"Miss Harris wishes to see Peter, 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."