FATHER AND SON.

For though thou work'st my mother ill
I feel thou art my father still!
--_Byron._

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And no one would be first to own,
Let fate and courage still conceal,
When truth could bring reproach alone.
--_Milnes._



Ishmael had been violently shaken. It was with much effort that he
controlled his own emotions in order to administer consolation to
one who was suffering even more than he himself was, because that
suffering was blended with a morbid remorse.

"Father," he said, reaching forth his hand to the stricken man; but
his voice failed him.

Herman Brudenell looked up; an expression of earnest love chasing
away the sorrow from his face, as he said:

"Father? Ah, what a dear name! You call me thus, Ishmael? Me, who
worked your mother so much woe?"

"Father, it was your great misfortune, not your fault; she said it
on her death-bed, and the words of the dying are sacred," said