Almost any other youth than Ishmael Worth would have died of such injuries as he had sustained. But owing to that indestructible vitality and irrepressible elasticity of organization which had carried him safely through the deadly perils of his miserable infancy, he survived.
About the fourth day of his illness the irritative fever of his wounds having been subdued, Judge Merlin was admitted to see and converse with him.
Up to this morning the judge had thought of the victim only as the overseer's nephew, a poor, laboring youth about the estate, who had got hurt in doing his duty and stopping Miss Merlin's runaway horses; and he supposed that he, Judge Merlin, had done his part in simply taking the suffering youth into his own house and having him properly attended to. And now the judge went to the patient with the intention of praising his courage and offering him some proper reward for his services—as, for instance, a permanent situation to work on the estate for good wages.
And so Judge Merlin entered the sick-chamber, which was no longer darkened, but had all the windows open to admit the light and air.
He took a chair and seated himself by the bedside of the patient, and for the first time took a good look at him.
Ishmael's handsome face, no longer distorted by suffering, was calm and clear; his eyes were closed in repose but not in sleep, for the moment the judge "hemmed" he raised his eyelids and greeted his host with a gentle smile and nod.
Judge Merlin could not but be struck with the delicacy, refinement, and intellectuality of Ishmael's countenance.
"How do you feel yourself this morning, my lad?" he inquired, putting the usual commonplace question.
"Much easier, thank you, sir," replied the youth, in the pure, sweet, modulated tones of a highly-cultivated nature.
The judge was surprised, but did not show that he was so, as he said: