, should, as soon as he was free from official duties, fly
to the opposite extreme of all these--to his lodge in this unbroken
forest, where scarcely a woodman's ax had sounded, where scarcely a
human foot had fallen. He sympathized with the "monomania" of Randolph
Merlin in not permitting a thicket to be thinned out, a road to be
opened, or a tree to be trimmed on his wild woodland estate; so that
here at least, nature should have her own way, with no hint of the
world's labor and struggle to disturb her vital repose.
As these reveries floated through the clear, active brain of the invalid
youth, the door of his chamber softly opened.
Why did Ishmael's heart bound in his bosom, and every pulse throb?
She stood within the open doorway! How lovely she looked, with her soft,
white muslin morning dress floating freely around her graceful form, and
her glittering jet black ringlets shading her snowy forehead, shadowy
eyes, and damask cheeks!
She closed the door as softly as she had opened it, and advanced into
the room.
Old Katie arose from some obscure corner and placed a chair for her near
the head of Ishmael's bed on his right side.
Claudia sank gently into this seat and turned her face towards Ishmael,
and attempted to speak; but a sudden, hysterical rising in her throat
choked her voice.
Her eyes had taken in all at a glance!--the splintered leg, the bandaged
arm, the plastered chest, the ashen complexion, the sunken cheeks and
the hollow eyes of the poor youth; and utterance failed her!
But Ishmael gently and respectfully pressed the hand she had given him,
and smiled as he said:
"It is very kind of you to come and see me, Miss Merlin. I thank you
earnestly." For, however strong Ishmael's emotions might have been, he
possessed the self-controlling power of an exalted nature.
"Oh, Ishmael!" was all that Claudia found ability to say; her voice was
choked, her bosom heaving, her face pallid.
"Pray, pray, do not disturb yourself, Miss Merlin; indeed I am doing
very well," said the youth, smiling. The next instant he turned away his
face; it was to conceal a spasm of agony that suddenly sharpened all his
features, blanched his lips, and forced the cold sweat out on his brow.
But Claudia had seen it.
"Oh, I fear you suffer very much," she said.
The spasm had passed as quickly as it came. He turned to her his smiling
eyes.
"I fear you suffer very, very much," she repeated, looking at him.
"Oh, no, not much; see how soon the pain passed away."
"Ah! but it was so severe while it lasted! I saw that it caught your
breath away! I saw it, though you tried to hide it! Ah! you do suffer,
Ishmael! and for me! me," she cried, forgetting her pride in the excess
of her sympathy.
The smile in Ishmael's dark blue eyes deepened to ineffable tenderness
and beauty as he answered softly:
"It is very, very sweet to suffer for--one we esteem and honor."
"I am not worth an hour of your pain!" exclaimed Claudia, with something
very like self-reproach.
"Oh, Miss Merlin, if you knew how little I should value my life in
comparison with your safety." Ishmael paused; for he felt that perhaps
he was going too far.
"I think that you have well proved how ready you are to sacrifice your
life for the preservation, not only of your friends, but of your very
foes! I have not forgotten your rescue of Alf and Ben Burghe," said the
heiress emphatically, yet a little coldly, as if, while anxious to give
him the fullest credit and the greatest honor for courage, generosity,
and magnanimity, she was desirous to disclaim any personal interest he
might feel for herself.
"There is a difference, Miss Merlin," said Ishmael, with gentle dignity.
"Oh, I suppose there is; one would rather risk one's life for a friend
than for an enemy," replied Claudia icily.
"I have displeased you, Miss Merlin; I am very sorry for it. Pray,
forgive me," said Ishmael, with a certain suave and stately courtesy,
for which the youth was beginning to be noted.
"Oh, you have not displeased me, Ishmael! How could you, you who have
just risked and almost sacrificed your life to save mine! No, you have
not displeased; but you have surprised me! I would not have had you run
any risk for me, Ishmael, that you would not have run for the humblest
negro on my father's plantation; that is all."
"Miss Merlin, I would have run any risk to save anyone at need; but I
might not have borne the after consequences in all cases with equal
patience--equal pleasure. Ah, Miss Merlin, forgive me, if I am now happy
in my pain! forgive me this presumption, for it is the only question at
issue between us," said the youth, with a pleading glance.
"Oh, Ishmael, let us not talk any more about me! Talk of yourself. Tell
me how you are, and where you feel pain."
"Nowhere much, Miss Merlin."
"Papa told me that two of your limbs were broken and your chest injured,
and now I see all that for myself."
"My injuries are doing very well. My broken bones are knitting together
again as fast as they possibly can, my physician says."
"But that is a very painful process I fear," said Claudia
compassionately.
