“Hey, dey! what’s the matter?” asked the judge, taking his pipe from his mouth and staring at his daughter.

“You sent for me, papa!  I hope it is to take me in to see that poor, half-crushed boy!  What does old Katie mean by forever denying me entrance?  It is not every day that a poor lad risks his life and gets himself crushed nearly to death in my service, that I should be made to appear to neglect him in this way!  What must the boy think of me?  What does old Katie mean, I ask?”

“If your nature requires a vehement expression, of course I am not the one to repress it!  Still, in my opinion, vehemency is unworthy of a rational being, at all times, and especially when, as now, there is not the slightest occasion for it.  You have not willfully neglected the young man; it is not of the least consequence whether he thinks you have, or not; and, finally, Katie means to obey the doctor’s orders, which are to keep every living soul out of the sick-room to secure the patient needful repose.  I believe I have answered you, Miss Merlin,” replied the judge, smiling and coolly replacing his pipe in his mouth.

“Papa, what a disagreeable wet blanket you are, to be sure!”

“It is my nature to be so, my dear; and I am just what you need to dampen the fire of your temperament.”

“Are those the orders of the doctor?”

“What, wet blankets for you?”

“No; but that everybody must be excluded from Ishmael’s room?”

“Yes; his most peremptory orders, including even me for the present.”

“Then I suppose they must be submitted to?”

“For the present, certainly.”

Claudia shrugged her shoulders with an impatient gesture, and then said: 

“You sent for me, papa.  Was it for anything particular?”

“Yes; to question you.  Have you been long acquainted with this Ishmael Gray?”

“Ishmael Worth, papa!  Yes, I have known him well ever since you placed me with my Aunt Middleton,” replied Claudia, throwing herself into a chair.

The judge was slowly walking up and down the library, and he continued his walk as he conversed with his daughter.

“Who is this Ishmael Worth, then?”

“You know, papa; the nephew of Reuben Gray, or rather of his wife; but it is the same thing.”

“I know he is the nephew of Reuben Gray; but that explains nothing!  Gray is a rude, ignorant, though well-meaning boor; but this lad is a refined, graceful, and cultivated young man.”

Claudia made no comment upon this.

“Now, if you have known him so many years, you ought to be able to explain this inconsistency.  One does not expect to find nightingales in crows’ nests,” said the judge.

Still Miss Merlin was silent.

“Why don’t you speak, my dear?”

Claudia blushed over her face, neck, and bosom as she answered: 

“Papa, what shall I say?  You force me to remember things I would like to forget.  Socially, Ishmael Worth was born the lowest of all the low.  Naturally, he was endowed with the highest moral and intellectual gifts.  He is in a great measure self-educated.  In worldly position he is beneath our feet:  in wisdom and goodness he is far, far above our heads.  He is one of nature’s princes, but one of society’s outcasts.”