The House of the Seven Gables

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  XV The Scowl and Smile

  SEVERAL days passed over the Seven Gables, heavily and drearily enough.In fact (not to attribute the whole gloom of sky and earth to the oneinauspicious circumstance of Phoebe's departure), an easterly storm hadset in, and indefatigably apply itself to the task of making the blackroof and walls of the old house look more cheerless than ever before.Yet was the outside not half so cheerless as the interior. PoorClifford was cut off, at once, from all his scanty resources ofenjoyment. Phoebe was not there; nor did the sunshine fall upon thefloor. The garden, with its muddy walks, and the chill, drippingfoliage of its summer-house, was an image to be shuddered at. Nothingflourished in the cold, moist, pitiless atmosphere, drifting with thebrackish scud of sea-breezes, except the moss along the joints of theshingle-roof, and the great bunch of weeds, that had lately beensuffering from drought, in the angle between the two front gables.

  As for Hepzibah, she seemed not merely possessed with the east wind,but to be, in her very person, only another phase of this gray andsullen spell of weather; the East-Wind itself, grim and disconsolate,in a rusty black silk gown, and with a turban of cloud-wreaths on itshead. The custom of the shop fell off, because a story got abroad thatshe soured her small beer and other damageable commodities, by scowlingon them. It is, perhaps, true that the public had something reasonablyto complain of in her deportment; but towards Clifford she was neitherill-tempered nor unkind, nor felt less warmth of heart than always, hadit been possible to make it reach him. The inutility of her bestefforts, however, palsied the poor old gentlewoman. She could dolittle else than sit silently in a corner of the room, when the wetpear-tree branches, sweeping across the small windows, created anoonday dusk, which Hepzibah unconsciously darkened with her woe-begoneaspect. It was no fault of Hepzibah's. Everything--even the oldchairs and tables, that had known what weather was for three or foursuch lifetimes as her own--looked as damp and chill as if the presentwere their worst experience. The picture of the Puritan Colonelshivered on the wall. The house itself shivered, from every attic ofits seven gables down to the great kitchen fireplace, which served allthe better as an emblem of the mansion's heart, because, though builtfor warmth, it was now so comfortless and empty.

  Hepzibah attempted to enliven matters by a fire in the parlor. But thestorm demon kept watch above, and, whenever a flame was kindled, drovethe smoke back again, choking the chimney's sooty throat with its ownbreath. Nevertheless, during four days of this miserable storm,Clifford wrapt himself in an old cloak, and occupied his customarychair. On the morning of the fifth, when summoned to breakfast, heresponded only by a broken-hearted murmur, expressive of adetermination not to leave his bed. His sister made no attempt tochange his purpose. In fact, entirely as she loved him, Hepzibah couldhardly have borne any longer the wretched duty--so impracticable by herfew and rigid faculties--of seeking pastime for a still sensitive, butruined mind, critical and fastidious, without force or volition. Itwas at least something short of positive despair, that to-day she mightsit shivering alone, and not suffer continually a new grief, andunreasonable pang of remorse, at every fitful sigh of her fellowsufferer.

  But Clifford, it seemed, though he did not make his appearance belowstairs, had, after all, bestirred himself in quest of amusement. Inthe course of the forenoon, Hepzibah heard a note of music, which(there being no other tuneful contrivance in the House of the SevenGables) she knew must proceed from Alice Pyncheon's harpsichord. Shewas aware that Clifford, in his youth, had possessed a cultivated tastefor music, and a considerable degree of skill in its practice. It wasdifficult, however, to conceive of his retaining an accomplishment towhich daily exercise is so essential, in the measure indicated by thesweet, airy, and delicate, though most melancholy strain, that nowstole upon her ear. Nor was it less marvellous that the long-silentinstrument should be capable of so much melody. Hepzibah involuntarilythought of the ghostly harmonies, prelusive of death in the family,which were attributed to the legendary Alice. But it was, perhaps,proof of the agency of other than spiritual fingers, that, after a fewtouches, the chords seemed to snap asunder with their own vibrations,and the music ceased.

