“What in the name of goodness set you on to do such a wild thing?  And all for old Burghe’s sons!  Pray, what were they to you that you should rush through burning flames for them?”

“Nothing, Aunt Hannah; only I felt quite sure that Israel Putnam or Francis Marion would have done just as I did, and so—­”

“Plague take Francis Putnam and Israel Marion, and also Patrick Handcock, and the whole lot of ’em, I say!  Who are they that you should run your head into the fire for them?  They wouldn’t do it for you, that I know,” exclaimed Hannah.

“Aunt Hannah,” said Ishmael pathetically, “you have got their names all wrong, and you always do!  Now, if you would only take my book and read it while you are resting in your chair, you would soon learn all their names, and—­”

“I’ll take the book and throw it into the fire the very first time I lay my hands on it!  The fetched book will be your ruin yet!” exclaimed Hannah, in a rage.

“Now, Miss Worth,” interposed the professor, “if you destroy that boy’s book, I’ll never do another odd job for you as long as ever I live.”

“Whist! professor,” whispered Ishmael.  “You don’t know my Aunt Hannah as well as I do.  Her bark is a deal worse than her bite!  If you only knew how many times she has threatened to ‘shake the life out of’ me, and to ‘be the death of me’, and to ‘flay’ me ‘alive,’ you would know the value of her words.”

“Well, young Ishmael, you are the best judge of that matter, at least.  And now are you ready?  For, indeed, we haven’t any more time to spare.  We ought to have been at the Hall before this.”

“Why, professor, I have been ready and waiting for the last ten minutes.”

“Come along, then.  And now, Miss Hannah, you take a well-wisher’s advice and don’t scold young Ishmael any more about last night’s adventur’.  He has done a brave act, and he has saved the commodore’s sons without coming to any harm by it.  And, if he hasn’t made his everlasting fortun’, he has done himself a great deal of credit and made some very powerful friends.  And that I tell you!  You wait and see!” said the professor, as he left the hut, followed by Ishmael.

The morning was clear and bright after the rain.  As they emerged into the open air Ishmael naturally raised his eyes and threw a glance across the valley to Brudenell Heights.  The main building was standing intact, though darkened; and a smoke, small in volume but dense black in hue, was rising from the ruins of the burnt wing.

Ishmael had only time to observe this before they descended the narrow path that led through the wooded valley.  They walked on in perfect silence until the professor, noticing the unusual taciturnity of his companion, said: 

“What is the matter with you, young Ishmael?  You haven’t opened your mouth since we left the hut.”

“Oh, professor, I am thinking of Aunt Hannah.  It is awful to hear her rail about the great heroes as she does.  It is flat blasphemy,” replied the boy solemnly.