CHAPTER LXXX.
WHO WAS LINA?
The sound of sleigh-bells stopping suddenly and a sharp knock at his own door, aroused Ben from his mournful prayers. He got up and turned the latch. To his astonishment, it was broad daylight. The persons who had aroused him were James and Ralph Harrington.
"Ben," said Ralph, stepping eagerly forward, "tell us—repeat to James what you refused to tell Lina. On your life, on your honor, dear old Ben: tell him whose child she is."
"All that you know about her. I am sure there is something you can explain. If you ever loved her or care for me, speak out now. You said that she had gone off because you refused to tell her something."
Ben had been praying in the presence of death, and there were both power and pathos in his voice as he clasped those rough hands and said:
"As the great God aloft is his witness! Ralph Harrington, Ben Benson spoke nothing but the truth when he said that ere."
"But you will tell us, for her dear sake, you will tell us."
"Yes, Master Ralph I will. Jist ask what you want to know, and I'll tell it."
"Who was she, Ben? I've asked my mother often, but she always answered, that the child, while a mere infant, was seen one day wandering on the banks of the river, quite alone. At night, she came up to the house, and was found asleep on the door-step—from that day to this, she has never been inquired after, but dropped into the family naturally as a pet-bird. I loved her the better for having no friends—for belonging entirely to us."
Ben drew the back of one hand across his eyes and dropped into his lounging attitude again.