CHAPTER III.
Ici il fallut que j'en divinasse plus qu'on ne m'en disoit. MEMOIRES DE SULLY.
A week after the events narrated in the preceding chapters, a smallcompany was collected in a parlor of one of the houses of Hillsdale.It consisted of a gentleman, of some fifty years of age; his wife, afine-looking matron, some years his junior; their daughter, a brightblue-eyed flaxen-haired girl, rounding into the most graceful form ofwomanhood, and a young man, who is not entirely a stranger to us.
The judgment of the doctor, respecting the wound of Pownal--for it ishe--had proved to be correct, and, on the second day after the hurt,he had returned to the village, with his friend William Bernard, inthe house of whose father he was, for the present, domiciliated. Theyoung men had been acquainted before, and the accident seemed to haveestablished a sort of intimacy between them. It was, therefore, withno feeling of reluctance, that Pownal accepted an invitation to deserthis boarding-house for a while, for the hospitality of his friend.Perhaps, his decision was a little influenced by the remembrance ofthe blue eyes of Miss Bernard, and of the pleasant effect which, fromtheir first acquaintance, they had exerted upon him. However thatmay be, it is certain, that, although somewhat paler than usual, heappeared to be quite contented with his condition.
It was evening, and candles were lighted, and Mr. Bernard, or ashe was more commonly, or, indeed, almost universally, called, JudgeBernard, from having been one of the judges of the Superior Court, wassitting in an arm-chair, reading a newspaper; Mrs. Bernard was busywith her knitting; the young lady employed upon one of those piecesof needle-work, which, in those days, were seldom out of female hands,and Pownal looking at her all he dared, and listening to an occasionalparagraph read by the Judge from his newspaper.
"You are the cause of quite a sensation in our little community,Thomas," said the Judge, laying down his spectacles and newspaperat the same time. "Mr. Editor Peters and the gossips ought to beinfinitely obliged to you for wounding yourself, and affording him anopportunity to display his inventive genius and the brilliancy of hisimagination, and giving them something to talk about. Here, Anne, readthe article aloud for our edification."
The young lady ran her eye hastily down the column, and could notrestrain her laughter.
"Excuse me, papa," she said, "it is too much for my poor nerves. Onlythink of it; Mr. Peters loads Mr. Pownal's gun with sixteen buck-shot,topples him off a precipice twenty feet high, breaks three of hisribs, and makes a considerable incision in his skull. Never was theresuch a wonderful escape. It is too horrible."
"How the newspapers are given to big stories!" said Mrs. Bernard.
"I dare say," cried Anne, "the editor has authority for what hesays, for now that my attention is drawn to it, I think there mustbe something in the incision. Have you not remarked, mamma, that Mr.Pownal is at times light-headed?"
"Anne!" exclaimed her mother, smiling, "I am ashamed to hear a younggirl rattle on so."
"I am not aware of being more light-headed than usual," said Pownal,"but I am certain no one can be in Miss Bernard's company, and not belight-hearted."
"Very prettily spoken! Mr. Thomas Pownal is practising his wit upon acountry maiden, in order to be in training when he returns to open thecampaign among the New York ladies."
"I am too happy here," said Pownal, in a low tone, "to wish to returnto the city."
An almost imperceptible blush suffused the cheeks of Miss Bernard. Shelooked up from the newspaper, but her eyes encountering those of theyoung man, instantly fell.
"What fine speeches are you making to one another?" broke in theJudge. "My dear, do not hold down your head. It throws the blood intoyour face."
"Papa," cried his daughter, desirous to divert attention from herself,"can you find nothing instructing in the paper to read to us? Is thereno report of any speech?"
"Speeches, indeed! Thank Heaven, there is no speech in this paper.The session of Congress has not commenced, and the deluge of words, incomparison with which Noah's flood was a summer's shower, therefore,not begun. Why, my dear little daughter, do you remind me of thenational calamity?"
"To atone for the offence, papa, let me tell you that Mr. Armstrongand Faith promised to come to see us this evening, and from the soundof the opening of the front gate, I suspect they are close at hand."
Anne's conjecture proved true, for shortly after the expected visitorswere announced, and the usual greetings having passed, they were allsoon seated.
