Ishmael | Page 2

END OF THE
SECRET MARRIAGE IX. THE VICTIM X. THE RIVALS XI. THE
MARTYRS OF LOVE XII. HERMAN'S STORY XIII. THE FLIGHT
OF HERMAN XIV. OVER NORA'S GRAVE XV. NORA'S SON XVI.
THE FORSAKEN WIFE XVII. THE COUNTESS AND THE CHILD
XVIII. BERENICE XIX. NOBODY'S SON XX. NEWS FROM
HERMAN XXI. ISHMAEL'S ADVENTURE XXII. ISHMAEL
GAINS HIS FIRST VERDICT XXIII. ISHMAEL'S PROGRESS
XXIV. CLAUDIA TO THE RESCUE XXV. A TURNING POINT IN
ISHMAEL'S LIFE XXVI. THE FIRE AT BRUDENELL HALL
XXVII. ISHMAEL'S FIRST STEP ON THE LADDER XXVIII.
ISHMAEL AND CLAUDIA XXIX. YOUNG LOVE XXX. ISHMAEL
AND CLAUDIA XXXI. ISHMAEL HEARS A SECRET FROM AN
ENEMY XXXII. AT HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE XXXIII. LOVE AND
GENIUS XXXIV. UNDER THE OLD ELM TREE XXXV. THE
DREAM AND THE AWAKENING XXXVI. DARKNESS XXXVII.
THE NEW HOME XXXVIII. ISHMAEL'S STRUGGLES XXXIX.
ISHMAEL IN TANGLEWOOD XL. THE LIBRARY XLI. CLAUDIA
XLII. ISHMAEL AT TANGLEWOOD XLIII. THE HEIRESS XLIV.
CLAUDIA'S PERPLEXITIES XLV. THE INTERVIEW XLVI. NEW
LIFE XLVII. RUSHY SHORE XLVIII. ONWARD XLIX. STILL
ONWARD L. CLAUDIA'S CITY HOME LI. HEIRESS AND
BEAUTY LII. AN EVENING AT THE PRESIDENT'S LIII. THE
VISCOUNT VINCENT LIV. ISHMAEL AT THE BALL LV. A STEP
HIGHER LVI. TRIAL AND TRIUMPH LVII. THE YOUNG
CHAMPION LVIII. HERMAN BRUDENELL LIX. FIRST

MEETING OF FATHER AND SON LX. HERMAN AND HANNAH
LXI. ENVY LXII. FOILED MALICE LXIII. THE BRIDE ELECT
LXIV. CLAUDIA'S WOE LXV. ISHMAEL'S WOE LXVI. THE
MARRIAGE MORNING LXVII. BEE'S HANDKERCHIEF

ISHMAEL
OR,
"IN THE DEPTHS."

CHAPTER I
.
THE SISTERS.
But if thou wilt be constant then, And faithful of thy word, I'll make
thee glorious by my pen And famous by my sword. I'll serve thee in
such noble ways Was never heard before; I'll crown and deck thee all
with bays, And love thee evermore.
--James Graham.
"Well, if there be any truth in the old adage, young Herman Brudenell
will have a prosperous life; for really this is a lovely day for the middle
of April--the sky is just as sunny and the air as warm as if it were
June," said Hannah Worth, looking out from the door of her hut upon a
scene as beautiful as ever shone beneath the splendid radiance of an
early spring morning.
"And what is that old adage you talk of, Hannah?" inquired her younger
sister, who stood braiding the locks of her long black hair before the
cracked looking-glass that hung above the rickety chest of drawers.
"Why, la, Nora, don't you know? The adage is as old as the hills and as
true as the heavens, and it is this, that a man's twenty-first birthday is an
index to his after life:--if it be clear, he will be fortunate; if cloudy,
unfortunate."
"Then I should say that young Mr. Brudenell's fortune will be a
splendid one; for the sun is dazzling!" said Nora, as she wound the long
sable plait of hair around her head in the form of a natural coronet, and
secured the end behind with--a thorn! "And, now, how do I look? Aint
you proud of me?" she archly inquired, turning with "a smile of

conscious beauty born" to the inspection of her elder sister.
That sister might well have answered in the affirmative had she
considered personal beauty a merit of high order; for few palaces in this
world could boast a princess so superbly beautiful as this peasant girl
that this poor hut contained. Beneath those rich sable tresses was a high
broad forehead as white as snow; slender black eyebrows so well
defined and so perfectly arched that they gave a singularly open and
elevated character to the whole countenance; large dark gray eyes, full
of light, softened by long, sweeping black lashes; a small, straight nose;
oval, blooming cheeks; plump, ruddy lips that, slightly parted, revealed
glimpses of the little pearly teeth within; a well-turned chin; a face with
this peculiarity, that when she was pleased it was her eyes that smiled
and not her lips; a face, in short, full of intelligence and feeling that
might become thought and passion. Her form was noble--being tall,
finely proportioned, and richly developed.
Her beauty owed nothing to her toilet--her only decoration was the
coronet of her own rich black hair; her only hair pin was a thorn; her
dress indeed was a masterpiece of domestic manufacture,--the cotton
from which it was made having been carded, spun, woven, and dyed by
Miss Hannah's own busy hands; but as it was only a coarse blue fabric,
after all, it would not be considered highly ornamental; it was new and
clean, however, and Nora was well pleased with it, as with playful
impatience she repeated her question:
"Say! aint you proud of me now?"
"No," replied the elder sister, with assumed gravity; "I am proud