The judge laid down his knife and fork and gazed at his daughter, muttering: 

“That is unfortunate; very unfortunate!  No, he will never get over that reproach; so far, you are right, Claudia.”

“Oh, no, I am wrong; basely wrong!  He saved my life, and I speak these words of him, as if he were answerable for the sins of others—­as if his great misfortune was his crime!  Poor Ishmael!  Poor, noble-hearted boy!  He saved my life, papa, at the price of deadly peril and terrible suffering to himself.  Oh, reward him well, lavishly, munificently; but send him away!  I cannot bear his presence here!” exclaimed the excited girl.

“Claudia, it is natural that you should be shocked at hearing such a piece of news; which, true or false, certainly ought never to have been brought to your ear.  But, my dear, there is no need of all this excitement on your part.  I do not understand its excess.  The youth is a good, intelligent, well-mannered boy, when all is said.  Of course he can never attain the position of a gentleman; but that is no reason why he should be utterly cast out.  And as to sending him away, now, there are several reasons why I cannot do that:  In the first place, he is not able to go; in the second, I need his pen; in the third, I have made an engagement with him which I will not break.  As for the rest, Claudia, you need not be troubled with a sight of him; I will take care that he does not intrude upon your presence,” said the judge, as he arose from the table.

Claudia threw on her garden hat and hurried out of the house to bury herself in the shadows of the forest.  That day she had learned, from the gossip of old Mrs. Jones, who was on a visit to a married daughter in the neighborhood, Ishmael’s real history, or what was supposed to be his real history.  She had struggled for composure all day long, and only utterly lost her self-possession in the conversation with her father at the dinner-table.  Now she sought the depths of the forest, because she could not bear the sight of a human face.  Her whole nature was divided and at war with itself.  All that was best in Claudia Merlin’s heart and mind was powerfully and constantly attracted by the moral and intellectual excellence of Ishmael Worth; but all the prejudices of her rank and education were revolted by the circumstances attending his birth, and were up in arms against the emotions of her better nature.

In what consists the power of the quiet forest shades to calm fierce human passions?  I know not; but it is certain that, after walking two or three hours through their depths communing with her own spirit, Claudia Merlin returned home in a better mood to meet her father at the tea-table.

“Papa,” she said, as she seated herself at the head of the table and made tea, “you need not trouble yourself to keep Ishmael out of my way.  Dreadful as this discovery is, he is not to blame, poor boy.  And I think we had better not make any change in our treatment of him; he would be wounded by our coldness; he would not understand it and we could not explain.  Besides, the six weeks will soon be over, and then we shall be done with him.”