Ishmael, deeply flushing.

Mr. Middleton kindly drew the boy's arm within his own, and walked him
away from the house down a shady avenue of elms, and when they had got
quite out of hearing of any chance listener, he said gravely:

"My boy, I have heard the facts from Walter, and I do not require any
explanation from you. I hold you entirely blameless in the affair,
Ishmael, and I can only express my deep regret that you should have
received an insult while under my roof. I trust, Ishmael, that time and
reflection will convince young Burghe of his great error, and that the
day may come when he himself will seek you to make a voluntary apology
for his exceeding rudeness."

Ishmael did not reply; his eyes were fixed upon the ground, and his very
forehead was crimson. Mr. Middleton saw all this, divined his thoughts,
and so gently continued:

"You will be troubled no more with Alfred Burghe or his weak brother;
both boys left this morning; Alfred goes to the Military Academy at West
Point; Ben to the Naval School at Annapolis; so you will be quite free
from annoyance by them."

Still Ishmael hung his head, and Mr. Middleton added:

"And now, my young friend, do not let the recollection of that
scapegrace's words trouble you in the slightest degree. Let me assure
you, that no one who knows you, and whose good opinion is worth having,
will ever esteem your personal merits less, upon account of--" Mr.
Middleton hesitated for a moment, and then said, very softly--"your
poor, unhappy mother."

Ishmael sprang aside, and groaned as if he had received a stab; and then
with a rush of emotion, and in an impassioned manner, he exclaimed:

"My poor, unhappy mother! Oh, sir, you have used the right words! She
was very poor and very unhappy! most unhappy; but not weak! not foolish!
not guilty! Oh, believe it, sir! believe it, Mr. Middleton! For if you
were to doubt it, I think my spirit would indeed be broken! My poor,
young mother, who went down to the grave when she was but little older
than her son is now, was a pure, good, honorable woman. She was, sir!
she was! and I will prove it to the world some day, if Heaven only lets
me live to do it! Say you believe it, Mr. Middleton! Oh, say you believe
it!"

"I do believe it, my boy," replied Mr. Middleton, entirely carried away
by the powerful magnetism of Ishmael's eager, earnest, impassioned
manner.

"Heaven reward you, sir," sighed the youth, subsiding into the modest
ca