But before proceeding further, it may not be amiss to give somedescription of persons destined to play a not unimportant part in ourstory.
Mr. Armstrong was of middle age, of the ordinary stature, and with aface which still possessed great beauty. A noble brow, hair originallyblack, but prematurely grey, large dark eyes, a straight nose, anda well-formed mouth, over which played an expression of benevolence,made an exterior of exceeding attractiveness, and it would have beenan unmixed pleasure to gaze upon his gracious presence, but for an airof dejection amounting to suffering, which had of late been increasingupon him. He seldom smiled, and when he did the smile was oftensucceeded by a dark shadow, as if he felt compunction for trespassingon the precints of gaiety.
Faith strongly resembled her father, as well in externals as in thecharacter of her mind. Her figure was slender, approaching even todelicacy, though without any appearance of sickliness. Her face, paleand thoughtful usually, was sometimes lighted up with an enthusiasmmore angelic than human. Her mother having died when she was too youngto appreciate the loss, she had concentrated upon her father all thatlove which is generally divided between two parents. Nor was it witha feeling of love only she regarded him. With it was mixed a sentimentof reverence amounting almost to idolatry. No opinion, no thought,no word, no look of his but had for her a value. And richly was theaffection of the child returned by the father, and proud was he ofher, notwithstanding his struggles against the feeling as somethingsinful.
It was the first time since the accident to Pownal that Mr. Armstrongor his daughter had seen him, and the conversation naturally turnedupon the danger he had incurred.
"It was a providential escape," said Mr. Armstrong. "It is astonishinghow many dangers we run into, and our escapes may be considered asso many daily miracles to prove the interposition of a controllingProvidence. There are few persons who cannot look back upon severalsuch in the course of their lives."
"You are right, my friend," said the Judge. "I can recall half a dozenin my own experience; and if some have had fewer, some, doubtless,have had more."
"These accidents are, I suspect, the consequences of our owncarelessness in nine cases out of ten," said Pownal. "At any rate, Iam sure it was my carelessness that occasioned mine."
"You speak as if it could have been avoided," said Mr. Armstrong.
"Certainly. Do you not think so?"
"I am not sure of it," said Mr. Armstrong. "There appears to be achain which links events together in an inevitable union. The verycarelessness of which you accuse yourself may be the means purposelyused to bring about important events."
"It has brought about very agreeable events for me," said Pownal. "Iam only afraid, from the care lavished upon me, I shall be tempted tothink too much of myself."
"It has scattered pleasure all around, then," said Mrs. Bernard,kindly.
"Yes," said the Judge; "any attention we can render is more thanrepaid by the pleasure Mr. Pownal's presence imparts. If he shouldever think more highly of himself than we do, he will be a very vainperson."
The young man could only bow, and with a gratified countenance returnhis thanks for their kindness.
"Your adventure was also the means," said Mr. Armstrong, "of makingyou acquainted with our anchorite. Did you not find him an interestingperson?"
"More than interesting," replied Pownal. "From the moment he took meinto his arms as if I had been a child, and with all the tenderness ofa mother, I felt strangely attracted to him. I shall always rememberwith pleasure the two
days I spent in his cabin, and mean to cultivatehis acquaintance if he will permit me."
"He is evidently a man of refinement and education," said Armstrong,"who, for reasons of his own, has adopted his peculiar mode of life.It was a long time before I could be said to be acquainted with him,but the more I know him, the better I like him. He and Faith are greatfriends."
"I value his friendship highly and am glad he made so favorable animpression on you, Mr. Pownal," said Faith.
"I do believe," cried Anne, "Faith could not reverence him more if hewere one of the old prophets."
"If not a prophet," said Faith, "he is at least a noble and good man,and that is the highest title to respect. He takes an interest in you,too, Mr. Pownal, for Anne tells me he has been to see you."
"My preserver has been here several times to make inquiries after myhealth," answered Pownal. "He was here this morning."
"And preaching about the kingdom," said Judge Bernard. "What a strangeinfatuation to look for the end of the world each day."
