and about four hundred spectators
crowded along the walls, some sitting, some standing, some reclining,
and some grouped. She passed on, greeting courteously those with whom
she had a speaking acquaintance, smiling kindly upon others, and
observing all. In this way she reached the group of which Claudia Merlin
and Lord Vincent formed the center. A cursory glance showed her that one
for whom she looked was not among them. With a bow and a smile to the
group she turned away and went up to where Judge Merlin stood for the
moment alone.

"Uncle," she said, in a tone slightly reproachful, "is not Ishmael to be
with us this evening?"

"My dear, I invited him to join us, but he excused himself."

"Of course, naturally he would do so at first, thinking doubtless that
you asked him as a mere matter of form. Uncle, considering his position,
you ought to have pressed him to come. You ought not to have permitted
him to excuse himself, if you really were in earnest with your
invitation. Were you in earnest, sir?"

"Why, of course I was, my dear! Why shouldn't I have been? I should have
been really glad to see the young man here enjoying himself this
evening."

"Have I your authority for saying so much to Ishmael, even now, uncle?"
inquired Bee eagerly.

"Certainly, my love. Go and oust him from his den. Bring him down here,
if you like--and if you can," said the judge cheerily.

Bee left him, glided like a spirit through the crowd, passed from the
room and went upstairs, flight after flight, until she reached the third
floor, and rapped at Ishmael's door.

"Come in," said the rich, deep, sweet voice--always sweet in its tones,
whether addressing man, woman, or child--human being or bumb brute;
"come in."

Bee entered the little chamber, so dark after the lighted rooms below.

In the recess of the dormer window, at a small table lighted by one
candle, sat Ishmael, bending over an open volume. His cheek was pale,
his expression weary. He looked up, and recognizing Bee, arose with a
smile to meet her.

"How dark you are up here, all alone, Ishmael," she said, coming
forward.

Ishmael snuffed his candle, picked the wick, and sat it up on his pile
of books that it might give a better light, and then turned again
smilingly towards Bee, offered her a chair and stood as if waiting her
command.

"What are you doing up here alone, Ishmael?" she inquired, with her hand
upon the back of the chair that she omitted to take.

"