"Oh, Bee!"
"Oh, Ishmael!"
Both spoke at once, and in a tone of irrepressible emotion.
"Come in, Ishmael," she next said kindly.
"You know, Bee?" he asked sadly, as he entered.
"Yes, Ishmael! Forgive me for knowing, for it prevented others finding out. And your secret could not rest safer, or with a truer heart than mine."
"I know it, dear Bee! dear sister, I know it. And Bee, listen! That glass of brandy was only the third of any sort of spirituous liquor that I ever tasted in my life. And I solemnly swear in the presence of Heaven and before you that it shall be the very last! Never, no, never, even as a medicine, will I place the fatal poison to my lips again."
"I believe you, Ishmael. And I am very happy. Thank God!" she said, giving him her hand.
"Dear Bee! Holy angel! I am scarcely worthy to touch it," he said, bowing reverently over that little white hand.
"'There shall be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance.' Good-night, Ishmael!" said Bee sweetly, as she put the taper in his hand and glided like a spirit from his presence.