"Indeed, no; I do not find it so."
"Ah! your face shows what you endure. It is your chest, then, that hurts
you?"
"My chest is healing very rapidly. Do not distress your kind heart, Miss
Merlin; indeed, I am doing very well."
"You are very patient, and therefore you will do well, if you are not
doing so now. Ishmael, now that I am permitted to visit you, I shall
come every day. But they have limited me to fifteen minutes' stay this
morning, and my time is up. Good-morning, Ishmael."
"Good-morning, Miss Merlin. May the Lord bless you," said Ishmael,
respectfully pressing the hand she gave him.
"I will come again to-morrow; and then if you continue to grow better, I
may be allowed to remain with you for half an hour," she said, rising.
"Thank you, Miss Merlin; I shall try to grow better; you have given me a
great incentive to improvement."
Claudia's face grew grave again. She bowed coldly and left the room.
As soon as the door had closed behind her Ishmael's long-strained nerves
became relaxed, and his countenance changed again in one of those awful
spasms of pain to which he was now so subject. The paroxysm, kept off by
force of will, for Claudia's sake, during her stay, now took its revenge
by holding the victim longer in its grasp. A minute or two of mortal
agony and then is was past, and the patient was relieved.
"I don't know what you call pain; but if dis'ere aint pain, I don't want
to set no worser de longest day as ever I live!" exclaimed Katie, who
stood by the bedside wiping the deathly dew from the icy brow of the
sufferer.
"But you see--it lasts so short a time--it is already gone," gasped
Ishmael faintly. "It is no sooner come than gone," he added, with a
smile.
"And no sooner gone, nor come again! And a-most taking of your life when
it do come!" said Katie, placing a cordial to the ashen lips of the
sufferer.
The stimulant revived his strength, brought color to his cheeks and
light to his eyes.
Ishmael's next visitor was Reuben Gray, who was admitted to see him for
a few minutes only. This was Reuben's first visit to the invalid, and
as under the transient influence of the stimulant Ishmael looked
brighter than usual, Reuben thought that he must be getting on
remarkably well, and congratulated him accordingly.
Ishmael smilingly returned the compliment by wishing Gray joy of his son
and daughter.
Reuben grinned with delight and expatiated on their beauty, until it was
time for him to take leave.
"Your Aunt Hannah don't know as you've been hurt, my boy; we dar'n't
tell her, for fear of the consequences. But now as you really do seem to
be getting on so well, and as she is getting strong so fast, and
continually asking arter you, I think I will just go and tell her all
about it, and as how there is no cause to be alarmed no more," said
Reuben, as he stood, hat in hand, by Ishmael's bed.
"Yes, do, Uncle Reuben, else she will think I neglect her," pleaded
Ishmael.
Reuben promised, and then took his departure.
That was the last visit Ishmael received that day.
Reuben kept his word, and as soon as he got home he gradually broke to
Hannah the news of Ishmael's accident, softening the matter as much as
possible, softening it out of all truth, for when the anxious woman
insisted on knowing exactly the extent of her nephew's injuries, poor
Reuben, alarmed for the effect upon his wife's health, boldly affirmed
that there was nothing worse in Ishmael's case than a badly sprained
ankle, that confined him to the house! And it was weeks longer before
Hannah heard the truth of the affair.
The next day Claudia Merlin repeated her visit to Ishmael, and remained
with him for half an hour.
And from that time she visited his room daily, increasing each day the
length of her stay.
Ishmael's convalescence was very protracted. The severe injuries that
must have caused the death of a less highly vitalized human creature
really confined Ishmael for weeks to his bed and for months to the
house. It was four weeks before he could leave his bed for a sofa. And
it was about that time that Hannah got out again; and incredulous,
anxious, and angry all at once, walked up to Tanglewood to find out for
herself whether it was a "sprained ankle" only that kept her nephew
confined there.
Mrs. Gray was shown at once to the convalescent's room, where Ishmael,
whose very breath was pure truth, being asked, told her all about his
injuries.
Poor Hannah wept tears of retrospective pity; but did not in her inmost
heart blame Gray for the "pious fraud" he had practiced with the view of
saving her own feelings at a critical time. She would have had Ishmael
conveyed immediately to Woodside, that she might nurse him herself; but
neither the doctor, the judge, nor the heiress would consent to his
removal; and so Hannah had to submit to their will and leave her nephew
where he was. But she consoled herself by walking over every afternoon
to see Ishmael.
Claudia usually spent several hours of the forenoon in Ishmael's
company. He was still very weak, pale, and thin. His arm was in a sling,
and as it was his right arm, as well as his right leg that had been
broken, he could not use a crutch; so that he was confined all day to
the sofa or the easy-chair, in which his nurse would place him in the
morning.
