“If he should wake up, you must call me, no matter what time of night it is, Katie,” said Miss Merlin, as she left the sick-chamber.

“Yes, miss,” answered Katie, who nevertheless made up her mind to use her own discretion in the matter of obedience to this order.

Claudia Merlin was not, as Ishmael was, of a religious disposition, yet nevertheless before she retired to bed she did kneel and pray for his restoration to life and health; for, somehow, the well-being of the peasant youth was very precious to the heiress.  Claudia could not sleep; she lay tumbling and tossing upon a restless and feverish couch.  The image of that mangled and bleeding youth as she first saw him on the river bank was ever before her.  The gaze of his intensely earnest eyes as he raised them to hers, when he inquired, “Are you safe?”—­and the deep smile of joy with which they closed again when she answered, “I am safe”—­haunted her memory and troubled her spirit.  Those looks, those tones, had made a revelation to Claudia!—­That the peasant boy presumed to love her!—­her!  Claudia Merlin, the heiress, angel-born, who scarcely deemed there was in all democratic America a fitting match for her!

During the excitement and terror of the day, while the extent of Ishmael’s injuries was still unknown and his life seemed in extreme danger, Claudia had not had leisure to receive the fact of Ishmael’s love, much less to reflect upon its consequences.  But now that all was known and suspense was over, now in the silence and solitude of her bed-chamber, the images and impressions of the day returned to her with all their revelations and tendencies, and filled the mind of Claudia with astonishment and consternation!  That Ishmael Worth should be capable of loving her, seemed to Miss Merlin as miraculous as it would be for Fido to be capable of talking to her!  And in the wonder of the affair she almost lost sight of its presumption!

But how should she deal with this presuming peasant boy, who had dared to love her, to risk his life to save hers, and to let the secret of his love escape him?

For a long time Claudia could not satisfactorily answer this question, and this was what kept her awake all night.  To neglect him, or to treat him with marked coldness, would be a cruel return for the sacrifice he had rendered her; it would be besides making the affair of too much importance; and finally, it would be “against the grain” of Claudia’s own heart; for in a queenly way she loved this Ishmael very dearly indeed; much more dearly than she loved Fido, or any four-footed pet she possessed; and if he had happened to have been killed in her service, Claudia would have abandoned herself to grief for weeks afterwards, and she would have had a headstone recording his heroism placed over his grave.

After wearying herself out with conjectures as to what would be the becoming line of conduct in a young princess who should discover that a brave peasant had fallen in love with her, Claudia at length determined to ignore the fact that had come to her knowledge and act just as if she had never discovered or even suspected its existence.