In the breakfast parlor he found Bee, the busy little house-keeper,
fluttering softly around the breakfast table, and adding a few
finishing touches to its simple elegance.

Very fair, fresh, and blooming looked Bee in her pale golden
ringlets and her pretty morning dress of white muslin with blue
ribbons. There was no one else in the room; but Bee advanced and
held out her hand to him.

He took her hand, and retaining it in his own for a moment, said:

"Oh, Bee! yesterday, last night!"

"'Upbraid not the past; it comes not back again.' Ishmael! bury it;
forget it; and press onward!" replied Bee sweetly and solemnly.

He raised her hand with the impulse to carry it to his lips; but
refraining, bowed his forehead over it instead, and then gently
released it. For Ishmael's affection for Bee was reverential. To him
she appeared saintly, Madonna-like, almost angelic.

"Let me make breakfast for you at once, Ishmael. It is not of the
least use to wait for the others. Mamma, I know, is not awake yet,
and none of the gentlemen have rung for their hot water."

"And you, Bee; you will also breakfast now?"

"Certainly."