  But a harsher sound succeeded to the mysterious notes; nor was theeasterly day fated to pass without an event sufficient in itself topoison, for Hepzibah and Clifford, the balmiest air that ever broughtthe humming-birds along with it. The final echoes of Alice Pyncheon'sperformance (or Clifford's, if his we must consider it) were drivenaway by no less vulgar a dissonance than the ringing of the shop-bell.A foot was heard scraping itself on the threshold, and thence somewhatponderously stepping on the floor. Hepzibah delayed a moment, whilemuffling herself in a faded shawl, which had been her defensive armorin a forty years' warfare against the east wind. A characteristicsound, however,--neither a cough nor a hem, but a kind of rumbling andreverberating spasm in somebody's capacious depth of chest;--impelledher to hurry forward, with that aspect of fierce faint-heartedness socommon to women in cases of perilous emergency. Few of her sex, onsuch occasions, have ever looked so terrible as our poor scowlingHepzibah. But the visitor quietly closed the shop-door behind him,stood up his umbrella against the counter, and turned a visage ofcomposed benignity, to meet the alarm and anger which his appearancehad excited.

  Hepzibah's presentiment had not deceived her. It was no other thanJudge Pyncheon, who, after in vain trying the front door, had noweffected his entrance into the shop.

  "How do you do, Cousin Hepzibah?--and how does this most inclementweather affect our poor Clifford?" began the Judge; and wonderful itseemed, indeed, that the easterly storm was not put to shame, or, atany rate, a little mollified, by the genial benevolence of his smile."I could not rest without calling to ask, once more, whether I can inany manner promote his comfort, or your own."

  "You can do nothing," said Hepzibah, controlling her agitation as wellas she could. "I devote myself to Clifford. He has every comfortwhich his situation admits of."

  "But allow me to suggest, dear cousin," rejoined the Judge, "youerr,--in all affection and kindness, no doubt, and with the very bestintentions,--but you do err, nevertheless, in keeping your brother sosecluded. Why insulate him thus from all sympathy and kindness?Clifford, alas! has had too much of solitude. Now let him trysociety,--the society, that is to say, of kindred and old friends. Letme, for instance, but see Clifford, and I will answer for the goodeffect of the interview."

  "You cannot see him," answered Hepzibah. "Clifford has kept his bedsince yesterday."

  "What! How! Is he ill?" exclaimed Judge Pyncheon, starting with whatseemed to be angry alarm; for the very frown of the old Puritandarkened through the room as he spoke. "Nay, then, I must and will seehim! What if he should die?"

  "He is in no danger of death," said Hepzibah,--and added, withbitterness that she could repress no longer, "none; unless he shall bepersecuted to death, now, by the same man who long ago attempted it!"

  "Cousin Hepzibah," said the Judge, with an impressive earnestness ofmanner, which grew even to tearful pathos as he proceeded, "is itpossible that you do not perceive how unjust, how unkind, howunchristian, is this constant, this long-continued bitterness againstme, for a part which I was constrained by duty and conscience, by theforce of law, and at my own peril, to act? What did I do, in detrimentto Clifford, which it was possible to leave undone? How could you, hissister,--if, for your never-ending sorrow, as it has been for mine, youhad known what I did,--have, shown greater tenderness? And do youthink, cousin, that it has cost me no pang?--that it has left noanguish in my bosom, from that day to this, amidst all the prosperitywith which Heaven has blessed me?--or that I do not now rejoice, whenit is deemed consistent with the dues of public justice and the welfareof society that this dear kinsman, this early friend, this nature sodelicately and beautifully constituted,--so unfortunate, let uspronounce him, and forbear to say, so guilty,--that our own Clifford,in fine, should be given back to life, and its possibilities ofenjoy
ment? Ah, you little know me, Cousin Hepzibah! You little knowthis heart! It now throbs at the thought of meeting him! There livesnot the human being (except yourself,--and you not more than I) who hasshed so many tears for Clifford's calamity. You behold some of themnow. There is none who would so delight to promote his happiness! Tryme, Hepzibah!--try me, Cousin!--try the man whom you have treated asyour enemy and Clifford's!--try Jaffrey Pyncheon, and you shall findhim true, to the heart's core!"

