with
his hard palm; then, clasping it again in his huge fingers, and looking
at it earnestly, as if it had been a delicately wrought sea-shell.
"Don't say no more--now don't--when Ben Benson gives advice, 'taint
without a reason. Now, you just listen to me, and then run away, and
don't get no more tantrums in that little head o' yours. Hain't the
madam, Mrs. Harrington, always been like a mother to you--hain't she
treated you as if you had been her own flesh and blood--do you want to
make her unhappy now, little gal, do you worry her about such things?"

"You know I would rather die, Ben!"

"I do believe you would, Miss Lina, I raly do! But there ain't no
question about dyin'--you've only to be patient and good, as is nat'ral
to you--take things as they come, and that's enough. I ain't a goin' to
have you ask me no questions, and I know you won't do it."

"But, Ben."

"Hush!" said Ben, pressing her hands hard between his broad palms, and
dropping them tenderly downward. "I can't listen to another word of this
'ere. It ain't of no use," and with a gesture of stubborn sorrow, Ben
walked deliberately into his domain, and closing the door, bolted it
against Lina, leaving her shivering in the cold.

Lina looked ruefully at the closed door, and her heart sunk as she heard
the heavy bolt drawn within. The last faint hope died out then; and,
without a word, she turned and walked away into the woods, desolate
beyond comparison with any former moment of her life. The wind grew
sharp, and whistled through the light indoor garments with which she had
recklessly come forth; her lips turned purple with cold; her hands were
so numb, that they fell apart as she attempted to clasp them; the tears
rushed warm from her eyes, and dropped away, frozen, like hail: and yet
poor Lina struggled on, thinking the cold only another pang of anguish,
which it was her duty to bear.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

GENERAL HARRINGTON READS THE VELLUM BOOK.

General Harrington was alone in his library. His hat and cloak lay in a
heap on a sofa near the door, an indication of unwonted perturbation,
for with him, a misplaced article was a proof of excitement which he was
always ready to condemn. His dress was a good deal disturbed, and his
hair disordered, as if he had threaded it more than once with the white
fingers that now clasped the open covers of Mabel's Journal which he was
eagerly reading.

It was almost painful to see the excitement under w