"Why, the Lord bless my soul alive, man! He is a self-made barrister; his name is Ishmael Worth; his mother was a poor weaver girl named Nora Worth; his father was an unknown scoundrel; he was born at a little hut near—Why, Brudenell, you ought to know all about it—near Brudenell Hall!"
"Heaven and earth!"
"What is the matter?"
"The close room—the crowd—and this oppression of the chest that I have had so many years!" gasped Herman Brudenell.
"Get into my carriage and come home with us. Come—I will take no denial! The hotels are overcrowded. We can send for your luggage. Come!"
"Thank you; I think I will."
"Claudia! Beatrice! come forward, my dears. Here is Mr. Brudenell."
Courtesies were exchanged, and they all went out and entered the carriage.
"I will introduce you to this young man, who has so much interested you, and all the world, in fact, I suppose. He is living with us; and he will be a lion from to-day, I assure you," said the judge, as soon as they were all seated.
"Thank you! I was interested in—in those two poor sisters. One died—what has become of the other?"