  "In the name of Heaven," cried Hepzibah, provoked only to intenserindignation by this outgush of the inestimable tenderness of a sternnature,--"in God's name, whom you insult, and whose power I couldalmost question, since he hears you utter so many false words withoutpalsying your tongue,--give over, I beseech you, this loathsomepretence of affection for your victim! You hate him! Say so, like aman! You cherish, at this moment, some black purpose against him inyour heart! Speak it out, at once!--or, if you hope so to promote itbetter, hide it till you can triumph in its success! But never speakagain of your love for my poor brother. I cannot bear it! It willdrive me beyond a woman's decency! It will drive me mad! Forbear! Notanother word! It will make me spurn you!"

  For once, Hepzibah's wrath had given her courage. She had spoken.But, after all, was this unconquerable distrust of Judge Pyncheon'sintegrity, and this utter denial, apparently, of his claim to stand inthe ring of human sympathies,--were they founded in any just perceptionof his character, or merely the offspring of a woman's unreasonableprejudice, deduced from nothing?

  The Judge, beyond all question, was a man of eminent respectability.The church acknowledged it; the state acknowledged it. It was deniedby nobody. In all the very extensive sphere of those who knew him,whether in his public or private capacities, there was not anindividual--except Hepzibah, and some lawless mystic, like thedaguerreotypist, and, possibly, a few political opponents--who wouldhave dreamed of seriously disputing his claim to a high and honorableplace in the world's regard. Nor (we must do him the further justiceto say) did Judge Pyncheon himself, probably, entertain many or veryfrequent doubts, that his enviable reputation accorded with hisdeserts. His conscience, therefore, usually considered the surestwitness to a man's integrity,--his conscience, unless it might be forthe little space of five minutes in the twenty-four hours, or, now andthen, some black day in the whole year's circle,--his conscience borean accordant testimony with the world's laudatory voice. And yet,strong as this evidence may seem to be, we should hesitate to peril ourown conscience on the assertion, that the Judge and the consentingworld were right, and that poor Hepzibah with her solitary prejudicewas wrong. Hidden from mankind,--forgotten by himself, or buried sodeeply under a sculptured and ornamented pile of ostentatious deedsthat his daily life could take no note of it,--there may have lurkedsome evil and unsightly thing. Nay, we could almost venture to say,further, that a daily guilt might have been acted by him, continuallyrenewed, and reddening forth afresh, like the miraculous blood-stain ofa murder, without his necessarily and at every moment being aware of it.

  Men of strong minds, great force of character, and a hard texture ofthe sensibilities, are very capable of falling into mistakes of thiskind. They are ordinarily men to whom forms are of paramountimportance. Their field of action lies among the external phenomena oflife. They possess vast ability in grasping, and arranging, andappropriating to themselves, the big, heavy, solid unrealities, such asgold, landed estate, offices of trust and emolument, and public honors.With these materials, and with deeds of goodly aspect, done in thepublic eye, an individual of this class builds up, as it were, a talland stately edifice, which, in the view of other people, and ultimatelyin his own view, is no other than the man's character, or the manhimself. Behold, therefore, a palace! Its splendid halls and suites ofspacious apartments are floored with a mosaic-work of costly marbles;its windows, the whole height of each room, admit the sunshine throughthe most transparent of plate-glass; its high cornices are gilded, andits ceilings gorgeously painted; and a lofty dome--through which, fromthe central pavement, you may gaze up to the sky, as with noobstructing medium between--surmounts the whole. With what fairer andnobler emblem could any man desire to shadow forth his character? Ah!but in some low and obscure nook,--some narrow closet on theground-floor, shut, locked and bolted, and the key flung away,--orbeneath the marble pavement, in a stagnant water-puddle, with therichest pattern of mosaic-work above,--may lie a corpse, half decayed,and still decaying, and diffusing its death-scent all through thepalace! The inhabitant will not be conscious of it, for it has longbeen his daily breath! Neither will the visitors, for they smell onlythe rich odors which the master sedulously scatters through the palace,and the incense which they bring, and delight to burn before him! Nowand then, perchance, comes in a seer, before whose sadly gifted eye thewhole structure melts into thin air, leaving only the hidden nook, thebolted closet, with the cobwebs festooned over its forgotten door, orthe deadly hole under the pavement, and the decaying corpse within.Here, then, we are to seek the true emblem of the man's character, andof the deed that gives whatever reality it possesses to his life. And,beneath the show of a marble palace, that pool of stagnant water, foulwith many impurities, and, perhaps, tinged with blood,--that secretabomination, above which, possibly, he may say his prayers, withoutremembering it,--is this man's miserable soul!