Claudia devoted herself to his amusement with all a sister's care. She
read to him; sung to him, accompanying her song with the guitar; and she
played chess--Ishmael using his left hand to move the pieces.
Claudia knew that this gifted boy worshiped her with a passionate love
that was growing deeper, stronger, and more ardent every day. She knew
that probably his peace of mind would be utterly wrecked by his fatal
passion. She knew all this, and yet she would not withdraw herself,
either suddenly or gradually. The adoration of this young, pure, exalted
soul was an intoxicating incense that had become a daily habit and
necessity to the heiress. But she tacitly required it to be a silent
offering. So long as her lover worshiped her only with his eyes, tones,
and manners, she was satisfied, gracious, and cordial; but the instant
he was betrayed into any words of admiration or interest in her, she
grew cold and haughty, she chilled and repelled him.
And yet she did not mean to trifle with his affections or destroy his
peace; but--it was very dull in the country, and Claudia had nothing
else to occupy and interest her mind and heart. Besides, she really did
appreciate and admire the wonderfully endowed peasant boy as much as she
possibly could in the case of one so immeasurably far beneath her in
rank. And she really did take more pride and delight in the society of
Ishmael than in that of any other human being she had ever met. And
yet, had it been possible that Ishmael should have been acknowledged by
his father and invested with the name, arms, and estate of Brudenell,
Claudia Merlin, in her present mood of mind, would have died and seen
him die, before she would have given her hand to one upon whose birth a
single shade of reproach was even suspected to rest.
Meanwhile Ishmael reveled in what would have been a fool's paradise to
most young men in similar circumstances,--but which really was not such
to him, dreaming those dreams of youth, the realization of which would
have been impossible to nine hundred and ninety-nine in a thousand
situated as he was, but which intellect and will made quite probable for
him. With his master mind and heart he read Claudia Merlin thoroughly,
and understood her better than she understood herself. In his secret
soul he knew that every inch of progress made in her favor was a
permanent conquest never to be yielded up. And loving her as loyally as
ever knight loved lady, he let her deceive herself by thinking she was
amusing herself at his expense, for he was certain of ultimate victory.
Other thoughts also occupied Ishmael. The first of September, the time
for opening the Rushy Shore school, had come, and the youth was still
unable to walk. Under these circumstances, he wrote a note to the agent,
Brown, and told him that it would be wrong to leave the school shut up
while the children of the neighborhood remained untaught, and requested
him to seek another teacher.
It cost the youth some self-sacrifice to give up this last chance of
employment; but we already know that Ishmael never hesitated a moment
between duty and self-interest.
September passed. Those who have watched surgical cases in military
hospitals know how long it takes a crushed and broken human body to
recover the use of its members. It was late in October before Ishmael's
right arm was strong enough to support the crutch that was needed to
relieve the pressure upon his right leg when he attempted to walk.
It was about this time that Judge Merlin was heard often to complain of
the great accumulation of correspondence upon his hands.
Ishmael, ever ready to be useful, modestly tendered his services to
assist.
After a little hesitation, the judge thanked the youth and accepted his
offer. And the next day Ishmael was installed in a comfortable leather
chair in the library, with his crutch beside him and a writing table
covered with letters to be read and answered before him. These letters
were all open, and each had a word or a line penciled upon it indicating
the character of the answer that was to be given. Upon some was simply
written the word "No"; upon others, "Yes"; upon others again, "Call on
me when I come to town"; and so forth. All this, of course, Ishmael had
to put into courteous language, using his own judgment after reading the
letters.
Of course it was the least important part of his correspondence that
Judge Merlin put into his young assistant's hands; but, notwithstanding
that, the trust was a very responsible one. Even Ishmael doubted whether
he could discharge such unfamiliar duties with satisfaction to his
employer.
He worked diligently all that day, however, and completed the task that
had been laid out for him before the bell rung for the late dinner. Then
he arose and respectfully called the judge's attention to the finished
work, and bowed and left the room.
With something like curiosity and doubt the judge went up to the table
and opened and read three or four of the letters written for him by his
young amanuensis. And as he read, surprise and pleasure lighted up his
countenance.
"The boy is a born diplomatist! I should not wonder if the world should
hear of him some day, after all!" he said, as he read letter after
letter that had been left unsealed for his optional perusal. In these
letters he found his own hard "No's" expressed with a courtesy that
softened them even to the most bitterly disappointed; his arrogant
"Yes's," with a delicacy that could not wound the self-love of the most
sensitive petitioner; and his intermediate, doubtful answers rendered
with a clearness of which by their very nature they seemed incapable.
