The Heiress

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
From yon blue heavens above us bent,
The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent,
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

--Tennyson.

Almost any other youth than Ishmael Worth would have died of such
injuries as he had sustained. But owing to that indestructible vitality
and irrepressible elasticity of organization which had carried him
safely through the deadly perils of his miserable infancy, he survived.

About the fourth day of his illness the irritative fever of his wounds
having been subdued, Judge Merlin was admitted to see and converse with
him.

Up to this morning the judge had thought of the victim only as the
overseer's nephew, a poor, laboring youth about the estate, who had got
hurt in doing his duty and stopping Miss Merlin's runaway horses; and he
supposed that he, Judge Merlin, had done his part in simply taking the
suffering youth into his own house and having him properly attended to.
And now the judge went to the patient with the intention of praising his
courage and offering him some proper reward for his services--as, for
instance, a permanent situation to work on the estate for good wages.

And so Judge Merlin entered the sick-chamber, which was no longer
darkened, but had all the windows open to admit the light and air.

He took a chair and seated himself by the bedside of the patient, and
for the first time took a good look at him.