  To apply this train of remark somewhat more closely to Judge Pyncheon.We might say (without in the least imputing crime to a personage of hiseminent respectability) that there was enough of splendid rubbish inhis life to cover up and paralyze a more active and subtile consciencethan the Judge was ever troubled with. The purity of his judicialcharacter, while on the bench; the faithfulness of his public servicein subsequent capacities; his devotedness to his party, and the rigidconsistency with which he had adhered to its principles, or, at allevents, kept pace with its organized movements; his remarkable zeal aspresident of a Bible society; his unimpeachable integrity as treasurerof a widow's and orphan's fund; his benefits to horticulture, byproducing two much esteemed varieties of the pear and to agriculture,through the agency of the famous Pyncheon bull; the cleanliness of hismoral deportment, for a great many years past; the severity with whichhe had frowned upon, and finally cast off, an expensive and dissipatedson, delaying forgiveness until within the final quarter of an hour ofthe young man's life; his prayers at morning and eventide, and gracesat meal-time; his efforts in furtherance of the temperance cause; hisconfining himself, since the last attack of the gout, to five diurnalglasses of old sherry wine; the snowy whiteness of his linen, thepolish of his boots, the handsomeness of his gold-headed cane, thesquare and roomy fashion of his coat, and the fineness of its material,and, in general, the studied propriety of his dress and equipment; thescrupulousness with which he paid public notice, in the street, by abow, a lifting of the hat, a nod, or a motion of the hand, to all andsundry of his acquaintances, rich or poor; the smile of broadbenevolence wherewith he made it a point to gladden the wholeworld,--what room could possibly be found for darker traits in aportrait made up of lineaments like these? This proper face was what hebeheld in the looking-glass. This admirably arranged life was what hewas conscious of in the progress of every day. Then might not he claimto be its result and sum, and say to himself and the community, "BeholdJudge Pyncheon there"?

  And allowing that, many, many years ago, in his early and recklessyouth, he had committed some one wrong act,--or that, even now, theinevitable force of circumstances should occasionally make him do onequestionable deed among a thousand praiseworthy, or, at least,blameless ones,--would you characterize the Judge by that one necessarydeed, and that half-forgotten act, and let it overshadow the fairaspect of a lifetime? What is there so ponderous in evil, that athumb's bigness of it should outweigh the mass of things not evil whichwere heaped into the other scale! This scale and balance system is afavorite one with people of Judge Pyncheon's brotherhood. A hard, coldman, thus unfortunately situated, seldom or never looking inward, andresolutely ta
king his idea of himself from what purports to be hisimage as reflected in the mirror of public opinion, can scarcely arriveat true self-knowledge, except through loss of property and reputation.Sickness will not always help him do it; not always the death-hour!

  But our affair now is with Judge Pyncheon as he stood confronting thefierce outbreak of Hepzibah's wrath. Without premeditation, to her ownsurprise, and indeed terror, she had given vent, for once, to theinveteracy of her resentment, cherished against this kinsman for thirtyyears.

