What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover's head!—
"Oh, Heaven!" to himself he cried,
"If—if she should be dead!"
—Wordsworth.
Ishmael galloped along the road leading to The Beacon, followed at a short distance by the professor, who found some difficulty in keeping up with his master.
Ishmael's aspect was not altogether that of a happy lover going to see his beloved; for his countenance was thoughtful, grave, and sad. How could it be otherwise with him, after the scene he had left? His thoughts, his sympathies, his regrets were with Claudia, the earliest friend of his friendless childhood; with Claudia, grand, noble, and beautiful, even in the wreck of her happiness; with Claudia, loving now as she had never loved before. Yes, his thoughts, his regrets, his sympathies were with her, but where were his love, his esteem, and his admiration?
As he rode on the figure of Claudia, in her woe, became lost in a shadow that was gradually stealing over his soul-one of those mysterious shadows that approaching misfortunes are said to cast before them. In vain he tried by reason to dispel this gloom. The nearer he approached The Beacon, the deeper it settled upon his spirit!
What could it mean? Was all well at The Beacon? Was all well with
Bee?
Reuben Gray, when questioned, had said that he had not heard from them in a week. And what might not have happened in a week? At that thought a pang like death shot through his heart, and he put spurs to his horse and urged him forward at his best speed, but with all his haste, the short February day was drawing to its close, and the descending sun was sinking behind the mansion-house and its group of out-buildings when Ishmael rode into the front yard, followed closely by his servant. It was but the work of a moment to spring from his horse, throw the reins to the professor, bound Tip the steps to the front door and ring the bell. The door was opened by Mr. Middleton in person. This was an unprecedented, and ominous circumstance.
Bee's father looked very grave as he held out his hand, saying:
"How do you do, Ishmael? I am glad that you have all returned safely."
"How do you do, Mr. Middleton? I hope—I hope that I find you all well?" said Ishmael, striving to speak composedly.
"Y-yes. Come into the library, my young friend; I wish to speak with you alone before you see any other member of the family," said Mr. Middleton.