, she says."

She looked at Matthias, and then said:

"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 thoug