Mrs. Gray was shown at once to the convalescent’s room, where Ishmael, whose very breath was pure truth, being asked, told her all about his injuries.

Poor Hannah wept tears of retrospective pity; but did not in her inmost heart blame Gray for the “pious fraud” he had practiced with the view of saving her own feelings at a critical time.  She would have had Ishmael conveyed immediately to Woodside, that she might nurse him herself; but neither the doctor, the judge, nor the heiress would consent to his removal; and so Hannah had to submit to their will and leave her nephew where he was.  But she consoled herself by walking over every afternoon to see Ishmael.

Claudia usually spent several hours of the forenoon in Ishmael’s company.  He was still very weak, pale, and thin.  His arm was in a sling, and as it was his right arm, as well as his right leg that had been broken, he could not use a crutch; so that he was confined all day to the sofa or the easy-chair, in which his nurse would place him in the morning.

Claudia devoted herself to his amusement with all a sister’s care.  She read to him; sung to him, accompanying her song with the guitar; and she played chess—­Ishmael using his left hand to move the pieces.

Claudia knew that this gifted boy worshiped her with a passionate love that was growing deeper, stronger, and more ardent every day.  She knew that probably his peace of mind would be utterly wrecked by his fatal passion.  She knew all this, and yet she would not withdraw herself, either suddenly or gradually.  The adoration of this young, pure, exalted soul was an intoxicating incense that had become a daily habit and necessity to the heiress.  But she tacitly required it to be a silent offering.  So long as her lover worshiped her only with his eyes, tones, and manners, she was satisfied, gracious, and cordial; but the instant he was betrayed into any words of admiration or interest in her, she grew cold and haughty, she chilled and repelled him.

And yet she did not mean to trifle with his affections or destroy his peace; but—­it was very dull in the country, and Claudia had nothing else to occupy and interest her mind and heart.  Besides, she really did appreciate and admire the wonderfully endowed peasant boy as much as she possibly could in the case of one so immeasurably far beneath her in rank.  And she really did take more pride and delight in the society of Ishmael than in that of any other human being she had ever met.  And yet, had it been possible that Ishmael should have been acknowledged by his father and invested with the name, arms, and estate of Brudenell, Claudia Merlin, in her present mood of mind, would have died and seen him die, before she would have given her hand to one upon whose birth a single shade of reproach was even suspected to rest.