"Come in," said the rich, deep, sweet voice—always sweet in its tones, whether addressing man, woman, or child—human being or bumb brute; "come in."
Bee entered the little chamber, so dark after the lighted rooms below.
In the recess of the dormer window, at a small table lighted by one candle, sat Ishmael, bending over an open volume. His cheek was pale, his expression weary. He looked up, and recognizing Bee, arose with a smile to meet her.
"How dark you are up here, all alone, Ishmael," she said, coming forward.
Ishmael snuffed his candle, picked the wick, and sat it up on his pile of books that it might give a better light, and then turned again smilingly towards Bee, offered her a chair and stood as if waiting her command.
"What are you doing up here alone, Ishmael?" she inquired, with her hand upon the back of the chair that she omitted to take.
"I am studying 'Kent's Commentaries,'" answered the young man.
"I wish you would study your own health a little more, Ishmael! Why are you not down with us?"
"My dear Bee, I am better here."
"Nonsense, Ishmael! You are here too much. You confine yourself too closely to study. You should remember the plain old proverb—proverbs are the wisdom of nations, you know—the old proverb which says: 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.' Come!"