“There is a difference, Miss Merlin,” said Ishmael, with gentle dignity.

“Oh, I suppose there is; one would rather risk one’s life for a friend than for an enemy,” replied Claudia icily.

“I have displeased you, Miss Merlin; I am very sorry for it.  Pray, forgive me,” said Ishmael, with a certain suave and stately courtesy, for which the youth was beginning to be noted.

“Oh, you have not displeased me, Ishmael!  How could you, you who have just risked and almost sacrificed your life to save mine!  No, you have not displeased; but you have surprised me!  I would not have had you run any risk for me, Ishmael, that you would not have run for the humblest negro on my father’s plantation; that is all.”

“Miss Merlin, I would have run any risk to save anyone at need; but I might not have borne the after consequences in all cases with equal patience—­equal pleasure.  Ah, Miss Merlin, forgive me, if I am now happy in my pain! forgive me this presumption, for it is the only question at issue between us,” said the youth, with a pleading glance.

“Oh, Ishmael, let us not talk any more about me!  Talk of yourself.  Tell me how you are, and where you feel pain.”

“Nowhere much, Miss Merlin.”

“Papa told me that two of your limbs were broken and your chest injured, and now I see all that for myself.”

“My injuries are doing very well.  My broken bones are knitting together again as fast as they possibly can, my physician says.”

“But that is a very painful process I fear,” said Claudia compassionately.

“Indeed, no; I do not find it so.”

“Ah! your face shows what you endure.  It is your chest, then, that hurts you?”

“My chest is healing very rapidly.  Do not distress your kind heart, Miss Merlin; indeed, I am doing very well.”

“You are very patient, and therefore you will do well, if you are not doing so now.  Ishmael, now that I am permitted to visit you, I shall come every day.  But they have limited me to fifteen minutes’ stay this morning, and my time is up.  Good-morning, Ishmael.”

“Good-morning, Miss Merlin.  May the Lord bless you,” said Ishmael, respectfully pressing the hand she gave him.

“I will come again to-morrow; and then if you continue to grow better, I may be allowed to remain with you for half an hour,” she said, rising.

“Thank you, Miss Merlin; I shall try to grow better; you have given me a great incentive to improvement.”

Claudia’s face grew grave again.  She bowed coldly and left the room.

As soon as the door had closed behind her Ishmael’s long-strained nerves became relaxed, and his countenance changed again in one of those awful spasms of pain to which he was now so subject.  The paroxysm, kept off by force of will, for Claudia’s sake, during her stay, now took its revenge by holding the victim longer in its grasp.  A minute or two of mortal agony and then is was past, and the patient was relieved.