Nearly overwhelmed with his emotions, dreading, he knew not what, Ishmael followed Mr. Middleton into the library and dropped into the chair that gentleman pushed towards him.
"Bee-Bee! For Heaven's sake tell me? Is she well?" he asked.
"Y-yes," answered Mr. Middleton hesitatingly, gravely. "Bee is well."
"Good Heaven, sir, can you not speak plainly? We say of the sainted dead that they are well; that it is well with them. Oh, tell me, tell me, is Bee alive and well?" exclaimed the young man, as drops of sweat, forced forth by his great agony of suspense, started from his brow.
"Yes, yes! Bee is alive and well."
Ishmael dropped his head upon his hands and breathed a fervent:
"Thanks be to God!"
"I have given you unintentional alarm, Ishmael."
"Oh, sir, alarm does not begin to express what I have suffered. You have wrung my heart. But let that pass, sir. What is it that you wished to say to me?" said Ishmael, raising his head.
"Take a glass of wine first," said Mr. Middleton, bringing a decanter and glasses from a side-table.