Why did Ishmael’s heart bound in his bosom, and every pulse throb?

She stood within the open doorway!  How lovely she looked, with her soft, white muslin morning dress floating freely around her graceful form, and her glittering jet black ringlets shading her snowy forehead, shadowy eyes, and damask cheeks!

She closed the door as softly as she had opened it, and advanced into the room.

Old Katie arose from some obscure corner and placed a chair for her near the head of Ishmael’s bed on his right side.

Claudia sank gently into this seat and turned her face towards Ishmael, and attempted to speak; but a sudden, hysterical rising in her throat choked her voice.

Her eyes had taken in all at a glance!—­the splintered leg, the bandaged arm, the plastered chest, the ashen complexion, the sunken cheeks and the hollow eyes of the poor youth; and utterance failed her!

But Ishmael gently and respectfully pressed the hand she had given him, and smiled as he said: 

“It is very kind of you to come and see me, Miss Merlin.  I thank you earnestly.”  For, however strong Ishmael’s emotions might have been, he possessed the self-controlling power of an exalted nature.

“Oh, Ishmael!” was all that Claudia found ability to say; her voice was choked, her bosom heaving, her face pallid.

“Pray, pray, do not disturb yourself, Miss Merlin; indeed I am doing very well,” said the youth, smiling.  The next instant he turned away his face; it was to conceal a spasm of agony that suddenly sharpened all his features, blanched his lips, and forced the cold sweat out on his brow.  But Claudia had seen it.

“Oh, I fear you suffer very much,” she said.

The spasm had passed as quickly as it came.  He turned to her his smiling eyes.

“I fear you suffer very, very much,” she repeated, looking at him.

“Oh, no, not much; see how soon the pain passed away.”

“Ah! but it was so severe while it lasted!  I saw that it caught your breath away!  I saw it, though you tried to hide it!  Ah! you do suffer, Ishmael! and for me! me,” she cried, forgetting her pride in the excess of her sympathy.

The smile in Ishmael’s dark blue eyes deepened to ineffable tenderness and beauty as he answered softly: 

“It is very, very sweet to suffer for—­one we esteem and honor.”

“I am not worth an hour of your pain!” exclaimed Claudia, with something very like self-reproach.

“Oh, Miss Merlin, if you knew how little I should value my life in comparison with your safety.”  Ishmael paused; for he felt that perhaps he was going too far.

“I think that you have well proved how ready you are to sacrifice your life for the preservation, not only of your friends, but of your very foes!  I have not forgotten your rescue of Alf and Ben Burghe,” said the heiress emphatically, yet a little coldly, as if, while anxious to give him the fullest credit and the greatest honor for courage, generosity, and magnanimity, she was desirous to disclaim any personal interest he might feel for herself.