  Thus far the Judge's countenance had expressed mild forbearance,--graveand almost gentle deprecation of his cousin's unbecomingviolence,--free and Christian-like forgiveness of the wrong inflictedby her words. But when those words were irrevocably spoken, his lookassumed sternness, the sense of power, and immitigable resolve; andthis with so natural and imperceptible a change, that it seemed as ifthe iron man had stood there from the first, and the meek man not atall. The effect was as when the light, vapory clouds, with their softcoloring, suddenly vanish from the stony brow of a precipitousmountain, and leave there the frown which you at once feel to beeternal. Hepzibah almost adopted the insane belief that it was her oldPuritan ancestor, and not the modern Judge, on whom she had just beenwreaking the bitterness of her heart. Never did a man show strongerproof of the lineage attributed to him than Judge Pyncheon, at thiscrisis, by his unmistakable resemblance to the picture in the innerroom.

  "Cousin Hepzibah," said he very calmly, "it is time to have done withthis."

  "With all my heart!" answered she. "Then, why do you persecute us anylonger? Leave poor Clifford and me in peace. Neither of us desiresanything better!"

  "It is my purpose to see Clifford before I leave this house," continuedthe Judge. "Do not act like a madwoman, Hepzibah! I am his onlyfriend, and an all-powerful one. Has it never occurred to you,--areyou so blind as not to have seen,--that, without not merely my consent,but my efforts, my representations, the exertion of my whole influence,political, official, personal, Clifford would never have been what youcall free? Did you think his release a triumph over me? Not so, my goodcousin; not so, by any means! The furthest possible from that! No; butit was the accomplishment of a purpose long entertained on my part. Iset him free!"

  "You!" answered Hepzibah. "I never will believe it! He owed hisdungeon to you; his freedom to God's providence!"

  "I set him free!" reaffirmed Judge Pyncheon, with the calmestcomposure. "And I came hither now to decide whether he shall retainhis freedom. It will depend upon himself. For this purpose, I mustsee him."

  "Never!--it would drive him mad!" exclaimed Hepzibah, but with anirresoluteness sufficiently perceptible to the keen eye of the Judge;for, without the slightest faith in his good intentions, she knew notwhether there was most to dread in yielding or resistance. "And whyshould you wish to see this wretched, broken man, who retains hardly afraction of his intellect, and will hide even that from an eye whichhas no love in it?"

  "He shall see love enough in mine, if that be all!" said the Judge,with well-grounded confidence in the benignity of his aspect. "But,Cousin Hepzibah, you confess a great deal, and very much to thepurpose. Now, listen, and I will frankly explain my reasons forinsisting on this interview. At the death, thirty years since, of ouruncle Jaffrey, it was found,--I know not whether the circumstance everattracted much of your attention, among the sadder interests thatclustered round that event,--but it was found that his visible estate,of every kind, fell far short of any estimate ever made of it. He wassupposed to be immensely rich. Nobody doubted that he stood among theweightiest men of his day. It was one of his eccentricities,however,--and not altogether a folly, neither,--to conceal the amountof his property by making distant and foreign investments, perhapsunder other names than his own, and by various means, familiar enoughto capitalists, but unnecessary here to be specified. By UncleJaffrey's last will and testament, as you are aware, his entireproperty was bequeathed to me, with the single exception of a lifeinterest to yourself in this old family mansion, and the strip ofpatrimonial estate remaining attached to it."

  "And do you seek to deprive us of that?" asked Hepzibah, unable torestrain her bitter contempt. "Is this your price for ceasing topersecute poor Clifford?"

  "Certainly not, my dear cousin!" answered the Judge, smilingbenevolently. "On the contrary, as you must do me the justice to own,I have constantly expressed my readiness to double or treble yourresources, whenever you should make up your mind to accept any kindnessof that nature at the hands of your kinsman. No, no! But here liesthe gist of the matter. Of my uncle's unquestionably great estate, asI have said, not the half--no, not one third, as I am fullyconvinced--was apparent after his death. Now, I have the best possiblereasons for believing that your brother Clifford can give me a clew tothe recovery of the remainder."

