"Yes, he does; as Nora herself in her wisdom and love would do, could she speak to you from heaven," said Ishmael solemnly Brudenell slowly and sorrowfully shook his head.
"The Countess of Hurstmonceux can nevermore be anything to me," he said.
"My father! have you then no kindly memory of the sweet young lady who placed her innocent affections upon you in your early manhood, and turning away from all her wealthy and titled suitors, gave herself and her fortune to you?"
Slowly and bitterly Herman Brudenell shook his head. Ishmael, still looking earnestly in his face continued:
"Who left her native country and her troops of friends, and crossed the sea alone, to follow you to a home that must have seemed like a wilderness, and servants that were like savages to her; who devoted her time and spent her money in embellishing your house and improving your land, and in civilizing and Christianizing your negroes; and who passed the flower of her youth in that obscure neighborhood, doing good and waiting patiently long, weary years for the return of the man she loved."
Still the bitter, bitter gesture of negation from Herman.
"Father," said Ishmael, fixing his beautiful eyes on Brudenell's face and speaking earnestly, "it seems to me that if any young lady had loved me with such devotion and constancy, I must have loved her fondly in return. I could not have helped doing so!"
"She wronged me, Ishmael!"
"And even if she had offended me—deeply and justly offended me—I must have forgiven her and taken her back to my bosom again."
"It was worse than that, Ishmael! It was no common offense. She deceived me! She was false to me!"