"He errs in the interpretation of the prophecies," said Mr. Armstrong,"when he finds in them prognostics of the speedy destruction of theworld, but does he mistake the personal application? Who knows whenhe may be called to face his judge? Youth, and health, and strength,furnish no immunity against death."
"But what a gloom this daily expectation of an event which the wisestand stoutest hearted are unable to contemplate without trepidation,casts over life," said the Judge.
"Not in his case," replied Armstrong. "On the contrary, I am satisfiedhe would hail it with a song of thanksgiving, and I think I haveobserved he is sometimes impatient of the delay."
"It is well his notions are only crazy fancies as absurd as his beard.His appearance is very heathenish," said Mrs. Bernard.
"Taste, my dear," exclaimed the Judge, "all taste. Why, I have agreat mind to wear a beard myself. It would be a prodigious comfort todispense with the razor in cold winter mornings, to say nothing of theornament. And now that I think of it, it is just the season to begin."
"You would look like a bear, Mr. Bernard," said his wife.
"It would be too near an imitation of the old Puritans for you,Judge," said Faith.
"You, at least, my little Puritan," cried the Judge, "would notobject. But do not fancy that in avoiding Scylla I _must_ run uponCharybdis. Be sure I would not imitate the trim moustaches and peakedchins of those old dandies, Winthrop and Endicott. I prefer the fullflowing style of Wykliffe and Cranmer."
"We should then have two Holdens," exclaimed Mrs. Bernard, "and thatwould be more than our little village could live through."
"Fancy papa running an opposition beard against Mr. Holden!" saidAnne.
The idea was sufficiently ludicrous to occasion a general laugh, andeven Armstrong smiled.
"I am a happy man," said the Judge; "not only mirthful, myself, butthe cause of mirth in others. What a beam of light is a smile, what aglory like a sunrise is a laugh!"
"That will do, Judge Bernard, that will do," said his wife; "do nottry again, for you cannot jump so high twice."
"Tut, tut, Mary; what do you know about the higher poetics? I defy youto find such sublimities either in Milton or Dante."
"I can easily believe it," said Mrs. Bernard.
At this moment some other visitors entering the room, the conversationtook another turn; and Mr. Armstrong and his daughter having remaineda short time longer, took leave and returned home. Let us follow thedeparting visitors.
Upon his return, Mr. Armstrong sank upon a seat with an air ofweariness.
"Come, Faith," he said, "and sit by me and hold my hand. I have beenthinking this evening of the insensibility of the world to theircondition. How few perceive the precipice on the edge of which theystand!"
His daughter, who was accustomed to these sombre reflections, bentover, and bringing his hand to her lips, kissed it without sayinganything, knowing that he would soon explain himself more perfectly.
"Which," continued Armstrong, "is wiser, the thoughtless frivolity ofJudge Bernard, or the sad watchfulness of Holden?"
"I am not competent to judge, dear father; but if they both actaccording to their convictions of right, are they not doing theirduty?"
"You ask a difficult question. To be sure men must act according totheir ideas of right, but let them beware how they get them, and whatthey are. Yet, can one choose his ideas? These things puzzle me?"
"What else can we do," inquired his daughter, "than live by the lightwe have? Surely I cannot be responsible for my involuntary ignorance."
"How far we may be the cause of the ignorance we call involuntary,it is impossible to determine. A wrong act, an improper thought,belonging to years ago and even repented of since, may projectits dark shadow into the present, and pervert the judgment. We arefearfully made."
"Why pain yourself, dearest father, with speculations of thischaracter? Our Maker knows our weakness and will pardon ourinfirmities."
"I am an illustration of the subject of our conversation," continuedArmstrong, after a pause of a few minutes, during which he hadremained meditating, with his head resting on his hand. "I know Iwould not, willingly, harshly judge another--for who authorized me topass sentence? Yet these ideas would force themselves into my mind;and how have I spoken of our kind and excellent neighbor! There issomething wrong in myself which I must struggle to correct."
We communicate only enough of the conversation to give an idea ofthe state of Mr. Armstrong's mind at the time. At the usual familydevotions that night he prayed fervently for forgiveness of his error,repeatedly upbraiding himself with presumption and uncharitableness,and entreating that he might not be left to his own vain imaginations.
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