"But why?" inquired the countess, in astonishment.
"For his mother's sake. Ishmael cherishes the most chivalric devotion for his angel mother, and I think also for all mortal women, for her sake. He bears her name, and is fond of it and will ever bear it, that whatever fame he may win in this world may be identified with it. He has vowed, with the blessing of Heaven, to make the name of Worth illustrious, and he will do so."
"A chivalric devotion, truly; and how beautiful it is. He is already, though so young, a distinguished member of the Washington bar, I hear. How did he get his education and his profession—that poor boy, whom I remember in his childhood as tramping the country with the old odd-job man—that very 'professor' who attends him as his servant now? You found him and educated him at last, I suppose, Herman?"
A fiery flush arose to Mr. Brudenell's brow, displacing its habitual paleness.
"No, Berenice, no! Not to me, not to any human being does Ishmael owe education or profession; but to God and to himself alone. Never was a boy born in this world under more adverse circumstances. His birth, in its utter destitution, reminds me (I speak it with the deepest reverence) of that other birth in the manger of Bethlehem. His infancy was a struggle for the very breath of life; his childhood for bread; his youth for education; and nobly, nobly has he sustained this struggle and gloriously has he succeeded. We are yet in our prime, my dear Berenice, and I feel sure that, if we live out the three-score years and ten allotted as the term of human life, we shall see Ishmael at the zenith of human greatness."
So carried away had Mr. Brudenell been in making this tribute to Ishmael that he had forgotten to explain the circumstances that would have exonerated him from the suspicion of having culpably neglected his child. Berenice brought him back to his recollection by saying:
"But I am sure you must have made some provision for this boy; how was it then that he never derived any benefit from it? How was it that he was left from the hour of his birth to suffer the cruelest privations, until the age of seven years, when he began to support himself, and to help support his aunt!"
"You are right, Berenice; I made a provision for him; but I left the country, and he never had the good of it. I will explain how that was by and by; but I believe the loss of it was providential. I believe it was intended from the first that Ishmael should 'owe no man anything,' for life, or bread, or education, or profession; but all to God and God's blessing on his own efforts. He is self-made. I know no other man in history to whom the term can be so perfectly well applied."
"Will you tell me all you know of his early struggles? I am so interested in this stately son of yours," said Berenice, who, while admiring Ishmael herself, saw also that he was the theme above all others that Mr. Brudenell loved to dwell upon.
Herman Brudenell told the story of Ishmael's heroic young life, as he had gathered it from many sources. And Berenice listened in admiration, in wonder, and sometimes in tears. And yet it was only the plain story of a poor boy who struggled up out of the depths of poverty, shame, and ignorance, to competence, honor, and distinction; a story that may be repeated again in the person of the obscurest boy that reads these lines.