"Lady Vincent fell into trouble. She needed the help of a man with a strong arm, wise head, and pure heart. You were that man, Ishmael. At her first cry for help wafted across the Atlantic, you threw up all your professional prospects, left your office and your clients to take care of themselves, and flew to her relief. It was to your wonderful intelligence, inspired, no doubt, by your pure love, that she owed her deliverance from all the snares laid for her destruction. You have rescued her and brought her safely home. Are you listening, Ishmael?"
"I am listening, sir," answered the young man very gravely. By this time he had begun to understand the drift of Mr. Middleton's discourse, and had recovered his composure, and his look was somewhat stern.
"Well, then, in a word—Lord Vincent is dead, Claudia is free, you have been her constant companion since her widowhood. Now, then, Ishmael, if in these days of close companionship with Lady Vincent your love for Claudia Merlin has revived—"
"Mr. Middleton, how can you speak to me thus?" interrupted Ishmael, in a stern voice, and with flashing eyes, and in very righteous indignation. The next instant, however, he recovered himself. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said sorrowfully. "I should not have spoken so to the father of my betrothed—to my own father, I might almost say. I beg your pardon sincerely."
"Compose yourself, Ishmael, and listen to me. I speak the words of truth and soberness, and you must hear them. I say if in these days of intimate association with Lady Vincent your love for Claudia Merlin has revived, you must break with Bee."
"Mr. Middleton!"
"Gently, Ishmael! If this is so, it cannot be helped, and none of us blame you. The human heart should be free. Nay, it will be free. So—"
"But, Mr. Middleton—"
"Gently, gently, Ishmael, I beg; hear me out. I know what you were about to say. You were about to talk of your plighted word, of fidelity, and of honor. But I think, Ishmael, that, if it is as I suppose, there would be more honor in frankly stating the case to Bee, and asking for the release that she would surely give you than there would be in marrying her while you love another. You should not offer her a divided love. Bee is worthy of a whole heart."
"Do I not know it?" broke forth Ishmael, in strong emotion. "Oh, do I not know it? And do I not give her my whole, unwavering, undivided heart? Mr. Middleton, look at me," said the young man, fixing his truthful, earnest, eloquent eyes upon that gentleman's face. "Look at me! It is true that I once cherished a boyish passion for Lady Vincent—unreasoning, ardent, vehement as such boyish passions are apt to be. But, sir, her marriage with Lord Vincent killed that passion quite. It was dead and buried, without the possibility of resurrection. It was impossible for me to love another man's wife. Every honorable principle, every delicate instinct of my nature forbade it. On her marriage day my boyish flame burned to ashes; and, sir, such ashes as are never rekindled again. Never, under any circumstances. It is true that I have felt the deepest sympathy for Lady Vincent in her sorrows; but not more, sir, than it is my nature to feel for any suffering woman; not more, sir, I assure you, than I felt for that poor, little middle-aged widow who was my first client; not more, scarcely so much, as I felt for Lady Hurstmonceux in her desertion. Oh, sir, the love that I gave to Bee is not the transient passion of a boy, it is the steadfast affection of a man. And since the blessed day of our betrothal my heart has known no shadow of turning from its fidelity to her. Sir, do you believe me?"