“No woman should be so coerced, sir; no man should wish her to be.”

“But I tell you it is for her good to be reunited to her husband.”

“Her own heart, taught by her own instincts and experiences, is the best judge of that.”

“Ishmael don’t be Quixotic:  if you do, you will never succeed in the legal profession.  In this case the law is on the father’s side, and you should be on the law’s.”

“The law is the minister of justice, and shall never in my hands become the accomplice of injustice.  The law may be on the father’s side; but that remains to be proved when both sides shall be heard; but it appears to me that justice and mercy are on the mother’s side.”

“That remains to be proved.  Come, boy, don’t be so mad as to refuse this golden opening to fame and fortune!  Pocket your fee and take up your brief.”

“Judge Merlin, I thank you from the depths of my heart for your great goodness in procuring this chance for me; and I beg that you will pardon me for what I am about to say—­but I cannot touch either fee or brief.  The case is a case of cruelty, sir, and I cannot have anything to do with it.  I cannot make my debut in a court of law against a poor woman,—­a poor mother,—­to tear from her the babes she is clasping to her bosom.”

“Ishmael, if those are the sentiments and principles under which you mean to act, you will never attain the fame to which your talents might otherwise lead you—­never!”

“No, never,” said Ishmael fervently; “never, if to reach it I have to step upon a woman’s heart!  No! by the sacred grave of my own dear mother, I never will!” And the face of Nora’s son glowed with an earnest, fervent, holy love.

“Be a poet, Ishmael, you will never be a lawyer.”

“Never—­if to be a lawyer I have to cease to be a man!  But it is as God wills.”

The ringing of the tea-bell broke up the conference, and they went down into the parlor, where, beside the family, they found Viscount Vincent.

And Ishmael Worth, the weaver’s son, had the honor of sitting down to tea with a live lord.

The viscount spent the evening, and retired late.

As Ishmael bade the family good-night, the judge said: 

“My young friend, consult your pillow.  I always do, when I can, before making any important decision.  Think over the matter well, my lad, and defer your final decision about the brief until you see Walsh to-morrow.”

“You are very kind to me, sir.  I will follow your advice, as far as I may do so,” replied Ishmael.

That night, lying upon his bed, Ishmael’s soul was assailed with temptation.  He knew that in accepting the brief offered to him, in such flattering terms, he should in the first place very much please his friend, Judge Merlin—­who, though he did not give his young assistant anything like a fair salary for his services, yet took almost a fatherly interest in his welfare; he knew also, in the second place, that he might—­nay, would—­open his way to a speedy success and a brilliant professional career, which would, in a reasonable space of time, place him in a position even to aspire to the hand of Claudia Merlin.  Oh, most beautiful of temptations that!  To refuse the brief, he knew, would be to displease Judge Merlin, and to defer his own professional success for an indefinite length of time.