“He thinks not,” said mother, “but this calling him Peter is singular enough.”

“It seems very strange, and hardly possible she can have come so far,” said father.  Louis’ eyes as well as my own had been covertly scanning Mr. Benton, and he was ill at ease.  At the name of Peter his face grew pale and his hand trembled; no one else noticing it, he rallied, but made no remark whatever.  Afterward Louis said to him: 

“What a strange experience this is of the girl we found!—­truths are queer things; I feel a real anxiety to find out about her.  Do not you feel 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.