"Farewell, Lady Vincent," said Ishmael, in a grave, sweet voice, as he stood before her. She raised her head and looked at him. Oh, what a world of grief, despair, and passionate remorse was expressed in those large, dark, tearless eyes!
"Farewell, Lady Vincent," said Ishmael, deferentially taking her hand.
Her fingers closed spasmodically upon his, as though she would have held him to her side forever.
"Oh, must it be indeed farewell, Ishmael?" she breathed in a voice expiring with anguish.
"Farewell," he repeated gravely, kindly, reverentially; bowing low over the throbbing hand he held; and then he turned and softly left the room.
"It is his sense of honor. Oh, it is his chivalric, nay, his fanatical sense of honor that is ruining us! Unless Bee has the good taste and modesty to release him voluntarily, he will sacrifice me, himself, and her, to the Moloch, Honor," wailed Claudia, as she dropped her head upon her hands in a grief too deep for tears.
Was she right?
CHAPTER LIV.
WHICH IS THE BRIDE?
His horse went on, hoof after hoof,
Went on and never stopped,
Till down behind the Mansion roof,
At once, the red sun dropped.