"Uncle," she said, blushing deeply to be obliged still to betray her interest in one whom she was forced to remember, because everyone else forgot him, "uncle, had we not better send Powers up to Ishmael's room to see if he has come in, and let him know that dinner is on the table?"
"Certainly, my dear; go, Powers, and if Mr. Worth is in his room, let him know that dinner is ready."
Powers went, but soon returned with the information that Mr. Worth was neither in his room nor in the office, nor anywhere else in the house.
"Some professional business has detained him; he will be home after a while," said the judge.
But Bee was anxious, and when dinner was over she went upstairs to a window that overlooked the Avenue, and watched; but, of course, in vain. Then with the restlessness common to intense anxiety she came down and went into the shrubbery to walk. She paced about very uneasily until she had tired herself, and then turned towards a secluded arbor at the bottom of the grounds to rest herself. She put aside the vines that overhung the doorway and entered.
What did she see?
Ishmael extended upon the bench, with the late afternoon sun streaming through a crevice in the arbor, shining full upon his face, which was also plagued with flies!
She had found him then, but how?
At first she thought he was only sleeping; and she was about to withdraw from the arbor when the sound of his breathing caught her ear and alarmed her, and she crept back and cautiously approached and looked over him.
His face was deeply flushed; the veins of his temples were swollen; and his breathing was heavy and labored. In her fright Bee caught up his hand and felt his pulse. It was full, hard, and slowly throbbing. She thought that he was very ill—dangerously ill, and she was about to spring up and rush to the house for help, when, in raising her head, she happened to catch his breath.