"The boy is a born diplomatist," repeated the judge in an accession of
astonishment.
But he was wrong in his judgment of Ishmael. If the youth's style of
writing was gracious, courteous, delicate, it was because his inmost
nature was pure, refined, and benignant. If his letters denying favors
soothed rather than offended the applicant, and of those granting favors
flattered rather than humiliated the petitioner, it was because of that
angelic attribute of Ishmael's soul that made it so painful to him to
give pain, so delightful to impart delight. There was no thought of
diplomatic dealing in all Ishmael's truthful soul.
The judge was excessively pleased with his young assistant. Judge Merlin
was an excellent lawyer, but no orator, and never had been, nor could be
one. He had not himself the gift of eloquence either in speaking or
writing; and, therefore, perhaps he was the more astonished and pleased
to find it in the possession of his letter-writer. He was pleased to
have his correspondence well written, for it reflected credit upon
himself.
Under the influence of his surprise and pleasure he took up his hand
full of letters and went directly to Ishmael's room. He found the youth
seated in his arm-chair engaged in reading.
"What have you there?" inquired Judge Merlin.
Ishmael smiled and turned the title-page to his questioner.
"Humph! 'Coke upon Lyttleton.' Lay it down, Ishmael, and attend to me,"
said the judge, drawing a chair and seating himself beside the youth.
Ishmael immediately closed the book and gave the most respectful
attention.
"I am very much pleased with the manner in which you have accomplished
your task, Ishmael. You have done your work remarkably well! So well
that I should like to give you longer employment," he said.
Ishmael's heart leaped in his bosom.
"Thank you, sir; I am very glad you are satisfied with me," he replied.
"Let us see now, this is the fifteenth of October; I shall remain here
until the first of December, when we go to town; a matter of six weeks;
and I shall be glad, Ishmael, during the interval of my stay here, to
retain you as my assistant. What say you?"
"Indeed, sir, I shall feel honored and happy in serving you."
"I will give you what I consider a fair compensation for so young a
beginner. By the way, how old are you?"
"I shall be nineteen in December."
"Very well; I will give you twenty dollars a month and your board."
"Judge Merlin," said Ishmael, as his pale face flushed crimson, "I shall
feel honored and happy in serving you; but from you I cannot consent to
receive any compensation."
The judge stared at the speaker with astonishment that took all power of
reply away; but Ishmael continued:
"Consider, sir, the heavy obligations under which I already rest towards
you, and permit me to do what I can to lighten the load."
"What do you mean? What the deuce are you talking about?" at last asked
the judge.
"Sir, I have been an inmate of your house for nearly three months,
nursed, tended, and cared for as if I had been a son of the family. What
can I render you for all these benefits? Sir, my gratitude and services
are due to you, are your own. Pray, therefore, do not mention
compensation to me again," replied the youth.
"Young man, you surprise me beyond measure. Your gratitude and services
due to me? For what, pray? For taking care of you when you were
dangerously injured in my service? Did you not receive all your injuries
in saving my daughter from a violent death? After that, who should have
taken care of you but me? 'Taken care of you?' I should take care of all
your future! I should give you a fortune, or a profession, or some other
substantial compensation for your great service, to clear accounts
between us!" exclaimed the judge.
Ishmael bowed his head. Oh, bitterest of all bitter mortifications! To
hear her father speak to him of reward for saving Claudia's life! To
think how everyone was so far from knowing that in saving Claudia he had
saved himself! He had a right to risk his life for Claudia, and no one,
not even her father, had a right to insult him by speaking of reward!
Claudia was his own; Ishmael knew it, though no one on earth, not even
the heiress herself, suspected it.
The judge watched the youth as he sat with his fine young forehead bowed
thoughtfully upon his hand; and Judge Merlin understood Ishmael's
reluctance to receive pay; but did not understand the cause of it.
"Come, my boy," he said; "you are young and inexperienced. You cannot
know much of life. I am an old man of the world, capable of advising
you. You should follow my advice."
"Indeed, I will gratefully do so, sir," said Ishmael, raising his head,
glad, amid all his humiliation, to be advised by Claudia's father.
"Then, my boy, you must reflect that it would be very improper for me to
avail myself of your really valuable assistance without giving you a
reasonable compensation; and that, in short, I could not do it," said
the judge firmly.
"Do you regard the question in that light, sir?" inquired Ishmael
doubtingly.
"Most assuredly. It is the only true light in which to regard it."
"Then I have no option but to accept your own terms, sir. I will serve
you gladly and gratefully, to the best of my ability," concluded the
youth.
And the affair was settled to their mutual satisfaction.