"Heaven pardon him; I scarcely can," said Ishmael to himself.
"But is it indeed true? Do you really love me best of all? And can you be satisfied with me, with me?"
"'Satisfied' with you, dearest? Well, I suppose that is the best word after all. Yes, dearest; yes, perfectly, eternally satisfied with you, Bee," he said, drawing her to his heart. And this time she did not withdraw herself from his embrace; but, with a soft sob of joy, she dropped her head upon his bosom.
"You believe my love now, Bee?" he stooped and whispered.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, Ishmael; and I am so happy," she murmured.
"Now then listen to me, dearest, for I have something to say to you. Do you remember, love, that day you came to me in the arbor? I was sleeping the heavy sleep of inebriation; and you wept over me and veiled my humbled head with your own dear handkerchief, and glided away as softly as you came. Do you remember, dear, that night you sat up at your window, watching and waiting to let me in with your own dear hand, that none should witness my humiliation? Bee, apparently that was a compassionate sister, trying to save from obloquy an earing brother. But really, Bee, as the truth stands in the spiritual world, it is this: A sinner was sleeping upon one of the foulest gulfs in the depths of perdition. A single turn in his sleep and he would have been eternally lost; but an angel came from Heaven, and with her gentle hand softly aroused him and drew him out of danger. Bee, I was that sinner on the brink of eternal woe, and you that angel from Heaven who saved him. Bee, from that day I knew that God had sent you to be my guardian spirit through this world. And when I forget that day, Bee, may the Lord forget me. And when I cease to adore you for it, Bee, may the Lord cease to love me. But as love of Heaven is sure, Bee, so is my love for you. And both are eternal. Oh, love, bride, wife; hear me; believe me; love me!"
"Oh, I do, I do, Ishmael, and I am so happy. And the very spring of my happiness in the thought that I content you."
"With an infinite content, Bee."
"And now let us go to my dear mother; she will be so glad; she loves you so much, you know, Ishmael," said Bee, gently releasing herself—and looking up, her fair face now rosy with delicate bloom and the tones of her voice thrilling with subdued joy.
Ishmael arose and gave her his arm, and they passed out of the drawing room and entered the morning room, where Mrs. Middleton sat among her younger children.