“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 shiny 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 nigger 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 passed 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.