"I am sure I have no idea of the locality," answered Philip. "Yes! there is the ledge of rock, and the cavern into which he thrust me. Poor Ben! I forgive him all. I hardly dare go on--I am afraid I shall see some dreadful sight;" and she shuddered. "Perhaps you had better rest yourself, while we search this vicinity closely." "Oh, no! I am too nervous to be left alone. I will keep by your side," and she clung to his arm, growing paler every moment, and scarcely daring to look before her. "Hush!" exclaimed one of the foresters, half-an-hour later, turning back toward the young couple who were some distance behind. "Don't let her come near. We've found him; he's dead as a hammer." Alice sat down upon a fallen tree-trunk, faint and trembling. "Stay here, dearest, a few moments. I will come back to you," and Philip went forward with the men to where, amid the ruins of the forest,--Ben lay, a crushed and senseless human thing. He was dreadfully mutilated, and to every appearance dead. They dragged him out from under the heavy branches, and as they did so, a low groan startled them. One of the men sank down and took the head upon his knee. "Where's Alice?" Ben unclosed his eyes, as he asked the question, moving them about from one face to another with a searching glance. "I'm dying--bring her quick. Oh, do bring her, won't you?" The gasping voice was loud and thrilling in the eagerness of its entreaty. Philip turned away and went for his wife. "Do you think you can bear the sight?" "If he wishes to see me, I shall not deny a dying man. He took many a step for me, in his better days--poor boy." Ben seemed to distinguish her footsteps as she drew near. He could not stir, but his eyes turned in that direction. "Are you cryin' for me?" he asked, as she stood by his side, the tears flowing down her cheeks like rain. "It's enough to make a man die happy to see you cryin' for him, Alice." "O Ben! I wish I could help you," she sobbed. "I'm past earthly help, and I'm glad of it. It's the best thing could happen to a used-up fellow like me. I don't blame you for it, Alice, but I'm to blame for things I've done, and I won't ask you to forgive me. My head's been on fire for weeks--I've been in a strange state--I can't recall what I've did or said. Then I got hurt, I don't know how--and when I could think again, that burning pain in my head was gone. I knew I was dyin', and I wanted to see you. I wanted to carry the pictur' of your face to the next world. I shouldn't be ashamed to show it to the angels--if they'll have any thing to do with a poor, ignorant fellow like me, as Pallas said they would. You're married, ain't you?" "She is my wife," said Philip, gently, taking her hand. "It made me crazy to think of it once; but it's over now. Alice, you've my blessin' and my wishes that you may be happy all your life. Forgive me the trouble I've made ye, and may you and him be happy long after the grass grows over poor Ben Perkins."