  "Clifford!--Clifford know of any hidden wealth? Clifford have it in hispower to make you rich?" cried the old gentlewoman, affected with asense of something like ridicule at the idea. "Impossible! Youdeceive yourself! It is really a thing to laugh at!"

  "It is as certain as that I stand here!" said Judge Pyncheon, strikinghis gold-headed cane on the floor, and at the same time stamping hisfoot, as if to express his conviction the more forcibly by the wholeemphasis of his substantial person. "Clifford told me so himself!"

  "No, no!" exclaimed Hepzibah incredulously. "You are dreaming, CousinJaffrey."

  "I do not belong to the dreaming class of men," said the Judge quietly."Some months before my uncle's death, Clifford boasted to me of thepossession of the secret of incalculable wealth. His purpose was totaunt me, and excite my curiosity. I know it well. But, from a prettydistinct recollection of the particulars of our conversation, I amthoroughly convinced that there was truth in what he said. Clifford,at this moment, if he chooses,--and choose he must!--can inform mewhere to find the schedule, the documents, the evidences, in whatevershape they exist, of the vast amount of Uncle Jaffrey's missingproperty. He has the secret. His boast was no idle word. It had adirectness, an emphasis, a particularity, that showed a backbone ofsolid meaning within the mystery of his expression."

  "But what could have been Clifford's object," asked Hepzibah, "inconcealing it so long?"

  "It was one of the bad impulses of our fallen nature," replied theJudge, turning up his eyes. "He looked upon me as his enemy. Heconsidered me as the cause of his overwhelming disgrace, his imminentperil of death, his irretrievable ruin. There was no greatprobability, therefore, of his volunteering information, out of hisdungeon, that should elevate me still higher on the ladder ofprosperity. But the moment has now come when he must give up hissecret."

  "And what if he should refuse?" inquired Hepzibah. "Or,--as Isteadfastly believe,--what if he has no knowledge of this wealth?"

  "My dear cousin," said Judge Pyncheon, with a quietude which he had thepower of making more formidable than any violence, "since yourbrother's return, I have taken the precaution (a highly proper one inthe near kinsman and natural guardian of an individual so situated) tohave his deportment and habits constantly and carefully overlooked.Your neighbors have been eye-witnesses to whatever has passed in thegarden. The butcher, the baker, the fish-monger, some of the customersof your shop, and many a prying old woman, have told me several of thesecrets of your interior. A still larger circle--I myself, among therest--can testify to his extravagances at the arched window. Thousandsbeheld him, a week or two ago, on the point of flinging himself thenceinto the street. From all this testimony, I am led toapprehend--reluctantly, and with deep grief--that Clifford'smisfortunes have so affected his intellect, never very strong, that hecannot safely remain at large. The alternative, you must beaware,--and its adoption will depend entirely on the decision which Iam now about to make,--the alternative is his confinement, probably forthe remainder of his life, in a public asylum for persons in hisunfortunate state of mind."

  "You cannot mean it!" shrieked Hepzibah.

  "Should my cousin Cl
ifford," continued Judge Pyncheon, whollyundisturbed, "from mere malice, and hatred of one whose interests oughtnaturally to be dear to him,--a mode of passion that, as often as anyother, indicates mental disease,--should he refuse me the informationso important to myself, and which he assuredly possesses, I shallconsider it the one needed jot of evidence to satisfy my mind of hisinsanity. And, once sure of the course pointed out by conscience, youknow me too well, Cousin Hepzibah, to entertain a doubt that I shallpursue it."

