The Harvest of Years Part 24

"Well, come in, and we'll find out what she means, if we can."

He walked solemnly along to her bedside, and stood as if amazed.

"Peter," said she, "you know me; I am Mary Harris, and you lived with Mr. Charles Sumner--do say you know me. You said you would deny your master, and you did it," and she held her hands to him.

He reached forth his own and took the jewelled fingers tenderly in his dark palm as if half afraid; then the tears came, forcing their way, and with an effort he said:

"Oh! oh! honey chile--can't be pos'ble--what's done happin to ye, and whar was ye gwine?"

"Never mind, Peter, but do you remember the man who painted beautiful pictures, and stopped awhile with your master's brother?"

"Sartin, I does."

"William Bentley he said was his name, but it was Benton; he told us a story."

"De great Lord, Molly chile, you's foun' him, sure--de debbil's got a hold on dat man, an'--"

But I looked a warning, and he waited.

"You remember him then, Peter; he had a light moustache, a pleasing mouth--a very nice young man we thought him to be."

"Yas, yas, dar's whar de mistake come in, wit dat 'ar mustaff," said Matthias dreamily.

"What mistake?" she said.

"Oh! de good Lord bress you, honey, what does you want of dis man?"

"I want to tell him something, and I heard he was here, and now will you find him for me?"

"I will, Miss Molly, 'ef I dies dead for it--de Lord help us."

"Do you think you can?"

"I knows dat ar to be a fack."

"Oh, Peter! I am glad; where is he?"

Poor Matthias looked at me, and I said, "Now, Miss Harris, you must not talk anymore, and I will help Matthias, for I think I know where this man is."

She shut her eyes and sank back among her pillows, looking tired and pale--the knowledge that this destroyer of her hopes was so near was, though looked for and expected, more than she could really bear.

Mrs. Goodwin left the room, motioning to Matthias to follow, and I sat quietly thinking of what to do, when she opened her eyes and said to me:

"I have written to Mrs. Chadwick, and also to mother, and she will send mother's letter from Boston. I cannot write to her of this; it would worry her so; and now, as I can see Wilmur and say to him what I desire, I shall leave you."

"It will kill you to see him."

"You are mistaken. I know I look frail, but I can endure much, and I do not love him any more though he was my Mabel's father. I want him to go to his poor wife and do right if he can. She loves him and is deluded into believing the strangest things. Robberies and fires and anything he thinks of are an excuse for not sending her money."

"Oh! he needs hanging," I said.

"No, no, Miss Minot; if he is unfit for our society he certainly would find n.o.body to love him there; I am not seeking revenge, though his punishment is sure enough. In two days more I shall be strong enough to see him. Oh, I do hope Peter will find him!"

She needed rest, and I said:

"Now it is best for me to go, and when I come again I would like to bring a beautiful friend."

"Oh, yes," she said, "and do come to-morrow!"

She bade me a reluctant "Good bye," and I told Matthias, I wanted him to walk home with me.

My walk homeward with Matthias gave me the needed opportunity to talk with him, where naught save the air wandering off to the hills could hear us. I told him of the conversation which I had overheard, and also that I proposed to take the burden on my own shoulders of revealing to Miss Harris the fact of Mr. Benton being with us. "For," I said, "Matthias, it will hardly be safe for you to bear all this. He believes, I think, that you have helped Miss Harris to find him, and has been looking out for trouble since you came to us, for he warned both Louis and myself, and told us not to trust you. He did not, of course, say he knew you; that would not have done at all. But I will do all she asks, then your poor old shoulders will be relieved a little."

"Jes as you say, Miss Emly, pears like its queer nuf an' all happin too, an' ef he had worn just dat mustaff, without de whiskers, I'd know him yere straight off. I said long nuf, he set me on de tinkin groun--um--um--here come Mas'r Louis lookin' arter his gal, I reckin, mighty wise he is; I'd tote a long ways ef 'twas to help him."

Louis went to the village early and had returned to hear from Clara's lips my morning discovery, and came to meet me, anxious to learn the story of the poor lamb, which I rehea.r.s.ed, having time to tell it all during the rest of the walk, and ending with "it is strange enough to make a book," just as we entered our gate.

Louis said the cloud must break ere long; and when Matthias left I followed along the path behind him, feeling that Mr. Benton might again a.s.sail him, and I was not mistaken.

"Look here," came from the angle, and "yas, sah," from Matthias as he turned to answer.

"What did you come home with Miss Minot for?" said Benton.

"Kase she axed me too, sah."

"Whom has she been to see?"

"Dat poor gal."

"Who is that girl, do you know?

"Yas, sah," said the honest old man.

"You know more to-day than you did yesterday."

"Yas, sah."

"Why don't you tell me who she is."

"You did'nt ax me, you said did I know?"

"I don't want any of your n.i.g.g.e.r talk. I want her name, and by the great ----"

"Look yer, Mas'r Benton, if you's gwine to dip in an' swar, I'll tote long by myself."

"Well, tell me who she is."

"She tole me she was dat little Molly Harris dat lived down in Charleston, an--"