d her, but to-day she
was a marvellous picture, sitting among the white pillows. Her cheeks
were touched here and there with pink, as if rose leaves had left their
tender stain--her eyes beautifully bright, and such depths of blue, with
arched brows above them, and long brown lashes for a shield. Her hair
rippled over her shoulders in brown curls, and around her was thrown the
light India shawl she had about her on that sad night. She smiled with
pleasure as I entered, and beckoned me to her bedside, while Mrs.
Goodwin said:

"Take the old splint rocker, Emily. I am going to let you stay two long
hours."

How gratefully the poor lamb's eyes turned upon the good woman!

"This young lady's name is Harris."

"Yes," said Miss Harris "Mary Abigail Harris, after my mother."

I kissed her forehead, and then took the seat proffered, sitting so near
her that I could lean on the side of the bed as I listened to the story.

Mrs. Goodwin left us alone, and the recital began:

"I remembered your eyes, Miss Minot, and I wanted to tell you all about
it--how I came to be here, needing the help you so kindly gave. Oh, I
shudder," she said, "as I think how it might have been that never again
my mother could have seen me!"

Her face grew pale, but no tears came, and I could see a resolute look
that gave signs of strong will, and for this I felt inwardly thankful.

"I came from my home," said she, "in search of my husband. Three years
ago I was married in my father's house to Wilmur Bentley, who came South
from his Northern home on an artist's tour, selling many pictures and
painting more. He lived in our vicinity for some months with a friend, a
wealthy planter by the name of Sumner." I started involuntarily. "There
were two of these gentlemen--brothers--and they owned large plantations
with many colored people. Mr. Bentley had every appearance of a
gentleman of honor, and none of us ever doubted his worth. My father
gave him a pleasant welcome and a home, and for three brief months we
were happy. Suddenly a cloud fell upon him; he appeared troubled, and
said 'Mary, I must go North--I have left some tangled business snarls
there, which I must see to.' He left, promising an early return. The
letters I received from him were frequent, and beautifully tender in
their expressions of love for me. I was happy; but the days wore into
weeks, and his return still delayed. I began to feel anxious and
fearful, when I received a letter from