The Harvest of Years Part 25

"How in thunder did she get here?"

"Dunno, sah."

"You do know, and I tell you you'll make money to tell me all about it."

"Dunno nothin' moah. I said dat same word, how you git yere, and she say never min 'bout dat."

"What else did she say, what does she want?"

"Wall, de res ob what she tell me, 'pears like she didn't 'spect me tell. I'll go over thar, an' tell her you wants to know, an--"

"The devil you will, you impudent rascal--all I want to know is if she wants to find me."

"De good Lord, dat's de berry secret I don't want to tell."

"Ah! ha! my fine fellow, caught at last."

"Well," said he, "ef de Lord was right yere in dis vilit angil he'd say Matt dunno nothin' 'bout how de poor lamb got roun' to dis town."

"I don't know how to believe this, but now look here, Matt, if you'll go over there and tell her I've gone to Chicago, I'll do something nice for you. I'll get you a suit of nicer clothes than you ever had, and a s.h.i.+ny hat--hey, what do you say?"

"Mas'r Benton," said Matthias slowly, "I'm never gwine to tell a lie an'

set myself in de place whar Satan hisself can ketch a holt an me. No, sah, 'pears like I'm ready to do what's right, but dat ain't right nohow, an' 'pears, too, its mighty funny you's so scart of dat poor little milk-faced gal. Trus' in de Lord, Mas'r Benton, an' go right on over thar--she can't hurt you nohow."

"Don't talk your nonsense to me; you're on her side, she's bought you, but I'll be even with you; I'll slap your face now to make a good beginning."

"No, sah," said Matthias, "I'm done bein' a slave jes now, an' ef you want to make me hit you I shall jes do it; fur you no bizness in de law specially tryin' to put it on a poor ole n.i.g.g.e.r who can't go by ye 'thout your grabbin' at him jes ready to kill, an' all kase you's done suthin' you's shamed of an' tinks he knows it. I'm gwine over to the groun' room."

I feared Mr. Benton would strike him, and I ran to the gate, and stood there while Matthias pa.s.sed out and along the road. Mr. Benton disappeared suddenly.

Supper-time was at hand, and there had been no time to tell mother what I had heard of Miss Harris' history. At the table Ben, as usual, had inquiries to make, and I said, "Oh! she is better, Ben; you shall see her, for she will stay a long time."

"Where did she come from, Emily?"

From Charleston, South Carolina.

"Well, ain't that funny?" said he; "that's the very place Matthias came from, and perhaps she does know him after all."

"Oh! yes, she does," I replied, and raising my eyes to meet Mr. Benton's gaze, I shot the truth at him with a dark glance; his own eyes fell, and he looked as if overwhelmed with confusing thoughts; and the consciousness of being foiled roused the demon within him. This, however, was not the time or place to unbottle his wrath, and it must swell silently within.

My father began to feel the shadows thickening round him, and he kindly forbore to say a word regarding the matter, as did also mother. Aunt Hildy moved a little uneasily in her chair, and I knew she could have said something as cutting as a knife, but did not. As for me, I could and did talk on other things, and congratulated myself on another victory. I afterward told mother all Miss Harris said, and she remarked quietly:

"I am very thankful she is his wife."

"Well, but she isn't," I said.

"Yes, I know, Emily, the previous marriage would be held as the only lawful tie, but it is much better than it might have been. She has a good home and parents, and is young. Years will restore her. I cannot see, however, why she should have taken the pains to find him here."

"For the reason that she desires to plead with him for the wife and boys that are in need, and is a strong n.o.ble woman too,--why, she will have the strength of a lion when she gets well, and there is a resolute determination on her part to place before Mr. Benton a plain picture of his duty."

"Hem!" said Aunt Hildy, "she can get her picture all ready and put on the prettiest paint in the market,--that man will be gone in less than twenty-four hours. Can't I see which way his sails are set?" Our back door-sill never was swept cleaner than where this sentence fell.

"That may be," said mother; "I hope he will, for it seems to me we have too great a duty to perform if he stays. I feel ill able to undertake the task."

