Then he walked forth into the starlit garden, murmuring to himself: 

“By a woman came sin and death into the world, and by a woman came redemption and salvation.  Oh, Claudia, my Eve, farewell! farewell!  And Bee, my Mary, hail!”

The holy stars no longer looked down reproachfully upon him; the harmless little insect-choristers no longer mocked him; love and forgiveness beamed down from the pure light of the first, and cheering hope sounded in the gleeful songs of the last.

Ishmael walked up the gravel-walk between the shrubbery and the house.  Once, when his face was towards the house, he looked up at Bee’s back window.  It was open, and he saw a white, shadowy figure just within it.

Was it Bee?

His heart assured him that it was; and that anxiety for him had kept her there awake and watching.

As he drew near the house, quite uncertain as to how he should get in, he saw that the shadowy, white figure disappeared from the window; and when he went up to the back door, with the intention of rapping loudly until he should wake up the servants and gain admission, his purpose was forestalled by the door being softly opened by Bee, who stood with a shaded taper behind it.

“Oh, Bee!”

“Oh, Ishmael!”

Both spoke at once, and in a tone of irrepressible emotion.

“Come in, Ishmael,” she next said kindly.

“You know, Bee?” he asked sadly, as he entered.

“Yes, Ishmael!  Forgive me for knowing, for it prevented others finding out.  And your secret could not rest safer, or with a truer heart than mine.”

“I know it, dear Bee! dear sister, I know it.  And Bee, listen!  That glass of brandy was only the third of any sort of spirituous liquor that I ever tasted in my life.  And I solemnly swear in the presence of Heaven and before you that it shall be the very last!  Never, no, never, even as a medicine, will I place the fatal poison to my lips again.”

“I believe you, Ishmael.  And I am very happy.  Thank God!” she said, giving him her hand.

“Dear Bee!  Holy angel!  I am scarcely worthy to touch it,” he said, bowing reverently over that little white hand.

“’There shall be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance.’  Good-night, Ishmael!” said Bee sweetly, as she put the taper in his hand and glided like a spirit from his presence.

She was soon sleeping beside her baby sister.

And Ishmael went upstairs to bed.  And the troubled night closed in peace.

The further career of Ishmael, together with the after fate of all the characters mentioned in this work, will be found in the sequel to and final conclusion of this volume, entitled, “Self-Raised; or, From the Depths.”