  "O Jaffrey,--Cousin Jaffrey," cried Hepzibah mournfully, notpassionately, "it is you that are diseased in mind, not Clifford! Youhave forgotten that a woman was your mother!--that you have hadsisters, brothers, children of your own!--or that there ever wasaffection between man and man, or pity from one man to another, in thismiserable world! Else, how could you have dreamed of this? You are notyoung, Cousin Jaffrey!--no, nor middle-aged,--but already an old man!The hair is white upon your head! How many years have you to live? Areyou not rich enough for that little time? Shall you be hungry,--shallyou lack clothes, or a roof to shelter you,--between this point and thegrave? No! but, with the half of what you now possess, you could revelin costly food and wines, and build a house twice as splendid as younow inhabit, and make a far greater show to the world,--and yet leaveriches to your only son, to make him bless the hour of your death!Then, why should you do this cruel, cruel thing?--so mad a thing, thatI know not whether to call it wicked! Alas, Cousin Jaffrey, this hardand grasping spirit has run in our blood these two hundred years. Youare but doing over again, in another shape, what your ancestor beforeyou did, and sending down to your posterity the curse inherited fromhim!"

  "Talk sense, Hepzibah, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed the Judge, withthe impatience natural to a reasonable man, on hearing anything soutterly absurd as the above, in a discussion about matters of business."I have told you my determination. I am not apt to change. Cliffordmust give up his secret, or take the consequences. And let him decidequickly; for I have several affairs to attend to this morning, and animportant dinner engagement with some political friends."

  "Clifford has no secret!" answered Hepzibah. "And God will not let youdo the thing you meditate!"

  "We shall see," said the unmoved Judge. "Meanwhile, choose whether youwill summon Clifford, and allow this business to be amicably settled byan interview between two kinsmen, or drive me to harsher measures,which I should be most happy to feel myself justified in avoiding. Theresponsibility is altogether on your part."

  "You are stronger than I," said Hepzibah, after a brief consideration;"and you have no pity in your strength! Clifford is not now insane; butthe interview which you insist upon may go far to make him so.Nevertheless, knowing you as I do, I believe it to be my best course toallow you to judge for yourself as to the improbability of hispossessing any valuable secret. I will call Clifford. Be merciful inyour dealings with him!--be far more merciful than your heart bids yoube!--for God is looking at you, Jaffrey Pyncheon!"

  The Judge followed his cousin from the shop, where the foregoingconversation had passed, into the parlor, and flung himself heavilyinto the great ancestral chair. Many a former Pyncheon had foundrepose in its capacious arms: rosy children, after their sports; youngmen, dreamy with love; grown men, weary with cares; old men, burdenedwith winters,--they had mused, and slumbered, and departed to a yetprofounder sleep. It had been a long tradition, though a doubtful one,that this was the very chair, seated in which the earliest of theJudge's New England forefathers--he whose picture still hung upon thewall--had given a dead man's silent and stern reception to the throngof distinguished guests. From that hour of evil omen until thepresent, it may be,--though we know not the secret of his heart,--butit may be that no wearier and sadder man had ever sunk into the chairthan this same Judge Pyncheon, whom we have just beheld so immitigablyhard and resolute. Surely, it must have been at no slight cost that hehad thus fortified his soul with iron. Such calmness is a mightiereffort than the violence of weaker men. And there was yet a heavy taskfor him to do. Was it a little matter--a trifle to be prepared for ina single moment, and to be rested from in another moment,--that he mustnow, after thirty years, encounter a kinsman risen from a living tomb,and wrench a secret from him, or else consign him to a living tombagain?

  "Did you speak?" asked Hepzibah, looking in from the threshold of theparlor; for she imagined that the Judge had uttered some sound whichshe was anxious to interpret as a relenting impulse. "I thought youcalled me back."

  "No, no" gruffly answered Judge Pyncheon with a harsh frown, while hisbrow grew almost a black purple, in the shadow of the room. "Whyshould I call you back? Time flies! Bid Clifford come to me!"

  The Judge had taken his watch from his vest pocket and now held it inhis hand, measuring the interval which was to ensue before theappearance of Clifford.