he darkness.

"And so pure and proud was she, that the discovery broke her heart!"

Ishmael threw himself once more upon the grave, and clasping the mound
in his arms, burst into a passionate flood of tears, and wept long and
bitterly. And, after a while, through this shower of tears, came forth
in gusty sobs these words:

"Oh, mother! Oh, poor, young, wronged, and broken-hearted mother! sleep
in peace; for your son lives to vindicate you. Yes, if he has been
spared, it was for this purpose--to honor, to vindicate, to avenge you!"
And after these words his voice was again lost and drowned in tears and
sobs.

Hannah kneeled down beside him, took his hand, and tried to raise him,
saying:

"Ishmael, my love, get up, dear! There was no wrong done, no crime
committed, nothing to avenge. Your father was as guiltless as your
mother, my boy; there was no sin; nothing from first to last but great
misfortune. Come into the house, my Ishmael, and I will tell you all
about it."

"Yes; tell me all! tell me every particular; have no more concealments
from me!" cried Ishmael, rising to follow his aunt.

"I will not; but oh, my boy! gladly would I have kept the sorrowful
story concealed from you forever, but that I know from what I have seen
of you to-night, that some rude tongue has told you of your
misfortune--and told you wrong besides!" said Hannah, as they re-entered
the hut.

They sat down beside the small wood fire that the chill night made not
unwelcome, even in August. Hannah sat in her old arm-chair, and Ishmael
on the three-legged stool at her feet, with his head in her lap. And
there, with her hand caressing his light brown hair, Hannah told him the
story of his mother's love and suffering and death.

At some parts of her story his tears gushed forth in floods, and his
sobs shook his whole frame. Then Hannah would be forced to pause in her
narrative, until he had regained composure enough to listen to the
sequel.

Hannah told him all; every particular with which the reader is already
acquainted; suppressing nothing but the name of his miserable father.

At the close of the sad story both remained silent for some time; the
deathly stillness of the room broken only by Ishmael's deep sighs. At
last, however, he spoke:

"Aunt Hannah, still you have not told me the name of him my poor mother
loved so fatally."

"Ishmael, I have told you that I cannot; and now I will tell you why I
cannot."

And then Hannah re