l interested?" His eyes fell as he answered:

"Can't say that I do. You have more enthusiasm than myself. Having known
more years, I am taught to let people look out for themselves very much.
But that old Matthias I don't like. It may be all a put up
job--something to bring credit or money to himself--you can't trust that
darky."

"Why," said Louis, "_I_ would trust him, and so far as this young lady
is concerned, a different person from Matthias is at the root of the
matter. I have a desire to know the truth and help the girl."

"She may be your fate, Louis."

"No," he replied, "Mr. Benton, that is not possible, my 'fate,' as you
call it, is my Emily."

"Miss Minot?" said Benton, "great heavens! Has that girl played me
false?"

"I think not," said Louis calmly, "and since the subject is broached,
perhaps it will be best for me to tell you that Emily is to be my wife,
her parents being willing."

"You _are a gentleman_, truly! I gave you my confidence and expected"--

"Do not say more," said Louis, raising his hand deprecatingly against
the coming falsehood, "do not help me to despise you. I am too sorry
that I am forced to know what you said to me was untrue, and also to
realize what my Emily has suffered and kept in her own heart."

"Louis Desmonde," said Mr. Benton, "do you realize what you are saying?"

"Only too well, sir; do not force me to say more. I admire your art. I
am willing to help you to be a man."

"_Indeed!_" replied Mr. Benton. "Philanthropic _boy_! who talks to a man
of years and judgment!"

It was a bitter pill for him, and I believe it was the knowledge of
Louis' money, and of his own great need of it, that forced him to
retreat in silence, while Louis sought and told me of their interview.

"How could you help telling him of the letter, Louis?"

"I did not have to try to help it, for I want to be sure of all I say to
him, and as far as I spoke I had perfect authority. He may at some time
need my help, though he spurned the aid of his 'philanthropic boy.'"

"_Boy_," said I, "you are old enough to be his father in goodness, but
here comes Aunt Hildy. The poor lamb must be better, else she would not
come back so soon," and I opened the door for her entrance.

"I know what you're after," she said, "she's better; the poor thing
will get well. Oh dear! land! I wonder, when'll the same old story end."

"Has she told it to you, Aunt Hildy?"

"Partly to me and partly to Mis' Goodwin." (