"You will keep it; you will make the name of Worth illustrious in
the annals of the country, Ishmael," said Mr. Brudenell.

There was a pause for a little while, at the end of which the latter
said:

"There is another way in which I may be able to accomplish my
purpose, Ishmael. Without proclaiming you as my son, and risking the
reproach you dread for your dear mother's memory, I might adopt you
as my son, and appoint you as my heir. Will you make me happy by
consenting to that measure, Ishmael?" inquired the father, in a
persuasive tone.

"Dear sir, I cannot. Oh, do not think that I am insensible to all
your kindness, for indeed I am not! I thank you; I love you; and I
deeply sympathize with you in your disappointment; but--"

"But what, my son? what is the reason you cannot agree to this last
proposal?" asked Mr. Brudenell, in a voice quivering with emotion.

"A strong spirit of independence, the growth of years of lonely
struggle with the world, possesses and inspires me. I could not for
an hour endure patronage or dependence, come they from where or how
they might. It is the law of my life," said Ishmael firmly, but
affectionately.

"It is a noble law, and yours has been a noble life, my son. But--is
there nothing, nothing I can do for you to prove my affection, and
to ease my heart, Ishmael?"