"And no one else, Ishmael?"

"No one else in the world, my father. I myself will tell Uncle
Reuben. And in public, my father, we must be discreet in our
intercourse with each other. Forgive me if I speak in too
dictatorial a manner; I speak for lips that are dumb in death. I
speak as my dead mother's advocate," said Ishmael, with a strange
blending of meekness and firmness in his tone and manner.

"And her advocate shall be heard and heeded, hard as his mandate
seems. But, ah! I am an old and broken man, Ishmael. I had hoped, in
time, to claim you as my son, and solace my age in your bright
youth. I am grievously disappointed. Oh! would to Heaven I had taken
charge of you in your infancy, and then you would not disclaim me
now!" sighed Mr. Brudenell.

"I do not disclaim you, father. I only deprecate the publicity that
might wound my mother's memory. And you are not old and broken, my
father. How can you be--at forty-three? You are in the sunny summer
noon of your life. But you are harassed and ill in mind and body;
and you are very morbid and sensitive. You shun society, form no new
ties with your fellow-creatures, and brood over that old sad tragedy
long passed. Think no more of it, father; its wounds are long since
healed in every heart but yours; my mother has been in heaven these
many years; as long as I have been on earth; my birthday here was
her birthday there! Therefore, brood no more over that sad time; it
is forever past and gone. Think of your young love as much as you
please; but think of her in heaven. It is not well to think forever
of the Crucifixion and never of the Ascension; forever of the
martyrdom that was but for a moment, and never of the glory that is