Aunt Hildy turned to hang up her broom, saying as she did so:

"I'd like to have your sister Phebe give him a lecture--she'd tear him all to pieces jest as easy as sh.e.l.lin' an ear of corn. I like to hear her talk; she ain't afraid of all the lies that can be invented. What a good hit she give Deacon Grover that night when he come in with his ideas of nothin' spillin' over. She talked good common sense, and hew as the subject, for it was all about a hypocrite. He did'nt stay to see if he could get a mug of cider to save his own, but set mighty uneasy and was off for home before eight o'clock. That done me good."

That evening was spent by me in conversation with Louis. Next morning at the breakfast table the subject of the poor lamb was not broached, and directly after, when the stage came along, Mr. Benton took it to go to the village on business.

"There," said Aunt Hildy, "he never'll step on to this door-sill again--but I would'nt throw a horseshoe after him if I knew it would be good luck. He don't deserve any."

"Why, he hasn't taken as much as a carpet-bag," said my father, "of course, he will be back again."

"No, sir, Mr. Minot; that feller is up to snuff--he ain't going to stop now for any duty pictures," and she turned to her work as if satisfied with having made a true prophecy.

I spoke to Clara about going over to see Miss Harris, and she felt inclined to go that morning.

"Louis, too, may go," she said. "Come, dear boy."

We were very welcome, and found Miss Harris seated in the old rush-chair before the fire-place. Her dress was a most becoming wrapper of blue (she found it in Clara's bundle) her hair falling as on the previous day in natural curls, and the same India shawl thrown over her sloping shoulders. She was exactly Clara's size, and when the two came together, Clara said, "We are sisters surely." But afterward, as they sat side by side, I could see such a difference. Alike in form and complexion, also having regular features, yet the light in our Clara's eyes was incomparably purer, savored less of earth. Miss Harris' face was sweet, truthful, the lines of her mouth alone defining her powerful will and courage. She was very beautiful, but earthly, while over my own Clara's face there fell the unmistakable light of something beyond. Oh! my saving angel, how my heart beat as I sat there drawing the comparison, giving to Miss Harris a place in the sitting-room of my womanly feeling, and yielding to my beloved Clara the entire room where lay the purest thoughts which had been boon to my spirit, coming to life at the touch of her tender hand! She was a beacon light in the wilderness of thought.

"Tell me, Miss Minot," said Miss Harris, "tell me all you know, for I feel you do know much."

I explained Mr. Benton's coming to stay with us, and when I said he took the stage this morning for town, and will be back, I suppose--

"Never," she interrupted, "he has heard I am here."

"Yes," I said, and repeated his conversation with Matthias.

"I am then foiled, but he will not elude the truth that goes with him.

He may have gone to his waiting wife. Mrs. Chadwick will write me, for she will not lose sight of her."

No tears came to her eyes, but the determined look deepened as it were into strength, and she said:

"It is too bad. I did hope to be able to make him do his duty. Now I must hasten to become strong, and go back to Boston. I will find him yet--I'm sure I will."

She talked freely of her Southern home, and expressed comfort at the hope of one day seeing us there.

"I need a little help to get there myself," she said; "I have no cloak--can you get one for me, Miss Minot? I am fortunate enough to be able to pay for it, my purse being with me."

Louis looked admiringly at the girl-woman (for such she seemed to be), and when our call ended said to her:

"When you are strong enough to leave, may you receive great help to do what seems to be your whole duty; and if little mother or myself can aid you, please command us."

"Thank you," she said, "you remind me much of my dark-eyed Southern friends." We took our departure. It was only one week after that the old stage carried her from our sight; but we did not forget her, nor the sad experience which had developed in her so great a strength.

Mr. Benton did not return, as Aunt Hildy predicted, and the stage brought a note for Hal, in which he said he was unavoidably detained, having found important letters at the village. He would write him a long letter, and the letter came after ten days' waiting, bearing the postmark of ---- (he was with his wife). He wrote that he was with a friend, and some unexpected business relations would keep him there for a time. He desired his belongings sent to him, if it would not trouble Hal too much. He feared that it would be a long time ere he would be again situated amongst such pleasant surroundings, "and they are, as you well know, so much needed by an artist," he said. I do wonder what the man thought. Hal and Mary had not known Miss Harris' story, but Louis had read the letter to Hal, and his perfidy was apparent to all. No word had been said, however, and I presume he (not learning about the letters) thought Hal still a good friend, which was in fact the case.

Hal said: